by Ella Fields
Adela grinned, then wrapped her lips around her straw and resumed staring at Hendrix as he fussed with cords on the makeshift stage set up in the back of the bar.
A flash of red caught my eye, and I swiveled to look down the emergency exit hallway, the one leading to the bathrooms. Everett was standing there, his lip between his teeth, all the while the bar continued to fill steadily with each passing moment.
I hesitated, and then I finished my drink and told Adela I’d be back.
He’d snuck into my room twice more since last Christmas. Both times drunk or high. But now, instead of just reeking of alcohol or weed, he reeked of weird perfumes and was often too wasted to say much of anything, let alone explain why he was there. Within a handful of minutes, he’d pass out on the pile of pillows I’d thrown to the floor.
My best guess was his parents never gave him a key, and he had to wait until one of them was up to get inside his own house.
He turned his back to me as I approached, and as I stopped in front of him, he capped a flask and reached behind him to tuck it into his back pocket. Turning, he jerked his head. “Clover.”
“Drinking before you play?” I asked, leaning against the wall.
He blew out a breath, and thanks to our proximity, the scent of whiskey hit me in the face.
I licked my lips, and his eyes narrowed on them for a brief second before he made them meet mine. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Always.”
He swallowed, eyes darting behind me to the almost full bar. “I don’t think I can do this.”
My brows gathered, and I straightened from the wall. “What, play?” I shook my head, confused. “You’ve done it before.”
“Not like this.” He gestured behind me. “Not with this many people watching. This is just…” He took a staggering step back into the dark hallway. “It’s too much, Clover.”
“Says who?” As I watched his expression, the battle he was having with fear, my heart clenched and softened. “Who says it’s too much? You? Because you should know,” I said, voice gentle while taking a slow step closer. “No one gives a shit if you screw up. They’re only here to see your pretty face. That voice of yours is just a bonus.”
He belted out a laugh, and I almost melted into the wall as the hard edges of his face dissolved into beautiful, softened planes. “You think I’m pretty, huh?”
I twisted my lips. “You know you’re pretty, so don’t play coy.”
His smile slipped, his hands fidgeting at his sides as if he were going to reach for the flask again. And so I did something I’d never had the guts to do before. I stepped into him and cupped his face with my tingling hands. “Look at me.”
His brows pinched, hard eyes narrowing over the crooked bridge of his nose. “Clover…”
“Look at me when you play. I’ll be sitting in the back near the bar.”
“I can’t do that,” he said, a tad rough. “It’s…” His hands rose to mine on his face, but he didn’t remove them.
I sighed and almost swayed from the touch. “Then close your eyes when you feel like it’s too much, and when you open them and look at the back of the room, it’ll be just like home, only better.”
The calluses on his hands as they moved, squeezing mine, sent a shiver biting down my spine. Our eyes were stuck, and his breathing had slowed. After a minute, he inched closer, and my heartbeat quickened, my eyes falling to his parted lips.
He dropped my hands and stepped back. “Only better,” he repeated, and then he was gone.
The crowd was clapping and hollering before the band even took the stage, and with one shy smile directed at them from Everett as he strapped his guitar around his neck and approached the mic, I knew he’d fight his way through this and do what he did best.
Clearing his throat, Everett checked the mic, then adjusted the stand as he lowered to the stool. “How’s everyone feeling?”
Shouts echoed back at him, and he flashed another half-smile, then began strumming a melody I’d recognize in this life and every one after, I’d heard and watched him sing it that many times.
The stars all glow, even when it snows
But I find myself wishing they’d all blink out
Nothing that beautiful is meant to last
Especially in a world this hard and fast
I wish it’d all blink out
Happiness comes, and then it goes
The only constant anyone knows
Is pain
That filthy reminder
I’ll never find ya
Yeah, it’s pain
The one that comes with knowing
I’ll never see you again
Bottle tops, cars, broken stars,
You said we would never part
Smiling, laughing, fighting, and crying
Time is a bitch who keeps on lying
It’s here to stay…
His eyes remained closed, and I knew why he’d chosen this haunting song to start with. The same song that had me wondering and desperate to know what made him write it. It was one of the first they’d played as a band. Everett’s comfort and evasive heart all rolled into one.
By the time they reached the middle of their set, the stool was gone, and he was staring into not only my eyes, but also letting his gaze drift over the forty some other pairs in the bar.
My throat hurt when they wrapped from screaming so damn loud. Tears were cascading down my cheeks as the crowd hollered and clapped, shouting that stupid name of theirs.
“Orange Apples, Orange Apples!”
“Jesus,” Adela said, and I looked over to see her usually tanned skin three shades whiter, her soda hanging precariously between her fingers.
I took it and set it on the bar. “Amazing, huh?”
“They didn’t sound like that the last time I came over.”
“Different acoustics and a lot less messing around.”
“I’ll freaking say,” she muttered, eyes zeroing in on my brother as he swung his bass guitar around his shoulders, then jumped into the crowd of girls who were pushing toward the stage.
Everett waded through them, and I smiled and clapped my hands near my face when our eyes met.
He laughed, shaking his head. Then a redhead, Lainey Ray, a senior at school, grabbed his arm, and he stopped.
I tried not to let my buoyant heart sink as he gave her his complete attention, but that was shot to hell when she rose onto her toes to whisper into his ear.
I looked away, and even though I knew what would happen next, I couldn’t stop myself from looking back.
Of course, he was kissing her. Those large, rough hands framing her petite face. The same hands I’d had holding mine to his just half an hour ago.
Adela bumped my shoulder with hers. “He’s a butt ton of trouble anyway, Stevie.”
“Is it becoming that obvious?” I worried aloud.
She grabbed her soda. “Nah, I only recently figured it out myself.”
“When?” I asked, internally freaking out that I’d made a fool of myself, while also struggling to even care as my heart fissured.
She waved a hand. “Oh, about two minutes ago.” A small, relieved laugh sputtered, and she grinned. “Come on, your mom and dad just got here.”
I angled my head at the doors and found them making a beeline for the boys who were mixed up in the audience as the next band began to set up. I knew they’d be bummed they’d missed it, but Mom had a late client every second Friday, and Dad had picked her up on his way here.
The band broke free of the crowd, heading straight for the bar.
Mom and Dad looked to be talking with the owner, so Adela and I waited where we were. There were too many people, and I didn’t feel like fighting my way through them. My stomach ached, and I wasn’t sure why, or why I couldn’t let myself search for Everett again. I knew he’d been with other girls. Everyone did. He’d never made it much of a secret. Though seeing it in the flesh was an entirely different kind of hurt. I kne
w I liked him, but I never realized how much.
“Guys, guess what?” Hendrix rushed over to where Dale and Graham were standing near us at the bar. “Garry knows someone who’s trying to get rid of a bus.”
“A bus?” Dale asked.
Graham half-rolled his eyes. “To tour after school’s out.”
“I can’t leave.” Dale appeared stricken. “I’ve been accepted into Brown, you fucks.”
“They’re touring?” Adela leaned close to ask.
I shrugged. “Apparently.” I didn’t quite believe they would, though I suppose I should have with the lackluster attempts Hendrix had made to apply for college.
Ignoring Dale, they began hashing out plans to meet with the guy selling the bus.
Everett arrived with Lainey by his side. He was quiet as they made arrangements, yet I couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes brightened as he listened, or how his hand slowly slipped from Lainey’s hip as he drifted closer to the conversation.
We left soon after, walking past the guys packing their gear into Dale’s brother’s van out on the street.
Before I slid into the back seat of my parents’ car, I glanced back at the bar.
Everett was standing outside with a foot propped against the brick exterior, smoking a cigarette. He lifted his hand, flicking his fingers at me, but all I could muster was a glimpse of a smile before climbing inside and shutting the door on the cold.
Graham hit the cymbal just as I walked into the garage, the noise ringing in my ever-adjusting ears. “Some guy is out front, uh, towing a bus?”
All the guys, even Dale who’d been flicking through his Brown brochure on our old couch, leaped from their positions. Hendrix didn’t even set his guitar down. Instead, he almost smacked me in the face with it as they all raced by, and I pressed myself into the wall.
Everett was the only one to take his time, and I averted my gaze to the rug covered concrete floor as he drifted past me, smelling of laundry detergent and cigarettes.
“You avoiding me, Clover?” he asked when I’d thought he was gone.
I lifted my head. “What?” I felt my eyes widen, felt my words sputter out of me, and could do nothing to stop any of it. “What do you mean?”
He sucked his teeth for a moment, sliding his hands into the pockets of those ripped jeans. “You’re a shit liar.”
“I’m not lying,” I lied. “Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?” Taking an unnerving step closer, he collected some of my hair and twirled it around his finger.
My stomach flipped. My eyes were trapped as I watched him stroke the strands between his fingers. “Soft as silk. I’d always wonder—”
“Rett! Where the hell are you?”
I flattened myself against the wall, and Everett’s hand fell away. “Don’t ever lie to me again, Clover.”
He could’ve just been teasing, but when I met those dark green eyes, I saw the vehemence in them. The hurt.
“Coming,” he called to my brother, still gazing down at me while he plucked his cigarettes out and stuck one between his teeth.
He was waiting for me to respond, I realized belatedly, so I nodded. It was all I could do with my heart pattering against my chest. Since seeing him with Lainey last weekend, I had been avoiding him, choosing to garden or do homework in my room whenever he came over.
He turned and strode outside.
Mom and Dad had arrived home when I’d finally found the courage to check out this beloved bus.
They were all standing on the grass. Well, Everett, Dad, Mom, and Hendrix. Graham and Dale were already inside it, jumping around and making it rock on its two flat tires.
“A school bus?” I asked, blinking at the faded, peeling yellow paint and the rust marks that sprinkled the bumper, windows, and axles. “Does it even run?”
“Why do you think it was towed here, dumbass?”
“Hey,” Mom snapped.
Hendrix sighed. “No, it doesn’t. But that’ll change. Right, Dad?”
Dad didn’t look convinced. Scraping a hand over his beard, he shifted toward the bus. “We can only try, kid. We can only try.”
Hendrix scowled. “With our mechanical knowledge, plus your construction experience, I think we’ve totally got this.”
“You’re just the help, dude,” Graham said, jumping down the bus steps and almost tearing off the door when he caught it to steady himself.
“Shut up,” Hendrix spat, shoving him away from the door so he could inspect it.
“He’s right,” Everett said.
“Rett’s been working there more than you, grease monkey.” Dale leaped down to the front lawn. I cringed as he narrowly dodged the garden bed I’d recently planted some hydrangeas in. “Don’t be so quick to toot your bragging horn.”
“Fuck off, Chippendale. Don’t you have college brochures to beat off to?”
Dad cuffed Hendrix, and he cursed again, grimacing.
Mom just watched it all with her arms folded over her chest and still wearing her work clothes. A black and blue maxi skirt and cream peasant blouse.
“I suddenly don’t know if this college thing is going to work out,” Dale mused, then laughed. “Who am I kidding? You guys won’t get this thing running. I’ll come home next summer, and you’ll still be trying.”
Everett stepped closer to the bus then, his back rippling beneath his grease-stained white shirt. Tension wafted from him, drifting on the gentle breeze as he headed for the rear of the flat-nosed monstrosity.
I couldn’t tell if it was Dale’s comment that’d bugged him, or if it was the way I’d tried to lie to him. Maybe it was both. I watched him disappear, and then a bang sounded, followed by a screech, as he opened the back of the bus.
He and Dad bent inside, murmuring to each other as the rest of the guys bounced around like a bunch of preschoolers heading on an excursion for the first time.
“Should we order in?” Mom asked, sliding an arm around my shoulders. “I doubt we’ll be able to tear them away from this thing unless it involves fried chicken.”
I huffed. “Maybe not even for that.” Glancing around the street, I noticed some of the neighbors were taking a peek at the monster that now resided half on our front lawn and half in the street. “That doesn’t bode well.”
Mom sighed. “Looks like I’ll be offering free lessons to the McGregor’s grandkids again.”
I looked over at Mr. and Mrs. McGregor, who were gawking at the bus, and then at Mom, remembering the last time she’d had to bribe them into not causing a fuss. It was when Dad and Hendrix had built a skate ramp. The thing was so big, it had to stay on our driveway. It was now in five rotting pieces in the back shed.
Idly, I wondered if something similar would happen to this bus. Or if it’d do the unthinkable, and take the band—take Everett—away from Plume Grove.
The dirt changed color, from light to dark brown, as water escaped the hose in my hand.
“You do know that works better if you stand.”
Startled, I almost slipped off Hendrix’s skateboard, my head snapping back and up. The sun framed Everett’s face, too bright to make out his expression.
I blinked and quickly righted the hose, which had been spraying the mailbox. “If by working better you mean breaking my bones and skin, then no thanks.”
Chuckling, he propped a drink on the driveway next to me. “For you.”
I stared at the cup, then reached out and wrapped my hand around the condensation-soaked cardboard. “A shake?”
“Vanilla.”
I didn’t ask how he knew. If I’d learned anything about Everett Taylor and his mysterious ways, it was that he paid attention even while seeming perpetually indifferent.
Sipping from the straw, I felt my eyes flutter. “God, so good.”
He took it from me, taking a sip, then set it on the concrete. “Hop up.”
Tilting my head, I frowned. “Why?”
He didn’t elaborate; he just stood there with the sun
still disguising his expression. I could guess at it, though. Without needing to see, I knew his brows were pinching with impatience.
Sighing, I got up and went to turn the hose off. When I returned, Everett was standing before the skateboard, holding his hands out toward me. “Get on.”
“I was on it. Then you kicked me off.”
“Clover,” he pressed.
“Fine.” I set my bare feet upon the coarse grip-tape and squealed a little when the board rolled.
Everett caught my wrists. “I said take my hands.”
“You said no such thing; you merely held them out.”
I could see his face just fine now, and the bemused curl to his lips grated. Then, slowly and with our eyes locking, I watched as all humor fled his while his hands crawled down to mine.
They were warm, callused, gentle, and strong. A prickling sensation danced over the nape of my neck, and my belly warmed faster than my face. “I’m going to fall.”
“So fall,” he said, low and confident. “I’ll be here to help you get back up.”
I felt it then, that irrevocable shift inside. As if somehow, someway the vibrancy of the world had dripped away, and the only color that remained was us.
Tugging my hands, he helped me roll off the curb to the street. He laughed louder than I’d ever heard before when I screamed, pitching forward into his chest, and breathing hard. “I could’ve died.”
“Don’t say that.” He sobered, and his arms seemed to squeeze me close for all of a second, and then he was straightening me on the board. “Back we go then, chicken shit.”
“No,” I said, refusing to release his hand. Staring down the cul-de-sac, I looked back at him and grinned. “Just once.”
Watching me for a beat, he shook his head. “This was a bad idea.”
“This was the best idea,” I said, pushing off with my foot, and then I lost my grip on his hand, my arms pinwheeling as the skateboard carried me faster and faster down the street.
I didn’t even have time to scream; the curb was approaching, and my heart was lodged in my throat. It was all I could do to keep upright, my hair coming loose from my braid and tangling around my face.