by Sarah Tipton
“Not helping.” Zoey frowned at the wall.
“I know.” Livvy sighed, as if she didn’t really know. “Maybe I’m not trying to. Justin’s a nice guy. He doesn’t deserve to be cheated on.”
Zoey jerked away. “I didn’t mean for it to happen!”
“I know.” Livvy forced her back into a hug. “Love is complicated. Especially in high school.”
“You’re telling me.”
“But I don’t think you should start dating Sawyer just because you enjoyed one kiss.”
“Don’t worry, he’s not interested in me. He likes this new girl, Chey.” They both acted so tough and rough, but she remembered how Chey’s face lit up when talking about Sawyer and the disappointment on Sawyer’s face when Chey ran out of the room that morning. “They’re perfect for each other.”
“I’m sorry.”
For a long time, they sat on Zoey’s bed, Livvy’s arms wrapped around Zoey, Zoey leaning against her big sister. The world was beginning to look normal again. Joining Aurora Fire had been wrong for so many reasons, but now that she’d confessed all the horrible, ugly, embarrassing truths of the last few weeks, life felt a little less complicated. She fingered the beads on her necklace. I’m sorry, Mama.
Then she heard Mama’s voice as if it spoke directly in her heart. It’s OK, baby. But I’m not the one you should be talking to.
What did that mean? She needed to apologize to Justin? Probably. And Sawyer and Chey. But could she bring herself to do that? Eventually. Maybe. Then it hit her. It wasn’t just them she’d wronged. God, I’m sorry. I should’ve talked to you about my dreams. Not Mama or Justin or Livvy.
A peace she’d never experienced—not even while singing—settled over her soul. Maybe getting kicked out of Aurora Fire wasn’t all bad.
After a few more minutes of quiet, Livvy squeezed her shoulders and then pulled away. “Since my car’s been abandoned, I’ll need Dad to give me a ride. But I think I’ll let you explain why it’s still at the club.”
Zoey groaned. This was what repentance got her? “Can’t you do it? Please?”
“Nope.” Grinning, Livvy pranced to the door. “I think I’ve protected you from Dad enough lately.”
She stuck out her tongue at Livvy’s back. “Fine. In a few minutes.”
First she had some reading to do. She pulled her Bible from under a pile of CDs. She’d start with the love chapter.
43
I Never Said I Was Through With You
Sawyer lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. He could probably map out every bump up there now, but he had no reason to get up. He had nothing to do, nowhere to go, no one to see.
Screams and pounding bass blasted from his speakers. Mom was at work, so no one was bothered by the deafening music. He crossed his arms and imagined lines connected the ceiling bumps into shapes. Monsters, horned demons, writhing spirits. What would Mom say if he used a pen to trace those pictures?
A banging rattled his windows, and he sat straight up.
What the—?
He peeked through the blinds. Zoey wiggled her fingers at him, an I’m-not-leaving-until-you-talk-to-me look on her face.
Sawyer pulled back from the window. What was she doing here? And did he really want to know? Zoey had caused enough problems over the last few weeks. But he swung his feet over the side of the bed and grabbed a shirt. He had nothing to lose. After switching off the music, he headed for the front door.
Zoey and Chey were on the steps.
He rubbed his eyes. Maybe he’d fallen back asleep and was dreaming. Or maybe they were here to jump him and beat him up.
“Hi.” Zoey’s smile downgraded from determined to uncertain.
Chey hung back avoiding his gaze as if she didn’t quite want to be there.
A lump filled his throat. It felt like the word sorry. But he couldn’t bring himself to let the word out. Instead, he swallowed it back into the pit of things-he-should’ve-said-but-didn’t. “Hey.” He stretched the word into a question.
“Chey and I talked. I told her what happened Friday night. Everything. And she's forgiven me,” Zoey said.
“OK.” He twisted the doorknob behind his back to make sure the door was unlocked before pulling it closed. Mosquitoes buzzed around, and nothing was worse than a rogue mosquito in the house sucking blood while people slept.
“Chey and I are good now.” Zoey glanced over her shoulder at Chey as if to double-check.
Chey nodded, but her expression didn’t exactly look as if all was good. Then again, maybe things were good between Chey and Zoey but not between Chey and Sawyer.
Sawyer scrubbed a hand over his face. Where was Zoey going with this anyway?
“But we’ve still got a problem.” Zoey swept her finger around at all of them. “The three of us, we’re all without a band, and we need one.” Why were they telling him? He knew that better than anybody.
“Do you have the flier?” Zoey asked Chey.
Chey handed her a folded paper. Zoey flipped it open and passed it to Sawyer.
He glanced down. “Poor and Loud.” A free concert this coming weekend featuring local artists. Why were they showing him? Were they inviting him? “Yeah, I remember this. We went last year.”
Zoey nodded. “And Chey volunteered you to play this year.”
“Me?” He looked at Chey, but she avoided eye contact. If she was still mad at him, why’d she come?
“Not just you.” Zoey stabbed out the last word as if Sawyer was being stupid. “The two of you. Your band. And I thought you might let me join.”
“We have a band?” Sawyer rubbed his eyes again. This was insane. Had to be a dream. He slapped a mosquito. “The concert is this Saturday. There’s no way.”
Zoey looked at Chey, and some sort of silent communication passed between them. Chey climbed to the step right below him.
“Why not?” She raised her chin and made dead-on, right-in-the-eyes contact. Whatever anger or embarrassment or insecurity she’d felt before had been erased.
“A drummer, a bassist, and a keyboardist who doesn’t know what she’s doing? No offense,” he added at the flicker of hurt in Chey’s eyes. “But we’re not a band. And we can’t be one by Saturday.”
“So you were lying when you said that you and me could be a band if we performed?” Her chin rose higher, her eyes flashed.
“No. I also said you needed to know more than one song. How are we going to do that in five days? And I said you needed a name. I bet whoever you talked to didn’t even take you seriously.”
“I gave them a name.”
“You did? What?”
“You, Me, and a CD.” She spoke barely loud enough for him to hear.
She had to be joking, but the embarrassment written on her face said she was serious. He burst out laughing. “I can’t believe you used that. It’s got to be the lamest name.”
“Yeah, well at least I’m doing something.” Chey stepped onto the top step crowding him on the narrow, concrete rectangle. “Are you too scared to try?”
“I’m not scared. I’m being realistic.”
“Yeah, right.” She crossed her arms, and her diamond stud wiggled.
What would that feel like if he kissed her? Would it get in the way? Cut his lip? This was probably not the time to find out.
“What do we have to lose by trying?” Chey’s demand included a slight tremble.
“Our reputation?” Standing so close, her scent of oranges and maple syrup overwhelmed him. The temperature rose by ten degrees. He was in no hurry to escape.
“As You, Me, and a CD?” She cocked an eyebrow. “If we sound terrible, we’ll change our name and reinvent ourselves.”
“We’re changing the name period.”
“So you’re in?”
Right now, she could probably talk him into anything. Agreeing to be a drummer in a band—even the worst band in history—was easy. “We’ll have to spend every waking moment practicing.”
“I’ve got nothing be
tter to do.”
Nothing better to do than practice. That had to be the best thing a girl had ever said.
“But with my mom’s job, we won’t be able to practice that much.”
“My house.” Zoey’s interruption cut through the heat between Sawyer and Chey like a northern wind on a steamy hot day. He’d forgotten Zoey was here. He wished she wasn’t.
“We have to practice at my house.” She continued talking as if she couldn’t tell Sawyer wanted to push her away from the steps. Maybe he’d lost his edge. “I’m kind of grounded because of yesterday.” She blushed. “Anyway, my dad says if we set up at my house, I can play with you.”
“Guess we can’t do this without you.” He spoke half under his breath. Hanging out alone with Chey would be better. But he and Chey didn’t make much of a band.
“Told you he’d only agree if you asked.” Zoey flashed Chey a grin.
Chey glanced away, her stud jiggling crazily as if it might fall out.
“I’ll go take apart the drums.” He opened the door. “You coming to get the keyboard? Unless you’ve decided I can touch it now.”
“I don’t think so.” Chey entered the house behind him. “I’ll pack it up.”
Five minutes ago, he’d had no band. Now he had a band and a show. Sure, he’d probably mess everything up again by tomorrow, but at least he knew things wouldn’t stay messed up forever.
44
Busted Heart (Hold On To Me)
Justin paused inside the Rhythm and Notes entry. The same fliers and business cards decorated the bulletin board. Piano lessons. Guitar for sale. But a for-sale ad with a picture of drums was new. Justin scanned the description stopping on the phone number.
Sawyer was selling his drums?
Justin ripped the flyer from its red thumb tack. That couldn’t be right. Sawyer would sell a kidney first. He wasn’t selling them because he needed a kidney or something, was he?
No, that was crazy. But not as crazy as Sawyer selling his drums. Justin crumpled the paper in his fist, shoved it into his pocket, and entered the store. He’d ask around and find out what was going on.
“Morning, Justin.” Zach walked out from a back room where the violins, violas, and other stringed instruments were kept. He gave Justin a wicked smile. “I’ve got something fun for you to do.”
“O-kay.”
Zach disappeared into the back again for a moment and returned with a box. “The pick trays need refilling.”
Justin took the box. Inside, dozens of plastic bags were filled with colorful guitar picks of every width. A guitar-related chore. Not bad.
“I’m restringing a cello, so you’ve got the register.”
“No problem.” Justin walked over to the counter separating the guitar room from a smaller room with keyboards, drum sticks, and drum head replacements. A large rectangular box divided into dozens of squares, each holding a different size or brand of pick, sat on the counter. Another vertical box with drawers held even more. Grabbing a bag of picks, he got to work.
Justin refilled the plastic trays, the guitar picks clinking against each other. Having a job wasn’t so bad. At least he was surrounded by music. And he never had to ask, “Do you want hot sauce with that?”
The entrance guitar strummed. Glancing up from his chore, he saw Vance walk through the doorway. Justin clenched his fists, the picks digging into his palm.
“What are you doing here?” Vance stopped on the other side of the counter.
“Working.” Justin spoke as if he’d seen a Slow, Proceed with Caution sign.
“Really?” Vance laughed, not as if he found Justin working funny, but as if Justin had fallen and that was funny. “You had to get a job? Things falling apart in the Conrad family again?”
Justin shoved the picks into the case and shut the lid. “What do you want?”
“Is that how you greet customers?” Vance mocked. He circled around to the rack with guitar strings. “Need a new D-string.”
Keeping an eye on Vance, Justin moved to the register.
“How’s Zoey?”
Hearing her name sent a tremor through Justin. But why would Vance ask him about Zoey? “Fine, I guess.”
“You haven’t heard, have you?” Vance walked over looking a little too excited about a new string. “That’s right, you weren’t the one she called to rescue her. It was some other dude. Guy with spiky hair, gauges in his ears.”
“Sawyer?” Nausea grabbed hold of Justin’s stomach. Why would Zoey call Sawyer? Unless there actually was something going on between them. Justin’s hands tightened on the edge of the glass counter.
“That’s his name?”
Justin ignored the question and tried to keep his voice casual. “What happened?”
“Your girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—got totally wasted. She couldn’t even perform Friday night. So we kicked her out.”
Was Vance messing with him? “Zoey wouldn’t do that.”
“She did. Totally flaked out on us.” Vance muttered something under his breath.
“Don’t call her that.” Justin’s voice was as tight as his clenched fists. Punching a customer would probably get him fired, and except for that night with Sawyer, he’d never gotten into a fight. But keeping the counter between him and Vance was necessary.
“You’re defending her?” Vance laughed as if this was better than Justin having a job. “Man, you’re pathetic. She ditches your band, hooks up with another guy, dumps you, and you’re still in love with her.”
Justin snatched the guitar string off the counter and rang it up. Love didn’t disappear just because someone messed up.
“I guess in your perfect little world, couples can pretend everyone’s happy. No one ever cheats.” Vance pulled out his wallet and slapped down a bill.
Justin wished. If he really could pretend, he wouldn’t be wondering about all the times Mom asked him to baby-sit or questioning if Zoey—and Mom—really deserved to be forgiven. And he’d be able to call Sawyer to ask why he was selling his drums. Not that he cared about that anymore. Sawyer could do whatever he wanted.
Justin made change and handed Vance the bag.
“You need to grow up, kid.” Vance narrowed his eyes, not letting the conversation die. “In the real world, life’s unfair. Parents divorce, friends stab you in the back, and girlfriends sleep around.”
“Hey! It was just a kiss.”
“Yeah, but in your G-rated world, that’s the same as sex.”
Justin should be angry, insulted by everything Vance had said, but instead he felt cold, numb, and as if every word was true.
“But you always did want to play songs about love and forgiveness and that church junk.” Vance’s gaze rolled over Justin, and his mouth twisted into a smile. “Though you don’t look like you believe it all now.”
Justin tried to open his mouth to deny it, but his jaw had wired shut.
“Hard to stay innocent when the world keeps biting you in the butt, isn’t it?” Smirking, Vance took his guitar string and left.
Rooted behind the counter, Justin stared into space. Just because he was angry with Sawyer didn’t mean he’d lost his faith. He still believed in God and definitely love. His breakup with Zoey hadn’t changed his beliefs. But what about the other things Vance had mentioned? About Zoey and Sawyer and Friday night? The crushing ache returned. His cell rang and he pulled the phone from his pocket. Mom? He answered and returned to the guitar picks.
“Sorry to bother you at work.” Mom’s apology sounded more polite than regretful. “But what time do you get off tonight?”
“I’m working until close. Six.” He dropped blue picks into the right slot. “But Zach’s showing me how to close, so I’ll be home later.”
“Can you pick up Tristan from Carrie’s house next door when you get home? I’ve got this chick flick night with some ladies from church at Nina Walters’ house that I’d forgotten about. And since your dad’s in Anchorage, I need you to watch Tristan.”
> She’d forgotten? So Dad didn’t know about it either? “Told you that if I got a job you’d lose your free babysitting.”
“I guess it’s a good thing the store closes early. Savannah’s at Allie’s house, so you won’t need to worry about her, but don’t forget to get Tristan from Carrie’s, OK?”
“OK.” He disconnected and dropped the phone back into his pocket. Was she really going to a chick flick night? Maybe it was time to find out if forgiveness after cheating did work.
~*~
“Shooom, shooom.” Tristan bolted into the house, his arms spread wide. “I’m a bomber,” he explained, darting into the kitchen, around the island, and into the living room.
“Be careful, buddy.” Justin avoided a mid-air collision and headed for Dad’s study. “I’m going to look at something on the computer. Then we might go out.”
Bomber-Tristan paused. “Go where?”
“For a drive.”
Justin hadn’t been able to drop his suspicions about Mom. If she’d known about the movie night, why hadn’t she marked the calendar or asked him to babysit earlier? Maybe she was taking advantage of Dad’s absence.
Several minutes of searching the Internet brought up Nina Walters’ address north of town. He also checked the church’s online events calendar. No mention of a chick flick night or anything at Nina Walters’ house.
A lump like a porcupine—big and prickly—settled into his gut. He shut off the computer and tracked down Tristan. “Wanna go for a drive, buddy?”
“No, I wanna fly. Shooom, shooom.” Tristan buzzed around Justin.
“How about you fly out to my car?” He picked up Bomber-Tristan, flew him to his car, and unlocked the doors.
“Hey!” Tristan squirmed and kicked like swimming in air. “No car seat! I can’t go.”
Right, the car seat. “Sure you can, buddy. It’s just a short ride. It’ll be OK.” He helped his little brother into the car and buckled the too-big seatbelt over him. He’d drive real careful, and no one would find out. Justin backed out of the driveway and drove north, away from the University and town. Nina Walters lived on one of the many roads leading up the hills outside of Fairbanks. He watched the green street signs.
