Claire's Song (16 page)

When I watched her, my mind raced with how to make things right and I came up with the best thing I had. That's the main reason I'm racing back to her house after school. I straighten up my room as best I can, although there's not much to clean up in the first place. Claire's mom did buy me new clothes and shoes, all of which could be found in every corner of the room. I spray cologne in the air, open the blinds and put the guitar on the bed. Am I really getting this worked up for a girl? Is this really happening to me?

I dig in my pocket for my new guitar pick and put it beside the guitar. There's a whole notebook of songs to pick from. I could play one of those or play a cover of something she might like. I flip past the song I wrote for her and my hand hovers there. Shaking my head, I flip past it and decide I'm not ready yet.

"Well?" Claire's agitated voice startles me. She's standing at the door, arms crossed and unimpressed.

I shove the notebook in the nightstand drawer and turn back around to her. "Come in," I motion into the room, although I feel like an idiot doing it. Maybe the whole thing is just stupid. Why do I care if this girl is happy? Why is she the one to get under my skin?

She comes in slowly, her eyes searching the room. She's doing everything she can to ignore me and she's doing a pretty good job at it too.

"Claire, can you at least look at me?" I grab my guitar and the pick off the bed. She sits there and keeps her arms crossed. Her gaze slowly meets mine and I feel like I can breathe again.

"Just so you can ignore me for three days again?" She snaps back, her head moving in time with her feistiness.

"Okay, fine. You got me there, but let me make it up to you," I tap my guitar.

"And? That's supposed to magically make everything better? The ultimate band-aid?"

Claire's playing serious hardball and I can't blame her. Maybe I don't have to distance myself from her; maybe I could just be her friend or whatever until I get that gig. I'm setting myself up with a whole lot of maybes here.

I sigh and throw the guitar strap over my head. "I'll play for you. Wasn't that our deal?" I sit next to her on the bed. She stiffens as our legs touch. All kinds of inappropriate thoughts start to race through my head, but I just shake it off as I start to play around on the guitar, strumming random chords.

"You really don't have to," Claire answers, starting to get up. I put my hand on her knee, stopping her.

"Look, just let me do this, all right?"

Claire looks at me,
really
looks at me, and nods ever so slightly. I've made my mind up about which song I'm going to play. I think it's perfect for her and perfect for us.

"You like Finch?" I ask.

"Well yeah," Claire says as if I'm stupid.

I laugh, but start to play "Letters to You," one of my favorites. My eyes close and I think about the music and the lyrics. I'm singing to Claire, but I'm not singing to her at the same time. My voice hits every note perfectly; my hands strum the guitar like a pro. I'm lost in my own world. The lyrics mean more to me than she knows and they make me think of her every time I hear them.

Once it's over, I slowly open my eyes. Claire's leaning towards me, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging agape. She claps ecstatically and smiles.

"Seriously Ryder?"

"What?" I ask as I take the guitar off and place it by the wall. She turns and sits cross-legged on my bed.

"You're amazing. Your voice…. it's…I can't explain it, it's perfect. You really captured the emotion of that song and you played it like a rock star. We've got to get you that gig or then again, maybe we shouldn’t," Claire says as she taps her finger on her chin and smiles at me, all of the ice melted away.

"Why's that?"

Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are bright. Music is this girl's drug and she's looking at me like I’m her next hit. I want to take her up on it, to pull her to me and kiss her senseless, but I look away, feeling the muscle in my jaw popping. The leather bracelets remind me of who I am and who I'll never be.

"Because then I'd have to share you. That was freaking amazing. You'll have to play for me more often now that your secret's out."

"So you're not mad at me anymore?" I turn and face her.

Claire shakes her head slowly, her hair kissing her face. "No." She pauses, her eyes searching around the room, anywhere but me. I touch her hand for just a moment, bringing her back to me, wondering where she went. Her eyes are sad as she continues, “I was pissed off that you ignored me. Jamie never ignored me like that, so I'm not sure how to handle it." It should bother me that I'm being compared to another guy, but it doesn't. Of course she's going to think about him. They were practically attached at the hip. "But I get it. You're going through a lot with your mom and everything."

I nod. "I didn't tell you that I found out that her court date is at the end of the month. They want me to testify against her."

Claire's mouth forms a straight line, "Are you going to?"

I drag around giving my answer, picking at the girly comforter on the bed. "Hell yeah I am. She stopped being my mom a long time ago. I want to do this."

But do I really? It's easy to act all hard and to remember everything that woman did to me, but she's still my Mom, my only family I have left. She's still the woman who used to play Monopoly with me whenever I asked, who taught me how to ride a bike.

Claire studies me for a minute and then throws her arms around me, her vanilla scent everywhere.

"Don't ever do that to me again," she whispers in my ear and then pulls back, her eyes searching mine, for what, I don't know.

I know exactly what she's talking about and to promise not to shut her out again, well, I would be lying. But looking at those gorgeous green eyes, that's all I can do. "I promise I won't."

She smiles and bites her lip. "Good. So, I think we have another project to finish."

"Was it Lindy?" I ask, anger rising up at the thought of anyone hurting Claire. The phone calls stopped, but I know better than to think Lindy has completely given up. She never gives up.

Claire stands from the bed, avoiding the question, "Come on."

I follow her into her room as she finally decides to answer my question, "If I tell you it was Lindy, you'll try to handle it and that's awesome. You're just like…" She pauses, her voice catching as she realizes what she's about to say. I know because her gaze immediately goes to the picture shrine of Jamie on her dresser.  "Jamie," she whispers. "He'd always try to protect me from stuff and Lindy left me alone until he died."

"You want to talk about any of it? Jamie or Lindy?" I ask. We sit on the floor around the new poster board with tons of sparkly, girly art crap scattered around it.

Claire shakes her head, "Not yet. Just know I'm going to try and handle Lindy on my own." She picks up a marker and puts the poem in the middle of the poster. "And I can't…I can't talk about him with you, at least not yet."

I nod, because I get that, but I also want her to be able to talk to me about stuff. Not like it really matters in the long run, but for some crazy reason it does matter. So we sit there on her floor and work on finishing yet another project, talking about random stuff, and it's the best conversation we've had yet.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CLAIRE

Weeks pass with a steady rhythm and Ryder and I have managed to remain at a happy status quo, friends with the wanting of more, but neither saying anything. Ever since he played for me, it thawed out some of the coldness in his heart and the uncertainty in mine. The Halloween Masquerade is all anyone’s talking about and Ryder brings it up on our drive home from school.

"You going to the Masquerade?" His voice startles me out of my quiet reverie. I look over at him, his hands on the steering wheel, his eyes straight ahead. It's like he hasn't even spoken.

"Um…why would I go?" I laugh. It's a dance that's put on by the senior class at the Briarmont Country Club. Things get pretty crazy from what I've heard, but I've never been. Jamie and I used to talk about going, but we never actually went. Instead, we dressed up and did our own thing. That was always the way it was with us. We did our own thing, always doing our own thing.

"Because Halloween's awesome, right?" He looks over at me with that cute dimpled smile on his face. I can't help but smile in response.

"Are you going?" I ask, expecting to hear that he's not, that he's just making conversation. 

"I’ll go if you go," Ryder surprises me. He looks over at me, his smile a little more uncertain. My heart's beating crazy fast, because isn't this what I'd been waiting for during these past two weeks? Something to change, to bend or break?

"Really?" I manage to choke out, unable to conceal the surprise in my voice.

Ryder nods, "Really. I think we should do it."

"It's this Saturday and I don't know if I even have time to find a costume," I say as I tap my finger on my chin, thinking. There are a few places that might have some costumes left. I want to tell Ryder that it doesn't matter, that I'll find a way. I'd make a costume if I had too, but I don't tell him, because well, that's a little stalkerish.

"You're a girl, you'll find a costume," Ryder jokes as he pulls into the driveway. We get out and walk inside, this routine so familiar, so comforting. Ryder's been really good about not shutting me out lately, about being an actual friend.

“What about you?” I ask as we sit down at the table to do our homework. Ryder grabs two bottles of water and hands one to me.

“It doesn’t take much for guys to dress up,” Ryder laughs and it sounds so wonderful. He’s been doing more of that lately and I find myself recalling the melody when I'm falling asleep sometimes.

“Are you sure? I know Monday’s a big day,” I eye him warily as I break the seal on the water and take a long drink. He seems okay for the most part, but I can tell he’s worried about his mother. I’ve seen it when he thinks I’m not looking. It’s not necessarily that he’s worried about what will happen to her--she’s a psychotic nut job, but he doesn’t want to face her. What kid wants to testify against their parents in court?

Ryder sits down in the chair next to me and starts messing with his leather bands. “I think that's even more reason for us to go out Saturday.”

“I can go with you on Monday if you want. I'd rather you not be alone." I touch his arm with my pencil and he looks up at me, his hair pushed back from those stunning gray blue eyes. My heart trips up on itself and I almost have to force myself to look away.

“I lucked out with you, huh? Who knew that such a creeper would turn into a pretty decent girl?” Ryder raises an eyebrow at me.

My eyes widen in mock offense and I smack his arm playfully. He laughs again. My ears will never get used to that perfect sound.

"Yeah, talk all the trash you want, but you know you like this girl," I say.

He's still smiling at me when he answers, "Yeah, I guess I do."

His look gives me butterflies, it searches deeper than it should and my heart responds ecstatically. I'm a dog begging for scraps when it comes to Ryder and I take what I can get. That's the main reason I've done nothing to change our relationship. If this is what I get, then so be it, although it rings sorrowfully reminiscent of Jamie.
Jamie.
My eyes start to get watery and that dead feeling in my heart takes over. I've got to say something or the panic will set in. I can't let it, not now.

"So are you going to play for me tonight?" I ask, desperate for
his
words, for Ryder. Hearing his voice always seems to help chase the demons away, although I know that I can't always rely on someone else to do it for me. One day I've got to do it on my own.

Ryder rubs the back of his neck as he looks at me uncertainly. "You've asked me that almost every day," is his reply. He's grown cockier over the weeks, a glint in his eye, and a swagger in his walk. But right now, he's anything but. He's the vulnerable Ryder Andrews I first met.

It's true that I've asked him to play every night since he played Finch's "Letters to You." The way he sang, the emotion he poured into each line, each verse, each chord reached a point in my heart--one of the caves where everything awful hides--and it brought light, life to it as music often does for me. I want to hear him again, to watch him lose himself so completely in his music that he forgets the crazy crap he has to deal with every day. Music has a funny way of doing that, to both the listener and the musician. It's a balm to my shredded, bloody heart. Then there's all those playlists that Jamie made. Those are different, tied to a different time in my life. Just like that letter, locked away and ignored because the wounds still feel too fresh, too raw.

"Yeah, because I figure eventually you'll say yes," I say as I manage a smile.

Ryder shakes his head, "Maybe." Then there's a pause, "You only like me for my music." He's smiling that half smile, his eyes trained on me.

If he only knew that it was much, much more than that. He drew me in from the beginning, like a moth to a flame, with his shaggy hair, his otherworldly gorgeous face, and those eyes that make my heart do flips. His smile, rare as it is, is utterly amazing. And not to mention the cracked out butterflies I get every time I see it. Once I got to know Ryder, that list grew and it became so much more than his rocker good looks. It became about the genuine kindness in his heart, his dry sense of humor, his love for music, and his many attempts to stand up for me against my tormentors at school. I realize I want to let him into my heart fully, although it scares the crap out of me. I want to tell him about Jamie.

We're sitting there in a charged staring match, our gazes colliding with an intensity I hadn't fully realized was there. Ryder's gaze drops to my lips and then darts just as quickly back to my eyes. Desire sweeps through my veins, rushing and thrumming to every inch of me. All of this from a single, searing gaze.