The Right Song

by Shane Morgan

  Surprised, I ease off the wall. There’s a slight tug in my chest and I have to drive my eyes away from his to calm the feeling. I wonder why he just happens to make me feel so on edge and curious.

  “Hi,” he says, in that deep, buttery-smooth voice of his.

  “Hey,” I answer, looking up at him once I’ve gotten rid of the odd sensation in my chest. I take him in. He’s dressed in a white t-shirt, dark pants, and black sneakers. His hair looks ruffled and wet, or maybe he uses gel.

  “What’s up?” I ask, acting cool.

  He eyes me with a worried expression on his face. I glance at his thin lips as he parts them and asks rather poetically, “You all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” I reply.

  I’m a bit puzzled. Why is Daegan asking me that when he was so rude earlier?

  “Why do you care?” I ask, confused.

  He sticks his hands in his jeans pockets. “You seem down, that’s all. You need to stop looking so unhappy if you want me to sketch you.”

  To my surprise, this news perks me up. “You’re really going to?”

  He shrugs. “Yeah. Like I said, you have a nice face.”

  I’m thrilled about having him sketch my portrait. Being an artist makes me admire other forms of art.

  But seriously, he thinks my face is only nice?

  I dismiss the silly feeling. “Cool, so do you need a photo?”

  “I remember every outline,” he affirms. That makes me feel funny. Not spooked, just funny.

  I don’t want him to see he has an effect on me, so I decide to escape his presence. “Well, I look forward to seeing it. Thanks. But can we talk later? I’m performing in a bit.”

  I motion towards the stage. Daegan nods and steps out of my way, touching my elbow gently before I walk off.

  “I’d like to hear you sing again, Aurora.”

  Bewildered, I freeze. I turn back to him to dispute this. “I’ve never—”

  “I heard you singing in the gym last winter,” he interrupts. “You were working on ‘Crept inside me’. You sounded so good.”

  I try to say something, only my voice is stuck somewhere south in my throat. The fact that another person besides Alex heard me sing is just… it makes me feel shy all of a sudden.

  Violated, that’s the word.

  I’m upset that Daegan heard my voice, and at the same time, I have this weird feeling in my stomach again that I can’t understand.

  “So you’ve been spying on me?” I finally say, sounding like a frightened little girl.

  Daegan smirks, unashamed. “We just happened to be in the same place at the same time. I hope I can hear your voice again. And soon.”

  “That’s too bad because I’m not a singer. I’m a songwriter. I don’t want to sing—”

  “Maybe it’s because you’re not singing the right songs,” he cuts me off, provoking me. I don’t know why, but now he has me unable to walk away.

  We fall into silence, surveying each other, trying to unravel the other’s thoughts. To make matters worse, David Cook’s ‘Time Marches On’ begins to play. This song has a tendency to stir up my emotions. I hate it, especially now.

  Sorry Mr. Cook.

  The way Daegan stares at me isn’t the same way Alex looked at me earlier tonight.

  Daegan has no hesitation. No fear. He wears a poker face that enforces my interest, and once again, he has me fascinated.

  “Hey, dude!” Drew jerks me out of this hideous spell. He cuts to Daegan then flicks back to me, and already I can see assumptions forming.

  “Anyway,” He shakes his head and rudely steps in front of Daegan, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Let’s go get ready. We have less than ten minutes before we tear this place down.”

  I slap his arm and look over his shoulder. Daegan is walking away. “Sorry,” I call out to him, but he says nothing in return and keeps moving through the crowd.

  Drew tows me to the prep room.

  “Well, well, well,” he chuckles as we enter. “Daegan Stone? I have to say, even though he’s a bit on the dark side, I rather him than that ass Milo.”

  “Stop.” I smack him on the top of the head.

  Chris looks at us with, baffled. “What about Daegan Stone?”

  “Nothing,” I answer before Drew says anything.

  “Why didn’t you guys tell me about Cali, anyways? And Drew, are you taking Emma?”

  “Um…” He picks up his bass with his back turned to me.

  Chris shrugs. Both are acting weird.

  I’m about to ask what’s up when Alex enters the room, tension coming in with him.

  They glance at him then back at me, appearing awkward. It seems he told them about what happened before I had the chance. I didn’t consider how his feelings would affect all of us from here on. I hope he can numb them, at least for the sake of the show. It shouldn’t be too hard. I’ve been numbing so much for such a long time.

  Once the MC introduces us, I feel the adrenaline start to rise. We step onto the stage and fall into our positions.

  My fingers ease into the strings, and 'Underneath’s' melodies fires off. My favorite part of the song is the hook, where the riffs are excruciating and connote a lot of pain.

  So maybe now I’m not good for you

  You think my love is untrue

  But I know one day, you’ll open your eyes

  And you’ll see how you ruined it for you…

  Alex raises the intensity. I can hear the sadness in his voice. I am sorry for causing it but it’s better this way. He’ll leave soon and will get over his feelings for me. At least I hope he will.

  As the crowd consumes the words of the song, I begin searching for something, someone.

  Him.

  I have no logical explanation for wanting to see Daegan’s reaction in particular. When my eyes land on the mysterious guy, I notice that he is mouthing the words to the song, to my song. The spotlight steadies on the stage, but I see Daegan easily in the dark crowd.

  My eyes remain on him as we sing the second chorus together.

  You sucked the life out of me

  And left me to die

  Your touch was like poison

  My heart was a sacrifice

  I despise ‘Underneath’ now and anticipate the end of the song. I don’t like the way Daegan looks singing it—the raw emotion of sadness that’s etched on his face, and I hate that it’s my words causing it.

  This isn’t even written based on my personal experience, only from Chris’ break-up with his girlfriend who was a grade ahead of us.

  I’m relieved when we finally switch to more up-tempo songs. Daegan slips out of my sight before we wrap up the last one.

  As soon as the performance comes to an end, I sneak off while the guys relax in the prep room.

  What do the words of ‘Underneath’ mean to him? Was he in love and ended up with a broken heart? I don’t understand why, but I have to find Daegan so he can tell me what made him connect with the song so much.

  I peer over at the bar and scan every desolate corner in the lounge. He’s nowhere in sight.

  “Aurora,” a silky voice says my name. It’s not Daegan’s poetic and trance-like tone, though it is familiar.

  I spin around and see Milo beaming at me. “Hey, that was a cool performance. Your band was great, and you were just… wow!” Milo seems awestruck. He grins from ear to ear.

  Well, it’s about time you see what you’ve been missing, I think to myself.

  “Thanks,” I say instead, sounding as if I don’t care.

  I should be happy. Milo has finally seen my talent, and he likes it, still I feel so recklessly determined to find Daegan. The obvious feelings that song stirred up in him has once again piqued my curiosity about this mysterious guy.

  “Well, don’t look so disappointed,” Milo jokes, appearing confused as he notices I’m a little distracted. “Are you looking for someone? Maybe I can help.”

  He glances around and reality sl
aps me in the face.

  Milo is here, dumbass. He’s talking to me after all this time.

  I shake my head, becoming myself again. Then I give him my full attention. “No one,” I say, leading him to the exit so I can get some fresh air.

  Why am I even looking for Daegan when Milo is the one I like, the one I’ve wanted all these years? That doesn’t make any sense.

  He leans against the wall, watching me as I wipe beads of sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. For a moment, I picture Milo as a musician and being fully drenched after a show.

  The image is so sidesplitting. Milo isn’t the type to play in bands. No. He’s the type that goes off to college to study Oncology and do something important, like find a cure for cancer.

  “So,” he starts. “I didn’t know you were good with a guitar. How long have you been playing in… Dies, um, what is it?”

  I’m kind of upset to hear he has no clue whatsoever about my band, not even when the name is right in front of his eyes.

  Feigning a smile, I point to the top left side of my black tee. “We’re called Days End, and I’ve been playing with my friends since I was fourteen. But spent most of my childhood air playing while listening to Joan Jett and Slash—” I stop blabbering, seeing he’s puzzled.

  His eyes narrow to slits as he asks, “Who are they?”

  “Never mind, it’s no biggie,” I say, changing the topic.

  “No, tell me. I want to know,” he prods, sticking his hands in the back pockets of his faded blue jeans.

  A light breeze whisks by. I smell the strong scent of his earthy cologne. It leaves a cool sensation in my nostrils. I like it.

  “Hello, Aurora?” Milo waves his hand in front of my face.

  Shuddering, I zap back to him. “Yeah?”

  He chuckles. “It’s like you zoned out.”

  “Oh, no,” I say quickly. “I was just thinking that it’s nice talking to you again.”

  He sighs and glances away. “I’m sorry I didn’t keep my promise.” I’m not sure which promise he is referring to, but I really don’t want to hear about it now. I’ll only get shy and feel embarrassed if he mentions some cute thing we said to each other back when we were kids.

  He doesn’t rehash anything too awkward, but he does spend the rest of the conversation recollecting old times and showing no interest in the present.

  Tired from leaning against the red brick wall, he straightens and gestures toward a stone bench near the parking lot.

  We walk over and sit inches apart. Even though my stomach is bubbling over with intimate feelings from being in such close proximity, Milo seems unfazed.

  “I can’t believe I let some silly thing like you fighting for me when we were kids made me not want to stay friends with you,” he says, shaking his head.

  I half-smile and search my brain for a way to get us moving on to more modern things. Like, what else does he enjoy aside from soccer and science? I know nothing about the grown up Milo, so I’ll just have to go for it.

  “Where do you usually hang out? I know you don’t come here at all?”

  That sounds fair enough.

  Milo slouches, which is unusual for me to see as he’s always sitting with such good posture when he’s in class.

  “Well.” He draws in a long breath and exhales before saying, “When I’m not at soccer practice or at a game, I’m mostly in the gym, studying, or hanging out with my friends at Denny’s. That’s about as much fun as I have.”

  Doesn’t sound like fun at all.

  I keep going. “How about music? What do you listen to now? I remember when you were younger you liked Classical and Opera.”

  He laughs. “That’s because those were the only music played in my house. These days I don’t really listen to anything. That’s why I’m so unaware of who Joan Jett and… that other person is. But they must be great if you like them.”

  He flashes me his gorgeous smile and my breath stops for a second. His charm emanates from his body so effortlessly. I can’t help but blush, even more when he asks, “You wanna hang out sometime? We should catch up.”

  “Yeah, I’d like that,” I answer fast, like a perky cheerleader at her school’s pep rally.

  “Cool.” He grins wider than ever, showing off glistening whites. “Well, it’s getting late, and I bet you want to get some rest after that performance. So I’ll walk you to your car.”

  Keeping my excitement at bay, I nod in my agreement.

  Milo walks me to the Volvo, reaching into his pocket to take out his iPhone as I open the car door.

  “Put your number in so I can call you,” he says, reaching his cell to me.

  Keying my number in, I can’t help but question whether or not this is all out of friendship or if there’s another meaning to it.

  I hand him back his phone and hop inside my car. He closes the door for me.

  “Well, see you tomorrow then.” He waves lightly as I turn the key in the ignition and start the engine.

  “See you,” I say, smiling like a moron when he walks off and disappears into the night.

  Recovering from my senselessness, I peer behind to back out of the parking lot. That’s when I realize my guitar isn’t in the car.

  Great! I’m leaving my most precious asset behind all because I was too busy talking to my crush.

  I turn the car off and rush back inside the lounge to retrieve my guitar. There are still some kids from school, as well as a few others, lingering about.

  I pass by everyone and enter the prep room, only to see that my guitar is gone. I’m guessing either Drew or Chris took it when they didn’t see me come back.

  Feeling around in my pockets, I take out my cellphone to call the guys. When I press the button, I notice the screen doesn’t light up.

  The battery is dead.

  “Nice,” I hiss, and turn to leave.

  As I push the door open, my eyes meet with a delightful pair of browns. A soft gasp escapes my mouth and that sensation from earlier swishes through my stomach again.

  Leave me alone already!

  “I thought you left,” Daegan says, staring at me like I’m a lost puppy he’s taking pity on.

  “I was about to. I came back for my guitar, which I can’t find and I’m not sure if my friends took it with—”

  “Drew has it,” he cuts me off.

  Relief floods me. It doesn’t stay for long. That speck of joy evaporates as Daegan sneers, “Too caught up in Milo it seems.”

  The smile I had before is slapped away, and I have nothing to comeback with except, “What’s that got to do with anything, much less you?”

  He cuts his eyes away from me and brushes my shoulder as he walks past me and into the prep room, going out back to the dumpsters. He shuts the door with a thud behind him. I can’t shake the feeling that he seems disappointed, hurt, and even jealous.

  Earlier tonight I thought he wanted to talk to me, now he’s being cold again. Why do I care? Daegan doesn’t affect my life in any way, and I’ll be hanging out with Milo Whitmore from now on.

  That’s all the excitement I need.

  Still, and oddly enough, I find myself sauntering out back and standing behind Daegan. I watch him dawdle in front of the burning garbage, pulling a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket.

  He unfolds it.

  As I step closer, I realize his hands are shaking, holding the sketch of the beautiful woman from earlier.

  “Who is she?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me.

  He turns and frowns at me, yet he answers my question. “My mother.”

  Carefully, I observe the sketch. Her eyes, the same deep, impenetrable and intense stare that Daegan has is looking back at me.

  It dawns on me as embers from the fire flare up, telling me what he’s about to do.

  I almost forgot about the cold air that follows Daegan Stone around Seville—the truth surrounding the death of his mother. In fact, she maliciously killed herself. I remember becaus
e it happened a year and five months after my parents died. I remember because I was, and still am, angry with her.

  My parents loved life. They wanted to live. And there she was, the selfish woman, blessed with life yet inappreciative of it.

  I tremble as the image of her suicide develops inside my head, but click out of it knowing what Daegan is about to do. Yes. It’s terribly sad that she took her own life, but still, what he’s about to do is even sadder.

  Is it too hard to keep anything of her around, even a sketch, one as seamlessly beautiful as the one he’s about to burn?

  I reach out to save the portrait as he lifts his hand. Daegan knocks my hand away and rips it in two, letting it fall into the fire. Her face, her hair, and every single significant detail he placed into it, all gone.

  After watching the flames consume the last shred, I turn and stare at him with pity. “Why did you do that? Why didn’t you save it?” I ask, baffled.

  “It’s none of your business,” he grunts, brushing my shoulder as he passes me and goes back inside the lounge, leaving me at sea and undoubtedly drenched in concern for him.

  Maybe Daegan is just like me, unable to move on from a tragedy no matter how many years have gone by. Maybe that is the answer to the scars on his wrist.

  8.

  I wake up the next day sprawled out on the living room carpet. I massage my temple as I sit up. The radiant morning sun makes me apprehensive about starting the day. After all, it has been a weird week so far.

  The sound of cooking utensils banging in the kitchen startles me. Aunt Leah is home. Why didn’t she wake me up when she came back and saw me sleeping in the living room?

  I pick up my songbook, remembering I’d written something last night. I don’t read over the lyrics though, checking my phone instead for the time. It’s almost 7 o’clock, and Mr. Rhys is giving a quiz in AP Calculus this morning. I can’t afford to be late.

  Jumping to my feet, I rush upstairs and into the bathroom to quickly shower and brush my teeth. Then I haul on black jeans, a navy blue top, and then grab my black spring jacket from the closet.

  I scurry back downstairs and into the kitchen for a quick bite. I know Aunt Leah won’t have it if I try to leave without eating something first.