I look up when a man sits down across from me. Logan smiles, his breaths heavy. He props his head on his chin and blinks his pretty blue eyes at me. “Would your boyfriend be mad if I sit here with you?” he asks, his grin almost contagious.
“My boyfriend would kick your ass,” I say as seriously as I can. But a laugh escapes me. I look around when the librarian raps her desk with a ruler. I sign to Logan instead.
My boyfriend will kick your ass, I say again. You might want to get out of here. He’s a mean SOB when he’s provoked.
He laughs with no sound. God, he’s so handsome when he smiles. And when he’s not smiling. And when he’s sleeping. And when he’s awake. And when he’s breathing.
He takes my hand and swipes his thumb across the back of it. Heat shoots straight to the center of me. I pull my hand back so I can avoid melting into a big puddle on the floor.
What are you doing here? I ask.
He shrugs. I thought you might want a ride home.
Really?
He nods.
I smile. That’s so sweet.
Completely self-serving, he corrects.
I narrow my eyes at him. How so?
Maybe I just wanted your legs spread around me on my bike. He waggles his eyebrows at me.
I lean forward as if I need to tell him a secret. Maybe I want my legs spread around you, too.
He groans and grabs my hand. He tosses my book bag over his shoulder and pulls me toward the door. This time, he has two helmets, and he helps me fasten mine. I love that he tries to take such care of me.
My apartment or yours? I ask.
He brushes the hair back that’s hanging around my face, pushing it under the helmet. I don’t want you going back to your apartment while Trip’s there. He looks closely watching my face. That okay with you?
Fine, I say. I kind of like it when you go all Neanderthal. I grin, and he straddles the bike. I climb on behind him and wrap my hands around his waist. He hisses playfully when I lift his shirt and lay my hands against the tender skin of his belly. We zoom through the streets and into the parking deck beneath his building. He bends at the waist and tosses me over his shoulder.
“You haven’t seen Neanderthal yet,” he warns as he carries me up the steps.
Logan
I’m more nervous than I should be. My brothers have been cleaning all day, and Sam has been cooking like a Top Chef. He’s wearing an apron spattered with tomato sauce, and Emily cleans up behind him as he moves from task to task. Sam loves to cook. He’s never happier than he is when he’s making something for someone to eat.
I should have done a better job planning this dinner. None of our dishes match, but we set the table with them anyway. Hell, our chairs don’t even match at our tiny, scratched-up table. It was our mom and dad’s, and I love it. It has years of abuse and love etched into its rough surface. There are tracks from Matchbox cars and scuffs from science-project disasters.
Stop worrying, Emily says. It’s just dinner.
It’s not just dinner. It’s so much more.
I’m not worried. Your mom will love the food. And your dad won’t be able to complain about anything Sam has made. Of that, I am one hundred percent certain. He might not like the company or the accommodations or the jelly jars that we use as glasses, but he will love the food.
Emily rushes to the door and opens it when the bell rings. Her parents come in, and her dad looks around our apartment, his nose in the air. Her mom exclaims over the smell of the food.
“Mom, Dad,” she says. “This is Paul, and Sam, and you’ve heard all about Matt.”
Matt steps forward and shakes hands. “I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude,” he says.
“You don’t owe us a thing,” her mom gushes. She pulls Matt to the side so she can fuss over him.
Sam takes his apron off and declares, “The chef is done. It’s time for the serving committee to take over.”
“You’re not staying?” I ask. What the fuck?
I have to go and find Pete, he says. He should have been home hours ago.
Is something wrong?
He shrugs. I don’t like it—he won’t look me in the face.
I’ll be back as soon as I find him. Save me some lasagna. He nods toward Mr. Madison. That one looks like he can put away some food. He grins and sneaks out the door before Paul can catch him.
“Mr. Madison,” I say, extending my hand. He takes it and shakes, his grip tight.
“Logan,” he says. “Thanks for having us.”
“Thanks for coming.”
“Shall we eat?” Paul asks.
###
Conversation is stilted, our plates are now empty, desert has been consumed, and I’m just about convinced that Mr. Madison doesn’t have a soul at all when Sam runs in the door. He’s filthy, his shirt is torn, and he smells like he’s been in a Dumpster.
I’m so sorry, he signs to Emily. He shoots an apologetic glance at her. But we have a problem. Pete has been arrested.
For what? Paul asks, but he’s already crossing the room to get his coat. I’m right behind him.
We were with Bone, Sam admits. He avoids Paul’s gaze. And the cops showed up.
Where is he now?
At the police station.
They put him in cuffs? Paul asks.
Sam nods.
Emily saw the entire conversation. I’m going with you, she says.
I nod. What about your parents?
Emily asks her parents if they can give us a ride to the station. I think we’re done with them, but their driver parks the car and they get out with us.
“I’ll know what my daughter is involved in,” Mr. Madison says when I tell them that they don’t have to go in with us. I nod. If she was my daughter, I would go too.
Paul rings the bell on the desk and waits for the officer to help us. I can’t follow what they say, but I know Paul will tell me when they’re done.
Paul hangs his head in his hands and turns back to us. “They’re not going to let him go home. He needs an attorney.”
Emily goes to her dad and tugs on his jacket. “Dad, can you call someone?”
He shakes his head. “It’s time to go home, Emily.” He takes her elbow, but she jerks out of his grip.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“If you go with me now, I’ll find representation for him.” He looks smug, and I want to punch him in the face like I did Trip. I rear back, and Paul grabs my arm.
Let me do it, he signs. I won’t regret it later.
Neither would I.
Emily steps back from her father and stands with Matt, Paul, and me. “You should go home,” she says. “I’m staying here.” She turns her back on her parents, and we start to plan how to find an attorney for Pete.
This is really bad. It’s not a hold-him-for-twenty-four-hours kind of thing, Paul explains. He’s really in trouble.
It’s okay. We can work this out. We always do.
Only it’s not so easy this time. Pete’s waiting for arraignment.
I sigh, and Emily’s parents leave. She stays with us, of course, and helps us plan. She’s family now. I draw her to my side. They’re keeping my brother, but I’m taking Emily home with me.
She helps me undress, and then she shoves me onto the bed and helps me forget all the shit that Pete’s gotten into. At least for tonight.
Emily
My mom is waiting for me outside the school after my last class. She wants to go and get pedicures, but that’s usually code for “let’s talk.” I take a deep breath and slide into the car.
She pats my knee. “I won’t torture you with a pedicure today.” She smiles at me as though she’s waiting for me to talk.
“Mom,” I start. She waits, smiling patiently at me. I never thought I’d be in this predicament with my mom.
She holds up a finger to stop me. “How’s Peter?”
“Still locked up,” I mumble.
She purses her lips.
“I don’t want to hear about it, Mom. He made a mistake. That doesn’t mean Logan’s a mistake.”
Her brow furrows, and she lays a hand on her chest. “Have I ever said that Logan is a mistake? Ever? That boy is the best thing that has ever happened to you.”
Even with everything that’s happened, she still thinks that? I lean forward and wrap my arms around her. “Thank you.”
“What can I do to make things better between you and your father?”
“Get him a lobotomy?”
She rocks her head back and forth like she’s mulling it over.
“Neuter him?”
Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “I think not.”
“Ew,” I groan. But she makes me laugh. “He can’t keep holding his money over my head. Or their heads, for that matter.” I cross my arms in front of my chest.
“I think you’ve shown him that money isn’t a motivator for you. Or for them.” She glares at me.
“What?” I ask.
“What can I do to make it better between you and your father?” she asks again.
I shrug.
“When is your show?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Do you want him to be there?”
Do I? I don’t know if I do or not. He won’t appreciate it either way.
“Think about it,” she says.
“Bring him there. It’ll be the last time I ever worry about pleasing him if he doesn’t show up.”
She nods. She gets it, I think.
Emily
Tonight is my big night, and the auditorium is completely filled. The announcer goes to the microphone and welcomes the audience. Julliard does nothing in small measures when it comes to performances and this one is no exception. There are lights and cameras and there will be action.
I’m a little nervous as they call my name. Dr. Ball assures me no one has ever performed a piece like this, and he’s worried about my overall presentation. The timing has to be perfect or none of it will work. I have practiced and practiced and practiced some more. I have barely had a moment with Logan all week, because I have been perfecting this piece. And he’s been a little preoccupied with Pete’s situation. But every night, I sleep in his bed. Every day, I wake up in his arms. Every minute, I know how much he loves me. Even with all the trouble Pete’s in, Logan is dedicated to me. Pete has a public defender, but his fate is still undecided.
I walk onto the stage, and I can’t even see the audience past the lights. But I can hear all the Reed boys as they call my name and cheer. I raise my hand to shield my eyes, and I can see them there. They’re on their feet clapping for me. The rest of the audience is subdued, but Sam yells, “Get ’em, Emily!” He makes me laugh. Paul whistles through his teeth at me. I’m so glad they’re here. The person I most want to see isn’t there, though—my dad’s not with them. My mom is but not Dad.
I should have known he meant what he said when he’d left me that night. I should have known that he was done. He’s proven it now. But then I see people in the row stand up, and a male form scoots down to join the four Reed brothers and my mom.
My dad’s here. He’s really here.
Tears prick at the backs of my lashes. My dad is not standing and clapping with the boys. He looks put out by it, honestly. I wish my dad had the same kind of enthusiasm that the Reeds have when it comes to my music.
I sit down on the stool in front of the microphone, and I plug my guitar into the amp. I speak into the crowd. “Good evening, friends, family, and distinguished guests.” I take a deep breath. “I hope you all will indulge me because I’m going to try something new tonight.” I laugh. “I wanted to take my music to a new level.” I shrug my shoulders. “I just hope you like it.” I look toward Logan. Then I look at my dad. “And I hope he likes it.”
I set up the screens and projectors behind me before the performance, but as I start to play my guitar, I begin with a simple melody. I look over my shoulder to make sure my timing is right. Butterflies light up the screen behind me, and I play along with their movements. I have timed everything perfectly. They don’t just fly; they pulse. They pulse along with the rhythm of the song.
I see Logan sit forward in his seat. This part is for him. This part is so that the can feel the rhythm and movement of my song. This is the treble clef that he’s missing. This is the part he can’t feel in the beat of the bass through the floor. But he can see it.
I keep playing, and the butterflies move up and down with the notes of my guitar. They fly high and they fly low, and they keep shifting with the beat.
I open my mouth, and the butterflies become the words of my song. I have timed them perfectly to my tempo and my melody, and they grow large when my words are strong and small when my words are soft. The words on the screen are for Logan. The theatrics of this piece are all for him, but the words coming out of my mouth are for my dad and my dad alone:
You’ve been asleep for some time now .
I’ve been watching you for a while now.
This is oh so hard when you’re awake
Because when you look at me I just start to ache.
I try to be
All that you want to see,
But you know how it goes.
Nobody else knows
That I can’t be what you need me to be.
I look at the words on the page
As they swim and they rage.
They fight me even though I try,
Sometimes I still wonder why.
The storm rages all around me.
What I need is for your arms to surround me.
But what I get’s not the same.
I get scorn, pain, and shame.
I try to be
All that you want to see,
But you know how it goes.
Nobody else knows