Drummer Girl, page 12
What if I love you after?
Chapter Twelve
There are eleven days of school left before winter break. Jesse has booked gigs for three of them. Tonight is the first.
My very first.
I know the music. I know my role, and I’ve gelled. I’m still nervous as fuck.
Sam is driving me to the gig. She mostly wants to flirt with Rag who hasn’t really shown much interest in her other than being polite because she’s my friend. It’s been three days since I gave myself to Jesse in the rashest decision of my life. I’m struggling with where to file what happened between us. It was special for sure, but it also very much wasn’t.
I can’t help but wonder if Jesse was right, that I should have loved him first. In a desperate move to backfill all of those things that probably should have come before, I invited Jesse to dinner at my house this weekend. I could tell by the jarring hesitation in his eyes and hedged response that he doesn’t want to come, but he agreed to it anyhow.
I’ve been in the car with Sam for exactly seventeen minutes, and I’ve spent all of them minus the twelve seconds I screamed at her not to tailgate the pickup truck in front of us, trying to work up the courage to tell my best friend that I gave it up to Jesse. We’re running out of miles to talk alone, and I really don’t think I can get through tonight without airing some of this angst in my gut with my one single person.
“Do you ever hear from Theo?”
My question is roundabout, and I’m sure the intent is obvious to my friend. Theo is the college guy she lost her virginity to over the summer. They met at a party. She told him she was a student at CU. I know for a fact they haven’t talked since.
I twist my head and meet the instant flash of her eyes. She looks at me while she brakes, so I nudge my chin forward and give her a sideways glance as a subtle hint to watch the road—not me.
“Spill it,” she says.
I cover my face with my palms and drag them over my puffy eyes as I sigh and sink into her plush passenger seat.
“You know. Don’t make me say it,” I groan.
“Shut up!” She smacks at my leg and blurts out a celebratory single laugh. I turn to look at her slowly, and she maintains her grinning face looking from me to the road and back again, over and over.
“When…how?”
“You know how,” I groan. This is not the part I was looking forward to. Sam is a gabber; a kiss-and-tell-every-fucking-detailer. I’m more of a dissector and a dig-deeper…er. I need to get through the gossipy part that she’s digging on right now so I can move on to the feelings part.
“Was it in his garage?” Her voice is excitable, which means the real place we did it is going to send her into a bona fide tizzy. I can’t handle that right now.
“Yeah, sure,” I say.
She eyes me sideways.
“I’ll give you all of the details later, really…I promise. But just…I don’t know what to do now, Sam. Did I fuck things up?” I press my palms against my eyes again.
Rehearsals were weird last night. Jesse was focused and irritable, and he and Rag mostly argued about the set list. I had to get home early enough to study for my chem final, and Jesse had walked out in the middle of Rag’s point just as I was getting ready to say goodbye. The only person I had normal conversation with was Logan, and I practically never talk to Logan. We may as well have been by a water cooler for the whole damn thing.
Sam pulls into a convenience store parking lot and throws her car into park, the abrupt stop flinging me forward. We’re a block away from the venue—AKA the diner. It’s in St. John’s, a town about as ruckus as the one that banned dancing in Footloose. I just hope Jesse isn’t in the mood to burn the joint down. The crowd might just use the flames for torches to run us out.
“You like him,” Sam says, leaning forward an extra inch to pry my response from my frozen mouth.
“Yeah…yes. I mean, yes. I like him. A lot. I like him a lot.”
Her lips start to curve and betray her tough-girl persona. I’m amusing her with my stammering.
“Well then, you’re already way ahead of me,” she says, easing back in her seat, but cockeyed, so she can fold her arms and stare me down.
I shake my head because I don’t understand. The longer I stare at her with my quizzical face, the more her smirk begins to fade. My chest starts to grow heavy, and after a few full breaths I realize that it’s guilt crushing my airways.
I like Jesse—a lot. My best friend gave her most intimate moment to a boy she hasn’t talked to again since the moment they had sex. I’m already way ahead of her; she’s right.
“Do you regret it?” She blinks slowly, and I think there’s a part of her that hopes I do because then maybe we’ll have that in common. I can’t give her that, though, because…
“No, not at all,” I say.
Her lips purse tight as she nods.
An air of awkwardness passes between us and we both flit our gazes around the inside of her car. I know enough to get that she doesn’t want to fess up to her regrets. That’s not Sam’s style anyhow. She’s always looking ahead. I’m always looking straight down. That’s part of my problem.
After a few more long seconds of quiet, my friend clears her throat and shifts in her seat, craning her neck just enough to crack it before lowering her lids and glaring at me suspiciously.
“At least tell me if he has a big dick or not,” she teases. I think she’s teasing. She might not be, but I am NOT talking about Jesse’s dick with my best friend. Not sober, at least. If my life keeps going this way, though, I’ll be drunk in no time.
“Oh my God, drive!” I sling back in my seat and fold my arms in a semi-pretend pout. My friend laughs maniacally.
We catch a break in traffic and slip back onto the roadway just before the light turns red. Sam sails through the intersection and zips us to Chantel’s Diner on Fourth in less than a minute. Rag’s car is parked in the back, so I urge my friend to pull in next to him.
There are a surprising amount of cars in the lot for a diner. It’s one of those kitschy fifties joints with girls in pink dresses on roller skates delivering shakes to booths overstuffed with people. It doesn’t look much like our kind of crowd, but Rag said the guy was paying two-fifty, which is exactly how much they need to buy a new amp.
My palms start to sweat the moment I slam the door shut on Sam’s car. I brought my special sticks. I use these at drill practice, and for whatever reason, they felt lucky—dull, white with black stripes around them from top to bottom. Josh calls them my hypnosis sticks because they make a lined illusion when I drum fast. It feels lame now.
“I feel sick,” I say, stopping in the middle of the lot. I stuff my sticks in my back pocket and hold my hands on my hips, wiping them down the denim in an attempt to get them dry. My body feels flush. I don’t know how, because I’m wearing an off-the-shoulder cropped shirt over a thin bralette and my skin is pebbled with goosebumps. Apparently, it is possible to be freezing and baking hot at the same time.
Sam walks backward so she can stare at me, laughing at my suffering. It ticks me off.
“Don’t you do this for like, I don’t know, competition or whatever all the time?”
I flip my head up and let it fall to my shoulder on the right so I can stare at her with my mouth agape.
“No. This…is nothing like what I do all the time, Samantha!” I use her full name as if I’m her parent. It makes her snort-laugh and bend at the waist.
“Stop it! I’m serious. I’m freaking out here!” I start to spin slowly, rocking side-to-side with my face up to the night sky while I puff out deep exhales that fog the air above me.
“Is this part of your ritual?” Just hearing Jesse’s voice somehow makes my nerves calm. Not completely, but enough that the heat stops crawling up my throat. I turn quickly to face him and am greeted by his palms, open and waiting, to brace my suddenly very heavy arms.
“I got her. Go on in, Sam. Logan saved you a seat near our setup,” Jesse says over his shoulder. Sam smiles at him. To him it was just a little nonverbal response to information, but when our eyes connect briefly as she starts to turn to head inside, I know that her smile is more meaningful than that. She likes that he’s taking care of me. She thinks I’m being stupid worrying about how he feels…how I feel. She envies it, but not enough to hold it against me.
“Relax, Tiger,” Jesse says through a deep, raspy laugh as he runs his palms up and down my biceps for warmth. I step in close to him and he envelopes me in his arms, laughing a little more.
“Don’t poke fun. I’m nervous,” I whine.
“I’m not…I swear. It’s cute. But you’re probably, like, the best member of our band, so I don’t know why you’re nervous,” he says.
I peel back and eye him with a quirked lip.
“That’s a lie,” I say, shoving at his chest playfully.
“Well yeah, but what…am I going to tell you, you’re shit and I wish we had Chris back?” His face is serious for a second, but his façade crumbles and he leans in to kiss the top of my head.
Sweet Jesse. He’s so completely confident about tonight. I didn’t expect it after the way our last rehearsal ended.
“Come on. We’re on at nine. Thirty minutes of our stuff, plus a few really lame Christmas tunes. Easiest couple hundred ever. And someone said the mayor is here.” He swings his arm over my shoulder and I drink in his sent as he holds me close at his side and walks me into the most uncool gig ever.
There are two booths near the front stuffed with high school girls from some local private school. They’re all in their sweaters and uniform skirts with black leggings underneath and hipster kicks on their feet. Every single pair of eyes is on me, and every single set of lips is sneering with jealousy. The shade they throw my way makes me stand just a little bit taller.
This boy…he’s fucking hot tonight. Even if it’s only for some small-town Christmas party. He’s wearing the same ripped jeans he wore the day we met, his black Vans, and the tight black shirt that Vs at the chest. It hugs his frame, which also Vs from his broad shoulders down to the ripped abs I now know intimately well. I wonder if he’s wearing boxers tonight? That thought makes me rush with heat for an entirely different reason.
“You good?” He asks at my ear, his lips touching my skin. His breath is hot and the tickle of it at my neck sends a shiver down my spine.
I smile with tight lips and nod, looking up at him.
Our stage is set up in a back corner. It isn’t bad for what is clearly makeshift. Whoever owns this joint rigged some lighting too, and it feels like this weird cross between Jesse’s garage and prom.
I slide through the tight fit around our amps and gear to the drums. Jesse set them up, and I only have to make a few minor adjustments before soundcheck. My arms are shorter than his, and I have a weird thing about angles. It’s probably because I’m used to snare and marching. I should maybe get some pointers from Josh about set. He plays it a lot more than I do. I think that fear of him snaking my role with the guys is real, though. I was going to invite him to watch us tonight but I didn’t want him that close.
Jesus, I’m insecure sometimes.
I feel my way around, a few taps to my right…my left. I kick the bass good and the girls swooning over Jesse jump in their seats. I pump out a quick rhythm, just to get my bearings, but I get lost in Jesse while I do. He’s tuning, pacing around the stage with his pick held between his teeth, dimples framing his smile, lips soft and happy. This is his heaven. He’s utterly at home up here with that guitar in his hands.
He moves closer to Logan and they jam out a short riff together. Rag joins in, and I start up with a quick beat.
“Hell yeah! What’s that? That’s good shit, man!” Jesse’s smile is contagious as he yells over our sound, and we’re all beaming because of him. It’s thirty seconds of some nothing that we all just made up but that somehow fits together perfectly. Jesse ends it with a harsh strum, holding his guitar up high and pulling the strap up and over his neck.
He sets his instrument down and moves toward me, leaning over the snare.
“Come here,” his upper lip ticks up on one side and I’m drawn in close.
“You’re fucking amazing. Own it.” He presses his lips to mine to seal his words, then winks as he backs away and steps from the stage leaving me dizzy and numb. The tingles cast down my arms like magic, and I sit up a little taller, gripping my sticks between fingers and twirling them until I can feel my skin again.
My smile is bigger now. I kick the bass and I pound out a break again. I get lost in it, and by the time I crash down on the cymbal, every person in this weird-ass diner is staring at me. At the front, an older man wearing a crisp white shirt and dark blue tie puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly, like the way they announce dinner at a ranch. His hands cup and stretch out in front of his body, clapping loudly.
Logan tips his head back and howls with laughter then rocks on his heels and turns to face me.
“Dude, who’s that?” I ask.
He laughs harder and leans in.
“That’s the mayor. I guess he’s been the mayor here for six straight terms or some shit like that. He’s a fan, Ari. He might want you to sign his shirt before this is all over.” He cackles at his own joke and pushes up the black-rimmed glasses he’s wearing tonight. They suit him. It makes his preppy look seem more purposeful.
We all continue to mess with our instruments, checking small details and shifting around cords and bottles of water. We do this until it starts to become really apparent that we’re simply killing time. We’re fifteen minutes late to go on. Jesse isn’t anywhere to be found. And the elation, jitters, and nerves of before have turned into a sick kind of worry. I’m not the only one who feels it. I can read it on Rag’s face, and when Rag shows his worry, I get the sense that there’s good reason.
I drop my sticks on my seat and step around things to get to him, stepping up on my toes to cup around his shoulder and whisper loudly in his ear.
“He seemed good. What’s up?” I hold back from saying what the fuck because I know that’s what we’re all thinking.
Rag flashes wide, panicked eyes at me. None of us sing. We could fake it up here with some cool instrumental stuff for a while, but eventually people would catch on. Jesse is the reason anyone listens to what we do, and hell…this is the first time anyone has listened. If he isn’t here, nobody will ever book us again.
“Shit,” I say through gritted teeth. I’m not mad; I’m worried. My stomach is thumping wildly with nerves and it feels like I have two hearts in my chest, each racing to leave me stranded for dead.
I jump down from the stage, ready to start tearing through the door, anticipating where I’ll find him, but I don’t ever make it outside. Jesse walks in, the light dead in his eyes, fire gone. Those rumbling beats in my chest stop completely. The diner door closes behind him like an eyelid blinking in disbelief, then opens again with a balding, broken, dirtbag striding in behind him.
Alton looks so proud of himself. I’ve never spoken a word to him, but I want to rip his arms from his body and shove them down his throat. He’s ruining this. Why? How?
I catch Jesse mid-stride up to the stage, and he tries to shirk me off, but I’m forceful and lead him around a small corner to the diner’s back hallway. He unloads the moment we have some semblance of privacy.
“I’m going to kill my sister.” I lean my head to the side and force his eyes still on mine.
“What? I am!” he seethes.
I place my palms on either shoulder and run my thumbs gently on the skin of his neck. He’s a rabid animal trapped and willing to chew through anything and anyone to break free right now.
“Start at the beginning,” I say.
He rolls his shoulders, his muscles stiff and body hot. I’m so sad for him…for us. Just moments ago this stupid diner gig was everything. The mayor finger-whistled.
Jesse shifts his feet and I hold steady with him, refusing to let go of our connection, my body the only thing in his way from stepping back through the hallway. He could blow by me so easily, but for some reason, he doesn’t. That’s meaningful. I know it in my gut. He wants me to help, to fix this.
“I guess he stopped by the house a few days ago. I wasn’t there…” His eyes meet mine briefly.
He was with me. We were…
“AmberLynn told him I had a gig. He asked when and where, and she gave it all up,” he huffs.
“She was probably just proud,” I say, defending his sister.
He scoffs at my reasoning, but there’s a small thread in his tone. He knows I’m right.
“Yeah, I guess. Whatever.” He shifts his weight around again, his dusty-blue eyes trying their damnedest to go dark on me. “It is what it is, I guess.”
I let out a pathetic laugh.
“What?” His temper kicks toward me.
A shock hits my insides.
“You,” I say, remaining steadfast.
His brow furrows and chest bloats. He’s getting pissed. If that’s what it takes, fine.
“You’re letting him have too much power. Jesse, you are the reason we are all here. There’s a mayor here to see you, for fuck sake!” I grab his shoulders again, this time with more force.
His head falls to the side and his lips twist as our gazes meet. He wants to tell me to quit feeding him bullshit, but I don’t give him the chance. I lay it on thicker.
“There are at least twenty teenaged groupies out there all hopped up on malts and cheese fries—dude, those things look good by the way—and they are chanting for you to get over this stupid-ass drama and get your hot ass out there on that stage.”
His lips perk just a hint. I’ve amused him.
“Jesse…Jesse…Jesse…rarrrrrrrrrr….” I close my eyes and feign fandom. I feel his shoulders shake lightly under my touch, so I let myself give in to the smile and crack a lid open to look at him.
His mouth is giving in, curving up more. My palms slide to his chest and I start a slow simmer of pats.
