Will's Story Page 4

  “No, Amber. I mean, yeah, we shouldn’t have done that. Technically, I’m dating a different Amber.” I have to ask her the question she hasn’t provided an answer to. “What did Sammy mean about your other ‘fella’?”

  She stiffens. “Well, technically, I have no ‘fellas.’ But I believe he was talking about Sean. He gave me a ride home the other night, and Sammy met him.”

  My mind jumps to the worst possible scenario. I gave Amber Vaughn a ride home recently, too. Is she stuck in Sean’s brain the way she’s stuck in mine? Did she sing with him, too? I won’t even let myself go to the bigger question. This night has gone from the pinnacle to the pit.

  “Look, Amber. If you don’t mind, I’m going to just drop you off. I’m not so into football game dance nights, and I think I’d rather go home.”

  Amber’s mouth drops in disbelief. “Sean’s only a friend, Will.”

  I want to believe her. I really do. But I’ve seen them talking at school. I’ve seen the way he looks at her. What guy wouldn’t be into her? Especially another musician.

  I pull up to the school. “No, not because of Sean. I mean, who am I to say if you like the guy or not? Remember?” I point to myself. “Girlfriend.”

  Amber flinches and if I were smart I’d finish that sentence, say something like, for a few more hours anyway, but really that’s not all of it. For the first time since I moved here, I finally feel like I’ve found a place. Like I know what my next move is. The only way I’m going to convince my dad I’m strong enough to do what it takes to pursue music is to show him I’ve kept my promises and my nose clean.

  Amber’s doing that trembling thing again but this time I think it’s anger not nerves. “I don’t . . .” She takes a deep breath and starts again in a dead calm voice. “I don’t like him.”

  I notice she doesn’t add anything about liking me.

  “It’s not about Sean, Amber.” Not totally the truth. I’m definitely having some jealous feels. But I’m not playing that card. “It’s about me. And my dad.”

  “Your dad?”

  “My dad will crucify me if he finds out I’ve been hanging out with dealers. Tonight was fun, and you’re a great singer.” God, I sound so lame. “Really great.” I stop while I’m ahead and stare at my hands on the wheel.

  Amber’s like a volcano. Red creeps onto her cheeks and I feel it before she explodes. “But I didn’t invite Sammy! He showed up at Sizz’s on his own. He would’ve showed up, whether or not you took me.”

  The chink in my mortar. The same thought had been swimming around the edges. If Sammy’s a regular then I can’t keep going up there. At least not until things with my dad are rock solid again.

  “I know that.” I’m getting ready to grab her hand and plead my case. To ask her to just chill for a minute or three while I sort things out in my head, but Sarabeth and another girl walk by and I don’t want Amber Rose to hear about my asshat status from anyone but me. “But things are complicated.”

  Amber Vaughn sees the girls and her soft eyes turn to steel. “Yeah, I got it. Complicated.” She opens the door and climbs out. I lean over. I don’t know what I’m going to say to her, but she shuts the door before I can try.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Trying to sing

  The bigger man blues

  Yet you want me

  Playing this ruse

  The next morning I wake up feeling like a tool. What happened last night? Pretty sure I completely overreacted. Dad has to know Amber Vaughn’s related to that guy. He knows everybody and she’s been at our house almost every Friday night since we moved here. All I’d have to tell him is I’m seeing her, not trying to see Sammy. But then there’s Sean. Why wouldn’t she like him? He doesn’t have a girlfriend. And I guess he’s attractive in that Cobain sort of way. Either way, it doesn’t matter, I need to call it off with Amber Rose. Whether the other Amber likes me or not.

  Devon pops his head through the door of our adjoining bathroom. “How was the dance?”

  “Didn’t go. Went and hung out at the Dash-n-Burger instead.”

  “Damn. First a banjo, and now you’re hanging on the strip. When are you trading in the Honda for an F-250?”

  “Hardy-har-har.” I wing a pillow across the room at him. He botches the catch and the pillow collides with his nose before falling to the ground. He plops down in my desk chair. “How’d your night go?” Devon’s got a case of basset hound eyes.

  He shrugs. “No action. I think my gaydar is broken.”

  “Maybe he’s repressed?” I offer.

  “Maybe.” He twirls in my chair. I want to ask him about Amber Vaughn. What he knows about her and Sean. What he would think if maybe I asked her out? Would he be pissed? My stomach rumbles. Breakfast, then the dreaded Amber Rose call, then maybe I’ll work up the nerve to have a heart-to-heart with my brother.

  Mom’s up and cooking. “Pancake Saturday,” she sings. She’s wearing the colorful apron I painted for her at some day camp I went to when I was seven. “Here, this is the place I was telling you about.” She slides a pamphlet about a wilderness camp across the counter toward me. “They’ll take rising college freshmen as junior counselors. It’s the sort of thing we talked about, isn’t it? You should apply for the summer.”

  In an offhand conversation, when I’d gone to pick up my mom one day from the elementary school where she works, I’d mentioned really wanting to take my own camp experiences and turn them into something more. Her being a teacher, I think she got kind of excited about me following in her footsteps. It’s not a totally bad idea. Summers and holidays off would work for a musician, if I don’t hit a big break right off the bat. Or working permanently at a camp. Hiking for pay. Now that’d be a life I could chill with.

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  She slides a plate of pancakes and bacon in front of me. “Oh, and before I forget, your father and I bought tickets to the chamber orchestra concert in Banner Elk for next weekend. I ran into Amber Rose and her mother yesterday afternoon at the bank and invited her for you.”

  My stomach growls but my skin grows cold. I put down my fork.

  Mom plates up pancakes for Devon as he slips in next to me at the table. “What’s the matter with you now?” He nods at my paralyzed fork.

  My mom invited the girl I’m about to break up with to a concert next weekend. While her mother was standing there. Might as well put up a billboard out on the highway that has my picture plastered to it with the caption “Colossal Douche Bag” in giant red letters.

  “You know what.” I push the plate away. My brain just lost its appetite. My stomach wants to kick its ass. “I think I need to go back to bed for a while.”

  “Are you not feeling well, sweetie?” Mom’s face turns down and a ripple of lines appears on her forehead. “Let me see if you’re hot.” She’s coming at me with an outstretched palm and I try to duck but, contact. She moves her palm around. “You’re not hot, but you are a little clammy. Here—” She takes my plate. “You go on back to bed and I’ll wrap this and you can eat it later if you feel up to it.”

  Clammy. Is that another word for coward?

  Okay, so maybe I don’t have the strength to break up with Amber Rose yet. It can wait till after the concert. That’s only a week. But if I’m sick, I can’t go to dinner with her parents, can I?

  I take the cheap way out.

  I’m sick. Got the flu or something.

  She texts right back.

  Really sick. Like a fever?

  Super clammy. In bed. Skipped breakfast. None of these things are lies.

  Ewww. Totally bummed though. My parents will be sad.

  Did your mom tell you about yesterday? :)

  Yeah, lame right? You don’t have to go. Can’t blame a guy for trying.

  No, I think it’s sweet. I want to go. It’ll be hot. Wait till you see the lingerie I bought. ;)

  This is a total tease. And the day before I gave Amber Vaughn that ride home, I would have fallen into a mad
game of try to get Amber Rose to sext me in that new lingerie. But even though part of my brain is all “Hell, yeah, show it to me, baby” the other part of my brain is “whoa, put on the brakes, remember that billboard.” But I need to say something to acknowledge her text.

  ’Rent in the room. Show me later? She’s going to make me sleep.

  ;);););) You wish, Will McKinney. Say hi to Mom McKinney.

  I turn off my phone and stare up at my ceiling. What’s that old saying? This is a fine stew I’ve gotten myself into. Then I let myself slip back to last night. The way it felt singing like a rock star. The way Amber Vaughn lit up the stage. The way she kissed me. Surely a girl doesn’t kiss you like that if she likes another guy?

  Am I the idiot?

  CHAPTER TEN

  Your eyes hidden

  Mine too shy

  But in the notes

  Let me try, try, try

  Amber Rose is waiting for me in the parking lot when I get to school on Monday. “Hey, mister. You feeling better?” She pushes herself off of her red Mini Cooper and walks toward me, a smile on her face.

  I cough into my hand. “Yeah, a little.” Cough, cough. “I might still have a touch of something.”

  “Oh.” She doesn’t lose the smile but she doesn’t come in for a hug or anything else. Then she launches into a play-by-play of Sarabeth’s version of Friday night’s dance. Luckily, Sarabeth hadn’t noticed my car because Amber Rose would definitely ask me about it. When she’s finished with her spiel, she pouts. “I’m sorry you’re sick. I’d hug you, but you know, germs and all. Does that make me a bad girlfriend?”

  Damn. What a question.

  “Of course not. You’re a great girlfriend.” Again, not a lie there. Which makes the situation critical.

  She giggles. “I might have taken some pictures for you.” She runs ahead of me a few steps then turns so she’s walking backward as I’m walking forward. “And if you’re a really good boy, I’ll let you see them.” She waves her phone at me. “Orange satin. It looks so good on me.” She manages to put her hand on her hip and cock it seductively as she continues to walk backward.

  Every bone in my body is like damn, lingerie photos, send them to me now, because Amber Rose Slagle is a stunner. Bikini body for days. Thick dark blackish-brown hair to the middle of her back. I’d been all about her when we’d started something that day on the lake. But I didn’t know her. And now that I do, those are the only things that might hold my attention. But I want more than that. I need some mutual interest.

  “I’d rather wait. See the real thing.” I waggle my eyebrows for convincing factor. Also, not a lie. But Amber Rose in the flesh is not the real thing I’m referring to. And getting her to send me those photos would be hella wrong. Damn, I’m totally going to lose my man card over this.

  Sarabeth runs out the door of the commons and grabs Amber Rose in a gossip hug. “Stealing her,” she says. I wave and smile and put my hand over my heart and figure I can fake anything for the next five days. We’ll go to that concert with my folks and then, we’ll be done.

  It takes forever for the final bell before chorus. Not that I have a plan when it comes to Amber Vaughn or what I’m going to say to her. At the last minute, I run to my car for my banjo.

  Amber’s talking to Mrs. Early when I slip in behind another group of students. She’s on crutches. I wonder what happened between when I saw her Friday and today. Devon didn’t mention anything major and we joke he’s better than News 13 when it comes to local current events. I hope she’s okay; maybe I can use that concern as a way to open up a conversation.

  Once I’m settled in my chair, I don’t look in her direction right away. I keep my focus forward and my mind on the music. We run through “Shenandoah” three times. First the whole chorus, then us boys, then the girls. Amber’s voice stands out even when she’s working with a group. Not that she’s trying to over sing the others, her voice is just that distinctive.

  When Mrs. Early finishes, she gets this sharpish grin on her face like she’s up to something. The guy next to me groans. “Please, God, no.”

  “What?” I whisper. But he looks at me like I’m an alien from another planet. So I look at Amber. Because, let’s face it, she’s a nice place to rest my eyes. Seems like she’s as confused as me and when she surveys our side of the room, I do the universal palms-up shrug to cement some solidarity. Her eyes narrow. So, she hates me again. Guess the concerned Will route isn’t my conversation starter after all.

  Mrs. Early hands this fishbowl full of names to Becca Carpenter, who pulls out three slips of paper.

  I still have no clue what’s going on, but they call Amber’s name.

  “Seriously, dude,” I say to the kid next to me. “What is this?”

  He groans. “You’ll see. And hope she doesn’t call your name because if she does, you have to sing a solo. In front of everybody.”

  This rodeo girl, Destiny Miller, stands up first and the next thing I know she’s singing a raunchy country song, a cappella. Everybody starts laughing when she grinds her hips then thrusts her fist into the air on the finish. I’m surprised Mrs. Early doesn’t put the ixnay on the indgray, but what I’m discovering is, in chorus, unlike the guidance counselor side of herself, Mrs. Early lets a lot of things slide. The next dude, some junior or sophomore I don’t know, sings that sappy love song from Titanic. Then it’s Amber’s turn. Mrs. Early offers to let her stay in her chair, but Amber shakes her head, her jaw planted in determination.

  When she crutches herself to the front, she leans back against the piano.

  “What are you going to sing?” Mrs. Early’s hands are clasped in a pre-clap, like anything Amber says is going to be all right by her.

  “‘The Cuckoo’?”

  Such a good song and one I’ve nailed on the banjo ever since I saw that Scott Avett video on YouTube. So when Amber looks at Mrs. Early and asks if I can accompany her, I don’t even wait for the answer. I’m unlatching my case and pulling my Deering out.

  “You’re one of those, huh?” Grumpy Cat next to me slumps back with what is either disdain or jealousy. Whatever, dude. That girl down there is amazing and I’m going to make some sweet tunes with her.

  Once I hit the floor though, the nerves creep back in. I can’t wipe the image of her volcanic anger and my Friday night idiocy. In the chair, I mess with the tuning pegs and pluck a note or two and then she nods. My fingers override my brain and I calm down as I play. Next to me, Amber’s sweet voice is like a wisp of steam braiding through my banjo chords.

  “Oh, the cuckoo, she’s a pretty bird. Lord, she warbles as she flies.”

  There’s never a bump or a pause or the hesitation of people who’ve only played together a few times. This is magic. Even if I never get to kiss her again, she can’t deny this is something special.

  When I finish off the last notes of the song and the chorus claps, Mrs. Early dismisses us. By the time I get my banjo back in its case, Amber’s gone. She didn’t even say good-bye.

  I rush to catch up but stop when I find her. She’s with Devon. And since baby brother has no idea I’m macking on his best friend, I play it cool. “What’s up, bro?”

  “The lovely Plain and Small is helping me spend Aunt Sue’s birthday gift today.”

  “Oh.” And then this weird rush of shy or crush or guilt comes rushing over me and there’s no way I can be at home while the two of them sit arguing over iTunes selections. “Cool. See you later. Tell Mom I’ll be home for supper.”

  I push through the doors and realize I have nowhere to be. Then I think about that brochure Mom gave me and figure what the hell, if I can’t figure out my love life, at least I can apply for a cool job for the summer. The library’s public computers are the perfect spot.

  When I start my car, I stop before backing out. Devon’s got Amber’s book bag as she crutches her way across the pavement. She’s laughing at something he’s saying and I can’t believe it took till I had a freaking girlfrie
nd for something to happen between us. She’s been right there for two years. Why didn’t I ever make a move?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  We can try this

  Anticipate

  Little steps

  I can wait

  Wednesday night I work up the nerve to call Amber Vaughn. I wait till after Devon’s cocooned in his room streaming Doctor Who episodes.

  “Hello?” Even her speaking voice is melodic.

  “Amber?” My voice cracks like a dork.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s Will.” On the other end I hear her move and immediately imagine where she is (in bed) and what’s she wearing (soft torn T-shirt and girlie boxers, no bra).

  “Hey, Will.” She doesn’t sound angry but I wouldn’t call it exuberance either.

  I blabber something about getting her number from Devon and then finally I blurt out part of what I want to say. “Um. I wanted to apologize.”

  “For what?”

  “For being so abrupt the other night.” Then I talk some more about my dad and feeling good about getting back on track with him.

  “Yeah, I got that,” she says. Her voice is back to crisp and short. “And I kissed you. Again. And you have a girlfriend who probably wouldn’t have been too happy hearing we’d showed up to the dance together.”

  Damn. Radar girl. Talk about zeroing in on an issue. I could probably tell her my plans. But that feels in the same category of douche bag as cheating did. Amber Rose has to hear it from me. And even though I doubt Amber Vaughn would spill the beans, it would still be pretty damn smarmy of me to change the order of my events. No, it goes like this, break up first, then confess my feelings to her.

  I clear my throat. “Yeah, so the other reason I called.”

  “Will . . .” I can tell she’s going to say something more about Amber Rose so I interrupt her.