“And you’ve been living with us rent-free for over a year now. So I think it evens out.”
“How does not paying for rent mean my guitar should be ruined?!”
My jaw drops and tears well in my eyes. With my guitar gone, I feel like my number-one source of power in the world has been taken from me. I feel zapped and lifeless. I can’t even find a comeback because her argument is so irrational.
Stepping toward me, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I know you’re mad now, and you have a right to be. But, Harmony, I was once like you. Young and full of hope. The sooner you get rid of these nonsense desires—like being a pop star and dating men like Zach—the sooner you’ll be able to find true happiness. I know it’s hard, but you’ll understand some day.”
Pursing her lips, she stares at me as if waiting for a reaction.
I wince and shiver uncontrollably even though it’s a hot summer night.
Pulling up the fabric of my shirt, I wipe the tears and sweat away from my face. She steps closer, her arms extended for a hug, and I back up.
“You don’t understand me at all,” I say, backing away from her. “You don’t even try to understand me.”
“Even if you don’t understand now,” she says, “you will someday, like I said. This is for the best.”
“No,” I retort. “I won’t.”
Putting my now-lifeless guitar back in its case, I sling it over my back and walk away from my house without another word.
Chapter 11
Harmony
I trudge from my house on the west side of town, passing the city limits sign. A train rumbles by. The rain is a light sprinkle, but I barely notice it, my mind filled with the swirl of my own thoughts.
Taking a detour through the quad of Blackwell University, I see a few summer school students sitting on the grass under a tree, reading. Ah, to be back in college again.
To not have to deal with the “real world” just yet. That was the golden age.
My thoughts keep coming back to what my stepmom said to me in front of our house. It’s high time you leave those silly Nashville dreams in the past and do something with your life!
I’d never told either of my parents the full version of my breakup story—mostly because I didn’t think they would believe that I’d written a top-forty hit that was stolen from me. Judging by what Lisa thinks of my guitar playing, I have to think I was right not to tell them.
The rain stops, but I wish it wouldn’t. Right now, I want it to pour. That way everyone else can feel like I’m feeling: like the world is totally out of my control. Maybe Lisa is right. Maybe I’m a washed-up musician and I should hang up my damaged guitar for good. I shudder at the thought. Not playing or singing sounds to me like I’m the one who would be in jail.
The sky is only partially cloudy as I head through downtown. When I arrive at Firehouse, I see Rose sitting on the outside patio.
She waves, and I head over, sitting at the table next to her.
“Just in time!” she says in a quiet whisper.
I squint. “Why are you whispering?”
She motions to the inside of the bar. There’s a sort of hanging plastic wall between us and the inside of the bar, and we can hear people talking at the table right inside, though they can’t see us.
“This situation is perfect for eavesdropping!” Rose says, grinning and pointing to her journal which is open on the table in front of her.
“Is this another one of your ‘experiments’?” I ask.
Rose studied psychology in college and likes to listen to people’s conversations to try and get a read on their relationships. Hey, to each their own, right? It’s not like she shares the stories. She just does it to satiate her own curiosity about the world and the people in it.
“Shh,” she says, putting a finger to her lips. I tune in and listen to the voices behind the curtain.
“You kidding me, man? None of your friends have her number.”
Chills run through me. “It’s Zach!” I whisper.
Rose nods excitedly.
I stand up, but Rose puts her hand on my wrist.
“Wait just one minute,” she begs. “I want to hear what they have to say.”
I lean slightly in the direction of Zach, the low timbre of his voice a magnet pulling me through the curtain.
“Really?” I say sarcastically to Rose, raising an eyebrow. “You’re going to make me wait?”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “Maybe we’ll hear some juicy bits.”
With a sigh, I sit back down. “One minute,” I say.
I hear Jerry Malek clear his throat, across from Zach. “Look, I don’t know why you’re so into this girl anyway. She’s not your type.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion, dickhead,” Zach shoots back. “I asked you for her number. I know you have it.”
“Maybe you should take the hint that if she’s not texting you, she doesn’t like you like that,” Malek retorts.
“Again, didn’t ask your opinion,” Zach growls. “Man, what’s with you lately? Everything you say has this attitude to it.”
“You’re imagining things, buddy,” Malek says. “Like how good that girl is at guitar. She’s barely an average singer.”
Rose’s eyes bulge, and we make eye contact.
I clench and unclench my fists, anger ripping through me.
Standing up, I push my seat out.
“Listen, fuckface,” I hear Zach growl. “That’s about enough. Give me your phone. Unlocked, right now.”
“Or what?”
Zach clears his throat. “Don’t make a scene, Malek. One. Two.”
I act, swiping the curtain open, and see them squint at the sunlight pouring in.
“Ahem,” I say, my heart pounding. “I have an important message I need to deliver.”
“Oh yeah?” Zach says, his voice gravelly. “What’s that?”
Shooting Malek eyes of death, I walk over and sit in Zach’s lap.
Bringing my eyes back to Zach, I touch the back of his neck.
“The message is—hello. I missed you.”
“What did you miss, Harm?” he growls as he presses his lips into mine, sending butterflies all through my body.
“Mostly, this,” I say, pulling back from our kiss.
“Fuck this, I’m fucking out,” I hear Malek say. Zach kisses me again.
His lips are hot. Possessive. And he’s a damn good kisser.
He pulls back, and both of us take a breath.
“Wow,” he says.
I nod. “Yeah. Wow.”
“Why is kissing you so hot, Harm?” he asks playfully.
“Not sure. I’m not usually into PDA, to be honest,” I retort, running my hand through his hair. “It’s been a weird couple of days. You?”
He nods. “Same. And Jerry Malek here has been acting all weird lately.”
I shake my head. “Sounds like we’ve got some catching up to do.”
“Great,” he says, flagging down the server. “Let me order you a drink.”
“Should I sit on the seat?”