Out of Sync

by Vanessa North

  Ritchie blew out a breath and closed his eyes. After a moment he opened them again, and he pulled me into a hug. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault that they don’t give a shit about me. You’re the one who fought for me.”

  “You fought for yourself.”

  I pushed away and shook my head. “I wish I had. All I did was poke at him. Maybe if I had put up a real fight—”

  “Jacks. No. None of the way they treated you was your fault. Teenagers cuss and go out with their friends and do stupid shit and get Bs in math. Hell, I’d have been thrilled with a B in regular old remedial ‘pass this and you graduate’ math, forget disconnected equilibriums.”

  “Differential equations.” I feel the beginning of a smile tugging the corners of my lips up.

  “Yeah, that.” He touched the side of my face with his fingertips, sliding them down to cup my chin. “You’re exactly who you were born to be. They tried to break that, but they couldn’t. You did nothing wrong.”

  I leaned in and kissed him softly, then stretched out and laid my head on his lap. “Please don’t tell anyone I was upset.”

  “You’re allowed to be upset.” Ritchie’s hand carded through my hair. “But I won’t say anything.”

  “Thank you.”

  Drea’s mom passed away right before Christmas.

  I took an Uber from the Thorns to Teri’s apartment after work, and when I got there, Ritchie and Natalie were already there. Ritchie wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

  “Thanks for coming,” he murmured against my forehead.

  “She’s already gone.” Teri stared out the window. “I gave her everyone’s condolences at the airport.” She glanced at me. “Yours too, Jacks.”

  I nodded. “Is she going to be okay?”

  Teri shrugged. “I don’t know. Man, this fucking year. All she wanted was to get through this year with her mom.”

  Ritchie closed his eyes. “She told me this summer she didn’t know how her dad was going to get through it. And right before Christmas. Fuck. Poor Drea.”

  Nat spoke up. “I’ll send flowers to her dad in St. Paul. From all of us.”

  “I think she’d really appreciate the gesture,” Teri said. “Thanks.”

  “So, what about Thursday night? You want to play as a duo?” Ritchie asked her.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. No. It doesn’t seem fair. I’ll call Farrah and have her cancel our standing gig for the next few weeks. We’ll sort it out when Drea gets back.”

  Something terrible and sad flickered in Teri’s expression. I slipped out of Ritchie’s arms and crossed the room to sit next to her on the windowsill.

  “Are you okay?” I asked her quietly.

  She shook her head, her chin trembling, then pulled me into a hug. “Don’t want Ritchie to see me cry,” she whispered into my ear. I swallowed hard and squeezed her tight.

  “Okay. I’ll get him out of here.”

  I felt her nod against my shoulder and she pulled out of the hug, her eyes bright and her lips pressed tightly together.

  “Ritchie, I need some air—will you walk with me?” I gestured toward the door with my head.

  He glanced at Teri. “You want me to call Farrah for you?”

  She shook her head. “No thanks, Ritch. I appreciate it though.”

  “Come on.” I took Ritchie’s hand and led him outside, giving Teri one last look over my shoulder. I didn’t know whether she was sad because Drea was sad, or because Drea was gone, but I understood her wanting to save her tears for privacy.

  Chapter Seven

  At first, Teri and Drea talked almost every day. Teri was always filling us in on text messages she’d received. Drea had found a job with an ambulance company in St. Paul, but it was just until her dad didn’t need her anymore.

  It was late March before we got the news that Drea would be staying permanently with her dad in St. Paul. Ritchie and I were hanging out with Teri in her living room when she got the text. She sighed and set her phone down, then buried her hands in her hair. “Fuck.”

  “Teri? What’s wrong?” Ritchie asked.

  “Drea’s dad needs her to stay. She says she’s going to sublet her apartment for the remainder of her lease, and she asked me to sell her drum kit.”

  “Her drum kit—she’s not going to play at all anymore?” My heart hurt for Drea.

  “So that’s it. That’s the end of the Glitter Guerrillas.” Ritchie ran his hands through his hair and pulled me into his lap. He sighed. “Not with a bang, but a whimper.”

  “I’m sorry,” I told him. I looked up at Teri. “You too, Teri. I’m sorry.”

  “I had a feeling, you know?” She paced the living room. “When she left, I watched her go, and I thought ‘I’m never going to see her again.’ I shook it off, but it was true. I wish I’d told her—I wish I’d said something.”

  “I’m sure you’ll see her again.” I tried to sound confident, but I had been sure I’d see Ade again by Christmas. After the first few weeks she’d been in California, her texts had petered out. I hadn’t spoken to her on the phone since Thanksgiving, though we still liked each other’s Facebook posts and faved each other’s tweets.

  She had new friends now. Friends who probably weren’t so much work. She even had a girlfriend—according to her Facebook status. A butch girl with a pierced eyebrow. And I was jealous, because the time that she used to spend with me, she was spending with someone else. I missed her.

  “You’ll see her again,” I said, as much to myself as to Teri.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not getting my hopes up. Sometimes people don’t come back. No matter how much you want them to.”

  “I’m sorry,” I repeated.

  “Hey, do you want her drum kit?” Teri asked me. “You used to play, right?”

  I stared at her in surprise. “Really? You’d sell it to me?”

  “Technically, Drea would be selling it to you. I’m only brokering the transaction.”

  “I would love that. I haven’t played in—” I grimaced. “Almost two years. Yeah. I’ll buy it. I have a little saved up.”

  “Well, that’s one worry off my mind. God, I’m going to miss playing with her. With us.”

  “You could find another drummer,” I suggested. Ritchie stiffened, then twitched underneath me. I looked at his face, and it was full of that same electric energy he got on stage.

  “What if Jacks took her place? What if he took over for her in the band?” Ritchie asked slowly.

  “What? Ritch no—I’m not ready for that.” I protested. “And it wouldn’t feel right.”

  “She wrote most of our songs, Ritchie.” Teri pointed out. “We’d have to start all over.”

  “So, we start over.” He pressed his forehead to mine. “I can write songs. We could do this. Or we could start a new band. We have guitar, bass, drums, that’s all we need.”

  “But I haven’t picked up the sticks in years. I can’t play in front of people. I’m not even sure I can play at all anymore.”

  “You don’t lose it entirely,” Teri said. “I’ve seen you dance; you have an incredible sense of rhythm. We could do this.” Then she scowled. “But you know, I’d prefer not to sing if we’re starting over.”

  “Natalie could sing,” I said softly. “She has a beautiful voice.”

  “She really does,” Teri agreed. “Wait, are we really doing this?”

  “Technically, I think I told you no.” I pointed out.

  Ritchie laughed and hugged me closer. “But you can’t stop grinning.”

  “You guys haven’t even asked Natalie yet.”

  “She’ll say yes,” Teri clapped her hands. “Oh yeah, this is happening. I’m gonna call her and have her come over.”

  Three hours later, I was the drummer of Vertical Smile.

  Natalie had agreed on the condition that it was just for fun, and we wouldn’t be gigging anywhere. Something about the Thorns employee’s standards clause. I guessed I was
subject to that too, but I found I cared less about it than Nat did. I was just a bar back. It wasn’t a career.

  That day, at that moment in time, the idea of Vertical Smile seemed full of possibility. The sense of rightness around the four of us made me giddy and giggly, and that was before Nat ran out to the bodega to get a bottle of champagne.

  We raised our glasses that night with a toast I hoped we’d make over and over again. “To the Smile!”

  The first time we practiced together, I started to get an idea of what music meant to Ritchie—yes, I’d known previously, but now I was on the inside. Now I was a part of it. And I was fucking it up royally.

  We started by playing some of the Guerrillas’ songs. The beats were simple enough, but I was worried I wouldn’t be able to keep time. And of course, because I was worried, I couldn’t.

  “Let’s take a break,” Teri said after I flubbed a transition. Again.

  I protested because our time in the practice space was almost up, but Nat followed her out of the room, leaving me alone with Ritchie.

  “I’m sorry,” I said as soon as the door closed behind them.

  “Don’t be.” He smiled at me, then came and stood by the kit. “You’re playing for the first time in how long? You’ll get it back.”

  “I want to be perfect for you.” I stare down at the drums. “And I keep fucking it up.”

  “No, Jacks—you don’t have to be perfect. Listen, just play the kick drum part. Just the kick, forget the toms and the snare and the cymbals. Just the kick.”

  I started counting and then did as he said.

  “This is my heartbeat.” He stretched his arms wide and grinned that wild grin of his. “Whatever you do on the rest of the kit? We’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about keeping time with me. This is what I play to. I will keep time by this heartbeat. So, I’ll always be in time with you. Okay?”

  I thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “No pressure.”

  “Just keep my heart beating, Jacks. That’s all you need to do.” He lifted his bass and started playing along with my kick drum. And because I trusted him to keep my time, I stopped worrying about following him and started really playing.

  “That’s it, that’s what I’m talking about.” Ritchie grinned. “Keep going.”

  We played and played until Teri and Nat came back, and they both started clapping. I stopped and smiled at them.

  “Thank you.”

  “Nerves are a sonofabitch, Jacks,” Nat said. “Don’t let them get you.”

  “Okay.”

  She picked up her jacket from the chair where she had set it. “I have to go. I have a date.”

  “A date? Ooh.” Teri teased. “What’s her name?”

  “His name is Paul.” She scowls. “X set us up. I don’t have high hopes, though. He’s in med school.”

  “Wait—you date guys?” I looked back and forth between Teri and Nat. “I thought you were a lesbian.”

  Ritchie laughed. “Nah, Natty’s like me. She doesn’t really care about gender. But she has a special weakness for pretty women.”

  “So, all this time I’ve been sleeping in your bed—”

  “Don’t worry, Jacks. Your virtue is safe with me.” Nat laughed, then came over and sat on my lap. “I promise.”

  I looked right into her eyes. “I’m sorry, that was stupid. Forgive me?”

  She leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Nothing to forgive.”

  “I’m gonna go too,” Teri said. “Maybe go ink a few folks.”

  “See you later,” Ritchie said.

  As we walked back to Teri’s place, Ritchie took my hand and gave it a quick squeeze before letting go. “You okay?”

  “So, you date girls too?”

  “Well, no, right now I only date you. But yeah, I’ve dated girls. They can be fun. Think how much fun you have with Ade.”

  “Yeah, but we don’t—”

  “Fuck? Yeah, I know. You and I don’t either, at least not yet. Is this a problem for you? That I’ve been with girls?” Ritchie frowned.

  “No,” I reassured him. “I guess I’m a lot more naive than I realized. I always thought Nat was hot—and that kind of confuses me.”

  This time, Ritchie laughed out loud. “Nat is hot. And attraction can be confusing. Don’t you ever wonder why you’re attracted to someone like me and not some cute jock?”

  I smiled. That definitely wasn’t something I wondered about. “No way. You’re—intense and wild and the way you move is like poetry. Some cute jock could never.”

  “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. Meanwhile, there are gay bars full of men who think I’m a skinny freak and they’re all about those cute jocks. I’m telling you; attraction is weird.”

  “So why are you attracted to me?” I asked.

  He paused and stared at me for a moment. “You’re beautiful, Jacks. Sometimes when I look at you, I hold my breath and I don’t even realize I’m doing it until I get dizzy. And it’s not just the way you look—which, is fucking incredible by the way—but you have a beautiful soul too.”

  His words fill me with a soft warmth, and I feel it all so intensely, I can’t even look at his face. “No one has ever said anything like that about me before.”

  “That’s a shame,” he said. “Because you have a face a guy could write songs about.”

  “Good thing I know a guy in a band.” I bumped his shoulder with my own. “Thanks for not being weird about me having questions.”

  He bumped back. “You can ask me anything, anytime. Especially about sex. I always want you to be comfortable with me. And for the record: If you can’t talk to the person you’re with about sex, they aren’t someone you should be having sex with.”

  “Point taken. Still, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Chapter Eight

  The months leading up to my eighteenth birthday were the sweetest I’d ever known. Working at the Thorns, lifting kegs and bussing the bar tables, honed my body as well as any gym, and playing drums with Vertical Smile kept my brain sharp. I didn’t miss school, or that sense of impending terror at the thought of becoming a doctor—because I was never going to be a doctor, and I didn’t have to pretend that I was anymore. This was freedom, the freedom I hadn’t been able to even dream of before.

  And then there was Ritchie. I was obsessed with Ritchie, and with the idea of sex with Ritchie, even if I never seemed to be able to get him alone for more than a rushed make-out session up against the wall or on Xavier’s couch.

  Those make out sessions always started with him glancing at me with that look in his eyes, the one that said he loved me and needed me and wanted me and then the next thing we knew, I’d be climbing into his lap or he’d be crowding me against the wall.

  “I think I found a place to live,” Ritchie murmured against my throat one afternoon while we tangled on the couch in Xavier’s living room. “A studio in Park Slope. It’s near the restaurant, and it’s going to be available Mid-August.”

  “Oh,” I answered, blankly, then ran my hand down the front of his body, teasing at the skin under his shirt.

  “I want you to move in with me. Please?” he grabbed my hand and pinned it above my head. “No more sleeping on couches. For either of us.”

  I stared into his dark brown eyes, and the earnest expression. No more sleeping on couches. Move in with Ritchie. Holy shit, we could finally have some privacy. We could finally—

  I groaned and thrust up against him. “Yes, please.”

  “It’s in the same building as Drea’s old place. We can fill it with plants and weird art and maybe someday a big flat-screen TV.”

  “We could fill it with a giant bed and never leave it,” I say breathlessly, squirming under him and trying to get some friction between us.

  “I think we’ll need to leave it for work and to play with the band, but yeah, I like that idea.” His body rocked against mine, and he was grinning. I was so happy I could have co
mbusted.

  I kissed him again, rolling our bodies together. The lust monster in me roared to life at the thought that soon we wouldn’t have to stop, we wouldn’t be interrupted, we could just—

  “Please don’t make a mess of my sofa.” Xavier’s pained voice echoed in the small space.

  We pulled away from each other and sat up.

  “Hi X, I didn’t hear you come in.” I wiped at my mouth and crossed my legs to hide the bulge in my pants.

  He gave us a stern glare, alternating between me and Ritchie.

  “We’re getting our own place soon,” I said. “Ritchie found us an apartment. A studio in Park Slope.”

  Xavier’s eyebrows drew together then he sighed. “You’re both very young.”

  “We’re sharing an apartment, not getting married,” Ritchie said.

  “I know. I didn’t say you were too young—I’d be a hypocrite if I did. I was younger than you when I ran away with Sam. I hope you both know that if things don’t work out, for whatever reason, my door is open to you.”

  A lump formed in my throat, and I jumped to my feet and hugged the big man.

  “Ritchie warned me I would fall in love with you,” I whispered. “I don’t think the way I feel right now is exactly what he meant, but you’re the very best person I know.”

  Xavier shook with laughter under my hand and patted my shoulder. “You need to get out more, kid,” he said gruffly, but as he made his way to the kitchen, I could see the smile he’d been trying to hide.

  The next few weeks were a blur of preparation. Even though I’d owned nothing when I first came to the city, over time I had accumulated a surprising amount of stuff. Clothes, because I was vain like that, but also my drums, a few plants, a coffee mug that said “Dick” all over it, and a cupboard full of the kind of junk food that my parents had never let me eat and that X tolerated in his kitchen only because he recognized freedom when he saw it.