by Jordan Ford
My lips pull into a grin as I relive the exchange he had with his dad.
He’s got personality to burn.
And I like being around him.
Which means no matter what, I have to somehow make these guitar lessons last.
But unlike baseball, I don’t want to pretend to be useless to get what I want. For this, I want to be brilliant. I want to become so good that he wants to play with me just for the pleasure of it, and not because he’s helping me out.
12
Beautiful Souls
CAIRO
“This is nice.” Mom smiles at me while I chop the onion for dinner.
I blink my stinging eyes and snicker while she starts frying the ingredients for the curry.
“Aw, don’t cry, baby.” Rubbing my back with a grin, Mom takes the chopping board from me while I grab two tissues and bunch them into my eyes.
“I notice that you only ever ask me to help you cook on the nights we’re having onion for dinner.”
Mom snorts and shakes her head, scraping the diced onion into the pan. “I ask you to help me cook on the nights you’re actually around, which these days is hardly ever.”
“Hey, we’ve got some important gigs coming up. We need as much practice as we can get.”
“You guys already sound awesome. You need to make sure you find that balance between work and play. I don’t want you burning out. You’re only eighteen.” She glances over her shoulder, wiggling her eyebrows at me. “Unless of course you’re not really practicing and are actually staying late to get it on with Latifa.”
Rinsing my hands off, I dry them on a towel and resist the urge to flick it at her. If she were Dad, I’d go for it, but she’s Mom. And I would never do anything to hurt her, not even a little flick with a dishtowel when she’s hassling me about something that should be long buried.
“Mom,” I warn in a low voice. “That was one time, and you got home early.”
“And you were way too young to be doing that on my couch.”
“We didn’t sleep together!” I raise my hands in the air.
“Yeah, because I got home in time.”
“That was like two years ago. Latifa and I broke up just after that. Are you ever going to let it go?”
She stops stirring to spin and face me. “Probably not. I just can’t resist that embarrassed look on your face whenever I mention it.” Her tongue pokes out the side of her mouth and she winks at me.
I give her a deadpan glare, which just makes her laugh.
“This is the reason I don’t bring girls home. I wouldn’t want to inflict either of my parents on them.”
Mom snorts and glances over her shoulder. “So where are you getting hot and heavy, then?”
“Nowhere.” I give her a pointed look, an awkward lump forming in my throat as I mumble out the truth. “For your information, I have yet to lose it.”
“That’s good, baby. You just wait until you meet the right one. You’ll know.”
I adjust the ring on my finger and don’t respond. Talking sex with my mom doesn’t exactly bring out the conversationalist in me.
“But for all the girlfriends Latifa claims you’ve had, I’m surprised you’re still a virgin.” Mom’s eyes wrinkle at the corners. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m very glad that you are. I want you to wait until it’s perfect. And it can’t be perfect unless you’re with the right person. You’ve never seemed too loved-up. You know the giddy, floaty feeling?”
I shake my head.
“So you obviously haven’t met her, then. Although one thing I have noticed about you is that you don’t like them getting too close. I mean, you let them watch you perform, but you never invite them to practices or bring them here. It’s like you’re scared to let them in or something…which could make falling in love quite the challenge. Love at first sight doesn’t happen for everyone, you know.”
I work my jaw to the side and shrug. “Practices have always been band members only, so don’t read too much into it. You’re probably right, I haven’t fallen in love yet. I haven’t met a girl that I want to let in. Maybe when I do, I’ll bring her home to meet you. We can have sex on the couch when you go out.”
Mom laughs and reaches back to flick my chest with the back of her hand before concentrating on her curry base again. “Now, seriously. Tell me why you’re so busy right now. Is school getting too intense? Or is it just the extra band practices?”
“And the guitar lessons,” I murmur.
“Oh that’s right. That student you’re teaching.”
I swipe a finger under my nose and ask, “Do you want me to do anything else?”
“Yes, please. Can you measure out the rice and we’ll get that going.”
The rich scent of curry is already filling the kitchen. I breathe it in while I get busy grabbing the rice from the pantry. Although Mom was born and raised in California, her parents are Indian. She was raised on Indian cuisine, and we eat a lot of it. In saying that, Mom has learned how to make some of Dad’s favorites too.
But really, Dad would eat anything. He’s all about new experiences and trying different things. If it wasn’t for the fact that Mom’s parents lived in Armitage, who knows where we’d be living.
My parents met in Egypt.
That’s why they named me Cairo.
It was a love-at-first-sight thing and they’ll never let me forget it.
“So, how are the guitar lessons going?”
“Good.” I rinse off the rice. “She’s picking things up so fast. I can’t believe it’s only been a week. She already knows four or five chords and can play them really well, interchanging between them like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Man, if she could dedicate some serious time to practicing, she’d be killing it.”
“Why can’t she practice?”
I shrug. “She’s busy, and she doesn’t have a guitar.”
“Well, we should loan her one. Your father certainly has enough.”
“I know. And she’s using my spare one at school, but…” I dump the rice into the pot, wondering how much to say. I never lie to my parents. They’re not the kind of parents you have to lie to, so I don’t bother.
But this isn’t really my secret to share.
Mom turns away from her sautéing and peaks her left eyebrow at me. “But what?”
Covering the rice with water, I carry it over to the stove and get it going before looking at her.
Her eyes are so dark brown they’re nearly black. They’re eyes I’ve always been able to trust.
I smile at her, loving that she’s my mom. Not only is she beautiful, but she’s kind and funny too. I couldn’t get better parents if I tried.
I’ve gotta tell her the truth.
“Thing is, she doesn’t want anyone to know she’s learning guitar. There’s no point loaning her one because she can’t practice at home.”
“What?” Mom’s so surprised her question comes out like a squeak. “Why would learning the guitar be some big secret?”
“She says she has a lot of expectations from her family.”
Mom’s expression tells me she’s not buying it, so I keep going.
“I think her parents don’t want her getting distracted by playing guitar.”
“Is there something better they want her to be doing?” Mom tuts, stirring the curry before giving it a little taste.
Her nose wrinkles and she reaches for the spice rack.
“She’s a baseball girl. She’s really good, and I think maybe her family wants her to pursue that and not get distracted with music.”
“Oh, please. There’s room in anybody’s life for music.”
“You can say that because music is part of who we are, but not everyone’s musical, Mom. They don’t all appreciate it like we do.” I lean against the counter, crossing my ankles and staring into the living room. “I wish it didn’t have to be like that for her, but it is. And so I’m trying to help her as much as I can.”
“Sh
e shouldn’t be lying to her parents, though.”
“Who’s lying to their parents?” Dad’s voice arrives before he does.
Mom and I share a grin.
Dad appears, his dark hair mussed up from the wind outside. He scrapes his fingers through it before bending down to wrap his arms around Mom and giving her cheek a kiss.
“Smells good, mo leannan.”
Mom always turns to mush when Dad calls her that. It’s Gaelic for “my love” or “sweetheart” or something. She grins and looks over her shoulder so she can kiss his lips.
I look away, trying not to cringe while they share their little moment. I swear, they get more loved up the longer they’re together. I thought love was supposed to fade, but not for them. They still act like they’re newlyweds, giddy in each other’s presence.
I’ve never felt that kind of thing before.
What Mom and Dad have…that’s love.
I’ve cared about girls, but I’ve never had the giddy, floaty feeling. I wonder if I ever will.
Mom’s giggle forces me out of the kitchen.
“All right, we’re stoppin’.” Dad raises his hands and backs away from his wife. “Don’t be running off all grossed out.”
I stop with a sigh and slowly spin to face him. “I wasn’t grossed out. I was just giving you guys some privacy.”
“I can gross you out if you like. Your mum’s looking mighty fine tonight.”
“Oh, Alistair, stop it.” Mom laughs, slapping his arm.
“I just mean another wee kiss, love. Maybe a tap on the bum.”
“Behave yourself.” She gives him a look of warning but is fighting a grin the whole time.
Dad gives her butt a little smack as she turns back to the stove. She yelps and giggles, and I wonder if my parents are ever going to start acting like mature adults.
“Now…” Dad slaps his hands on the counter. “Who’s lying to who?”
I roll my eyes. “She’s not outright lying. She’s just not mentioning the guitar.”
“Honey, that’s kind of like lying.” Mom glances over her shoulder. “She should just tell her parents the truth.”
“Ah, we’re talking about the Max girl, then.” Dad raises his finger in the air. “Got it.”
I nod. “She’s getting good.”
“I know, I heard her yesterday. She’s picking it up quick fast.”
“She’s a natural. If she was really allowed to pursue this, she’d be amazing.”
“Do you want me to have a chat with her parents?”
“No!” I raise my hands. “Please, Dad, you said you wouldn’t say anything! To anyone!”
“I won’t. I haven’t. Calm down. It was only a suggestion.”
“I’m serious, Dad. If they find out, she’ll blame me and all trust will be gone. I told her she didn’t have anything to worry about. She can trust me. I can’t break that. I’m only just starting to pry her out of her shell. I don’t want to lose the ground I’ve made.”
Dad tips his head, really studying me.
I squirm a little under his scrutiny, tucking my hair behind my ear. “What?”
“You like her, don’t you?”
“Yeah, she’s cool. And I like being able to help her.”
“No, I mean you like her. Like you want her to be your next girlfriend, so you can kiss her and stuff.”
“Uh…I don’t know.” I cringe and scratch the back of my head.
Truth is, I think she’s beautiful. Yeah, I’m attracted to her, but I don’t want to go for it just yet. I’m helping her pursue her passion for music. That feels good, and I don’t know…pulling out the moves just makes it kind of creepy, like I’ve had this hidden agenda the whole time.
No, I’ve got it keep it friend-based.
Besides, she doesn’t make me giddy.
“Is she pretty?” Mom taps her spoon on the edge of the pot and turns to check out my expression.
I bob my head. “Yeah, she’s beautiful. Long hair, blue eyes, tight body.”
Mom rolls her eyes. “I don’t mean her appearance, Cairo. I mean her soul.”
Of course she does.
I fight a grin, taking a seat on the other side of the counter to buy me some time. “Yeah, maybe. I mean, I think so. She’s kind of nervous around me. A bit closed off, so it’s hard to know. But when she relaxes and shows me a smile, or when she’s playing that guitar, this light just kind of shines out of her. If that’s the real her…then yeah, she’s beautiful. Really beautiful.”
Mom and Dad share a secret smile before Mom turns back to check on the rice.
“She needs to tell her parents the truth. She trusts you, so maybe it’s your job to encourage her to do the right thing.” Dad tips his head forward, giving me one of those looks that demands agreement.
But I can’t give it.
Shaking my head, I tap my finger on the counter and start drawing patterns. “She’ll get there in her own time. I’m not going to push her. All I want to do is teach her how to play.”
“And when she’s brilliant at guitar, then what?”
“Then she’ll perform for her parents and show them that baseball’s not the only thing she’s good at.”
Dad sighs, his curls shaking as he disagrees with me. “Well, I still don’t think that’s the right way to go about it, but tell her she’s welcome to ask for permission to use the music room whenever it’s free. If I’m around and no one else is using it, she can practice in there…or your practice studio. The faster we can get her playing well, the sooner she can tell the truth.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I grin at him.
“And tell her she’s welcome to come and practice here any time she likes.” Mom winks at me.
I narrow my eyes, knowing she’s only saying that because she wants to meet this girl with the really beautiful soul.
13
A Different Name
MAX
Biting my lips together, I plug the guitar into the amp and mess with the volume. I don’t want it too loud, as I don’t want to draw anyone’s attention.
I’m in the practice studio, waiting for Cairo to get here. Mr. Hale let me in.
We’ve already had one lesson today, but the other night, he texted me to let me know that his dad said I could use the music rooms whenever they’re free. Because he teaches an adult choir here on Thursday evenings, he’s allowing us to use the practice room until their session is over.
It’s now late afternoon, which means we have a couple of hours to play before I’m due home. Maddie ran home straight after baseball practice. She’s probably in our room studying, and Chloe’s doing “something to make the world a better place” with Rahn. I’m supposed to be grabbing a quick bite to eat before heading to the batting cage. Because that’s where everyone thinks I’m going.
And I’ll get away with it too, because right now my sisters are totally distracted in an all-out war over Holden Carter.
Maddie kissed him.
Chloe saw.
Maddie’s sorry.
Chloe’s mad.
Seriously, it’s just way too much drama for me. I’m trying to be the good sister and listen to both sides, but it’s exhausting. I feel sorry for both of them. Maddie obviously likes Holden a lot, but she’s avoiding him at all costs because she doesn’t want to hurt Chloe again.
And Chloe’s being stubborn because she’s gutted that the guy she was crushing on is into her older sister. That’s gotta hurt.
I’m being Switzerland throughout the whole thing, which sucks, and is yet another reason for me to find excuses not to be home.
I do have to be careful and space out these guitar sessions so that I’m not being too obvious. But thankfully for me, most of the eyes and gossip in the place involves Vincent Mancini’s suspension, so I’m covered by that, too.
Some stolen baseball gear was found in his locker. Dad’s investigating at the moment. Chloe thinks it’s a setup, and I agree with her. I don’t know much about Vincent,
other than he’s a scary-ass guy who skips school a lot and looks like he could pound me into dust if he felt like it. He comes from a family that has a bad rep and pretty much owns the northwest side of town. He was basically born with a criminal stamp on his forehead, but surely he’s not stupid enough to steal new baseball gear and then leave one mitt in his locker with some drugs tucked inside of it. That’s just dumb. And I don’t think the guy’s an idiot. He looked pretty damn surprised when that stuff was pulled out of his locker. I was watching and I’m with Chloe—Vincent Mancini has been turned into someone’s scapegoat.
As much as it must suck for him, the drama is overshadowing my deception, so I’m not going to complain about it.
Tweaking the A string, I brush the pick down the strings and grin. Oh yeah. That sounds so cool.
I haven’t played the electric guitar yet. Cairo’s kept me on the acoustic until my skills are better, but since he’s not around, I may as well have a little play.
Licking my bottom lip, I choose the one song I’ve memorized—“When I Come Around” by Green Day. It’s old-school, but Cairo’s taught it to me because it only has four chords and is easy to play.
I strum the intro and then start softly adding the words.
I’ve been listening to the song repeatedly so I know it by heart.
Tapping my foot, I get into it, smiling as I create this amazing sound. Sure, it’s slower than the original and my voice is no doubt pretty average. But I’m in tune and I don’t sound awful, so I kick up my volume and launch into the second verse.
By the time I reach the little solo, I’m smiling so wide my face hurts. I stuff up a few notes and start to laugh, fiddling with the chords until I get it right.
“Uh, no,” I chide myself, leaning forward to look at the strings.
A slow applause snatches my attention. “Nice playing, Maximus.”
I whip around to face my visitor, fear rippling through me as I hear my father’s nickname.
“R-Roman. What are you doing here?”
Crap, I should have left the hallway door locked instead of prepping it for Cairo’s arrival. I just didn’t want him disturbing his Dad’s choir practice by having to walk through the music room.
