I pick at the corner of the wallpaper in the hallway, the bruises on my knuckles fading. “So, lock yourself in your room and crank The Struts for twelve hours. Problemsolved.”
“I didn’t call you because I wanted you to solve it. I called because I needed to tell someone, and I can’t tell anyoneelse.”
Most people can’t understand the pressure that comes with this life, with herlife.
There’s so much to say to that, but what comes out is, “I thought you blocked myphone.”
“I unblockedit.“
“When?”
Annie doesn’t answer, but I want to know whether it was before Monday night when she came by the pool house orafter.
“What do youwant?”
“I want to forgetyou.”
But last night, I found the notes from the English class I’d missed on mydoorstop.
No reasonable person would read so much into two sheets of paper, but it was almost as if she’d opened the door a crack and was waiting for one of us to stepthrough.
“I’m playing a set,” I hear myself say, “but I’ll be back later if you want totalk.”
Trisha’s probably hoping I’ll crash with her, but I can’t stay here if I know Annie’s spinning out acrosstown.
“Forget it,” shesays.
I don’t want to get sucked in. Annie’s little rebellions are usually more like silent protestsanyway.
But she has a car. Who knows where she’dgo?
“Wait,” I say before she can hang up. “I’m gonna give you an address. Don’t get lost, and don’t get intotrouble.”
Annie snorts. “I’m not coming to find you, and I never getinto—”
I click off, exhaling hard as I text her theaddress.
The girl’s walking trouble. Everywhere she goes, people watch her. Not because she’s Jax Jamieson’s kid, but because she has this energy you can’tignore.
As we play our first few songs, I notice the ache in my hand has subsided and I’m almost back to a hundred percent. Not that anyone here’s in a state to appreciate it. The crowd is plied with alcohol and noise. They want to drink and dance and—judging by the number of couples groping and grinding—tofuck.
My music’s always been for me, first and foremost. As a kid, it was a way for me to escape my shitty life. I could shut myself in a room, a closet, a shed, andplay.
I soaked up everything I could from the internet, music class at school, hundreds of albums I borrowed and stole. Later, I got a chance to play as part of a community outreach program with Wicked. Real instruments, real musicians, realeverything.
That changed my life. I realized music could be not only my escape but my salvation, myfuture…
And the pieces started clicking intoplace.
It’s why I’m so hellbent on being a session musician after graduation. I want security, reliability, to know that I never have to depend on another person who’ll let medown.
Tonight, I’ve resigned myself to another hour of playing covers with Brandon’s band for a numbcrowd.
At least until a whisper drags down my spine and makes me look up, tossing my hair out of myface.
Annie Jamieson is hovering by thewindow.
In a room full of drunks, those clear amber eyes are a beacon, a reminder of everything beyond these fourwalls.