CHAPTER 10

My weekend did not go as planned. I'd expected to hang with Brandon and the other guys from our band, fix a weird sound my bike's been making, and lay down some music with Eddie. I did those things, but they're not what I remember come Monday, especially when I catch sight of the girl with long, red hair heading determinedly for my locker at lunch. "You need a new guitar." Emily states, leaning against the locker next to mine. The side of her forehead meets the metal as she cocks her head at me. "This soph is selling one that looked amazing, so I lined it up for you to try." I shut the door. "Seriously?" "And you have a free period. So, let's go." she insists, bobbing next to me down the hall. Her slow smiles has my abs tightening. I sneak a look at her, the skirt that swings against her smooth thighs, her breasts outlined by the jacket, her silky hair waving over one shoulder. I was getting used to seeing her in shorts, jeans, bathing suits, but she looks really fucking pretty in her school uniform. Even if it has me thinking about what's underneath. "You just want an excuse to hang out with me." I drawl as we fall into step together. "This is a favor. I'm sick of you." But we basically have been hanging out. All weekend. She needs help. I give it to her. No, I don't advertise to Eddie that we're spending time together. It's simpler that way. But it's addictive the way she listens, how she tries. When she sings, her voice is smooth and rough at once, velvet with a raw edge. Unpolished, but there's a realness you can't fake, an earnest emotion that grabs you by the base of your spine. Girl's got a gift. I've never gotten invested in anyone's else's music before, but I want her to succeed, and I want to be there when she does. To see the light bulb go off when she figures something out, when a piece clicks into place in that beautiful mind of hers. We get to the all-purpose room and meet the guy with the guitar. He introduces himself and gestures to the open case. "Wow." he says to Emily when I start playing. I tune out whatever he says next, needing to get a read on the sound, the feel, the weight of the instrument under my hands. It's actually not bad. I've played some nice guitars of Eddie's and the one at Zeke's the other day, but maybe I have been slumming it too much with the one I got before I knew I was gonna do this for a lifetime. "How much?" I say when I set it down. He shrugs. "How's two?" "Two hundred?" "Two thousand." I'm about to say hell no when Emily grabs my arm. "Give us a second." She pulls me out into the hall, half empty since everyone's at lunch. "Do you like it?" My laugh is humorless. "Yeah, but two large is insane." She reaches into her wallet and pulls out a thick stack of twenties, two fifties on top. "He'll negotiate." My hand closes over hers, the warmth of her making me want to hold on. "I'm not negotiating, and I'm not taking your money. Don't you dare feel sorry for me." "I feel sorry for the guitar." Adrenaline pumps through my veins. "You think my hands are that good?" She puts her wallet away and shoots me a slow smile. "I wouldn't know." It's only teasing, but those words affect me. We're in a school hallway, but suddenly I picture dragging her into a stairwell and showing her just what my hands can do. Because, suddenly, fixing her music box and playing while she sings don't feel like the best use of them. I want to press my thumb into her mouth, to make her moan around it. I want to drag up her skirt to find out what words she's hiding beneath. I want to grab her ankles, wrap those endless legs around my hips tight enough I can grind into her. Late last night, she texted to say my lights were on and asked if I wanted to practice in the pool house. I shut that down even though I wanted to say yes. If I was the talking type, I might ask her to be more considerate. To stop teasing me with those long looks, the knowing smiles, the samrt-ass comments. But none of it makes a difference because Emily and I are still worlds apart in every way that matters. We might share a smile in the hallway at school, but I have my friends and she has hers. She goes to rehearsal. I hang with the popular kids, feign ambivalence when Carla spews her bullshit when all I want to do is find Emily and get the hell out of this place. It's necessary. The framework that keeps everything in place, that reminds me not to fall for Eddie's daughter when he isn't there to remind me himself. "What is this?" Emily bends to pick up something that's fallen on the floor. I take it from her. "Nothing. Your Dad's." I've been staring at the business card all weekend, but I haven't made the call. I shove the card in my jacket pocket and force my attention back to the task at hand. "If I'm going to start over, I'd rather go with mahogany. Something heavier weight with better sustain. Maybe a rosewood fret. V neck. I like how it fits in my hands." "Three days ago you didn't want a new guitar. Now you're Clapton. Anything else?" I reach for her blazer collar, straighten it with both hands for an excuse to touch her hair, to graze her neck with my thumbs. "Twenty-four fret." "All right, big boy." She grins, and I swallow the laugh. "Stay here." she says before heading back to let the guy down easy. I tune out the conversation, but my chest expands at the fact that she cared enough to set this up for me. This girl makes me wonder what things are possible in this world. My phone rings in my pocket, and like that, my good mood evaporates. When the voicemail appears, my finger hovers over the delete button, but thinking of Emily's comment about how you have to open yourself up sometimes, I hold the phone to my ear instead. My father's voice spills out, angry and pleading in turn. "You still owe me, Timothy. I gave up everything for you, you ungrateful bastard! You can't abandon your family." A group of students approaches, laughing and oblivious, and I wait for them to pass before I duck into a recessed stairwell. I lean my forehead against the cold painted brick, squeezing my eyes shut. If I'd thought maybe something had changed, like maybe he'd wake up and see what an asshole he's been his entire life... I was wrong. It never changes. "Okay, he was bummed but... Timothy?" Emily's footsteps draw closer until I feel her at my side. "What happened?" I shake my head. "Same bullshit as always. For some reason, I still fucking care." Emily ducks between my arms and takes my face in her hands. "Caring isn't a weakness. Even if the person you care about doesn't care back, that doesn't mean you should stop." I heave out a breath, her cool hands grounding me. My hair's falling over my face and part of hers. I wish it could hide us from the world. "You're good at caring about people." she goes on, her voice a murmur. "Like who?" "Like me." I exhale heavily, my hands braced on the wall on either side of her head. "I told you I don't." "But you've shown me you do." I pull back enough to look into her eyes brimming with empathy I'd never ask for but need like my next breath. There are moments you look back on, ones that feel small but change everything. I should step back, reinforce the distance between us. I don't. Instead, I wrap both arms around her, pull her closer. My fingers imprint themselves on the fabric of her jacket, the soft strands of her hair. When I tuck her head under my chin, her breath hitches. I take a long inhale, wishing her scent didn't calm me like it does. Even the layers of our uniforms can't hide the warm comfort of her body. Her hands slide up my back until she's holding me as hard as I'm holding her. I'm supposed to keep her out, but I don't know how. Leaving this summer will hurt like hell. And I'm terrified by how much I want to stay.