by Sarah Tipton
Sawyer watched her trying to figure her out. One minute, she almost seemed to be flirting, but the next she acted not at all interested.
Plenty of girls flirted with him. Smiles, giggles, touches. He scared them off when they annoyed him usually after five minutes.
This girl had yet to smile, and she didn’t act the least bit scared.
The waitress wearing the restaurant’s red polo uniform walked up eyeing Sawyer. “You want something to drink?”
“Soda.” He specified the soft drink, his gaze still on the girl.
She scribbled on her pad. “Ready to order?”
Sawyer opened his mouth, but the girl spoke first.
“A large pepperoni pizza.” She didn’t glance at Sawyer for agreement. “And can you split the check for us?”
“Sure, whatever.” The waitress tucked the pad into her apron and walked off.
“What if I don’t like pepperoni?” He leaned across the table. He didn’t like Mom ordering for him and couldn’t decide if this was the same thing.
“Sorry.” She cocked an eyebrow, not looking the least bit apologetic. “Thought everyone liked pepperoni. But if you want something different, go order it.”
He almost did, just to prove a point, but he usually ordered pepperoni pizza anyway. “I’ll eat it, I guess.”
Her mouth twitched, and she dropped her gaze to her drink. The waitress returned with Sawyer’s drink and took off again.
“So, drummer boy.” The girl raised her head stirring the straw in her glass. “What do you do around here besides practice with your band?”
The question stabbed his gut. What would he do now if Justin didn’t let him back into the garage? Hang out with this girl whose name he didn’t know? “My name’s Sawyer. You gotta name?”
“Yeah. Chey.”
“Shy? Doesn’t seem to describe you.”
“It’s spelled C, H, E, Y. It’s short for Cheyenne. But no one better call me that.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, no one touches my drums, Chey-enne.” He stretched her name out like two words.
Chey’s gaze didn’t flicker, but a sharp pain jolted through Sawyer’s shin. “Ow!” He rubbed his leg under the table.
“I warned you.”
Laughter bubbled up inside him, but he shoved it down. No reason to let her think he found her funny. “Where you from?” he asked.
“Most recently, Portland, Oregon.” The diamond stud under her lip wiggled. “But I’ve moved around a lot. This will be my third high school assuming I don’t move again before school starts.” She gave a short laugh but didn’t sound amused.
“Sounds more exciting than my life. Why’d you move so much? Running from the law?”
“My dad’s job. He’s an engineer and moves from project to project. Right now he’s doing something with the Trans-Alaska pipeline. I don’t know what; he doesn’t talk to me about that stuff much. Not anymore.” She sipped her soda, and when she set it back down, the straw was flat, as if she’d bitten it. “Anyway, you didn’t answer my question before. What do you do besides play the drums?”
“Bag groceries.”
“At a grocery store?”
“Yeah. And Justin—” He glanced away cringing inwardly. “He makes me go to all his church youth things.”
“Makes you?”
“I usually don’t have anything better to do.”
The waitress interrupted with their food, and the next few minutes were filled with serving pizza and shaking parmesan over the slices.
“You a senior?” Sawyer asked between bites of tongue-burning cheese and pepperoni.
“I will be.” Chey wrapped a string of mozzarella around her finger. “You?”
“Same.”
She asked some questions about school, and he tried to answer, but he’d never paid attention to what classes were offered. The guidance counselor told him what he needed in order to graduate, and he didn’t find any of the options all that interesting.
One slice of pizza remained on the silver tray. He reached for it.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.
“Uh, getting more pizza?”
“You’ve already eaten your half. That slice is mine.”
“Really?” His hand froze in the air, the pizza slice dangling. Was she serious?
“Yes.” Her voice didn’t even hint at teasing. “I’m paying for half the pizza, so half the pizza is mine.”
“What? You want me to pay you for this piece?”
“No.” She took the slice from him. “I want to eat it.”
“Fine.” He clipped the word biting back another laugh. His phone vibrated. He wiped his greasy fingers on his jeans before checking the message. Justin’s name showed on the screen. Sawyer’s heart dropped to his stomach joining the four slices of pizza.
UR drums, out of my garage, @ transfer site.
He cursed.
“Don’t say that.” Chey interrupted Sawyer’s torrent of thought. “Not around me.”
He clenched his jaw and gave Chey a look Mom would ground him for. She couldn’t tell him how to act. They’d just met.
She wiped her fingers on a napkin. Then she grabbed the phone from his hand.
“Hey!” Maybe this girl’s boldness did annoy him.
“What’s a transfer site?” She passed back his phone.
“It’s a place with dumpsters where people take their trash.”
“And someone took your drums there? Why?” The orange in her eyes flashed, as though offended for him.
He shook his head. He didn’t want to get into the whole kissing Zoey thing. Especially not with Chey. The story couldn’t be told without him looking bad. He rested his forehead against his palms.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked.
He raised his head.
“Aren’t you going to go get them?”
“Yeah. I’ve gotta go get the car from my mom first.” He clamped his lips shut to prevent another swear.
“Or I could help. I have a car.”
He stared at her a second judging the sincerity in her eyes. With her, he’d get his drums back faster—before someone stole them. “OK.”
She was already dropping a bill onto the table for her half of the pizza. Sawyer added his share and followed her out the door.
“Where’s your bike?” She glanced around the parking lot.
“Right there.” He pointed at the dull, red ten-speed leaning against a square column with flaking white paint. “I can come back for it later.”
“That’s your bike?” One corner of her mouth curved up.
“Yeah. So?”
“When you said bike, I thought you meant motorcycle, not bicycle.” She said “bicycle” as if it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard and opened the door of a blue car.
“Well, I didn’t.” Sawyer yanked open the passenger door. The first time she cracked a smile, and it was to make fun of his bike? “Just because I don’t have something like this...”
“This isn’t what I want to be driving either.” Chey backed out of the parking spot.
“You want a motorcycle?” He could totally picture her as a biker chick.
She shrugged. “Wouldn’t turn it down. But what I really want is a classic. In Portland, I found a 1972 El Camino.” Longing crept into her voice. “It needed a ton of work, but I used to help my dad restore old cars and trucks as a hobby, so I could do it.” She stopped at the parking lot exit. “Which way?”
“Left.” Sawyer pointed. “So why didn’t you get the El Camino?”
“My dad said we moved too much, and a car like that would be unreliable.” She sighed. “And he didn’t have time to help me.”
“He doesn’t work on cars anymore?” Sawyer asked and added, “Right at the light.”
“Nope. Not since Deanna.”
“Deanna?”
“His wife.”
Sawyer looked at her trying to read her emotion. She remained focused on the
road. Was Deanna an evil stepmother? Or did Chey hate sharing her dad?
Sawyer glanced outside. “The transfer site’s right there.”
Chey turned down the short drive that opened to a dozen or more green dumpsters lined up in an L-shape.
His drums sat in front of one.
She parked next to them.
Sawyer jumped out and circled the car. Bending over, he examined the neatly stacked drums and the tangled metal stand pieces and swore again.
“What’d I tell you about that mouth, drummer boy?” Chey joined him. “I don’t think this is some place you want to be stranded.”
He glared at her.
She didn’t act bothered by his look. “So what’s wrong with them? Something broken? Torn up?”
“No.” He crossed his arms. “It’s all here, in near-perfect condition, except for the torn drumhead from the other night.” He picked up a plastic bag off the top of the stack. “Even all the brackets are together, right here.”
“And that bothers you because...?” Chey arched her eyebrow.
“Because they shouldn’t be.” He didn’t deserve the care Justin had taken. “They should be scratched, dented, bent, destroyed. Anything but this.”
“Well, we could leave and come back in a couple of hours. Maybe someone will run over them or steal them. Would that make you happy?”
“No.”
“I’m having trouble understanding you, drummer boy.”
Sawyer ran his fingers around the edges of the snare. She’d understand if he told her why his drums were here. Justin should’ve beat them up, like he’d tried to beat up Sawyer. That’s what Sawyer deserved. But Justin was the good guy. The one who always took the freakin’ high road. He felt worse than ever about that kiss.
“As much fun as I’m having hanging out at this dump, or transfer site, or whatever you call it,” Chey said, “think we can load these up in my car and take them back to your house?”
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
“Am I allowed to touch them today?”
“Sure, whatever.” He didn’t care who touched them. Maybe he should take her suggestion and leave them here.
Without talking, they stacked everything in the car. Then he gave Chey directions to his house.
“What happened to get your drums thrown out?” Chey followed Sawyer into his house carrying the bass drum.
“Nothing.” He set the armload of metal stand pieces on his unmade bed and took the drum from Chey.
“Nothing?” she echoed.
“Yep.”
“Well, I’m sorry.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
They finished unloading Chey’s car, then faced each other in his tiny room.
He’d never cared how clean his room was or wasn’t, but with Chey looking around the room noticing the clothes strewn about, the CDs scattered across his desk, the drumsticks on the floor, he had an urge to pick up.
“Impressive poster collection,” she said. “And awesome bands.”
“Thanks.” Posters overlapped on his walls like wallpaper. “You wanna listen to music or something?”
“Your parents home?”
“No. It’s just me and my mom, and she’s at work.”
“Then I should leave.” Chey stepped around a pair of shoes and into the hall.
“Oh.” He searched for a way to convince her to stay or to come back. “She’s off tomorrow, if you wanted to come over and hang out.”
“Maybe after church.” She paused at the front door. “Can I see your phone?”
“OK.” Sawyer handed it to her. “Why?”
“In case I don’t show, and you want to know why.” She punched a few buttons and passed back the phone. “See ya.”
The door clicked shut, and she was gone.
He glanced down at his phone. Chey’s name and number were on the screen. What did “maybe” mean? Did she want him to call her if he didn’t see her again? Did he want to call her? He spent more time playing music on his phone than using it to talk to people. But he kind of wanted to call her right then.
He walked back to his room and cleaned it in case “maybe” meant “yes.” And he needed space to set up his drums.
She stayed on his mind while he shoved the probably clean clothes into his closet and stacked CDs, but when he began assembling the drum stand, he forgot about Chey.
Each bracket he tightened on the stand felt like a screw twisting into his chest. No one could replace Justin or Zoey. And without them, he had no band and no need for his drums.
26
Change in the Making
“I’m sorry.” Zoey straightened her shoulders and stepped away from Bailee’s arm. “We can finish practice.” She’d stood in Bailee’s strangely comforting embrace since Justin had left struggling not to fall apart. Hadn’t her confession Thursday night broken them up? Now she’d had to relive it. The need to cry burned her throat, but she swallowed against it. Aurora Fire didn’t want to see her blubbering over her boyfriend. Her ex-boyfriend.
“Practicing after breaking up with your boyfriend? I don’t think so.” Bailee tugged Zoey to the couch.
Bailee acting like a friend? Her life really had turned upside down.
Zoey plopped onto a cushion, and Cherie settled on her other side.
“Excuse me?” Vance’s eyebrows practically leaped off his forehead. “Who put you in charge?”
“Seriously, Vance? Look at her.”
Zoey ducked her head. She’d prefer no one looked. Twisting her necklace around and around, she fought the rise of tears. Aurora Fire had enough problems with her; she couldn’t lose it over a guy. The burn rose to her nose and her eyes, and she wrapped her fist around the necklace. She couldn’t hold it together either.
“Get her something to drink.” Bailee commanded the room. She slid her arm back around Zoey’s shoulders. “So what happened? Why’d you break up?”
She pulled her feet onto the couch, resting her chin on her knees. Bailee and Vance already didn’t like Justin. Maybe she could tell them the truth. Holding it in because everyone would side with Justin was about to kill her.
“Did he cheat on you?” Cherie asked.
She sniffled, but her nose was stuffy. “No, I—”
“Good.” Vance’s voice was hard—too hard. “But I wouldn’t be surprised, since he has a family history of cheating.”
Zoey clamped her mouth shut. Didn’t Vance have a family history of that too?
“I hate cheaters.” Vance glared at Cherie.
“Got it.” Cherie spoke with the exasperated tone of having said the same thing too many times.
Goody. No telling them the truth.
Myles pressed a cold, open can into Zoey’s hand.
“Thanks.” She raised it and took a sip. Liquid the flavor of cat pee filled her mouth. She gagged spraying Myles.
“Hey.” He jumped back.
“Problem?” Vance sounded like he was laughing at her, but he didn’t smile.
She shook her head swiping her mouth with the back of one hand and raising the can with the other. Beer? She probably shouldn’t be surprised.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never had a beer before,” Bailee said.
“I just didn’t expect it.” What was one more lie?
“What did you expect? Soda?” Bailee didn’t say, poor, pathetic little girl, but Zoey heard those words anyway. “How would that make you feel better?”
How would beer? But she held back the retort. For once, Bailee wasn’t throwing out insults.
“So, if he didn’t cheat on you, why’d you break up with him? Is there another guy?” Cherie’s eyes sparkled, and her girlfriend-confidant tone begged for gossip.
Unfortunately, Zoey didn’t have any gossip that wouldn’t kill this E-string-thin thread of belonging. She sipped the beer. No gagging.
“Her break up is just as boring as her boyfriend.” Shaking her head, Bailee shifted away. “It was probably something junior high, l
ike he’s always making gross noises.”
“Justin Conrad? Not likely.” Vance sat on the arm of the couch, and Cherie wrapped her arms around his waist. “He was always polite, even in junior high.”
“Exactly!” Zoey took another sip. Really, it didn’t taste so bad once she got used to it. “He’s always polite.”
“How’s that a problem?” Bailee cocked her head to one side, her expression wavering between interested and yawning.
“He’s always good. It’s boring.” Another sour sip slid down her throat. “He rarely gets upset with me over anything. Even when I told him I was singing with you guys for the summer. I could tell it bothered him, but he just smiled and said it was God’s plan for me.” Oops. She hadn’t meant to share that much.
“God’s plan?” Disgust dripped on Vance’s words. “Sounds like him. You’d think he’d have grown up by now.”
“Yeah.” A strange combination of heaviness and tingles snaked from her shoulders to her hands. Here she was betraying Justin and her faith in one little conversation. She took another drink. Throw in underage drinking, and today would go down as an epic fail. She needed something to redeem.
“He was a good boyfriend. Always nice to me.” A lame compliment. Way to go.
“Nice?” Bailee’s silver hoops jumped over her eyes. “Like you said, bor-ing. Where’s the passion in ‘nice’? What kind of sex do you have with a guy like that?”
Zoey gulped down more of the putrid beer so she couldn’t answer, because she had no idea what the sex was like. But given the blah kissing, Bailee might be right. She shuddered. There was a thought she never expected.
“Now you can find someone interesting. Want me to fix you up?”
Bailee setting her up on a date? Only if Zoey wanted her life to go from horrible to...was there anything worse than right now? Her foggy head couldn’t spit out an answer. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them wide trying to wake up. This sluggish feeling reminded her of that day in her sophomore year after she’d stayed up all night texting with Justin. Come to think of it, he hadn’t been so boring that night as he broke his parents’ rules to make her laugh on the third anniversary of her mom’s death. She’d forgotten about that until just now. Justin really was a great boyfriend, and she’d totally sucked as a girlfriend.
