Love Blind (3 page)

She licked her lips and my eyes dropped to the ground again. “So, Kyle. I'm wondering if I can get a copy of that interview.”

I nodded and took a step back. Yeah. Interview.
Pull it together, K. Make a copy of the interview.
She followed me into the office with the main computer. Her eyes weren't darting around like they had the first time I saw her. The glasses must've helped. My fingers moved over the keyboard.

“It's kind of dark back here. How come you guys don't open any of the shades on the window?”

“The equipment gets too hot.”

That was a reasonable answer, wasn't it? Five words. An entire sentence that was actually an answer to her question. Not much, but better than looking like a mute.

She tapped her fingers on her jeans and waited.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
A definite staccato. Did she always hear music in her head? I'd wondered that about musicians. Did she hear it like I heard words? I kept pressing buttons until I found the interview and copied it to a thumb drive.

“You're obviously not dumb. So are you shy or do you have a stutter or something?”

I shrugged.

“You don't need to be nervous around me. I'm half-blind with two moms. I'm probably the least judgmental person you'll ever meet.”

Damn
that low voice. Whiskey sexy, doing stuff to my junk that made me seriously glad I was sitting behind a computer.

I liked her. More. I liked her more. My eyes shut for a second and I shook my head. I couldn't like her. Girls didn't work for me. Or I didn't work for them. Plus, she was probably gay. That was stupid, right? Gay moms don't make you gay, but I wondered anyway. I wondered lots of things. Thoughts pressed into my brain all the time, pinged around and didn't go away until I wrote them down.

She blinked at me, waiting for something. I didn't really know what. Everything about being in the room with Hailey felt awkward. Like I had a giant sign over my head that said:
NOT IN YOUR LEAGUE
. Unless . . .

“Are you gay?”
Oh, Christ. I said it out loud.

She laughed and tucked her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. It sort of made her boobs stick out, and I pretended I didn't notice, but I
am
a guy. And they
were
boobs. Kinda nice ones. Not ridiculously huge, but perfect in proportion to the rest of her.

“Am I gay? That's the first thing you're gonna ask me?” She let out a careless laugh. Loose. Like it cost her nothing. “Really?”

I refocused on the computer. “I didn't . . .”

She laughed again. “You're kinda weird. And I don't know if I'm gay. It's a little too soon to tell where I fall on the continuum. Are you interested in me?”

She said that.
Out loud.

I shook my head and blinked at the computer screen.

“Okay. Good. That's cleared up. So are you asking because you wanna be friends?”

I glanced at her for a second, but then turned back to the computer. I quickly ejected the thumb drive and handed it to her.

“So maybe friends?” she asked as she tucked the drive into her bag.

My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth.

She nodded. “Okay. Acquaintances for now, I guess.” She patted her bag. “Thanks again. I had this list of stuff to do for the moms so I can go to this concert tonight. Portugal. The Man. You know them?”

I did, but I was surprised she did. I nodded.

“You going?”

Not likely. All those people.

“Okay, then.” Hailey paused, maybe waiting to see if I'd say something. “I'll see you, Kyle.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

She spun on her heel and I'd be lying if I said I didn't watch her butt the entire time she walked out. I'd have to ask Pavel about the magnetism of girls' asses. He'd definitely have some hypotheses and supporting research on it.

◊ ◊ ◊

Because Hailey was still on my mind when I left school, I didn't see them coming. Didn't see the subtle back-and-forth nods, winks, and chin tilts that packs do before they go on the attack. I knew better than to let my guard down, which was sort of the worst part. Because I had. Hung up on some girl's butt and glasses.

“Hey, douche, you've got something on your shirt.”

I looked down. Stupid. It was a five-year-old trick and I fell for it every time. Tripped, sprawled on the floor, the sound of laughter and high fives echoing around me. Swiping at my brow, my finger spotted with blood.
Dammit.
I'd hit hard.

I knew enough not to take a hand when one guy offered to help me up. Just gathered my books and inched away, crawling out of reach before I finally stood, in case a fist or a boot wanted a piece of me too.

One more year in this place, and then I'd never look back.

W
ow.” Lila closed her eyes, and her soft blond hair fell back as she listened to me on the recording. She was in yoga wear. Of course. At dinner. But we were listening to my band in replacement of the usual fifteen-year-old-daughter grilling. Kyle had saved me from a round of questioning—something I might thank him for later. And something he might or might not respond to. I smirked as I thought about what his nonreaction/reaction would be.

“You're amazing.” Rox touched my shoulder, bringing me back into the kitchen, where my voice and the band were just finishing the song.

On a recording, I didn't sound half-bad. Way older than fifteen, for sure. In my own ears, it was hard to tell how good I really was. I'd hated my lower voice until I'd realized that
when I sang, it sorta worked. We weren't quite Halestorm or the Pretty Reckless, but there were only three of us.

I'd checked one more thing off my list.
The list
. The one my moms made me start at the beginning of freshman year—all the crap I was afraid of but still determined to do. Well, and some things I wanted to do before I went blind, but I'd never say that to the moms. “Overcoming fears” sounded way better, and they were into all that
be in touch with your feelings
stuff. I wanted to
feel
like I was kicking ass—that's why the list worked for me.

I'd done some really wimpy things so far—go to the grocery store by myself and sing in front of an audience. Okay. The second one wasn't exactly easy, and neither was the first, really, but still. Singing on the radio. Being recorded live. Huge mark off. It felt good. And I had the thumb drive proof I'd actually done it.

“You sound like Stevie Nicks.” Rox smiled. “You know that?”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” I smirked. “ 'Cause she sounds like chick music for old people, not rock. I'm going for Taylor Momsen or the low version of Hayley Williams.”

Rox slapped me on the shoulder, a pretend frown on her face. “Show some respect.”

I laughed. “Okay. This was the last thing you all asked me to do. I can go out tonight, right? Portugal. The Man? They're from Portland or Alaska, or both. I forget. Incredible musicians.
I aced my math test. Sat through my eye appointment without cussing even once. And you've listened to the recording. So.
Please?
”

They exchanged tired looks over the worn dining room table. Lila looked like the softie, but she was always harder to convince.

“Please?”
I'd been begging and doing extra chores ever since I heard they were coming to town.

“So. This is at an Irish bar? Which is dividing itself for underage?”

“Yes.” I nodded, my heart thrumming with the anticipation that had been building for two weeks. Since Tess and Mira had shoved the flyer under my nose and told me what it was. “Totally divided.” I stretched my arms out as wide as I could, when in reality, we all knew it would probably be a rope.

“And you expect us to believe you won't be drinking?” Lila raised a brow. “You look older than your age, so we worry.”

“Come on! That was at Tess's house, and her birthday, and
one time
!” That they knew about. “Please? I spent almost a month's worth of allowance on this ticket!”

My legs jiggled under the table.

“Home by eleven.” Lila's smooth voice made it sound like a privilege. Right. I knew better.

No way the band would be done by then. “But—”

“Eleven.” Rox's dark eyes were hard on me. “That's final.”

Lila cut in. “And you will answer each and every call—”

“No.” I put my hand up between us. “I'll text. But no calls. I'd have to leave to hear you, and since I already have to come home before they finish, I don't want to miss any more than is absolutely necessary.”

“And Tess and Mira will be there?” Rox said it more for me to confirm.

“Yes.” Hope for my win spread fast.

“Okay. But—”

I didn't let Lila finish. “Thank you! I swear. I swear I'll be good, and thank you so much for not coming with me, and—”

“Well, that's not something I'd thought of.” Rox raised a brow. “Coming with you.”

My jaw dropped and my stomach sank before they both started laughing.

“You should have seen the look on your face.” Rox cackled and held her sides. And even Lila snorted.

“Ha-ha.” I let out a sigh. “Very funny.” My gut slowly worked its way back to normal.

“Don't make us sorry, sweetie.” Lila smiled her
I mean business but I love you
smile.

“Wouldn't dream of it.” I bounded down the stairs to call Tess and Mira.

“I'm in,” I said to Tess by way of hello.

“Thank God, because Mira's grounded. Again. Her parents are the worst. I thought I'd be stuck chatting up cute guys by myself.”

I laughed. “I'm not going to chat up cute guys. I'm going for the band.”

“These activities aren't mutually exclusive. I'd like to think a love of music and Portugal. The Man is a good way of vetting the caliber of possible suitors.”

Tess said things like “vetting the caliber of possible suitors” a lot. It was as if she fell asleep reading either historical romance novels or enrich-your-vocabulary books.

“Pass. Anyway, what time are you picking me up?”

“I'll be there in a few to review wardrobe choices. I'm not giving up on finding someone cute for you. You keep telling me you have to be actively knocking stuff off that list of yours. I'm trying to be a supportive friend.”

“Yeah, yeah. I'll see you soon.”

When I hung up, I thought of maybe-cute Kyle and his halting speech. It was too bad he could barely string a sentence together. He might've been a good prospect otherwise. At the same time, there was something interesting about the idea of hanging out with someone who might be more messed up in the head than I was.

B
eing tossed around at school wasn't a new thing. Still, as I scrubbed blood off the neck of my T-shirt in the sink at home, I felt like I might start crying and never stop. I wanted to call Pavel. Have him tell me some stupid story about an article he'd read or about the power of positive thinking.

I scrubbed harder.

I wouldn't call him. Wouldn't because he'd had it so much worse than me and shrugged it off like nothing.

The front door opened and closed, so I flipped the lock on the bathroom to avoid another lecture from Mom.

I blinked in the mirror. A small cut on my brow. Swollen nose. Fat lip. A faint shadow under my eye that would be worse tomorrow. I'd hit the ground harder than I'd thought.

“Kyle?” Her thin voice carried from the living room.

“Bathroom,” I called back.

“What are you doing in there?”

“Washing . . .” I didn't really want to admit I was hand-washing a T-shirt to make sure the blood didn't stain. “My face.”

“Open up.” She knocked. “I need you to run an errand for me.”

I let my eyes fall closed and held in the groan that would bring on a lecture about respect and helpfulness and single parenthood. . . .

I rinsed a washcloth and carefully squeezed cool water over my face, flinching again as the water touched the cuts.

“Kyle.”

I unlocked the door.

Mom pushed the door open, her frown echoed in the mirror. “What have I told you about fighting?”

Not to do it, obviously
. I kept silent.

Her eyes narrowed. “You're not a fighter, Kyle. Don't be your father.”

Yeah.
That
wasn't going to be a problem.

“I expect more from you. I'm killing myself at work. You can't be getting into this again.”

For once, I agreed with her.

“You're not in trouble with the school, are you?”

“No.”

A grocery/pharmacy list was flicked in my direction. The bags under her eyes, on top of how clipped and angry she was, said her shift hadn't gone well.

“Sorry, Mom. I'll take care of the list.” At least no one had kicked my ribs this time. Carrying Mom's bags home with bruised ribs was the worst.

She sighed. “I'm doing the best I can here. I need you to work with me.”

I stepped around her, wet T-shirt clutched in my hand. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Sarcasm doesn't do anyone any good.” Her words snapped. My head ducked.

Tonight wasn't a night to argue with her or say anything that didn't need to be said.

I dropped the wet T-shirt on top of the laundry pile in my room and stepped over a box of books to jerk open a dresser drawer. I put on a clean T-shirt. I needed five minutes to pull myself together. Five minutes. This wasn't her fault. It wasn't my fault either, but that was harder to believe.

Mom lay spread out on the couch when I finally emerged from my room, a remote in her right hand, her eyes glassed over and staring at the screen. “You can take my car.” She gestured loosely toward the door.