The Book of David (10 page)

“Sure!” Googly eyes. Pure eighth-grade googly eyes.

“Hit Pause on that iTunes for a sec, would you?”

Tracy disappeared, and the music blessedly stopped. If I'd ever wondered what it would be like to kiss Jon before, now I could hardly stop myself. He started playing the chords again, and I recognized the familiar strains of the Boison song with the line about “the one I've always wanted” that had just been playing. Only . . . there was something different about it.

Jon closed his eyes and noodled around with the notes. There was a slow swing to the song now, a backbeat that he kept tapping out between his foot on the floor and the light slap of his fingers against the wood of the guitar beneath the strings. A cool, syncopated rhythm was happening, and Tracy drifted through the door, mesmerized, sinking onto the bed next to me. This was the song she'd been dancing around her room playing air guitar to for weeks, only somehow . . . it wasn't. In Jon's hands, this dancy pop hook was now a funky down-tempo acoustic ballad.

And then, as he finished playing through the song, Jon closed his eyes and started to sing:

You never knew it,

The moment we met

That I'd found a love

I would live to regret

But something in your eyes walked away with my heart.

Now I'm standing beside you

Holding your hand

Trying like hell

To make you understand

I've fallen for you instead of falling apart.

And

I don't know what happens now

But

I just have to tell you somehow

You're the one I always wanted

You're the one I always wanted

You're the one I always wanted

To love.

Jon's voice floated around the room. It was soft and mellow, full and strong. I realized I was actually hearing the words of this song for the first time, and as I watched Jon sing them, I got a lump in my throat. I'd always hated this song, but when he sang it, it wasn't annoying.

It was beautiful.

As the last notes faded away, Tracy and I just sat there staring in silence while Jon put the guitar back on the stand and then turned around and saw us.

“What?” he asked.

“Dude.” It was all I could say.

Tracy jumped up like she was on fire. “That. Was.
Awesome.
Oh my
God 
! Play it again! Play it again! I want to record you on my phone.”

Jon laughed and checked his watch. “Crap. I gotta jet. It's almost eleven.”

“No!” Tracy squealed, running back into the room with her iPhone.

“Seriously,” said Jon, grabbing his messenger bag and stuffing his study guides into it. “I'll come back and play it for you again.”

Tracy started to follow Jon and me down the stairs. I turned around and shot her a look. “Scram.”

She started to argue, but I pointed toward her room, and she got the message that I meant business.

I followed Jon across the front porch and down the stairs. His Jeep was parked in the circle drive behind my truck.

“Where'd you learn how to do that?” I asked him.

“English?” he asked. “I dunno. Just like reading, I guess.” He was smirking as he said it.

“No, you jackass. Play the guitar and sing like that.”

He shrugged and opened the door, tossing his bag onto the passenger seat. “Just picked it up.”

He turned back to face me, and I realized I was standing sort of close to him—like I was going to climb into the Jeep
behind him. He was maybe an inch taller than me, and his eyes caught me by surprise. My heart sped up and my knees went soft like they had that day in the hallway looking at the cast list.

He said my name.

I didn't move.

“Hey, man. You okay?”

I realized I hadn't taken a breath. I took one. I nodded. “Yeah . . . I'm . . .”

Jon smiled. Then he raised his right hand and put it on my neck. His fingers were long and cool against my skin. His thumb cupped the square part of my jaw. “I gotta go.”

He climbed into the Jeep and closed the door, turning the key and rolling down the window. I could still feel where his hand had rested on my skin, and my brain was a complete flat line.

What was going on?

All I knew was that I didn't want him to go. I wanted him to get out of the Jeep and . . .

And what?

Stay here? Hang out?

I gave my head a quick shake as he popped the parking break and put the Jeep in reverse. “Yeah. Cool. But hey—wait.”

He hit the break. “Yeah?”

“We have to study. More. We have to study more. So I
can . . .” My voice trailed off. Why wouldn't my brain form complete sentences?

Jon smiled. “So you can pass the test?”

I nodded.

“Yep. Same time tomorrow?”

I smiled.

He drove away.

Tyler is in rare form this morning. While I was grabbing my books out of my locker a few minutes ago, Erin was helping Tyler get his, and when she closed his locker, he lost his balance on the crutches and knocked the books out of her hands. Tyler yelled and slammed his fist into the locker.

I reached over to help Erin pick up the books and smiled at Tyler. “It's cool, dude. We got it.”

“It's not cool at all,” he huffed. Then he turned around and crutched down the hall toward English like there was a cash prize for being the first one at his desk.

“Thanks.” Erin was juggling her purse and books, so I grabbed Tyler's and helped her down the hall.

“Is he always this charming, or just when it's this early in the morning?”

Erin smiled with her mouth, but not with her eyes, which suddenly brimmed with tears. “Dang it. I'm sorry.”

“Hey—it's okay.” I pulled her over to the alcove at the stairs by the door to Mrs. Harrison's room.

“It's not okay,” she said, pulling a tissue out of her purse and dabbing under her eyes to keep from smearing her mascara. “Tyler is miserable and he's making everybody else miserable.”

“He invited me to that big party on Friday. That'll be fun, right?”

“Don't count on it.” Erin blew her nose. Clearly, she had reached her limit.

“You know, you don't have to put up with his crap,” I said. “I've been best friends with him longer than anybody, and I know he can be . . .”

“An asshole?”

“I was gonna say ‘handful' but . . . yeah. Let's just call this what it is.”

When I said this, Erin started laughing, and then I did, too. Monica and Jon raced around the corner just as Erin and I started into class, and the four of us got jammed up in the doorway. Monica made some crazy car crash noise, and Jon laughed, and right as the bell rang, we all slid into our seats.

Mrs. Harrison wasn't in the room yet, and in the general
mayhem, Tyler leaned up in his desk and tapped me on the shoulder.

“Hey, man. You okay?”

“I'm fine.” He was smiling, but I could tell something was up. “How was your date last night?”

Monica heard this and whipped around in her seat. “I told you, he's on English test lockdown.”

Trevor's eyes widened innocently. “Oh, I know he didn't have a date with you. I was wondering how his date went with Jon.”

I rolled my eyes. “We were studying.”

“Ooooooh,” Tyler said. “A
study
date. Well, that sounds very romantic.”

“Jesus. Lay off, would you?”

At that moment, Mrs. Harrison entered the room and told us to take out our journals. Tyler didn't say anything back, but that shit-eating grin he had when I turned around and picked up my pen is still boring into my back. I can barely swallow, and my hand is sweating so badly I might drop my pen.

Just. Keep. Writing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I just saw Jon turn to look at me and glance back at Tyler.

No eye contact. Don't move. Don't look. Don't smile. Just. Keep. Writing.

I can't afford to get on Tyler's bad side right now. He can make life a living hell when he's got a bee up his ass about something.

Jon texted me at lunch to say he was steering clear of the lunchroom and to see if I wanted to join him in the journalism classroom while he posted some articles on the blog. I texted back that I was eating with Monica.

A few minutes later he wrote:

Still on for tonight?

I am so tired of feeling scared and worried about something when I have nothing to hide. Still, my fingers paused for longer over the screen than they should have.

?? Of course.

A couple seconds later Jon replied:

Cool. Just didn't know if you were weirded out by Tyler's comment.

Dang. He was good. I was totally weirded out by it, but just the idea that Tyler would be able to control me by embarrassing
me made me as angry as I'd been in English this morning. I punched at the screen with my thumbs:

Nope. C U after practice.

Jon wrote back a single word that made me laugh:

*REHEARSAL*

Jon had to make good on his promise to sing “The One” again tonight for Tracy so she could make a video of it. It was somehow even better the second time around. Tracy dragged my mom into my room for the performance.

Jon kept his eyes closed as he sang, his voice rich and light—just like last night. Only this time, when he got to the bridge, his eyes opened, and he looked straight in my direction:

And

I don't know what happens now

But

I just have to tell you somehow

You're the one I've always wanted. . . .

The air got really thick in the room. I couldn't catch a
breath. My heart pounded against my rib cage, trying to escape the prison of my chest.

Is Jon singing this . . . to me?

I glanced at my mom, but she was so amazed by Jon singing and playing that she didn't even notice which direction he was looking. When he finished the song, Mom and Tracy clapped wildly, and Tracy rushed off to post the video online.

Mom brought us ice cream sandwiches and told Jon she couldn't wait to see him on stage in
The Music Man
.

Eventually we got down to studying. I tried to put the song out of my head. We were both sprawled across my bed, which is queen-sized, but not so big when two guys and books and study guides are strewn all over it. After an hour of reviewing all the guides and rewriting the essay I worked on last night, Jon put down his pen and sat up.

“You're ready.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You know this stuff now.”

“I guess we'll see on Friday.”

“Don't wait until Friday. Take the test tomorrow.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Totally, man. If you wait, you'll just be freaked out about the game, and your concentration will be blown. Tell
Harrison you want to take it tomorrow in study hall. You'll be fresh.”

I nodded. “Cool. Okay, I will.”

Jon was gathering up the study guides. He handed them to me. “Hang on to these. Review them one more time before you hit the sack tonight.”

“You have to get going?”

Jon checked his watch. “Not yet,” he said.

“Good. I want the full story.”

His eyes narrowed. “About what?”

“Dude. About Amy. What's going on with you guys?”

Jon rolled his eyes and groaned, flopping down next to me on the bed again. “Nothing.” He buried his face in the comforter, but when he looked back up, he had that smirk.

“C'mon, man! Monica is working really hard to get you laid.”

“Is she working hard to get
you
laid?” he asked.

“Please. Waiting-for-Marriage Monica?”

“Oh. Oh no.” Jon shook his head in mock sadness.

“Oh. Oh yes,” I said. “She won't even let me put my hand down her jeans. Should never have broken up with Maria de Soto.”

“She your first?” he asked.

“Second,” I said. “The first was this girl who lived in my old neighborhood.”

Jon nodded. “So, no sex from Monica. She stingy with the blow jobs, too?”

I sort of couldn't believe that he asked me this, and I started laughing. “Dude, she wants to hand those out all the time. It's her go-to instead of having the real deal.”

“Well, not a bad consolation prize, right?”

“Wrong! Oh my God, dude. She tries and everything, but the girl is all teeth.”

Jon laughed and put both hands over his crotch. “No way! That's the worst.”

“No, it isn't,” I said. “The worst is that when I try to show her how to do it, she gets all huffy and pouts and puts her clothes back on.”

We lay on the bed, laughing like goons for a few seconds.

“Man, that sucks,” he said.

“Just for a minute, and then it bites.”

We both cracked up again.

“Okay, seriously, Jon. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Don't play dumb. Have you gotten any action since you came south?”

“Please. Mr. Wiggly's been on bread and water since we packed the U-Haul.”

I laughed so hard, I got the hiccups for a second. Jon handed
me the bottle of water on my nightstand, and finally I recovered.

“So there
was
somebody in Chicago.”

“Maybe,” he said. “Don't kiss and tell.”

“You're hilarious.”

“Likewise. I . . .” His voice trailed off.

“You what?” I asked.