by Sarah Tipton
Chey set the pace, walking across the grass, and cracked through the awkwardness. “Sawyer was telling me how many times he fell off the slide as a kid and landed on his head.”
“As a kid? He fell off several times last summer.” Zoey stuck a spoonful of flavored ice into her mouth, relaxing into the conversation. Even though they’d just met talking to Chey felt like talking to an old friend.
Like talking to Justin. Zoey wouldn’t think about him. Not today.
“Is he clumsy?” Chey asked pulling Zoey off the achy Justin path.
“Hey!” Sawyer waved his hands in front of their faces. “I’m right here.”
“Not clumsy,” Zoey answered as if he hadn’t spoken. They walked over to a picnic table. Zoey stepped onto the bench and sat on the tabletop. “He seemed to think he could walk on the poles surrounding the platforms. He couldn’t.”
“Does he do stuff like that often?” Chey sat next to her.
“He jumped off his roof last summer too.”
“Really?” Chey looked up at him. “You got a death wish?”
“No.” He crossed his arms, and the glare he gave now was probably meant to be threatening, but Zoey only wanted to laugh. “I’m going home.”
“Bye.” Chey sounded indifferent. His glare didn’t seem to bother her either. But was that the tone of a girl who liked a guy?
“Bye.” Sawyer marched off toward the chain-link fence.
“He was in a hurry to leave.” Chey’s tone was light, as if she didn’t care Sawyer had left. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe Chey was hanging out with Sawyer because she didn’t know anyone else.
“Yeah.” Zoey sipped her melting shaved ice. How could she find out what—if anything—was happening between Sawyer and Chey? And why did she care? Because she couldn’t get the kiss out of her head. Because if Sawyer had a thing for Chey, he didn’t like Zoey. Because if Chey had a thing for Sawyer, Zoey would have to choose between friendship with Chey or finding out if the kiss meant anything to Sawyer.
Zoey needed a friend more than a boyfriend. “You two been hanging out a lot?”
“Not really.” Chey shrugged and licked ice cream off the edges of her cone. “He asked me to look at keyboards with him.”
“Keyboards?” Zoey scrunched up her face. If Sawyer initiated a date, figured it would take place in a music store. “Why?”
“He thinks I should get one and play with him.”
“Are you going to?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Chey’s indifference sounded faked, as if she was fighting not to feel something. “He was teaching me to play his drums today.”
Zoey coughed, splattering her hand with pink spit. She grabbed a napkin. “He did what?”
“Taught me some beats on his drums.”
“Taught, as in let you hold his sticks and hit his drums?” Zoey’s heart thrummed. Sawyer didn’t just have a thing for Chey. He was making a commitment. Shopping for a ring. Buying a tux—or at least one of those tuxedo-printed T-shirts. Did Chey have any idea how serious Sawyer was?
“Uh, yeah. How else would he teach me?”
“I don’t know. It’s just that Sawyer doesn’t let anyone touch his drums—not me, not Justin, not anyone.” Zoey swirled the straw in her raspberry slush. Sawyer had absolutely no interest in her whatsoever. That kiss really had meant nothing. To him. “Wow. He’s really into you. Do you like him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know if I trust him.” She looked Zoey right in the eye.
Zoey gulped, nearly choking again. Confessing to Chey had been a mistake. But Chey knew about the kiss now, so no point in hiding. “Because of what happened between us?”
“That, and Sunday, he’d invited over another girl too. Felicia?”
“Felicia? Oh, right.” Sawyer, who never seemed interested in any girl, had Felicia chasing him, had kissed Zoey, and was teaching Chey to play his drums. That guy had suddenly become all kinds of girl drama. Zoey would’ve laughed if she didn’t feel so confused.
“What do you know about Felicia?”
“She’s had a thing for him since the end of the school year, and I think they went to the movies once. But that was before he met you.”
“Yeah, well, apparently Sawyer did a lot of things with other girls in the week or so before we met.”
Heat rushed to Zoey’s face. She probably matched her red slush.
“I’m OK with being friends.” Chey sounded sincere, despite all the other clues she’d given about being into Sawyer. “Like I told you, I don’t want to get involved with a guy who doesn’t know what he wants.”
“I think it’s just really bad timing. Sawyer’s never shown interest in a girl before.”
“But I arrive when he develops an interest in every girl?” Chey arched an eyebrow. “No, thank you.”
“He’s not interested in me.” Zoey’s voice was firm but thick, the heaviness pressing against her lungs a surprise.
“I don’t want to get hurt again.” Chey’s stud jiggled. “The last guy I dated—the only guy I’ve dated—just wanted to make his ex-girlfriend jealous. I really thought he liked me and I…anyway, we dated about a month, and his plan worked. His ex-girlfriend broke up with the guy she was dating, and they got back together.”
“I’m sorry.” Zoey stared at her for a long moment. What was Chey’s story? Was she good enough for Sawyer? Silly question. Sawyer wasn’t some good guy who deserved the best girl. He wasn’t Justin. But Zoey felt protective of him anyway. Sawyer might act as bitter as a stalk of rhubarb, but even rhubarb was good in the right recipe. “But you know, I don’t think Sawyer’s that...smart or manipulative. Maybe you take it slow, but don’t write him off altogether.”
“I haven’t yet.”
“You gonna get that keyboard?”
Chey ducked her head. “If my dad says yes.”
35
Internal Illumination
Sawyer munched on his toaster-cooked breakfast in the kitchen staring at the front door. The washer rumbled behind him with a load of his clothes. Chey had texted earlier about wanting to bring over her new keyboard, so he’d cleaned his room. Again. At this rate, Mom would start raising her expectations.
“It’s so cute how you keep trying to impress that girl.” Mom carried a crumb-covered plate to the dishwasher.
“I’m not trying to impress anyone.”
“Uh-huh.” Her eyebrows danced.
“I’m not.” He just didn’t know Chey well enough to let it all hang out—like his dirty underwear.
Someone knocked on the door. He shoved the last chunk of strawberry-frosted, toaster pastry into his mouth, dusted the crumbs from his hands, and hurried to answer.
“Hi.” He held the door open for Chey, who tilted a long, rectangular case through the doorway.
“Hey.” She followed him to his room, set the keyboard on his wrinkled-but-passing-for-made bed, and unzipped the nylon case.
Sawyer moved to help.
“Hold on, drummer boy.” Chey angled herself to block the keyboard. “I didn’t say you could touch it.”
“What?” He backed up.
“This is my instrument. Don’t touch.”
“Are you serious?”
“You bet.” The corner of her mouth twitched slightly, as if she was teasing him. “Keep your hands off.”
“Fine. I’ll watch.” He sat on the chair behind his drums.
Chey assembled the stand pieces and set the long, gray keyboard on top.
“Gold star.” Sawyer clapped. “Now, do you plan to take it home with you, since I can’t touch it?”
“I don’t know.” She sat on the edge of his bed. “If I leave it here, can I trust you?”
“Probably not.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to take it with me.” She ran a hand over the side of the keyboard, pride crossing her face. “You coming to the youth devo tonight?”
“Uh, no.” Was it Th
ursday? All the days ran together in the summer.
“Why not?” She tilted her head staring at him in that intense way she had, as if she was trying to see all his secrets.
He wanted desperately to hide every single one.
“Because Justin isn’t making you?” she asked.
“No.” He leaned back in the chair and rocked the front legs off the floor crossing his arms. “No one makes me do anything.”
“Really?” She stretched out the word. “You told me that the only reason you went was because Justin made you.”
He had said that. The chair legs thudded against the ground. “I’m working tonight.”
“If you weren’t, would you go?”
“Are you going to start making me?”
“No.”
“Then why are you asking?”
“Because I’m trying to understand you.” She glanced around the room, the stud under her lip wiggling. “A lot of the bands on your wall put a strong faith message in their music, but you don’t seem to care about having one in your life.”
“And that matters to you?” He could probably trade shifts tonight.
“Yeah, I guess it does.” She flicked the zipper on the canvas case. “But I’m not going to make you.”
“Then it must not matter that much.”
“You’ve got to want to go. Making you...wouldn’t change anything.”
“What do you want to change? Me?” He pounded out the last word. Everybody seemed to want him to change, but why should he?
“No, not exactly. You’re a pretty good guy.”
“Yeah, you don’t know me very well.” Sawyer pretended to laugh. He was anything but the good guy. Had Chey forgotten?
“Maybe you don’t know yourself.”
This was too intense. Sawyer grabbed a pair of sticks from his desk. “I thought you came over to play.”
“Can I ask one more question?”
“About my religion?”
“No.”
Her wiggling diamond stud reflected a ray of sunlight, distracting him. “OK.”
“Do you like Zoey?”
The question punched him in the gut. “Why? What do you care?”
“Because I thought the last guy I dated was a good guy too. And he went to church with me.” She dropped her gaze to the keyboard case pulling the zipper a few inches shut and then open. Shut. Open. Shut. “Didn’t change him. Didn’t stop him from using me. Didn’t keep me from making mistakes.”
Sawyer’s hands tightened around the drumsticks. He wanted to smash that jerk’s face in.
“I don’t want to end up there again.” She lifted her head looking him square in the eye. “And I don’t have time to waste guessing at the truth.”
“What are you accusing me of?”
Chey shrugged holding her gaze steady.
His heart slammed against his ribs. He had no clue what to say. Did she think he was like her ex-boyfriend, just using her? He clenched his jaw. “Did you come over to grill me or to play?”
“I don’t have a chair.”
“You’ll have to get one from the table.” He tapped a beat on the drums. He should probably offer to get the chair for her, but he didn’t care. She shouldn’t go around accusing people of stuff. He didn’t want to make Zoey jealous; he wanted nothing to do with Zoey. He’d never liked her...had he?
He banged the drums in rhythm with his pounding heart. Faster and faster. Zoey might’ve been Justin’s girlfriend, but she was the only girl Sawyer hadn’t hated hanging out with. Until Chey.
Chey returned with a chair, and he slowed to a quiet beat on one drumhead.
“Maybe I did like her.” His lungs constricted with the confession. “She’s the only girl who’s ever held an intelligent conversation about music with me. And she’s talented. But Justin loves her, and I’m still ticked off with her for confessing. What happened between us was a stupid mistake. Definitely not worth breaking up the band over.”
Chey stared. Did she believe him? He held his breath waiting for her response. Now that he’d said it, he realized every word was true. Even the part about liking her. But he didn’t want Chey believing he still had a thing for Zoey.
“OK.” Chey spoke quietly, a gentleness in her voice that Sawyer hadn’t heard before. “So what are we going to play?”
That was it? He’d better get with it. “Play that song you made up at Rhythm and Notes the other day.”
“If I can remember.” She leaned over the keyboard running her fingers over the keys before she started playing.
Sawyer joined in, the heady rush of creating music allowing him to breathe again. This wasn’t like playing with Justin and Zoey, but in some ways it was better. In this moment, he understood that extra chemistry Justin and Zoey had, beyond what the three of them had shared as a band. The chemistry he’d destroyed.
His high crashed.
No girl was worth breaking up a band.
Across the room, Chey lifted her head. Her face reflected the same rush he felt at hearing the blend of instruments becoming music. He wanted to play with her forever—whether the music sounded good or not.
Maybe he was wrong. Some things might be worth giving up for a girl. Not just any girl. But definitely the right girl.
36
My Own Enemy
Justin wanted to be somewhere else.
He stepped out of his car and onto the Newmans’ front lawn. They were hosting this week’s youth devo. He glanced at the cars spilling from the driveway and along the curb. Zoey’s car wasn’t there. She probably had band practice. His heart clenched. What hurt more—knowing she was playing somewhere else or being in the same room with her?
A car he didn’t recognize parked behind his, and Chey climbed out.
“That was nice of you.” She raised her voice so it carried through the sun and mosquito-filled air.
“Huh?” He slapped a blood-sucker and looked around trying to figure out what he’d done.
“You waited for me.” Chey walked to his side.
“No, I didn’t.”
“I wasn't serious.”
“Oh.” His voice fell flat. He really wasn’t in a joking mood.
“Zoey and Sawyer aren’t coming tonight, if that’s why you’re scared to go inside.”
“I’m not scared.” But was he relieved they wouldn’t be here? He wasn’t sure. He was annoyed this stranger was telling him about his friends’—former friends’—plans. “How do you know?”
“They told me.” She studied him.
What had they told her about him? Acid burned Justin’s throat. He’d been a good friend, a great boyfriend. He’d done nothing to deserve Zoey breaking up with him or Sawyer's betrayal.
“Are you coming? Or staying out here and having alone time?” She waited a moment, and then she turned toward the house. “OK. See you later.”
“I’m coming.” He quickstepped to catch up. This seemed weird acting all friendly with Chey. Did he want to be friends with Sawyer’s new friend? Then again, she’d also been hanging out with Zoey. Maybe Chey could explain what was going on with Zoey. Then he could fix things.
They stepped inside the Arctic entry and heard singing. They were late. Justin followed Chey around a corner to the living room. A couple girls scooted over to make room on the floor.
As Justin joined in the blend of voices, he felt the stares, and his insides churned. They all knew what happened between him and Zoey and between Zoey and Sawyer.
After the song ended, Brandon led a prayer and began speaking.
“Last week, we talked about our responses to our own mistakes, and we discussed two extremes—Judas’s suicide and Peter’s remorse. But how should we respond when someone has wronged us?” Brandon glanced around the room.
“Forgive them,” a sophomore girl said.
“Exactly. Good job.” Brandon slapped his Bible shut. “And, since that’s so easy, we can be done now. Let’s go eat.”
A few people chuc
kled, but Justin scowled at the carpet. Had Brandon chosen this topic because he’d heard about the breakup? Even if Sawyer apologized—not likely—Justin couldn’t forgive him.
“But it’s not that easy, is it?” Brandon continued. “Sure, if someone accidentally stomps on your foot and says, ‘Sorry,’ you don’t have any problem saying, ‘That’s OK.’ But what about when someone stomps on you? And what if they don’t apologize? Can you forgive them? And should you?”
“Yes, you should, because it heals you too.” Chey’s voice rang strong with experience. “Sometimes forgiving someone isn’t about accepting an apology, it’s about letting go of your hurt or anger.”
Letting go. Justin stared back at the floor. Right. As if he could just forget the pain in his chest, his silent cellphone, his empty and lonely hands. No. He didn’t have anything left to hold on to, so how could he let go?
~*~
Later, after Brandon wrapped up the lesson Justin tried to ignore, he sat on a couch eating a slice of pepperoni pizza. Everyone avoided him, like they had avoided Jenny Stewart after her dad died last year. Which kind of made sense. Justin certainly felt as if someone had died.
“I’ve got a question.” Chey plopped down on the couch next to him. Apparently she wasn’t concerned about his mourning.
“OK.”
“What’s your story about the breakup?”
“What?” Justin stared at her. Was she seriously asking him about breaking up with Zoey? They were practically strangers.
“Everybody’s talking about it. I’ve heard Zoey’s side. But Sawyer’s not saying much.”
“Like he could say anything.” Justin couldn’t have hidden his anger if he’d wanted to. It leaked out in every word, every thought, every breath.
“It was his band too,” she said.
“You’re talking about the band?” Some of the ache in his shoulders lessened.
“What else would I be talking about?”
“I don’t know.” He wasn’t about to mention Zoey. But how else could he explain the breakup? His and Zoey’s breakup. The band’s breakup. They shared the same cause: Sawyer. “You can’t keep playing with people you don’t trust.”
