LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

conversation starter. “So, how do you know Cisco?” I asked, sitting on the bar stool next to Brendan.

      “We go to the same school,” Brendan replied, tilting his head toward me. “Maybe you’ve heard of it? Vincent Academy?” His voice was playful and teasing.

      “You’re a Vincent Academy!” I blurted out.

      Brendan laughed—a big laugh—and shook his head at me, smiling.

      “What the hell does that mean?” he asked.

      “I, um, have no idea,” I said, embarrassed. I couldn’t believe I pulled that stupid joke in front of Brendan, of all people.

      “So, is Gabe’s band your kind of music?” Brendan said, still laughing.

      “I don’t even know what kind of music Gabe’s band is. Other than bad, apparently. So I’d have to say no, it’s not my kind of music. I’m weird like that. I only like good things.” What am I babbling on about?

      “You really weren’t far off with the Blink-182 reference,” Brendan said, brushing his hand through his hair, causing the black locks to fall haphazardly.

      “Maybe I’ll like them,” I said. “I love Blink.”

      “Me, too. You ever listen to their old stuff?”

      “You mean Dude Ranch, or you mean their really old stuff?”

      His eyes twinkled at me. “Oh, you’re a musicologist, are you now?”

      “I don’t know about that…I can’t play an instrument to save my life, but Buddha is one of my favorite albums. I always go back to it and get obsessed with a different song.”

      “What’s your current favorite?” Brendan asked.

      “Well, lately it’s been ‘Carousel,’” I started…then realized I’d given up way too much info. Ten minutes into conversation, and I’m telling him about the song about unrequited love and loneliness that’s jumped to the top of my iPod playlist. Smooth, Emma. Why not pick “Pathetic” while you’re at it?

      I took a quick swig of my beer and kept my eyes trained on his, keeping my voice level. “I just really, really like the chorus on that song.”

      Brendan opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, then just shut it. “Oh, hey, they’re about to start.”

      We turned around, leaning against the bar as Gabe’s singer and guitarist, a lanky guy with badly dyed cherry-red curls enthusiastically screamed into the mike, “Hey, we’re Broken Echo, and are you ready to rock?”

      Apart from our little group, no one cheered. Gabe just looked embarrassed—and his face burned as red as the singer’s curls when he burst into an off-tune guitar riff. I wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be that out of tune, or if it was a mistake, but judging from the crestfallen look on Gabe’s face, I could tell their gig had started off badly.

      Gabe, for his part, was actually talented, but unfortunately, the guitarist ruined most of their performance. Grandstanding poses, sticking his tongue out and throwing up the horns every chance he got… His schtick got old before the first song was over.

      In the middle of the second song, a butchered version of a My Chemical Romance song, Brendan leaned in next to me, placing his left arm along the bar behind my back, and I felt my breath quicken.

      “In chemistry today, Cisco told me that Gabe’s dying to leave the band and start his own, but Kenny—that’s Captain Clownhair over there—he started the band. So Gabe feels loyal, like he can’t leave.” I snickered at the joke about Kenny’s hair, but could feel my cool slipping away as Brendan’s breath tickled me, warm on my ear. So I just nodded in agreement. His arm lingered along my back, and I realized I was holding myself stiffly against the bar, afraid to lean into him.

      I extended out my arms in front of me and pretended to stretch, resting more of my weight against the bar. Brendan’s arm stayed against my back. I acted like I didn’t notice and focused on the band, peeling the label off my now-empty beer bottle. Summoning some more courage, I leaned back into Brendan some more.

      Brendan removed his arm—only to turn around and order something else from the bartender. Wordlessly, he handed me a new beer. Was he paying that much attention to me that he noticed I needed a refill? I mouthed, “Thanks,” and put it to my lips.

      After getting his drink, Brendan lounged against the bar and stretched his arm along its very welcome spot along my back. I cast a sideways glance at him, and internally imploded when I saw he was looking at me, too. I smiled, a little shyly, and he leaned in more closely until he fully had his arm around me. Aaand, my guy-cation is officially over.

      Two songs later, Brendan started drumming his fingers on my side in time to the music. I felt like my heart was keeping time with the ramming bass line. Every time he’d bend in to ask me something, or laugh at something I said, the bass line in my chest turned into a hardcore song.

      The band was winding down their final song—which ended with an earsplitting two-minute solo guitar riff from Kenny. I squirmed uncomfortably on my bar stool, and Brendan covered my ears with his hands, laughing with me the entire time. He only kept his hands there a few seconds, but they felt warm against the side of my face. The pounding bass line in my chest was now speed metal.

      When the set was over, we all cheered, enthusiastically yelling Gabe’s name—much to Kenny’s dismay. The jukebox came back on, and Brendan and I turned to face the rest of our crew.

      “So, what are we doing now?” Samantha asked over the music, tapping her glossy pale nails on the bar. “Let’s go to the Met. I wouldn’t mind seeing who’s there. Come on, Omar, it’ll be fun,” she pleaded when he made a gagging sound.

      “I never went when I actually was a student at Vince A, and I’m not going to start now,” he snorted.

      “Let’s go,” Cisco said, looking at the time. “Gabe has to load up their equipment and bring his drums home—I won’t be meeting up with him until later.”

      “Um, what’s the Met?” I asked.

      “You know, the Met? The Met!” Derek exclaimed, looking at me like I was a confused fourth grader. “The Metropolitan Museum of Art!”

      “You guys hang out there?” I looked at my phone. It was 10:30. “Is it even open?”

      “We hang out next to it,” Cisco explained, shaking his head at my cluelessness. “There’s a big glass wall, and you can see in, see the Egyptian temples and stuff. It’s cool.”

      “Okay…I’m in,” I said, a little bewildered. At Keansburg High, we hung out behind the gym. At Vince A, they hung out behind priceless works of art. Riiight. And I bet the school play is directed by Martin Scorsese.

      We started walking toward the museum, and Cisco fell in line with me while Brendan and the others walked on ahead. I heard Brendan asking Samantha about Columbia, which is where she was studying business. I pulled my leather jacket around me and tried not to shiver against the cold.

      “So, what’s going on, Miss Connor? Makin’ some new friends?” Cisco asked, shooting me a big grin.

      “Nothing’s going on,” I mumbled, embarrassed. “I’m just making friends, like you said. So,” I started, turning my head to him, “Why is this the first time I’m hearing that you two are friends?”

      “He’s not my best friend or anything—he keeps to himself, if you haven’t noticed—but we’re cool. We had every class together in freshman year. He’s actually the first person at school who found out I was gay.”

      “Really? How’d that happen? I’ve never seen you guys together,” I said, wrapping my arms around my thin jacket as another cold blast of wind shot through me.

      “You don’t have chemistry with me—we’re lab partners. But last year, Brendan saw me with Gabe at Warped

Скачать книгу