I smile at her. “We did it, sweetness.”
“Now we just have to actually play the gig!” Kylie pulls out into traffic and heads toward her house.
We talk about what covers we’re going to do, and discuss writing some more original material. By the time we get to her house, we’re both excited about possibilities and have the first stanza of a new song planned out. Our excitement is doused when we see Ben in his driveway getting into his truck at the same time as we’re getting out. Kylie is obviously upset at the mere sight of him, and I feel it. For his part, Ben is staring at me with what looks like open hatred. It’s a little shocking, and unexpected.
He slams his door shut, squeals his tires as he backs out, and floors it, roaring at a reckless speed down the residential street. His front door opens, and his mother comes out, stands on the front porch staring after him.
I glance at Kylie. “What’s the deal there?”
She sighs. “A lot.” She shakes her head and looks up at me. “He’s being pissy.”
“Kylie.”
“We got into a fight the night I left your place late—after our first open mic. He was waiting up for me.”
“He’s jealous?”
“Yeah. Apparently you were right. He said he’s been in love with me since he was fourteen.”
I groan. “Shit. I told you.” I walk away from her, worry shooting through me.
She follows after me. “Oz, it’s fine.”
I spin in place. “Fine? How is it fine? He’s your best friend. I never wanted to come between that.”
“He had our whole lives to say something to me. He never did. Not once. He never let on how he was feeling.” She looks down the street where his truck disappeared, as if she could see him wherever he is now. “I wanted him to, you know. A long time ago. Ninth grade, tenth grade. He’s awesome, you know? Hot, cool, fun, athletic, popular. Everything a girl could ever want, and I thought he and I could have some kind of fairy tale ending together, so I waited and waited for him to suddenly profess his undying love and whatever, but he never did, and I didn’t want to risk ruining our friendship. And then last year he suddenly started dating all these girls, and I gave up. And then this year you show up, and everything happens between us, and now suddenly he tells me how he feels when it’s too late.”
I’m torn. He’s everything she said he is, and I’m not blind enough to miss that. He has every reason to hate me. Part of me, the part that knows I’m wrong for Kylie, tells me to push her to him. But the selfish part of me won’t let that happen.
Kylie clearly knows me all too well, because she turns to me. “Don’t even think about it, Oz. He had his chance. I’m with you.”
I laugh. “I didn’t say anything.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “But you were thinking it.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Well, don’t. Just don’t.” She pulls me toward her front door, lets herself in, shouting for Colt. “Daddy! Where are you?”
He comes up from the basement. “What’s up, buttercup?”
She bounds over to him and wraps her arms around his middle. “We got a gig!”
He hugs her back. “Awesome! Where at?”
She hands him the card. “This place. The manager’s name is Dan. He said he would let us play later if you were okay with it. He said it’d be hard to get gigs during prime time since I’m underage.”
Colt nods. “Yeah, he’s right about that, at least when it comes to the Music Row bars and clubs. But there are a lot open mic nights ya’ll could do. It’s a good way to build a name for yourselves. The whole open mic night crowd of singer-songwriters is a small world, at least when it comes to real talent.”
He claps me on the back, his other arm around Kylie. “Good job, you two.” He glances at Kylie. “You mind if Mom and I come to watch you and Oz play?”
She shakes her head. “No, that’s fine.”
“When is it?”
“Thursday the twenty-first.”
“Cool. We’ll be there.” He heads back to the basement, and Kylie and I go up to her room.
She leaves her door open as I sit at her desk and she sits on her bed. We spend the next few hours alternating between studying for a calculus exam and working on a new song.
We’re interrupted around seven-thirty by Nell. “Dinner’s ready.” She looks at me. “Are you staying?”
Kylie answers for me. “Yes. He is.”
I laugh. “I guess I am.”
A few minutes later, I’m sitting at the round table just off the kitchen. Kylie is on one side of me, Nell on the other, Colt across from me. There’s a huge bowl of rotini and meat sauce, garlic bread, and salad. I wait and watch as they pass each item around, and take a helping when it comes to me. This is…odd. I’ve never had an actual sit-down dinner like this before. It’s always just Mom and I, and the rare nights we’re both home at dinnertime, we eat whatever’s quick, sitting on the couch watching TV. I don’t know what to do. Should I wait for everyone else to eat? Do they pray first? They don’t strike me as religious or spiritual people, but I have this idea—a dumb one, I’m sure—that nice unified suburban families like this always pray before they eat. Do I close my eyes? Are there rules or manners I’m supposed to know about? I didn’t wash my hands. I’m still wearing my hat. Should I take it off? A thousand things run through my head. I’m not eating, just watching Kylie and her family as they dig in without fanfare, chattering amiably, asking each other questions about their day, sharing stories, all of it around mouthfuls of food.
Nell notices I’m not eating. “Is it okay, Oz? You’re not eating.”
I blink. “No, it’s—it’s good. It smells good.”
Colt comes to my rescue. “It’s just dinner, Oz. Relax. Eat.”
Kylie sets her slice of garlic bread down and looks at me. “You okay?”
I laugh, uncomfortable, and take bite of rotini. “It’s good. Really good. Thanks for having me.” I hope she’ll let it go.
She does, for now at least, and I slowly relax a little. I answer a few questions, innocuous ones about where I’ve lived, which cities I’ve liked and which I haven’t, my favorite bands. Colt and I get into a discussion about motorcycles, and it’s during this conversation that I notice Kylie’s eyes on me, watching me, happy, curious, eager. Like she’s happier than I could ever imagine that I’m here in her home, talking to her dad.