Jacob, wearing his black cape, goes to the table with his cereal. “Daddy’s mad,” he informs me.
“I noticed.”
“He said something about having a party for the music industry without music was hassle-nine. He screamed that part before you got here.”
“‘Asinine’? He screamed that it was asinine,” I correct him.
He eats another spoonful of his cereal and crunches it thoughtfully before responding, “Yes.”
Don was a band manager?
I touch Jacob’s arm. “Put your bowl in the sink when you’re done, okay? I need to do something.”
“Okay.”
I head to my room, pluck my phone from its charger, and text Kyler.
“I’M BROKEN AND YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL, YOU’RE MY JULIET,
I MIGHT JUST BE YOUR ROMEO, THE ONE YOU CAN’T FORGET.”
Fire to Dust, Life-Defining Moments EP, “Lennon’s Song”
SIX MONTHS AGO, THE LAST thing I ever expected I’d be doing is sending a group text attempting to round up the members of my band for an emergency meeting, but six months ago, I also didn’t expect that I’d meet someone like her. If Lennon can steal her dad’s car, drive it to school, talk about us and her OCD in front of a full classroom of people, then I can do this. I have to because she’s worth it—and oddly enough, she makes me believe that so am I.
Need you all at my house with your stuff. Stat. 911.
Emmett is the first to reply. What’s up?
Last-minute gig.
The party next door is in full swing. Earlier in the evening I’d watched carloads of people arrive and the valet Josh hired parking their vehicles along their property until the space ran out. Then the valets switched to street parking, which pisses my dad off something awful every year.
Silas is the first to arrive. He points his finger next door. “Holy shit. We’re playing a house party?”
I nod. Zero chance I’m telling any of them what Josh does for a living or whom exactly we’re performing for. I’ll tell them after, when it doesn’t matter because I don’t need anyone getting stage fright, so I say as casually as I can, “Helping my neighbor out. Last-minute cancellation.”
“Cool,” he replies, “I’m glad you decided to play live again. You may never want to do a demo, but if we can play gigs, at least that’s a step up from garage band.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Big step.”
Emmett and Austin show up about fifteen minutes later. “I was at the gym,” Emmett complains. “And we would have been here sooner, but we had to park two blocks away. There’s dudes sitting in town cars just waiting all over the street.”
“I know. Listen, we don’t have a lot of time.” I pull the piece of paper from the back of my jeans and show it to them. It’s the set list I wrote out after Lennon texted me.
Emmett squints. “Lennon’s song? Aren’t we still working on that?”
“Yeah. I’ll do that acoustically. If that’s okay,” I add.
Austin grins. “You must really love that girl, bro. You’re doing a live song by yourself. That’s huge.”
Before I can respond, Macy comes out of the house, jumping up and down and clasping her hands under her chin. “Lennon said I could come!”
“What? Since when do you talk to Lennon?”
“Since now,” Macy says. “Get used to it. She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she?”
“Yeah,” I say. “She is.”
“I’m your sister. We’re bonded now.”
“You and Lennon?”
Macy just nods. “She also invited Mom!”
I don’t have time for this, so I face the guys. “Ready?”
They nod.
The expression on Josh’s face shows me he hadn’t been expecting us. As we set up, I see him walk over to Lennon and talk to her with a smile firmly established on his face. I’ve seen those smiles often, though, and they tell me that the person wearing them is pretending not to be taken by surprise.
The guests are tipsy enough to be having a good time, but not rowdy. Yet.
I strap my guitar around my neck and connect to its pedalboard. Silas, Austin, and Emmett perform the quickest sound check I’ve ever heard, and I step up to the mic.
The buzz of the crowd lulls.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” People stop milling about the pool and turn their attention to me. “I’m Kyler and this is my band, Fire to Dust. Josh, your host for the night, has graciously extended the invitation for us to play for all of you fine people.”
Josh is looking at me with a hard stare. I can’t tell if he’s hopeful or trying to warn me that I’d better not screw this up.
“This is our second gig,” I add.
Now he looks horrified.
“But we’re going to do our best to entertain you for a little while.”
A few of the women in the group cheer and it produces a ripple effect, so before it can die out, I sing. I sing the first song I ever wrote, then a ballad followed by three much more aggressive pieces. About midway through the third song, I notice people have stopped socializing all together. They turn, facing the makeshift stage, looking toward me. Some people’s bodies move instinctively along with the music. I give Silas a glance and he grins. He’s noticed, too.
After I do a few Nirvana covers, I know for sure people are entertained. Several of them look as though they could have been huge fans in their youth. Soon, we reach the bottom of the set list. “Lennon’s Song.” I swap my guitar for an acoustic, take a drink of water, and say into the microphone, “True story. I met a girl named Lennon.” As soon as I mention her name, people turn around to look at her. They recognize who she is, they know her name because, after all, her father is the host of this party. “Lennon taught me that life is way too short to waste. That you only get a certain window of time to seize the things that matter. I wrote this song for her.” To her I say, “Lennon, I fixed it. We aren’t tragic anymore.” I wink for her and explain to the partygoers, “Lennon’s heard several versions of this song, because I kept screwing it up, but she hasn’t heard this one.”
Someone claps boisterously while several women in the group bring their hands to their necklaces or cover their hearts.
I strum the guitar. I didn’t want to get overly complicated with the riffs because Lennon and me, we are plenty complicated, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Once you were untouchable,
A girl meant for my dreams,
Until I made you mine somehow,
And then you set me free.
No faith in fate to speak of,
Forever just alone,
You walked in and changed me,
And showed my heart it’s home.
The scars that burn inside my mind,
They fascinate you so,
You’re my fateful fairy tale,
I’m never letting go.
I bit the poisoned apple,
And garnered just a taste,
The sweetest sin I’ve ever had,
In you I found my place.
The scars that burn inside my mind,
They fascinate you so,
You’re my fateful fairy tale,
I’m never letting go.
I’m broken and you’re beautiful,
You’re my Juliet,
I might just be your Romeo,
The one you can’t forget.
The scars that burn inside my mind,
They fascinate you so,
You’re my fateful fairy tale,
I’m never letting go.
Where you go, I’ll follow,
I’ll drown inside your light,
Because you’re my fateful fairy tale,
And I’m your star-crossed knight.
The scars that burn inside my mind,
They fascinate you so,
You’re my fateful fairy tale,
I’m never letting go.
So stay with me, my sweetest sin,
Let me love you so,
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Because you’re my fateful fairy tale,
And my heart is yours to hold.
As the last chord fades and my gaze falls to Lennon. She’s in a blue sundress, standing beside Macy, Jacob, and our parents at the bar. Her hands are clasped underneath her chin, and she has a huge smile on her face. Even more shocking, Josh is smiling, too.
Lennon brings me an ice-cold lemonade after our performance. For such a small group of people, they were so loud. We’re standing poolside, and I’m hoping I don’t look half as sweaty as I feel, when a guy with red-rimmed glasses and a pinstripe suit approaches. Lennon grins wildly. “Levi James Linderman!” she exclaims. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
Josh stands behind him while he holds up his wineglass. “Surprise. Your father invited me a while back. I guess I forgot to mention it.” He looks at me. “Impressive performance,” he says. “You’re very talented.”
“I’d have to agree,” Josh says. “Perhaps I owe you another apology. Seems I’ve underestimated you.”
Lennon beams.
“Thank you, Josh.” I pause and look at the glasses wearer. “And?”
Lennon must notice. “Kyler, this is Dr. Linderman.”
I extend my hand. “Nice to meet you, and thanks.”
Dr. Linderman’s grip is firm. “Ah, the elusive Kyler. It’s truly a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Before the conversation goes any further, another man approaches, dressed in a more expensive-looking suit. He reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out a business card. “Kyler?”
He says my name as a question, so I answer him with one. “Yes?”
“My name’s Bradley Whittaker. I work for Springboard Records.”
A fourth man approaches. “Trying to poach him already, Whittaker?” He, too, takes a business card out of his pocket. “I’m Michael Trevanni. I work for Electrified Records. If you aren’t signed with anyone, let’s talk.”
Silas is looking at me. I’m looking at Lennon. One more life-defining moment coming up. As long as they’re with her, nothing else matters.
I take the business cards as two more men approach. Josh steps in front of me. “Looks like you and your bandmates are going to need a manager. I’d like to help you guys find one, if you’re interested.”
I look at Silas, Emmett, and Austin. Macy’s mouth is hanging open. My mom stands beside her, eyes glistening with tears. And when I look at her, I recognize something in her eyes. The spark behind them that believes in magic. It’s the one I’ve been looking for since I was six.
“Yeah,” I tell Josh. “I think we’d be interested.”
FACT: I’M SO IN LOVE WITH KYLER BENTON.
HE’S THE BEST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED TO ME.
THE TREE HOUSE IS MY favorite place in the whole world. It’s Kyler’s secret space, and for reasons I may never fully understand, he decided that I belong here with him. This is where I fell in love with him, and the place where I hope I never stop finding out all of the brilliant things that swirl inside his mind. We’re sprawled out on his mattress, my head in the crook of his arm while he plays with my hair. I listen to his breathing, soft and even as the breeze outside carries a gentle song. I savor the quiet, especially the silence in my mind. Not so long ago, all my brain knew how to do was worry, but now, it takes frequent breaks from being anxious to appreciate all kinds of life-defining moments. Like this one, and every single moment to come after it.
“This is my favorite thing,” I whisper.
His chest rises with a soft chuckle as his fingers comb through my curls. “Keeping your standards pretty low for Bel Air, Davis,” he teases. “Spending time with me in my tree house. Cheap. Conveniently located and barrels of unparalleled fun.”
I tap my fingers on his chest. “Shut up. As if this isn’t the best thing.”
He brushes a strand of hair from my face. “Yeah,” he agrees, “it pretty much is the best thing. Maybe it’s the best thing in the entire Milky Way and Andromeda galaxies combined.”
I tip my head to look at him. “Definitely. Not maybe. Are you nervous about tomorrow?”
His tongue darts across his lips before he speaks. “No, I won’t be nervous until like three seconds before. What about you?”
“Absolutely. I’ve been nervous for the last few weeks.”
“Don’t be,” he says. “Be your weird-ass self. They’ll love you. I promise. They’d be idiots not to.”
“My weird-ass self?” I laugh. “I’m just hoping I can make it through without ritualizing.”
“So what if you don’t?”
My eyes widen at this idea. “Oh my God, what if I don’t? That’s going to be so embarrassing.”
I sit up, but he smiles and pulls me back down. “Get back here. You have nothing to hide, nothing to be embarrassed for. If you have to ritualize, so what? All that means is a whole bunch of people who have OCD or know someone with OCD or love someone with OCD will feel like they have a voice. Ordinary people do ordinary things while people like you do extraordinary things.”
Those few simple words make me feel so strong, it’s like I’m made of steel.
“Don’t be ashamed of anything, Lennon. Be who you are. You’re amazing and you’re doing people a service, even if you don’t see it that way right now. Besides, there are definitely worse things than talking about a mental health problem that’s misunderstood on television.”
“What kind of worse things?” I ask him. “Like meeting with producers at the two major labels fighting over me?”
He turns his body and grins. “The struggle is real. Point is, tomorrow will be filled with big moments for both of us. You’ll have publicly kicked OCD’s ass and I’ll know my fate: plant technician, petroleum transfer engineer, or musician. What will the future hold? Exciting to think about, isn’t it?”
I giggle. “Plant technician? Petroleum transfer engineer? Don’t you mean gardener and gas pump attendant?”
“Maybe.”
“I love how your brain works,” I tell him. “It’s the strangest brain, but the coolest one.”
“Strange Brains. Could be a band name, Davis,” he whispers, and kisses my nose. “Think about it. Our slogan could be ‘Mental Wealth.’”
“Strange Brains. Mental Wealth.” I laugh. “That’s the best one yet.”
Lennon
Lennon from Maine
Lennon from Maine with Serious Issues
Lennon from Maine with Serious Issues
Who Sews
Lennon from Maine with Serious Issues
Who Sews and Is Broken
Lennon from Maine with Serious Issues
Who Sews and Is Broken and Beautiful
Lennon from Maine with Serious Issues
Who Sews and Is Broken and Beautiful
and Badass
…is mine
I NEVER CONSIDERED THAT the acknowledgments for a book would be harder to write than the book itself. If I were Kyler, I’d spend the next two pages arguing that there is no way to quantify a person’s place in direct relation to how much they’ve impacted one’s journey, thus earning their name a spot on this list. If I were Lennon, I’d spend the next two pages agonizing about the possibility of missing an acknowledgment, saying too much or too little. Am I being too personal or not personal enough? But I’m neither Kyler nor Lennon, so I’m going to give this my best shot.
I’m starting with Kieran Viola at Hyperion because quite honestly, GIRL POWER—fist pump! I’m decent with words except when they’re meant to say thank you to the person who one day decided to make a dream I carried for a lifetime come true. Thank you feels like a truly insignificant speck of a sentiment, but thank you, nonetheless: Thank you for believing in this story, thank you for believing in me, but mostly thank you for loving Lennon and Kyler as much as I do. You’ve made this entire experience educational, uplifting, and unforgettable. I’m truly blessed to have you in my corner. And another round of “thank you” to Mary Mudd, Marci Sende
rs, Amy Goppert, and everyone else on the Hyperion team—and to the talented Liz Casal and Torborg Davern for the book’s beautiful cover and an interior design that illustrates Lennon and Kyler’s story perfectly.
To my agent, John Silbersack. Thank you for having such faith in me from the beginning. I still remember running the idea for this book by you. I hung up the phone absolutely intoxicated by the possibility of the words that were about to flow. Each time I sent pages to see what you thought, you were so supportive and enthusiastic. I’m so grateful for your patience when I let anxiety best me and emailed you more than I should, and for your genuine appreciation for my firm beliefs in odd signs from the Universe. You take this all in stride and still offer me a warm smile and great conversation each time we meet. Your constant guidance, gems of considerable bookish wisdom, and support throughout my writing journey fill me with immense amounts of gratitude. Thank you.
My Wattpad4 (plus more) girls: Monica Sanz, Rebecca Sky, Erin Latimer, Fallon DeMornay, and Lindsey Summers. It doesn’t matter if we’ve been together since the beginning, or we’ve picked you up along the way, the end result is the same. You girls are my sisters. We started sharing writing and now we share our lives. I can’t imagine a single step of this journey without you fearless females by my side.
Monica and Fallon. Double shout-out: Thank you for reading literally every single first-draft line of dialogue or narrative that I thought was good when I texted them to you (sometimes relentlessly). Thank you for never telling me to stop but for always telling me to keep writing instead. XOXO
To my little family: Jason, Dani, Trent, and Rylee. I love you guys more than the Milky Way and Andromeda galaxies combined. I’m mostly baffled but also grateful that you put up with me, not just when I was writing this but quite frankly, in general. I know I’m aggressive in most of my pursuits, which sometimes results in me locking myself away to write while I leave you to fend for yourselves. I can be a little hard to deal with sometimes, especially when I’m in the writing zone. Eternally grateful for your support and understanding. And to my children, please remember this: Don’t let anyone tell you what your dreams should be. Only you get to decide that. This book is proof.
All Our Broken Pieces Page 30
