Will's Story (5 page)

Your eyes hidden

Mine too shy

But in the notes

Let me try, try, try

Amber Rose is waiting for
me in the parking lot when I get to school on Monday. “Hey, mister. You feeling better?” She pushes herself off of her red Mini Cooper and walks toward me, a smile on her face.

I cough into my hand. “Yeah, a little.” Cough, cough. “I might still have a touch of something.”

“Oh.” She doesn't lose the smile but she doesn't come in for a hug or anything else. Then she launches into a play-by-play of Sarabeth's version of Friday night's dance. Luckily, Sarabeth hadn't noticed my car because Amber Rose would definitely ask me about it. When she's finished with her spiel, she pouts. “I'm sorry you're sick. I'd hug you, but you know, germs and all. Does that make me a
bad girlfriend?”

Damn. What a question.

“Of course not. You're a great girlfriend.” Again, not a lie there. Which makes the situation critical.

She giggles. “I might have taken some pictures for you.” She runs ahead of me a few steps then turns so she's walking backward as I'm walking forward. “And if you're a really good boy, I'll let you see them.” She waves her phone at me. “Orange satin. It looks so good on me.” She manages to put her hand on her hip and cock it seductively as she continues to walk backward.

Every bone in my body is like damn, lingerie photos, send them to me now, because Amber Rose Slagle is a stunner. Bikini body for days. Thick dark blackish-brown hair to the middle of her back. I'd been all about her when we'd started something that day on the lake. But I didn't know her. And now that I do, those are the only things that might hold my attention. But I want more than that. I need some mutual interest.

“I'd rather wait. See the real thing.” I waggle my eyebrows for convincing factor. Also, not a lie. But Amber Rose in the flesh is not the real thing I'm referring to. And getting her to send me those photos would be hella wrong. Damn, I'm totally going to lose my man card over this.

Sarabeth runs out the door of the commons and grabs
Amber Rose in a gossip hug. “Stealing her,” she says. I wave and smile and put my hand over my heart and figure I can fake anything for the next five days. We'll go to that concert with my folks and then, we'll be done.

It takes forever for the final bell before chorus. Not that I have a plan when it comes to Amber Vaughn or what I'm going to say to her. At the last minute, I run to my car for my banjo.

Amber's talking to Mrs. Early when I slip in behind another group of students. She's on crutches. I wonder what happened between when I saw her Friday and today. Devon didn't mention anything major and we joke he's better than News 13 when it comes to local current events. I hope she's okay; maybe I can use that concern as a way to open up a conversation.

Once I'm settled in my chair, I don't look in her direction right away. I keep my focus forward and my mind on the music. We run through “Shenandoah” three times. First the whole chorus, then us boys, then the girls. Amber's voice stands out even when she's working with a group. Not that she's trying to over sing the others, her voice is just that distinctive.

When Mrs. Early finishes, she gets this sharpish grin on her face like she's up to something. The guy next to me
groans. “Please, God, no.”

“What?” I whisper. But he looks at me like I'm an alien from another planet. So I look at Amber. Because, let's face it, she's a nice place to rest my eyes. Seems like she's as confused as me and when she surveys our side of the room, I do the universal palms-up shrug to cement some solidarity. Her eyes narrow. So, she hates me again. Guess the concerned Will route isn't my conversation starter after all.

Mrs. Early hands this fishbowl full of names to Becca Carpenter, who pulls out three slips of paper.

I still have no clue what's going on, but they call Amber's name.

“Seriously, dude,” I say to the kid next to me. “What is this?”

He groans. “You'll see. And hope she doesn't call your name because if she does, you have to sing a solo. In front of everybody.”

This rodeo girl, Destiny Miller, stands up first and the next thing I know she's singing a raunchy country song, a cappella. Everybody starts laughing when she grinds her hips then thrusts her fist into the air on the finish. I'm surprised Mrs. Early doesn't put the ixnay on the indgray, but what I'm discovering is, in chorus, unlike the guidance counselor side of herself, Mrs. Early lets a lot of things slide. The next dude, some junior or sophomore I don't
know, sings that sappy love song from
Titanic
. Then it's Amber's turn. Mrs. Early offers to let her stay in her chair, but Amber shakes her head, her jaw planted in determination.

When she crutches herself to the front, she leans back against the piano.

“What are you going to sing?” Mrs. Early's hands are clasped in a pre-clap, like anything Amber says is going to be all right by her.

“‘The Cuckoo'?”

Such a good song and one I've nailed on the banjo ever since I saw that Scott Avett video on YouTube. So when Amber looks at Mrs. Early and asks if I can accompany her, I don't even wait for the answer. I'm unlatching my case and pulling my Deering out.

“You're one of those, huh?” Grumpy Cat next to me slumps back with what is either disdain or jealousy. Whatever, dude. That girl down there is amazing and I'm going to make some sweet tunes with her.

Once I hit the floor though, the nerves creep back in. I can't wipe the image of her volcanic anger and my Friday night idiocy. In the chair, I mess with the tuning pegs and pluck a note or two and then she nods. My fingers override my brain and I calm down as I play. Next to me, Amber's sweet voice is like a wisp of steam braiding through my
banjo chords.

“Oh, the cuckoo, she's a pretty bird. Lord, she warbles as she flies.”

There's never a bump or a pause or the hesitation of people who've only played together a few times. This is magic. Even if I never get to kiss her again, she can't deny this is something special.

When I finish off the last notes of the song and the chorus claps, Mrs. Early dismisses us. By the time I get my banjo back in its case, Amber's gone. She didn't even say good-bye.

I rush to catch up but stop when I find her. She's with Devon. And since baby brother has no idea I'm macking on his best friend, I play it cool. “What's up, bro?”

“The lovely Plain and Small is helping me spend Aunt Sue's birthday gift today.”

“Oh.” And then this weird rush of shy or crush or guilt comes rushing over me and there's no way I can be at home while the two of them sit arguing over iTunes selections. “Cool. See you later. Tell Mom I'll be home for supper.”

I push through the doors and realize I have nowhere to be. Then I think about that brochure Mom gave me and figure what the hell, if I can't figure out my love life, at least I can apply for a cool job for the summer. The library's public computers are the perfect spot.

When I start my car, I stop before backing out. Devon's got Amber's book bag as she crutches her way across the pavement. She's laughing at something he's saying and I can't believe it took till I had a freaking girlfriend for something to happen between us. She's been right there for two years. Why didn't I ever make a move?

We can try this

Anticipate

Little steps

I can wait

Wednesday night I work up
the nerve to call Amber Vaughn. I wait till after Devon's cocooned in his room streaming
Doctor Who
episodes.

“Hello?” Even her speaking voice is melodic.

“Amber?” My voice cracks like a dork.

“Yeah.”

“It's Will.” On the other end I hear her move and immediately imagine where she is (in bed) and what's she wearing (soft torn T-shirt and girlie boxers, no bra).

“Hey, Will.” She doesn't sound angry but I wouldn't call it exuberance either.

I blabber something about getting her number from Devon and then finally I blurt out part of what I want to
say. “Um. I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For being so abrupt the other night.” Then I talk some more about my dad and feeling good about getting back on track with him.

“Yeah, I got that,” she says. Her voice is back to crisp and short. “And I kissed you. Again. And you have a girlfriend who probably wouldn't have been too happy hearing we'd showed up to the dance together.”

Damn. Radar girl. Talk about zeroing in on an issue. I could probably tell her my plans. But that feels in the same category of douche bag as cheating did. Amber Rose has to hear it from me. And even though I doubt Amber Vaughn would spill the beans, it would still be pretty damn smarmy of me to change the order of my events. No, it goes like this, break up first, then confess my feelings to her.

I clear my throat. “Yeah, so the other reason I called.”

“Will . . .” I can tell she's going to say something more about Amber Rose so I interrupt her.

“Let me talk, okay?”

She sighs. “I'm listening.”

I take a deep breath and look at my banjo shining on its stand. “I want to help you. Devon told me about you getting an audition for NC-Arts.”

“Help me?”

“Come on, Not So Plain and Small, don't make this tough on me.”

I swear there's a growl that comes across the phone line. “Will, all I know is we have something when we make music.
And
when we're together. To you, what happened between us might mean nothing. But it was a big deal to me.” She pauses and her voice comes out softer, sadder. “And I can't even talk to my best friend about it. I can't talk to anybody about it.”

If I didn't feel like such a jerk for being the one to put that sadness in her voice I'd be ecstatic. She thinks we have something. It did mean something to her.

“Shit,” I mutter, stumbling and not finding the right words. “I was only going to offer to help you with your audition.”

There's silence on her end of the line. I could hang up. End this conversation while I get Amber Rose sorted out and figure out the perfect thing to say to her, but she starts talking again.

“You want to help me?” Her voice is a whisper.

“Forget it. I shouldn't expect you to want to hang out with me.”

The volcano girl erupts. “No, you shouldn't.” I hear her take a deep breath, like she's gathering her emotion. When she talks again, her voice is normal. “Actually, I could use
your help.”

“You could?”

She tells me about a CD of audition songs Mrs. Early gave to her. “I wish I could sing something like we did the other day in chorus.”

I smile, happy she thought our duet was good. “That
was
pretty sweet.”

We breathe for a minute then talk at the same time.

“Maybe I could . . .”

“I'll let you . . .”

“Go ahead,” I say.

“I'll let you borrow the CD tomorrow. I'll tell you my favorites so far and you can tell me which ones you think would be good.”

I agree but before I hang up, I say one more thing. “Amber.”

“Yeah?”

I can hear the waiting in her voice, but all I manage to get out is, “I'm sorry.”

She hangs up.

I stare at the phone in my hands, daring myself to call her back immediately. But I think about how pissed I'd be if it were me in Amber Rose's shoes. I put the phone down. Soon I'll be able to tell her how I really feel. Every step so far I've done it wrong—now it's time to do this right.

The next two days are both the fastest and the slowest days of my life.

Amber Rose is getting suspicious. “You're not still sick, Will. Did I do something?” She snuggles against me in the commons. It's weird but the more standoffish I am, the more flirtatious she gets. Her fingernails tiptoe up then down the front of my T-shirt. I catch her hand in mine.

“No, it's cool. It's just.” I look around indicating that we're surrounded by students.

“I don't care about them.” She drapes a possessive long leg over mine and lifts her mouth to my neck, kissing her way closer to my ear. I can't help it. I lean in.

And of course, that's the moment Devon, Amber, Kush, and Sean walk by. Amber's eyes flick in my direction. If I were in her head and this was her and that Sean kid, I'd die a little on the inside. I see her crutch catch on the floor, like maybe it's the catch of her breath.

I jump to move away at the same time Amber Rose takes my earlobe between her teeth. I'm guessing her intention was gently. But my sudden movement and her precarious position result in the snapping of her jaws.

“Motherfucker.” The curse is a howl as I grab my ear and fall away from her.

Amber Rose jumps up and leans over me. “Oh my
God, Will, I'm so sorry. Let me see. Are you okay?”

Sarabeth, who'd been doing her peripheral paying attention, is belly laughing. I flip her off with the hand that's not grasping my earlobe. Amber Rose is trying to peel that one away to see if she drew blood.

“I'm fine. Just get off, okay?” I roll away from her to standing. “I'm going to the bathroom.”

“God, you don't have to be an ass. It was an accident.”

I walk away. I know I'm overreacting but I don't like where I've put myself. Firmly in the cheater's chair with that little show. In the mirror, I check out my ear to see if she broke the skin. It's red as crap but in one piece. Small blessings. I splash water on my face. This is ridiculous. Why didn't I just break up with her already? I swear, I think my brain is missing a few parts.

Outside Amber Rose and Sarabeth are waiting for me and they each take an elbow for the walk to class.

“Let me see.” Sarabeth cranes her neck and checks out my ear. “Eh, you'll live.”

Amber Rose snuggles my elbow. “I promise I'll make it up to you, Will.”

Say it. Say it right now. Tell her it's over.

But the hall is crowded and Sarabeth is right here and everyone knows there's an art to the respectable breakup.

I drop them off at their English class and head upstairs
to calculus. A few steps later and my phone pings. I swipe it and holy mother of all things orange lingerie and boob. Amber Rose's apology was to actually sext me. Right here. At school. I glance over my shoulder and hand to God, the girl is cocked back against the wall, leg propped up, with her tongue running over her top lip. Then she winks and disappears into class.

Amber Rose's reputation is that she's a hard nut to crack. No-man's-land. But damn if she hasn't pegged me as the nutcracker. And I'm going to say no.

“McKinney.” It's Coach Briggs. “Do I need that phone in your hand?”

“No, sir.” I slide it back in my pocket but as soon as he's gone I pull it back out. This is not a daily occurrence.

I've got to say, the girl looks good. Better than good.

But I hit delete.

Devon would tell me I'm whipped.

He'd be right.

Because no matter how good she looks in orange and lace, Amber Rose can't tell a minor chord from a major. And that matters more than the sum of any number of body parts.