The Way It Hurts

by Patty Blount

  “Yep, you did remember your shoes this time.” I angled my head and studied Anna closely. She was dressed and clean and was in a calm state of mind today. Plus, I wouldn’t be that long. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  Anna beamed her brilliant smile and headed straight for Dad’s car. I got her buckled into the seat belt, grabbed my phone, and shot Mom and Dad a quick text message to let them know I was taking Anna to the mall with me. Predictably, both of them immediately replied with the usual warnings and reminders. I assured them I knew the routine, started the car, and took off. I turned on the radio and let Anna pick the music. She enjoyed drumming her hands on her legs to the beat.

  When I’d parked, I pulled out a notepad and pen from the center console and wrote out the usual instructions and tucked them into Anna’s pocket. “You stay close to me, Anna. If you get lost and can’t see me, do you remember what to do?”

  She stared up at me, her blue eyes huge and a bit scared. Then she smiled and pulled the slip of paper from her pocket. “Help.”

  “That’s right.” I smiled back and put the paper back in her pocket. It showed my name, her name, my cell phone number, and her favorite song, to help calm her.

  Just in case.

  “Stay in your seat until I walk around the car, okay?”

  I got out, walked around to her door, and helped free her from the seat belt. I took her hand and led her toward the main entrance, dodging drivers looking for places to park and clusters of people carrying bags. The closer we got, the slower she walked. She clung to me with both hands.

  “It’s okay. You hungry? Want a snack?”

  Mom would flip out if she heard me bribe Anna with food, but luckily, the only witness to my rule violation couldn’t testify against me. Conscious of the stares aimed my sister’s way, I rolled my shoulders and walked tall, daring them all to say out loud what I knew they were thinking.

  No one had the guts.

  I led Anna to the cinnamon bun counter and ordered two, plus a couple of drinks. She behaved, standing calmly at my side while I paid for the food and found us an empty table. I dragged my chair around the table so I could sit next to her and cut up her bun. Anna was usually a messy eater, so I’d use one bottle of water for clean up. While she chewed happily, I looked around for Brett.

  “Eli. Music.”

  I pointed to the ceiling. “There’s music. Can you hear it?”

  Anna shut her eyes to find the melody. “No! No! No!” She sang loudly, causing more than a few heads to turn. I grinned and tapped my fingers on the table, trying to ignore that pit in my stomach that seemed to grow whenever she sang. She had pure talent that would never have the chance to develop. How many minds like Anna’s were there? Minds that could play piano concertos, sing arias, or solve that Hodge conjecture one of my teachers told us about if they weren’t trapped in this endless inward focus, while their siblings lived normal lives? There were flashes—no more than seconds long—of Anna’s brilliance.

  And then they were cut off.

  “La, la, la.” I tried to subtly change her tune so people nearby didn’t think I’d abducted her or something. Luckily, Anna picked up on it, mimicking me and stopping only long enough for bites of her cinnamon bun.

  “Elijah. Thanks for coming down.” Brett Shields strode toward our table, his ever-present folder tucked under one arm.

  I stood up and shook his hand. “Hey, Mr. Shields. This is my sister, Anna.” I touched her shoulder. “Anna, can you say hi to my friend?”

  “Hi.” She smiled but wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “Anna my friend’s name is Brett. Can you say that?”

  Anna kept smiling.

  “Oooh, you have cinnamon buns? Yum.” Brett tried to engage her.

  Anna gave him the side-eye, and I laughed. “It’s okay, Anna. He has his own snacks.” Reassured that her cinnamon bun was safe from poachers, she went back to singing. “Sorry, Mr. Shields. She kind of freaked when I left the house, so it was easier to just bring her along.”

  “Elijah, it’s fine. Really. I’m happy to meet her.”

  Okay. I breathed a bit easier. I sat back down, and Anna resumed her attack on her bun, adding in a few lalalas whenever the music moved her. Brett opened his folder and showed me some paperwork. “There are two events I have your band in mind for. The first is Saturday. You won’t be in the food court, though. We’ll be setting up on the first level, at the elevators.”

  I nodded, hoping like hell he couldn’t see the way my stomach just flipped over. The elevators in the mall were open glass that covered three floors near a water fountain feature. It was actually a bigger space than the food court, which meant—bigger audience. Holy shit.

  “We’d need you here first thing in the morning for setup and sound check, and you’ll play three sets throughout the day, each one an hour long. We’d prefer you did covers, but if you want to perform original music, that’s okay too, as long as there’s no profanity.”

  I nodded. That was a fairly common request, especially for metal bands like Ride Out.

  “The second date is the following Wednesday. There’s a fall fashion show we’re hosting. We’ll have a runway set up over there.” He indicated the south section of the food court. “We want Ride Out to play the accompaniment for the models.”

  Fall fashion in April? Okay then.

  “So we’ll be in the background?”

  “Exactly. Not much adoring audience for you that night, but still—it’s exposure.”

  I thought it over for a minute. Background accompaniment might mean Sam could potentially have a problem with it. Nick wouldn’t mind one way or the other.

  “Oh, and there’s one more thing. We’d like Kristen to model a few of the outfits.”

  “La!” Anna sang. I just blinked. Kristen…strutting down a runway? Something told me she’d love that. Which meant Sam would claim that this was exactly what he was worried about when I first invited Kristen to join us. He’d wanted our band to be about just the music not about Kristen’s good looks. Sam was wrong—Ride Out had to be about business too. And we had to have commercial appeal.

  Sam was a chick magnet, no doubt about it. He’d appeal to the girls in any audience. The musical talent was definitely a big factor for any hard-core experts. And then there was Kristen—she appealed to a much wider audience than the three of us put together. She’d bring in the younger girls, who were traditionally a pop music market.

  Kristen had mass market appeal in great big truckloads. I could see her strutting around onstage, wearing some hot little dress with her red leather boots. I just wasn’t sure I liked the idea of everybody seeing her that way—especially if they had her wearing bras and panties.

  I narrowed my eyes. “What kind of outfits?”

  Brett laughed. “Don’t worry—nothing from Victoria’s Secret.”

  Okay. That was good. “I’d have to check with Kristen about that part, but the band is definitely happy to return.”

  “Can you ask her now? She’s right over there.”

  I swung my eyes in the direction Brett indicated, and every person in that food court faded into the background, no more than white noise. My stomach coiled, and breathing started to hurt. There was a burst of power deep inside me, and the second my eyes landed on Kristen sitting with the surfer dude from last night, that power inside me converged into a single laser point: mine.

  But she wasn’t mine.

  I tried to tell myself that, but it did no good. I had no right to interfere. I had no right at all, but I was on my feet and stalking across the food court anyway.

  “Eli!”

  Anna’s panicked voice suddenly brought the entire food court back into focus, jolting me out of my hormone rage.

  “Oh, God. Sorry.” I hurried back to my sister. “Come on, Anna. Let’s say hi to Kristen. You can bring your bun.�
�

  “No,” she said with an emphatic shake of her head, and my frustration shot to red line levels.

  “Elijah, I’ll sit with Anna if you’d like.”

  I glanced at Brett. “Two minutes. I’ll be right back.”

  I strode across the court and watched Kristen laugh and take that dude’s hand. I fought down the urge—the need—to rip his hand from his body and beat him with it. They turned and saw me, freezing where they stood.

  “Elijah.” She sounded strangled.

  “Kristen.” I jerked my head in greeting.

  “Oh, um, this is Glenn.”

  I jerked my head again in some lame impersonation of giving a shit, but I didn’t so much as spare the dude a glance. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  She looked at Glenn for permission or something. He smiled and nodded, giving her hand an extra squeeze, and I wasn’t entirely sure, but I may have growled or something because Kristen shot me this glare of pure outrage. She walked about ten feet away, and I was right on her heels.

  “What the hell is your problem, Elijah?”

  “No problem,” I lied easily. “I’m here meeting with Brett Shields. He’s the event planner.”

  “Oh, right.” She nodded, her face smoothing back into its normal look.

  “He’s offered us two more gigs. One of them is a fashion show. He wants us to play the background music while models strut their outfits up and down the runway.”

  “Okay.”

  “He wants you on the runway.”

  “Me?” Her eyes popped wide. “Modeling what?”

  “Not sure what, except that it won’t be Victoria’s Secret.” The coil in my gut tightened even more when the thought of Kristen in lingerie slithered through my mind. I’d already entertained way too many fantasies along those lines. “You in?”

  She wrinkled her face and shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m supposed to be singing with your band, not letting you exploit me.”

  Exploit? “Whoa, whoa, back up.” I held out both hands. “It’s fall fashion. That’s it. If you think you can walk and sing at the same time, we’ll work that in so you can do both.”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Walk and sing. At the same time? Are you for real?”

  I sighed heavily. Here we go. “Look, it’s not easy to play guitar and sing at the same time. You admitted you don’t play any instruments. All I meant was that strutting down a runway and trying to sing—”

  “ELI!”

  My stomach crashed to my feet when I recognized the tone in Anna’s shriek. Full-out terror. She was about to explode. I shoved by Kristen and ran back to Anna. Her cinnamon bun was splattered on the floor beside her.

  “Anna, Anna, don’t cry, I’m here. I’m right here.” I crouched to her level, took her hands, and rubbed them gently.

  “Bun.”

  “Elijah, I’m sorry. She dropped it, and I was afraid to leave her alone to buy her another one.”

  “It’s okay, Mr. Shields. She’ll be fine. She has trouble processing stuff.” I lowered my voice and softened the cadence. “Anna, do you want to go home now?”

  She shook her head, great big tears falling from her eyes, and my heart cracked. “Bun.” She wrapped her arms around me and cried. I grabbed the empty chair next to her, sat down, and just rocked her while she sobbed, stroking her hair and trying to sing the “la, la, la” part of her favorite song.

  “Anna, Anna, look! Look what I have for you.” I slid my own untouched bun across the table with the one hand I had free.

  “Eli.” She buried her face in my shoulder, oblivious to all the disapproving looks getting shot at us.

  Two more hands appeared to take the carton from me.

  Shit! Kristen.

  I made some noise of protest, but Kristen just shook her head and sliced a chunk off the bun. “Hi, Anna.” Interested by the new voice calling her name, Anna looked up. “Do you want some?” Kristen held out a forkful of cinnamon bun. Her new guy hovered just behind her, shrinking under one exceptionally nasty look from a woman with three kids. Kristen cocked her head and glared right back, which made the witch turn purple and hustle her brood away.

  Anna’s grip on me tightened painfully. Aw, fuck. “Anna, Anna, look at me. Look at Eli. Kristen sings. Kristen likes music, just like you. Music, Anna.”

  She shook her head frantically back and forth, and panic surged through me. If she started screaming, someone was sure to call security, maybe even the police. I’d promised my parents I’d take care of her. Shit, I’d totally fucked this up. Mr. Shields looked like he wanted to bolt and forget he ever met me, the dirty looks were turning uglier, and Kristen’s new boyfriend kept staring at me like I’d just hatched out of a pod.

  Kristen slapped my arm. “Take out your phone.”

  What the hell? I stared at her blankly. She stood up, and in a clear, high soprano I’d never heard from her before, sang the first verse of “Carol of the Bells.” Stunned, I just gaped until she rolled her hands. Quickly, I grabbed my phone and cued up my piano version of the same song. Kristen started over again. People started exchanging confused glances and whipping out cell phones to record the spectacle. I added a few ding-dongs in tenor as background, knowing Anna would soothe faster if I sang too. Mr. Shields joined in and so did Surfer Boy.

  Anna lifted her head, fixed her eyes on Kristen, and started to sway to the rhythm. It was working. I swayed with her and pounded a hand on the table to add a little more focus, just as Kristen hit the chorus.

  Then a dozen people added their voices. It was fucking April, and we were singing a Christmas carol in the middle of the mall. I looked around, saw teenagers, an elderly couple, and a bunch of parents with kids stand up to sing, smiling at us. Holy hell.

  “Ding dong, ding dong.” Anna sang, and my limbs shook in relief. Kristen hit the last note, and applause broke out across the food court. Even Anna clapped. My eyes met Kristen’s across the table, and that tight coil in my stomach seemed to snap, then slam into my heart, and suddenly, I didn’t give a shit about the promise I made to Sam or the band or getting famous or even Anna. All I cared about, all I saw, all that mattered—was Kristen. I took her hand and pulled her toward me. She was there, right there, staring up at me with big blue eyes, and for a second, I forgot she hated me.

  “Kristen Cartwright and Elijah Hamilton from the band Ride Out, everybody! They’ll be playing right here on Saturday.”

  Brett’s off-the-cuff announcement got more applause from the crowd. Kristen gave them a theatrical wave and tiny bow. I scooped Anna up, grabbed the rest of the cinnamon bun, and hustled her to the exit, a single thought playing on a loop in my head.

  Damn. That was close.

  The thing was, I wasn’t entirely sure I meant Anna’s meltdown.

  14

  Kristen

  @Rosebud

  #TeamKristen!! #KrisVsEli

  @KyleHarmon

  When @kristencartwright can write like @elijahhamilton, we’ll talk. #KrisVsEli

  @Tomtom

  @KyleHarmon Hey, she can sing and she looks amazing. #TeamKristen #KrisVsEli

  @KyleHarmon

  @Tomtom I can make that cat scream if Hamilton can’t. RT @Mikey_T I made @kristencartwright scream! #CatCall #KrisVsEliVsMikey3way bit.ly/2lDS6Lxtr

  I stood by helplessly as Elijah practically dragged his sister out of the mall, his face pale and lips tight. I wasn’t sure he was even aware how touched he’d been by that small audience’s display of solidarity. Etta would have said he’d been overcome by emotion. That was her favorite phrase. I’d always thought it was hyperbole, but yeah… Elijah had been overcome. It was an amazing thing to witness. It felt oddly intimate, like a kiss with your eyes open.

  I turned to Glenn. “I should go. Give him a hand or something.”

  He nodded. “Yeah.
You should. Rain check on the treats, okay?”

  “You bet.” Impulsively, I stood on my toes and kissed his cheek. “Thanks, Glenn.”

  He blushed to his blond roots and waved a hand. “Didn’t do anything, except maybe push Mr. Hamilton’s buttons. That boy wants you bad.”

  A slow burn crawled up my neck. “No. He’s all music, all the time.”

  “I know. Trust me.” Glenn looked weirdly sad for a moment.

  “Um…it kind of sounds like you have some experience in this area.”

  Glenn laughed once. “Oh, yeah.” He glanced around, and when he was sure nobody could hear him, he leaned closer. “My ex was totally into somebody else and wasn’t honest about it. I took her at her word. She kept denying, but I still kept getting a vibe that something was wrong…and it was. I get that same vibe from you two.”

  I felt the blush spread heat from my neck to my face. Was Glenn right? Then why hadn’t Elijah made a move on me? Was it really all about the music or was something else happening?

  And why the hell did I care so much?

  “I’m so sorry,” I told Glenn.

  “I’ll survive.”

  He smiled and left, and I felt like a jerk. He was a great guy! Why couldn’t I like him the way he liked me?

  Because he wasn’t Elijah. Stupid, lead-singing jerk.

  I watched Glenn walk away and then typed out a quick text message to Rachel as I skirted around clots of shoppers at the entrance trying to inhale one last cigarette before entering the mall. I searched frantically up and down the parking lot, but I didn’t see Elijah and his sister anywhere.

  “Ding dong, ding dong!”

  I followed Anna’s bell-like voice to my left. As I got closer, Elijah’s deeper voice asking Anna questions made a warm tingle form in my chest.

  “Wow, how high can you go? La, la, la.” He sang each note progressively higher, and she mimicked him, going even higher than he could. “Oh, good girl!” He praised her, and it tugged at my heart. “See, all better now. Kristen sang you a pretty song, right?”