Falling for Forever

by Melissa Chambers

  He covers his heart with his hand, and I get a little chill.

  “This week’s assignment will be for you and your partner to cohesively decide on three original melodies from any song you know and present these melodies to the class on Monday. I want to know why you both feel they’re all three original melodies, how they differ from every other song out there, and most importantly, the emotion the music evokes inside each of you. I want to be clear that I want to hear from both of you for all three songs.”

  The bell rings, and by the time I have my books gathered, Miles has already left the room. I catch up with him in the hallway. “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey.”

  I think I just caught an icy wind. “How was the rest of your weekend?”

  “Uh…good.” He stops at his locker and puts his books in. I wait for him to elaborate on his answer, but he doesn’t.

  My heart stings at his brush-off, so I adjust my books over my chest, feeling protective. “Okay. So…did I do something wrong?”

  “That was just freaky on Saturday morning, okay?”

  I take a step back. “Wait, are you telling me you’re scared off by my dad?”

  He crumples up his face. “No.”

  “That’s it, isn’t it? My dad scares you.”

  He takes off his glasses and cleans them on his shirt. I love him without his glasses.

  “This is just…a lot. We have the talent competition coming up. I think we should just…be partners right now. Don’t you think?”

  I take a second step back, a huge purple bruise forming on my heart. He scratches his forehead, looking anywhere but at me.

  Shane walks up. “You ready?” This gets Miles’s attention. He meets Shane’s gaze. Shane nods at him. “What’s up?”

  Miles nods back. “Not much.”

  “Yeah,” I say to Shane. “I’m ready.”

  After we get out of hearing distance, Shane says, “Man, that didn’t look good. Everything okay?”

  I nod, my body feeling like it’s turning numb.

  “So, I guess you two aren’t…”

  “Nope,” I say.

  Shane nods. “Okay.” He smiles. “Does this mean we can—”

  “Nope.”

  “Got it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Miles

  I sit on the front lawn next to Dev and Nat, staring at the backs of Jenna’s and Shane’s heads as they laugh and flirt with each other.

  “It’s for the best, man,” Dev says. “You’re gonna thank me come December when you’re competing in that talent show with no connections to her.” He points at Shane. “And that guy’s going to be throwing it so his girlfriend can win.”

  I know he’s right, but this is so much harder than I ever thought it would be. It’s been four days, and all I can do is think about Jenna. I can’t study. I can’t read. I can’t compose. I can’t figure out an original art concept for my talent show performance. I’m starting to wonder if I should try to start things up again just so I can get back to normal. But I think my definition of normal has been altered severely since the day she stepped back into my life.

  I’ve had breakups before, but this isn’t like that. We didn’t really break up. We barely even got started. I thought it would be best to end it now before I got too close, but what’s happened instead is I can’t quit thinking of what could be with her.

  Dev did advise me against starting something with her, which he is right about, but what happened with her dad on Saturday morning freaked me out. Her talking about condoms and us kissing in front of him, like that was something they would normally discuss, put my stomach in turmoil. I have zero experience with actual sex. I always sort of thought I would lose it with a girlfriend who was losing it at the same time and we would suck together.

  I don’t know if my ego can take sucking with someone who knows what she’s doing. I get A’s in every class I take, I get respect from most kids who don’t even know me because of my compositions, and I have every intention of working my ass off to ensure I win that talent show. Sucking at sex with someone who knows what great sex is like isn’t something I’m sure I’m ready to deal with.

  Greta and Jasmine walk up to Shane and Jenna, and then they sit down in front of them.

  Nat motions at the group. “See, now look at that. She’s taking our women.”

  “Nobody’s taking anything,” I say. “They’re having a conversation.”

  They all crack up laughing at something, even cool Jasmine. Okay, so maybe she’s taking them a little bit.

  “Where’s Nicolette?” Nat asks.

  “Still pissed at me,” Dev says. “I’m really starting to wonder why I’m playing this game with her at all.”

  “Sex,” Nat says.

  Dev points at him. “That’s part of it. But I really am into her. It’s like I’m caught in this vacuum with her. I want out, but then like this week when I am out, it’s all wrong. I just want back in where it’s safe.”

  “And you’re having sex,” I add.

  He shrugs. “That, too.”

  “Fuck sex,” Nat says.

  I peer past Nat to look at him. “Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

  “Sounds like something someone who’s not having sex would say,” Dev adds.

  “I’m serious,” Nat says. “It’s like all we ever do is focus on trying to get it, but then look at Dev. He’s stuck with a girl who drives him crazy because he doesn’t want to quit getting it.”

  Dev raises his eyebrows. “So you’re just going to not have it?”

  Nat shrugs. “It’s not like a law that you have to. I mean, you don’t like get fined or something if you don’t.”

  I sit back on my hands, thinking something might be wrong if Nat and are on the same page about something.

  Greta and Jasmine make eye contact with us and wave. Jenna turns, and then turns right back around when she sees it’s me.

  “Man,” Dev says. “She really does hate you, doesn’t she?”

  I give him a look and then stand.

  “Where are you going?” Nat asks.

  “To try to figure out how we’re going to get our assignment done for Monday.”

  “You’ll thank me later, dude,” Dev says.

  Greta holds her hand over her eyes as I approach. “Hey,” she says, all smiles. Just one more thing Jenna brings to our lives—getting Greta out of her shell.

  Jenna looks up from her lap, head tilted, expression unreadable.

  I motion toward her. “Do you want to talk about how we’re going to do our assignment for Monday?”

  Greta and Jasmine get up. “We’ll see you two later,” Jasmine says. She gives me a knowing look as she passes by me.

  Shane stands, too. “I’ll see you in Debate, Jenna.”

  Jenna doesn’t stand, so I kneel down to her level. “How do you want to do the assignment?”

  She shrugs. “I’ll come up with two songs and you can come up with two. We’ll compromise on one.”

  My heart burns at the empty look in her eyes. “We’re supposed to do it together.”

  She leans backward on her hands. “You said you didn’t want to hang anymore.”

  I look at the grass for help, but nothing. “Well, this is for an assignment.”

  She huffs a laugh. “Oh, okay. Are we going to pretend we can’t cheat a little and do this on our own?”

  My insides ball up in frustration. “We have to make a presentation…explain what we love in each song. How can we do that if we don’t even know what songs we’re doing till Monday?”

  She gets to her feet and wipes the grass off her ass. “I’ll text you mine.”

  She starts to walk off, but I grab her arm. She jerks it away, and I see how badly I hurt her. I want to erase Monday and rewind all the way to last Friday night and play back our time together over and over.

  “Just, why don’t you come over after school today? I’ll take you home after we’re done.”

  She fo
lds her arms over her chest. “To Cliff Ridge?”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “It’s an hour and a half away. That’s three hours’ round trip for you.”

  “So?”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Your parents are going to let you do that?”

  “I won’t tell them. I’ll say we’re going to hang somewhere.”

  She lifts her chin. “What makes you think I don’t have plans? It’s Friday night.”

  My stomach falls with disappointment. “Do you have plans?”

  “Yes. I’m going to Cliff Ridge’s homecoming game.”

  I frown, looking down at the ground. “With your friend Chloe?”

  “No, actually. With a group of guys we used to hang with at Cliff Ridge. Georgia Tech’s got a home game, so she’s going down there.”

  Jenna with a bunch of guys. This idea isn’t helping.

  She glances over at the sound of a car horn on the street. “I’m not just going to cancel my plans because you wait all week to let me know you’ve got a conscience about cheating.”

  “I don’t expect you to.”

  She looks me up and down, her eyes full of disappointment or anger, probably both. “What about tomorrow night? My dad’s got a gig at the Bluebird. I could ride in with him.”

  My chest unwinds with relief. “That works for me.”

  She turns away from me. “Text me your address.”

  “Will do.”

  I drop the tension in my shoulders, one hurdle crossed. Now I’ve got to figure out how I’m going to play Saturday night. I could get through the assignment and let her go. Or I could get my sanity back.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jenna

  My mom finishes pulling the last lock of my hair straight with her round brush and hairdryer. She silences the loud hum of the dryer and sets it down. Then she considers me in the mirror’s reflection. “You never did look like me, you know.”

  “Yeah,” I say, because she’s right. I’m a daddy’s girl, down to our hair and our faces. I look nothing like her with her straight, dark hair and her curvy hips, her C-cup. There’re people who talk about wondering if their mom slept with the mailman because they look nothing like their dad. But with me, it’s my mom whom I wonder if I’m really related to. But I know without a doubt I’m her kid. Otherwise she’d have been outta here a long time ago.

  She’s been quiet since I ditched my L.A. trip and started school at NACA. She’s always quiet, mostly because my dad and I together probably suck every drop of air out of the room. But she’s quieter than usual these days.

  “My work on your hi-lights is on display when your hair’s straight like this, isn’t it?” she asks.

  “Do you think it looks like crap?”

  She squints at me, pulling my hair out to the sides and letting it drop down. “No. I think it might look really cool like this.”

  “Good,” I say, “because I don’t have time to take another shower.”

  “So what is this tonight? Fancy date?”

  “No, study date,” I say.

  She frowns at me through the mirror’s reflection. “All this for a study date?”

  I stare in the mirror. “I just want to look good.”

  She brushes through my hair, considering me. I wiggle from her scrutiny.

  “Do you have a gig tonight?” I ask.

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “Symphony?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” she says, her hands losing a bit of their assuredness as she works my hair upward.

  I stare at her in the reflection. She acknowledges my gaze with a quick smile, focusing her attention back on my hair.

  Something’s off with her, even more so than usual. I could find out. She might not tell me, but I could ask, and her nonresponse would give it all away. You’ve been gigging a lot at the Chattanooga symphony. You’d think they’d give you a full-time slot, I’d say. She’d raise her eyebrows with a shrug, but I’d know by watching the unsteadiness in her eyes.

  I’d tell her to go. Make that please go. Don’t follow Dad and me to Nashville. We’re fine on our own. Get out of our lives because you never came back…not really.

  My dad walks into the room, his eyes sparkling at the sight of his two princesses doing girly crap together. My hair is the only bridge between my mom and me whether he wants to admit it or not. He looks between the two of us, so desperate for it all to be okay, for the three of us to be a real live family. I’m reminded why I keep my mouth shut.

  “Look at my beautiful girl,” he says. “I can see your face.”

  I turn from side to side. My face isn’t my best feature. My eyes are way too big for my thin frame, which would be fine if I had a cute nose like Sarah Hyland’s, but I don’t. It’s thin with a hump. And my lips look like Kylie Jenner’s before the injections. But this is what I’ve got to work with…no sense whining about it.

  “I think I like it straight,” I say. I like it better the other way, but I wanted to be different tonight…keep Miles guessing. I’m not comfortable with him having the upper hand, which I feel like he does right now. Anything to throw him off his game works for me.

  My dad adjusts his hands on the steering wheel and looks over at me. “So you really think I freaked this guy out last Saturday morning, huh?”

  “I know you did. He said as much.”

  He inhales a deep breath, puffing out his chest a little. “Do his parents know he stayed at our apartment Friday night?”

  “I don’t know. We haven’t been talking this week.”

  “Because of me?” he asks.

  I shrug. “And me. I guess he’s just not interested.”

  “Did he say that?”

  “No, he said it was for the best with the competition coming up.”

  “Ah. If the two of you are dating, how are you going to compete? That does make sense.”

  I frown at him. “I know it makes sense. I’ve been saying it myself.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  I adjust the seatbelt strap away from my neck. “The problem is he rejected me. Period. It hurt.”

  He nods. “How was the homecoming game last night?”

  “I didn’t go. Chloe’s in Georgia this weekend. Speaking of, I need to wish Landon a good game. He’s starting.” I pick up my phone from my lap.

  “He’s been starting a lot,” my dad says.

  “He’s badass,” I say with pride. I knock off a text to him.

  Me: Good luck, Landingdong. Break a leg.

  Landon: This is football, not theatre. Are you trying to kill me?

  I text him back a smiley face with the tongue sticking out.

  Landon: You know you could come see me sometime when you’re not busy ruling your new school.

  Me: Promise

  He texts me back a picture of himself with one eyebrow raised up high, and I laugh. I hold up the picture to my dad, and he gives it a quick look and a smile.

  The GPS shouts a direction. We’re entering a wooded neighborhood with really big, old houses…make that mansions with white columns and black wrought iron fences.

  “Did this guy tell you he lived in Belle Meade?” my dad asks.

  “No. Is that bad?”

  “Not bad. Just different from us.” He peers around at both sides of the road. “What do his parents do for a living?”

  “I don’t know. We haven’t gotten that far yet.”

  The GPS interrupts again, announcing that we’ve arrived at our destination.

  “Holy shit,” my dad says.

  We wind up a driveway toward a white brick and stone mansion with ivy crawling over it. A smaller house sits off to the side of it that might be bigger than our Cliff Ridge house.

  “This is your songwriting partner, right?” my dad asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did he write the latest Taylor Swift album?”

  I chuckle at the thought. “He hates pop. Thinks it’s basic.” I leave out the part
about him calling me basic.

  He puts our little Toyota truck in park, and we both get out. My stomach is all fluttery and weird at the idea of going into his house.

  My dad rings the doorbell and then looks at me, stifling a grin when chimes to rival Westminster Abbey jar us awake.

  A pretty brunette lady my dad’s age opens the door with a smile. “You must be Jenna.” She holds out a hand to me.

  I shake it. “This is my dad.”

  He holds out his hand to her. “Mack Quigley.”

  “What a pleasure to meet you both. Please come in.” She turns to the staircase. “Miles, Jenna’s here. Come meet her father.” My dad and I exchange a quick look.

  She points to her chest. “I’m Annette. So lovely to meet you.”

  Miles appears at the top of the stairs, and he blinks at the sight of me. That’s right. Eat your heart out, asshole. I chose my skinniest jeans, my tallest booties, and my tightest, scoop neck blouse to compliment my straight hair for the evening.

  “Hey,” he says, his cheeks coloring.

  He looks at Dad like he’s surprised to see him. I told him my dad was dropping me off. He sort of scoops his hair back nervously and messes with his glasses as he approaches us.

  Dad holds out a hand. “Mack Quigley. Nice to meet you, son.”

  Miles cuts his eyes over at his mom, and then back to my dad, visible relief flooding his face. “Miles.”

  “So you’ll be picking up Jenna here in a little while?” Annette asks my dad.

  “Yes. I’ve got a gig at the Bluebird. Eight o’clock show. I’ll be done by ten. Is that too late?”

  Her face lights up. “No, absolutely not. So you’re a musician?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I wrap my arm through my dad’s arm. “He’s a string player. Bluegrass. He can play any string instrument you hand him.”

  She smiles. “Oh yeah?” She turns her attention to Miles who pockets his hands. She looks back at my dad. “Actually, I was a string musician myself back in the day.” My dad nods with an impressed look. “Harp, among other things,” she says.

  “Now that’s one I definitely can’t play,” he says. “You don’t still have it, do you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have one in our formal living room. Would you like to see?”