Betrayal of the Band

by Sarah Tipton

  “Actually, I play the piano.”

  “My sister tried to learn the piano.”

  “Tried?”

  “Turns out she’s tone-deaf. Because of that, we used to argue one of us had to be adopted.”

  “Nice.”

  Zoey rested on the edge of the desk toying with her necklace.

  “Pretty cool youth group you’ve got, too.” Chey’s pink tutu-like skirt poofed around her. She didn’t look like the kind of girl who worried about coolness.

  “Thanks,” Zoey said, as if she could take credit. Then again, if Chey thought they were cool because of their band, she could.

  “And I like your youth minister. Interesting topic.”

  Back to thinking on that? Zoey dropped her gaze to her necklace. Betrayal was fun to talk about, not so fun to live. “Do you think he was right?”

  “About what?”

  “About forgiveness always being offered.”

  “Yeah. At least, I sure hope so.” Chey’s voice faded away as if she spoke the last couple of words to herself. She opened the door to the hall. “Guess I’ll go find the right room now. See ya.” She left pulling the door shut.

  Had Chey run off because of the serious question? No, that was silly. Chey probably needed to follow through with her original errand—finding the bathroom.

  Zoey’s need to talk about the kiss crescendoed. But everyone would side with Justin, hating her. If she worked things out with him first...

  She pushed away from the desk. After all, the kiss hadn’t meant anything. Her hand trembled. She wrapped her fingers around the metal knob, but didn’t twist it. What if she’d kissed Sawyer on purpose? Until that night behind the ice cream shack, she’d never thought about kissing him. Even then, she couldn’t remember thinking about kissing him. Sawyer had just been there, in the right place at the right time. No, wrong place, wrong time. Very wrong time. Freak piano-falling-on-a-pedestrian wrong time. Everything that happened had been wrong. Except the fluttering in her stomach and her toes curling, right now, at the memory. That felt right.

  And a million times more wrong.

  19

  Vacillation

  Social hour was over for Sawyer. He needed to get to his drums and beat away thoughts of Judas’s kiss. He headed for the garage.

  “You’re not leaving, are you?” Justin grabbed Sawyer’s arm, as if strong enough—or bold enough—to keep Sawyer from leaving.

  “No. Just out to play.” Sawyer stepped back bumping into someone. He glanced over his shoulder and caught blonde-and-cinnamon-red hair and impressions of black and pink as a girl exited into the garage. “Can I play?” Sawyer focused back on Justin. “That OK with you?”

  “Go ahead.” Insecurity flickered in Justin’s eyes. “You seen Zoey? It’s like she’s avoiding me. Again.”

  Sawyer’s heart jumped to his throat. “How would I know where your girlfriend is?”

  “I don’t know.” Justin shrugged and then grinned, the insecurity vanishing. “Go. Beat on your drums instead of me.”

  Sawyer marched through the garage door and slammed it behind him. Had Brandon’s talk left Zoey with this nauseating guilt? He couldn’t blame her for avoiding Justin after listening to fifteen minutes about kisses and betrayal. He didn’t want to think about her or Justin. He needed to play.

  But someone stood in front of his drums. Two-toned hair girl staring a little too hard at his instrument.

  “Hey!” The word came out sharp, as if Sawyer redirected all his anger and frustration at something new. “Don’t touch.”

  She didn’t respond or even look at him for a full two seconds. Then she turned slowly, chin raised as if she hadn’t decided if she wanted to obey his command. “They yours?”

  “Yes.” He kept his tone gruff, so she’d know he was serious. If this girl had some fantasy about being in a band or becoming a groupie, she’d better find someone else to fill the drummer role. “And no one touches them.”

  “Chill, drummer boy.” She raised her hands, palms out and then flipped them around to show the backs. “They’re clean. And I’m pretty sure I’ve washed them at least once today.”

  A funny girl. He crossed his arms wanting to find her joke stupid, but he had to press his lips against a laugh. Or at least a grin. He’d never get rid of her if she thought he found her funny.

  She kept her gaze on his. Her eyes were an unusual orangey-brown, the color of flames, and a sizzle shot through Sawyer. He tightened his arms across his chest to smother the lighting fire.

  “Fine.” She broke the silence first. “I’m going.”

  “Good.” Sawyer stepped around her and sat on the stool behind the drums. He picked up the sticks and waited so she wouldn’t think he was providing a private concert. But she didn’t move. And he needed to play. “Leave.”

  Her chin lifted another inch. Defiance. Like his demand that she leave made her want to stay. Exactly the opposite of most girls’ reactions. Maybe a private concert for her wouldn’t be terrible.

  But then she reached out a finger. And touched his drums.

  “Hey!” Sawyer sprang to his feet, the stool rocking.

  She was already walking away, out the open garage door, pink tutu swinging, shoulders straight, as if she didn’t care one bit that she’d broken Sawyer’s number one rule.

  If he chased her down to yell at her, he’d get to spend a few more seconds with her. That desire was as bad as thinking about Justin and Zoey. He began drumming away all his thoughts. Clearing his head. But the girl who touched his drums—now he had to find out her name—couldn’t be chased away.

  Neither could Felicia. She walked into the garage.

  Great.

  She stopped in front of him, shoved her hands in her back jeans’ pockets, and bounced with the beat.

  He’d wanted to avoid her tonight. Who knew someone could be annoyingly chatty while texting? Last night, he’d told her his mom said he had to go to bed. A lame excuse and a lie since Mom hadn’t enforced a bedtime since sixth grade.

  He definitely didn't want to give her a private concert, but he was in the middle of playing now. He couldn't stop. If he ignored her, would she eventually leave? A couple of minutes later, he had the answer. She wasn’t going anywhere.

  “What?” He stopped playing.

  “I just wanted to listen to you play.” Her voice wavered, and she shifted away from the drums.

  “OK.” So the best way to get rid of her was to not play? His fists tightened around the sticks. That didn’t work for him.

  “Do you make stuff up, or are you playing actual songs?” Felicia’s voice gained strength. “’Cause I didn’t recognize anything you played last Saturday.”

  “Saturday, it was all our own songs. We write our music.”

  “So since I like your music, are there any other bands I might like?”

  Sawyer listed a few bands, keeping watch on the street. Did the new girl have a car? What kind? Movement on the driveway caught his attention. Two sophomore boys.

  “I’ve heard of them. Are they your favorites?”

  “They’re OK.”

  “Who do you like then?”

  Sawyer listed heavy metal bands he knew Felicia would never listen to, even if their message was Christian.

  “I don’t know them." She proved him right by listing off praise-and-worship types. Figured.

  Her taste in music was as far from his as Alaska from Antarctica.

  “Do you have any CDs I could borrow?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” She’d hate anything he gave her.

  “Or maybe I could—”

  A blue car rolled by. The two-tone hair unmistakeable. There she was—the girl who touched his drums. A rhythm pulsed through his veins. Quick but steady. She didn't even glance toward the garage.

  “What do you think?”

  “Huh?” Sawyer blinked at Felicia.

  “Would Sunday be a good day?”

  “For what?”

  �
��For me to come over and check out your CD collection.” Felicia raised her voice like the drums had made Sawyer deaf.

  He tried to process her words, but he wasn’t exactly interested. He looked past Felicia. The new girl drove to the corner. Had he scared her off permanently? Was that what he wanted?

  “Sunday’s OK?”

  “What?” Sawyer pulled his attention back to Felicia. Why was she still here? He definitely wanted to scare her off. Instead, he heard himself sort of agreeing. “I guess.”

  “OK. See you Sunday.” Felicia flashed a fan-girl smile before turning and walking off.

  What had he agreed to? He should ask, but at least Felicia was leaving.

  The new girl and her blue car had disappeared.

  Would he see her on Sunday? This week, he might look forward to church.

  20

  I Need You to Love Me

  Zoey clutched the knob of Mr. Conrad’s office door.

  Make a decision. Justin was obviously the right guy. That should be the end of it. Nothing about Sawyer was right. He certainly didn’t think anything about her was right. He argued against every suggestion she ever made—from names for their band to what to do on a Friday night instead of practicing.

  But Justin let her choose every movie, every restaurant, every everything. His opinion was the same as hers. Honestly, it was kind of annoying.

  Was she comparing Justin and Sawyer again? It was like trying to compare the guitar and the drums. They were too different. Justin’s presence filled her like a warm melody, carrying energy right into her soul, while Sawyer pounded and crashed giving her a headache.

  She needed Justin and could live without Sawyer. But she’d be haunted by the kiss until she cleared her conscience. She yanked the door open. If she wanted to rid herself of this guilt, the answer was simple. She had to confess.

  The hallway and living room were empty. Had she missed the entire after-devo scene? Justin was probably looking for her. Some girlfriend she was hiding from her boyfriend all night. She checked the kitchen. Empty. But she heard Sawyer drumming in the garage. Maybe they’d started practice. She walked over to the garage door.

  “There you are.”

  She whirled around, her hair whipping across her face. Brushing back the strands, she faced Justin’s grin.

  “I’ve been looking all over for you.” He grabbed her hand, tugged her close.

  She curved into his side and breathed in his scent—deodorant, toothpaste, comfort. Maybe confession was a bad idea.

  “Where have you been? You OK?” He lowered his voice, eyes serious.

  The back of her throat burned with the threat of tears. She couldn’t break his heart. “I just wanted...to be alone.”

  His grip tightened with don’t-do-it strength as if her wanting to be alone scared him. After a couple of seconds, he relaxed, and she could feel her fingers again. “You OK now? Ready to practice?”

  She nodded.

  He glanced over his shoulder and then kissed her.

  And she felt less passion than when she’d made out with her own hand in fifth grade.

  Absolutely none.

  “I kissed Sawyer!” The words burst out of her and into Justin’s mouth.

  He pulled back and stared looking confused, not hurt. Not like she’d shattered his soul. “What?”

  “I’m sorry. It was a mistake.” Her breaths came shorter, faster, until her vision fuzzed.

  “What was?”

  She had to say it again? She breathed one, long, slow breath, and the world sharpened. Maybe she should just pretend she’d said something else. Anything else.

  “What was a mistake, Zoey?”

  “I...I...” She struggled to find other words, but her rapid pulse beat the three words she never wanted to repeat. They were the only words she had. “I kissed Sawyer.”

  He stepped back, glanced away. He rubbed a hand over his head as if to erase what she’d said from his mind.

  She reached out wanting to touch him, to reassure him of...what? That the kiss meant nothing? That she still loved him? That the thing he’d feared most—them breaking up—hadn’t happened? But none of those were true, so her hand froze in the painful space between them.

  Finally, he looked at her, his face hard and his eyes clouded with something she’d rarely seen in him. Anger. Death metal anger. Hate-your-face anger. His nostrils flared, and his minty breath hit her face in audible puffs.

  She wanted to suck her words back in. Or better, undo the moment and forget that a kiss could send tingles all over. Tears spilled down her cheeks. She hoped Justin would brush them away, like he always did.

  But words and kisses couldn’t be forgotten.

  He reached around her for the door. “Get. Out.”

  21

  The Spectacle of Fearsome Acts

  Finally alone, Sawyer returned to drumming. The overflow of cars had decreased, and only the Conrads’ vehicles and Zoey’s car remained. He glanced at the door leading to the house. Any minute, Justin and Zoey would be out to practice. Like now.

  The door banged open.

  He stopped drumming.

  Zoey, gray streaks down her cheeks, stumbled into the garage. Justin followed on her heels practically pushing Zoey down the step, his face red, his jaw tight, his eyes wide, wild, pained.

  Justin knew.

  Sawyer tensed, his insides tight and cold. Stupid, stupid, stupid Zoey.

  Justin’s gaze met Sawyer’s, and that one look drummed straight through Sawyer. Three years of being a band. Over.

  “Justin, I’m sorry.” Zoey’s voice cracked as if echoing her heart.

  The drumsticks slipped from Sawyer’s sweaty fists. She should’ve kept her mouth shut.

  Justin stood, frozen on the single step. His glance jumped from him to Zoey and back as if he couldn’t decide who to be angry with or what to do about it. This was Justin, the guy who shrugged off the stack of CDs stolen from his car last year. He probably didn’t know how to react.

  But Sawyer had stolen something way more important than CDs.

  Justin stomped across the garage and planted his hands on the toms. “Did you kiss her?”

  Sawyer couldn’t breathe. Chunks of ice jammed his lungs. How was he supposed to answer that? He couldn’t. “Get your hands off my drums.”

  “Did. You. Kiss. Her.” Justin shifted his weight and the drum stand creaked.

  “I said, get your hands off my drums.” Sawyer shoved his forearms.

  Justin lost his balance and grabbed Sawyer’s arm.

  Sawyer jerked back, pulling Justin toward him.

  Justin bumped against the drums.

  The stand screeched against the cement floor. The cymbals clanged.

  Fire sparked in Justin’s eyes as though the fight ignited the years of anger he’d stuffed down. He grabbed Sawyer’s shirt.

  Sawyer grasped Justin’s forearms. They struggled, the drums between them. The stool crashed into the bass.

  It was a mistake, Sawyer wanted to yell. He’d never meant to kiss Zoey.

  Justin pulled Sawyer around, slammed him into the couch, pinned him down, and stared. Justin’s expression changed from anger to hurt to confusion and repeated the cycle.

  Sawyer’s stomach heaved under the weight of Justin’s knee. But that was no match to the weight of Justin’s pain. This was why Sawyer had told Zoey to forget.

  Justin could never understand.

  Sawyer shoved Justin to the opposite end of the couch and tensed, ready for Justin to lunge back.

  But Justin didn’t. His face emptied of anger, of confusion, of life. And all that was left was pain.

  “Leave.” Justin stood, moving slow, stiff, as if his entire body ached. “Never come back.” The finality in those last words punched harder than a fist.

  Justin walked past Zoey and into the house.

  Sawyer hunched over and rested his forehead against his palms. This was bad. Destined-for-hell bad.

  “Sawyer, I.
..I’m sorry.” Zoey’s voice sounded too loud in the silence.

  “Sorry?” Sawyer raised his head. His hands twitched, ready to strangle her. “You destroyed everything.”

  “I just thought—”

  “I don’t care what you thought!” He shoved off the couch, but instead of stomping over to Zoey and beating her up—so what if she was a girl?—he walked over to his drums.

  The fight had torn the snare drumhead. He swore. He’d have to replace it. Not that it mattered. What good was a drummer without a band? And he couldn’t replace his band.

  “I’m sorry.” Zoey said those words again. As if they could repair the destruction.

  Sawyer walked past her, grabbed his bike off the lawn, and pedaled home. Being sorry would never be enough. He’d known that the second his lips had touched hers. Nothing could make up for stealing Zoey.

  Sawyer’s gut felt as ripped as the drumhead. He’d be lucky if Justin ever let him back into the garage. And even if Justin did, they wouldn’t be friends.

  Which was worse—losing his band or losing his best friend?

  22

  The Grey

  Zoey’s heart lodged in her throat choking her. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move. She could only watch Sawyer bike away from Justin’s house. Sawyer was right—she’d been very, very wrong. She’d never expected Justin and Sawyer to get in a fight. The fact that the fight was about her didn’t cheer her up.

  “Zoey?”

  She spun around. Justin’s mom stood in the doorway.

  “What’s going on out here?” Mrs. Conrad looked around the garage. Her gaze paused on the disarranged drums, and her brows pinched together. “Are you OK?”

  Tears still streamed down her cheeks, so Zoey couldn’t deny not being OK. But she couldn’t explain things to Justin’s mom, even if she were able to talk.

  Before Mrs. Conrad could ask any more questions or take a motherly interest in her, Zoey grabbed her bass in one hand, the case in the other, and rushed to her car.

  She drove home blanking out of her mind Justin, Sawyer, and music. But the walled-off thoughts pressed against her temples. She parked the car in the driveway and exploded in a torrent of tears. It shouldn’t hurt this much. Confession was supposed to ease her conscience, not tear out her insides. But why would she deserve to feel relief when she’d hurt Justin? She folded her arms on top of the steering wheel and rested her forehead against them. Three words, “I kissed Sawyer,” and three friends had broken up. Her body jerked with sobs.