The Reece Malcolm List (20 page)

“Devan?”

The first and only time I’ve had alcohol, I run into my mother’s freaking boyfriend?

Brad makes his way to us through clusters of people surrounding the bar.

“I, uh—”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Devan, I was sixteen once. Well, as it were, I was sixteen and far too socially lacking to be out doing anything illicit but—relax.”

“What are you doing here?”

He laughs again. “Having a drink with friends, seeing a few bands. You? The same?”

“E’s band is the first one up,” Lissa tells Brad like he’s a friend of ours. “It’s so amazing for him.”

“Who is E?” he asks. “Oh, is this the guylinered one Reece spoke of?”

Lissa cracks up. “I’m
so
calling him that from now on. The guylinered one! Oh, hey, I’m Lissa.”

“Brad Harper.” He shakes her hand. “Well, enjoy. I’ll see you later, Devan.”

I wave and hand my beer off to Lissa. “I can’t drink this with him watching.”

“Who
is
that?” she asks. “He’s cute, and the accent—”

“He’s my mother’s boyfriend,” I say before she can continue and scar my psyche. “So please stop.”

“Got it,” she says. “Oh, they’re out on stage. Come on, let’s get closer.”

We squeeze in, slipping through gaps in the crowd, until we more than halve our distance to the stage. Elijah is completely absorbed in connecting cables and tuning his bass, but right before the drummer counts off, he throws a look to the crowd and grins at Lissa and me. My body fills with warmth that this boy who is so passionate and talented has a smile like that for me, has kissed me more times in the past week than I can count, can even remember I exist in the rush of lights and noise and music.

Lissa and I jump up and down for the entire set, screaming more enthusiastically at the end of their songs than anyone else. Not that the crowd isn’t responsive or anything. People are paying attention, nodding along with the beat, directing all their attention at Killington Hill. Pride swirls around in me, for Elijah and also for myself. It isn’t just that he’s my sort-of boyfriend, it’s that I can be in this crowd, Lissa at my side, finally part of something that isn’t show choir or the school musical.

When their set is over, Lissa gets us another beer each (I can’t even see Brad at this point, and I guess I’m getting used to the taste), and we watch as the guys hurriedly pack their equipment before Elijah bounds off of the stage and makes a beeline for us.

“Hey!” Lissa holds out her arms, which I guess he doesn’t notice, because the first person he hugs is me.

“I’m so glad you came,” he says, and kisses me. He tastes like the stage: lights and sweat and adrenaline. “What’d you think?”

“You guys were amazing,” I say honestly. “I’m so—”

“Where’d Liss go?” he asks, pulling away from me. We spot her making her way to the door, and then Elijah takes off without another look to me. I decide to wait before going after them: give it a couple minutes, then finish my beer, then weave my way through the crowd and walk into the crisp night air.

They’re sitting close together on the curb, Elijah’s arm wrapped around Lissa, her head on his shoulder. My stomach does a few backward flip flops, and I think about turning around and going inside, but they notice I’m there.

“Hey,” they say at exactly the same time.

I notice that Lissa’s eyes are red and wet, which is sort of hard to entirely accept. Lissa is way too tough to cry in public like someone like me would do.

“Hi,” I say.

Lissa whispers something into Elijah’s ear, and he nods.

“I’m gonna talk to Liss for a minute.” He gets up and pulls Lissa to her feet. “Wait here for me, okay?”

I nod, and then watch as they head down the sidewalk and around the corner. My stomach is still flopping, so I wrap my arms tightly around myself as if that will help.

After a few minutes, I sit down and get out my phone to check that I don’t have any missed calls or texts. After what the clock on my phone verifies is ten more minutes, there’s still no sign of Elijah or Lissa. I wonder how long I’m supposed to sit alone on the sidewalk before going inside or looking for them.

“Devan?” Brad walks outside with a couple guys who I guess are around his age and who immediately take out cigarettes and lighters like their lives depend on it. “Is everything all right?”

I shrug and try to look very casual about sitting out here alone.

“I’ll be just a minute,” Brad tells his friends, before sitting down next to me on the sidewalk. “Where are your friends?”

I shrug again. “Around the corner. They needed to talk.”

“Ah.” He surveys me, probably catching onto the signs I’ve been here for a bit: my phone out, my notebook in my lap. Just habit—I have nothing to add to my Reece Malcolm List. “Why don’t I wait with you?”

“No, I’m totally fine, and your friends—”

“Trust me, any excuse not to stand over there with smokers is a very good one. So your guylinered one is very talented,” he says. “I always wanted to be in a band, especially when I was younger.”

“Why weren’t you?” I ask, eager to move the subject away from Elijah. “I mean, you’re obviously totally obsessed with music.”

“Sadly, it takes more than that. I’ve accepted I’ve no musical ability at all.” His phone beeps, and he takes it out of his back pocket. After reading the message, he chuckles softly and taps out a response. “It’s Reece, letting me know she can’t make it tonight, as if that’s any sort of news.”

“Does she, like, hate music?” I ask.

“Definitely not,” he says. “But she’s, at times, a bit antisocial, and getting her out with people other than Kate and Vaughn is tough. Some of my friends are convinced she’s imaginary, considering they’ve never met her since we’ve been together.”

“Does it bother you?”

“A bit, I suppose. I certainly don’t mind that we aren’t one of those couples that does everything with each other.” He laughs as he puts away his phone. “I don’t love garnering a reputation as someone with a fictional girlfriend, though.”

“Hey, Harper,” one of Brad’s friends calls. “We’re heading back in.”

“You should go,” I say.

“I think I’ll wait a bit,” Brad calls back. At the guys’ semi-disturbed glances between Brad and me, he adds, “This is Reece’s daughter, Devan.”

They both shake my hand and end up sitting down with us, which is fine because they’re friendly and funny and clearly the kind of guys who would think it was gross for Brad to be talking to a teenager who wasn’t his girlfriend’s daughter. But it doesn’t leave the back of my mind that now I’ve been out here for maybe a solid half hour with no sign at all of Elijah or Lissa.

Finally, when Brad’s friends are ready to head back inside to see the next band, Brad gives me a little glance. “Shall we just head back to the house? See if we can at least drag Reece out for a late dinner?”

I nod, getting to my feet. “I mean, if it’s okay. If you want to go back inside—”

“Of course it’s okay.” He says good-bye to his friends while I text Elijah and Lissa to let them know I have a way home, and we take off. We’re still sitting at the very first stoplight we hit when my phone beeps with a text.
sorry lost track of time
. . .
call u l8r? –E

I’m not sure how I want to respond, so I don’t. In my head I type out lots of responses, though.
You should be sorry. Lissa’s not the only one who has feelings, you know. How could you just LEAVE ME THERE? Please stop saying ‘l8r’! Aren’t I worth typing the whole word?

At the house, my mother is already in pajamas and curled up with her laptop, so Brad and I make a salad and grilled sandwiches instead of suggesting going out. (I normally geek out only where musicals and clothes are concerned, but the panini maker is pretty great.) After we eat, my phone rings. I start to hit
ignore
but I’ve probably done enough ignoring tonight already. I take the call.

“Hey,” Elijah says. “I’m sorry about earlier. Liss just . . .”

I give him a lot of time to finish his thought, but he doesn’t.

“Liss felt really bad, too, especially since she was your ride. You got home okay?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Thanks for making sure. Like, two hours later.”

“Devan, I’m . . .” He sighs really loudly.

“You’re what?” I ask after another endless pause. Is it so bad to need just a little
sorry
?

“Never mind. Are you busy tomorrow? Do you want to hang out?”

I’m not sure I do, but I agree, and he promises to pick me up at noon. Neither of us sounds very thrilled, but I try not to take that to heart as I lie down in bed.

Chapter Fifteen

Things I know about Reece Malcolm:

31. She’s probably an annoying girlfriend.

Elijah picks me up on Saturday like we didn’t have the most awkward evening less than twenty-four hours ago. Brad asks him a few questions about his band, and he answers them politely and enthusiastically but without the geeky ramble of Sai’s responses. I can’t figure out which I prefer.

“I was gonna check out some amps,” he says as we get into his car. Then kisses me. Then nods at his bass in its case in the backseat. “You cool with that?”

“Sure,” I say, even though the first time we hung out we listened to his demo, and last night I went to his show. I can’t imagine Lissa would mind doing tons of band stuff with him.

Not that I’m competing with Lissa.

Should I bring up Lissa?

Should I bring up the show?

“Then we can do whatever you want.” He slides his arm around my shoulders. “Unless you’re dead from boredom. Then it’s straight to the funeral home for you.”

Okay, I can’t actually be annoyed now. Right? Also I don’t end up just standing by in the music store. Elijah plugs his bass into amp after amp, making sure I hear each one, and gets my opinion (not that I’m some amp expert, but it’s funny how understanding music means you understand a lot more than your little corner of it) before finally deciding on a vintage model we both agree is best at thundering through you.

I watch as he counts off bills from a huge wad of cash in his pocket, and he shoots me a little grin. “I worked all summer, and my mom still gives me an allowance, but it’s taken a while.”

Thanks to my clothing habit, I’ve never been great at saving my babysitting money in any impressive amounts. “Where did you work this summer?”

“Interned at Liss’s mom’s office, filing and stuff, but it paid okay and I didn’t have to wear a uniform or wait tables, so it wasn’t bad.” He thanks the cashier and hoists up the amp from the floor. I hold the door for him and grab his keys so I can open the trunk for him as well. Lissa has a billion things in common with him and got him the job that got him the amp, but I can at least be helpful with doors and keys.

“Hey,” he says to me.

“What?” I’m eager for an apology or an explanation, but instead he says “Hey” again, this time with a grin, and loops his fingers through one of my belt loops to pull me close to him. And there is no way to say that making out in the parking lot behind a music store isn’t completely tacky, so I won’t try.

Probably I should bring up last night at some point, but my anger has faded. If it were really a big deal he wouldn’t have texted and called later, right? And we wouldn’t be here now. (Well, not
here
, specifically, but out with each other.) I’m more than willing to let it go for today. Maybe for forever.

Elijah has plans to hang out with the rest of Killington Hill that night, and the house is empty when he drops me off. There’s a note on the counter from Brad, who has handwriting so perfect it looks like a font, saying there are leftovers in the refrigerator for me, and an addendum to the note from my mother in her crazy scrawl, letting me know they’ll be out late and to text if I need anything.

I let myself into my mother’s office, but there’s nothing of note. My goal of figuring her out is still important, but I’m realizing how it isn’t like you can totally judge a person by her stuff, even her email. Unfortunately email is really all I have to go on.

After I microwave leftovers (grilled chicken and asparagus over quinoa), instead of worrying about my mother, I go up to my room and open my computer to worry about other people instead. Thanks to Facebook, I figure out that Travis is with a bunch of other people from Nation and Honors Choir who are in the
Merrily
chorus, which
sucks
. I guess part of me did worry our immediate friendship was too good to be true. Maybe I was right.

And even though I don’t like explaining my feelings to people, if Travis wasn’t being this way, maybe I’d have someone to talk to about this whole Elijah/Lissa situation. I pick up my phone and start to text, delete, start to text again, delete
again
, and then finally just click on her name. Probably she won’t have time on a Saturday night anyway.

“Devan?”

“Oh, um, hi. Yeah. Are you busy?”

“Not at all, Noah and I were going to go out, but he’s sick with food poisoning or something like that,” Justine says. “Hopefully he’s not lying.”

I don’t feel, like, great about things with Elijah right now, but at least I’m confident that if he told me he had food poisoning, I’d believe him.

“I got a role in the fall musical,” I say.

“I figured,” she says. “I saw people congratulating you on Facebook.”

“Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” I say. “It’s been, like, a really weird week.”

“Bad weird?”

“No. Yes? I don’t know. Things are—”

“Hang on, someone’s calling.”

Justine pauses, and it’s like I can feel exactly what’s about to happen.

“Hey, it’s Noah. Can I call you later?”

“Sure.” I wonder if there’s one right thing to say when you feel your friendship isn’t what it’s supposed to be anymore. “’Bye.”

Justine doesn’t call back, but I distract myself by watching approximately two billion clips of different productions of
Merrily
online. Also Elijah starts texting me about the weird things his bandmates are up to (
parker just got his foot stuck in a cheez-it box
) and it feels way less like I’m alone as I guess I am. Also less like he’s going to end things so he can be with Lissa.