The Right Song Read online

  She lowers her eyes and stares at her hands in her lap. I take in her body language. She’s seriously deliberating this. It’s as if she’s not sure about them anymore.

  I want to cheer her up.

  “I know Drew adores you,” I tell her. “So there’s nothing to worry about. You guys will be fine.”

  I flip her hair. She smiles tightlipped in return. It makes me feel like she’s not telling me something.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” she says on an exhale.

  Picking up her bag from the floor, she checks her hair one more time in the rearview mirror.

  As I take my keys out of the ignition, I catch a glimpse of Daegan over the steering wheel, making his way from the parking lot.

  For the first time, I discern how he dresses: a black t-shirt inside a faded gray jacket, dark blue jeans, and black laced boots. I observe every accessory, down to the silver ring on his middle finger and the lip piercing at the left side of his bottom lip.

  Everything about him seems dark and alluring.

  Daegan clenches what appears to be a portfolio in his hand and he drapes an army green messenger bag over his shoulder. I don’t know why I’m suddenly so curious about this guy.

  Is it because he looked at me yesterday while I was caught up in a moment of misery? I can’t stop myself from staring longer than I should.

  “Why are you watching Daegan Stone again? It’s like you want him.” Emma draws me out of my ogling.

  Quickly, I spin my head, taken off-guard by her remark. “I don’t want him. What are you talking about? He just happens… to be there.” My voice comes out child-like and in a near whisper. I’m flabbergasted and I don’t know why.

  She stares at me with slit eyes, dubious of my response. “I was just kidding, Law. Relax. Besides, your heart belongs to you-know-who,” she says in a flirty way, shoving my arm playfully before we climb out of the car and head inside the building.

  Milo is already in his seat when I reach English class. He’s talking to Trent behind him so he doesn’t notice me when I enter the room.

  I drop down in the assigned seat in front of his—just my luck—and turn my cellphone on silent.

  Dreading having to be this close to him after I embarrassed myself yesterday, I tap my shoes on the floor, flick my nails, and wait anxiously for class to begin. But then I feel a tap on my shoulder and I tense.

  Oh. My. Gosh.

  I turn around, half expecting to be laughed at. Only Milo seems apologetic. That’s a good sign.

  “Sorry about yesterday. It’s just that you haven’t spoken to me in like, forever. So I was a little surprised. But of course, I remember exactly who you are, Aurora Lawrence.”

  He recoils a bit as a memory flashes back to him, one that he apparently doesn’t like. “We were good friends. Also,” he continues, recollecting. “You fought…” Milo breaks off, seeing the confusion on my face.

  I swallow the lump that’s lodged in my throat before I say, “It was the other way around.”

  “What?” He wrinkles his forehead.

  I clarify. “You stopped talking to me.”

  Slowly, he falls back in his seat, an unreadable look on his gorgeous face. I wonder if I’ve offended him.

  “It doesn’t matter now, anyway,” I reassure. “We’ve both grown up.”

  “Yeah,” he replies.

  His face softens and the corners of his mouth turn up into a warm smile. My heart thumps as I stare at him. I’m outright mesmerized, detached from everything else and only focusing on him.

  I jump a little when Mr. Lloyd shuts the door. “Okay, class,” he says in a stern voice. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

  I turn fully in my seat to give him my undivided attention. Not a minute later, I feel a minty cool breath at the side of my face as Milo leans forward and whispers, “So you were saying something about Lights Out? I’ll be there later. Ryan says your band’s pretty awesome.”

  “Sounds good,” I say in a low voice before he eases back after giving my shoulder a friendly squeeze.

  Gosh! I can’t settle my speeding heart. I tighten my grip on the pen and fight to relax. I start to breathe normally again only after hearing Mr. Lloyd announce the page number in the textbook.

  It’s a good thing Milo can’t see my face right now because I’m definitely blushing.

  I finish lunch early and head out to the soccer field to work on the Bio paper due Thursday. I’d already made notes from the textbook, but I feel suffocated whenever I’m inside the library so I figure some fresh air will do me good while I finish it.

  Searching for a tree to find shelter from the blinding sun, I spot Daegan sitting under one of the scarlet oak trees at the far side of the field.

  Uh-oh.

  He rests his back against the coarse tap root, lost in euphoria while he sketches. Dark, loose strands fall over his crooked brows, and for a passing second, I feel the desire to stroke his face.

  What the hell?

  Curious about what he’s working on, I take my time moseying over, so as not to disturb him. When I’m close enough, I bend my knees a tad and peer over his shoulder.

  My eyes follow the delicate movements of his manly hand gripping the pencil. Daegan glides along the artwork, elegantly shading a woman’s dark wavy hair, outlining her face. He creates these detailed shadows to emphasize her perfect features.

  He’s so good!

  His muse looks mature, appearing to be in her late-thirties. I wonder who she is; obviously she must be someone important for him to make such an effort on the sketch.

  When he moves his hand away for a moment to regard what he’s done so far, I gasp in astonishment at the sight of his flawless portrait.

  Daegan winces and flips the page over, as if his artwork isn’t meant for anyone’s eyes but his own.

  He twists his body; a speck of irritation resides in his piercing eyes as he glares up at me.

  Shuddering from his cold expression, I step back a little and say timidly, “Sorry to sneak up on you like that.”

  Daegan relaxes his face, but his body still appears to be cautious. He ignores me and sticks his sketchbook inside his messenger bag, pulling out a bottle of water afterwards.

  Overflowing with admiration, I step towards him again. “You’re really talented.”

  “Thank you,” he replies in a calm and even tone, looking up to meet my gaze in an uncaring manner. His eyes study my face for a minute before he asks, “Are you just gonna keep standing there?”

  I inch closer to sit beside him. Daegan flinches as if I have some contagious disease.

  “Don’t,” he sputters.

  Taken aback by his reaction, I furrow my brow as I stare at him, perplexed. “Uh, I thought you meant I should sit down here—”

  “Why would I want you to sit next to me?” he snorts. It makes me feel imprudent.

  I search my brain for a reason to stay and watch him sketch more, but I can’t think of anything besides telling him I’m simply fascinated by his talent.

  Then I remember.

  “Why were you watching me yesterday?”

  He turns his head away fast, putting the water bottle back inside his bag after taking another sip.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies, watching the baseball practice on the other side of the fence.

  “Um, yeah, you were so obvious. Our eyes made four.” I sit down beside him regardless if he wants me to or not.

  Daegan looks back at me. He pauses for a beat before saying, “You have nice features. I was bored… looking for something to sketch.”

  “Thanks, I guess. So are you going to sketch me? That would be cool. I’ve never had that done for me before. Did you already do—”

  “I’m not going to.” He glances away and picks at the grass.

  The way he said it offends me.

  “How come?” I ask.

  He keeps his gaze on the grass. I watch his hand; it looks strong and protective
as he tugs on a weed. His fingernails are darkened by pencil shavings. I can see the design of the silver ring on his middle finger clearer. There are Latin words emblazoned on it that I don’t understand and knots adorning the edges.

  A surge of air escapes his lips as he raises his hand and combs back the strands off his forehead.

  I widen my eyes when I glimpse barely visible scars on his wrist, the rest hidden beneath the studded black leather band. I wonder how he got those. My stomach roils, thinking they might be self-inflicted.

  “You’re not happy,” he finally says. I glance away from his hand and meet his eyes.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, confusion cutting through my tone.

  He clutches his bag and hops to his feet. I stand as well, brushing off my jeans.

  “That’s why I won’t sketch you,” he replies. Saying nothing more, Daegan drapes the strap over his shoulder. He brushes my arm as he steps past me.

  What a weird guy, I think to myself, watching as he strides across the soccer field towards the gymnasium without looking back.

  He was so cold towards me, and I have no idea why. Not to mention he’s given me a newfound level of curiosity in regards to the scars on his wrist.

  6.

  Later that evening, I have dinner with Alex and his dad. Hanging out at the Fullers on some evenings had become a tradition after my parents died, and with Aunt Leah not being around, since she’s mostly at the hospital during dinner time.

  I can’t complain though, because Mr. Fuller is a really great cook. A fancy French restaurant in the city of Bordeaux granted Mr. Fuller a position as Head Chef. They even offered to pay for his son’s education. It is quite a wonderful opportunity and one a lover of French cuisine would never turn down.

  Alex is following in his dad’s footsteps. Often he would prepare meals for me and the cousins, so it isn’t a surprise that he’d chosen to go off to France with his dad.

  At first I was upset because he’s one of my best friends, but knowing that Alex loves the world of culinary as much as his dad, I got over him leaving the country. It’s not like I’ll never see him again.

  Mr. Fuller hands me the salad bowl and watches as I scoop out lettuce, carrots, and tomato only, ignoring the chunks of celery.

  “So you’re really serious about not going to college this fall? It’s not too late to change your mind, you know?” he says as I pass the bowl across the table to Alex. “You could take classes at the community college.”

  I sigh. “Yeah, I’m serious.”

  “Rora,” he says in a soft tone, “there’s nothing wrong with putting music on hold and getting a college education first.” His way of speaking to me almost sounds like my dad’s.

  “Well, there’s nothing wrong with putting college on hold, either,” I defend myself.

  Alex lets out a short laugh.

  Mr. Fuller glares at him then looks back at me. I meet the set of warm green eyes that both father and son possess.

  “I just want you to think about it carefully,” he continues. “At eighteen, Dana and I decided we’d run off to join this traveling circus, but if my father hadn’t talked some sense into me, I wouldn’t have realized my true calling—”

  “What?” Alex interrupts. “You guys were going to join a circus together? Maybe you should have kept that one a secret, Dad.” Alex is unable to control his laughter.

  Mr. Fuller points his fork at him. “Hey, we were both serious about it at the time, and I was quite hurt when news broke out that those bastards were abusing the animals. Anyway,” He clears his throat and composes himself, looking back at me. “My point is, Rora,” I stop chuckling as soon as he gets serious again. “Sometimes it may seem like a good path but often times it isn’t exactly the right one. Have you thought seriously about this? Is songwriting what you really want to do?”

  It’s not the only thing, but I’m afraid of chasing after more. Still, I bob my head so he’ll be satisfied.

  Mr. Fuller smiles at me with great affection, his crow’s feet on display at the corner of his eyes. It’s like I’m only now seeing how old he’s getting; even his black hair is starting to gray.

  In no time my mind drifts to my parents, wondering how they’d look now if they’d survived the crash.

  I snap out of it and continue eating before Alex and his dad notices something’s off about me.

  A cloud of silence hovers over the dining table until we finish eating the cheesy polenta and ham gratin. In the midst, my heart flutters with gratitude for Mr. Fuller. He is in fact the only father figure in my life that I look up to, and I value his opinion as much as my dad. Yet, I still can’t dismiss the ever-tarrying presence of my own.

  Sometimes I’d imagine Dad here, stroking my hair and giving me comfort when loneliness sneaks up on me.

  Damn. Talk about an endless grief.

  Alex and I clear the table after dinner and do the dishes while his dad practices French in the living room. Mr. Fuller’s old fashioned. He doesn’t like the invention of dishwashers.

  We listen to him practice the French language. He isn’t doing so badly, but at times his words sound more German than intended.

  Handing me the last dish to dry off, Alex brushes my shoulder. “Dad has a point you know,” he says, wiping his hands in the towel.

  “He always does. But you know what, it’s my choice to make and I don’t need another person asking me if I’m sure,” I sing the words. Alex laughs lowly.

  Finishing up, I turn to head out of the kitchen. He reaches for my elbow and asks me to wait a bit. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  I take in his posture. He’s fiddling around with the dish towel. His face is unmasked, revealing deep contemplation. He obviously has something serious to tell me. I’m not sure if I want to hear it.

  Leaning against the kitchen sink, I prepare myself for it. The longer he waits, the more awkward the atmosphere gets, so I push him to speak. “Just say whatever’s on your mind. You know you can tell me anything.”

  He swallows hard before blurting out, “I’m in love with you.” Oh gosh. I meant anything else besides that.

  Chest heaving and eyes longing, he confesses even more. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time now.”

  Alex expels his held breath, moves closer to my body, and touches my arm. I glance at his hand, too numb by his confession to ease it away.

  “We were rehearsing at Chris’ house for our first performance at Lights Out,” he explains, “and I remember afterwards you sat alone out on the back porch. It was time to leave and I went to get you.”

  Eyeing my hair, he goes on. “I remember your hair was let down and it glowed so much in the light. You lifted your head and I saw your face, barely, but it was enough to see that you were smiling. I hadn’t seen you smile like that for so long…” he pauses to recover from his emotions.

  Alex appears so different in this moment—so open and vulnerable. He’s saying too much and it’s overwhelming me.

  Why is he telling me this now?

  “Rora,” he breathes. I snap out of my thinking. “It happened the moment you turned and looked at me that night. I froze while staring into those eyes. A feeling shot straight through my heart. That’s when I knew I was in love with you.”

  Raising his hands, he places them on my shoulder, gripping me as he waits for my answer.

  We stay silent by the sink, standing inches apart and staring into each other’s eyes. Deep inside it’s possible I’ve always known how he felt about me, especially after last night. He’d been acting strange for a while now, and that only increased after hearing the news about France.

  Selfishly, I want to keep Alex only as my best friend, without acknowledging his feelings. I don’t want things to change.

  I don’t want us to change.

  And even though I’m looking at him now with his shield down and seeing the anticipation in his eyes, waiting for me to say that I love him, too, I can’t.

>   Honestly, I don’t. I have this crush on Milo that has built up over the years. I can’t just turn those feelings off, not even for Alex. Not even to keep him from hurting when I say something asinine like, “We have a show in an hour.”

  He recoils, looking utterly speechless by my absurd response, as I slip out of his grasp and walk away.

  It’s so heartless of me. I don’t even bother to glance behind to see if he’s still breathing as I head out of the kitchen, leaving him crippled by his emotions.

  Alone. Hurt.

  Did he expect that I’d fall into his arms and kiss him madly? Isn’t he the cruel one for telling me this now when he’s on the verge of leaving? Is there a tiny voice at the back of his head convincing him I’d move to this romantic country with him and spend our nights together dining lavishly and exchanging sexy French words?

  That life isn’t for me, whether or not he thought about it. Yes, I’m terrible. You could even say that I’m a bitch. That’s fine, because instead of telling him the truth, I disregarded his feelings by making it seem as if I don’t care. But he’s my best friend. What else can I do but care?

  7.

  Light’s Out is packed as always. This place is the hippest in the entire village of Seville. I love the energy. It feeds our performance.

  Emma, the one person I need right now is missing, and on the one night that I feel as if I need her most.

  I stand in a corner across from the bar, arms crossed and looking down at my gray sneakers close together on the retro tiles. I reflect on the way I left Alex at his house, pain etched on his face and that hideous checkered towel clenched in his fist.

  The whole scene weighs down on my shoulders, making me frustrated. I unfold my arms, place one hand behind me, and use the other to text Drew and Chris to see if they have arrived yet. Maybe I could talk to them about it.

  Then someone walks over and casts a shadow, blocking out the lights from the dance floor. I look up and find Daegan standing before me.