Falling for Forever (Before Forever) Page 5

  Up ahead, Nerdorama closes his locker and heads toward the front door. “Do you know that guy there with the gray T-shirt?” I ask, realizing I never got his name.

  “Miles? Yeah, of course. Since freshman year.”

  “Do you have his number?” I ask.

  She knits her eyebrows together.

  “He’s my songwriting partner,” I say. “We didn’t finish the assignment earlier.”

  “Oh yes. Of course. Walk to my car with me, and I’ll get his number out of my phone.”

  We walk out the door, and I see my dad in the car line. “There’s my dad. Let me tell him what I’m doing,” I say. I run over to him and open the door. “Give me my phone.”

  “Good afternoon to you as well. How was your first day?” He hands me my phone.

  “It just got really good.”

  “A talent show, huh?” my dad asks as we get on the interstate. “Sounds perfect for you.”

  “I know, right? Twenty-five grand.”

  “Fifty if you apply it to college,” he says.

  I frown at him.

  In my silence, he turns to see my face. “I saw a flyer in the front office.”

  “What should I sing?” I ask, my mind flipping through my options. “Is Adele too big of a stretch for me?”

  My dad wiggles in his seat.

  “You know I’m kidding, right?” I ask.

  He gives me a relieved smile. I’m all right, but Adele is Adele.

  “I think we found an apartment,” he says.

  “We’re not going to live in the crappy efficiency?”

  “No way. We gave notice on our lease on the Cliff Ridge house and the crappy efficiency,” he says.

  “So where are we going to be living?”

  He beams at me. “There’s an apartment for rent in the Adagio just around the corner from your school.”

  Now that’s some cool news. I’m going to be living in the Gulch. It doesn’t get trendier than that. I think about my mom and how silent she’s been since the morning of my birthday—even more silent than usual. “And Mom’s on board with this move?” I ask.

  He hesitates to answer, shifting a bit. “Of course she is. She’s been ready to move back to the city ever since Aunt Abby left Cliff Ridge.”

  Ready to move back to the city, or wanting to move away from us?

  “Is that why you wanted me to get into this school so badly, to move Mom back to the city?” I ask.

  “That was icing. Keeping you here and in school is the whole German chocolate cake.”

  I frown in lieu of calling his bluff.

  He doesn’t give my look a pass. “Sweetheart, you’re our whole life. As long as you’re with us, that’s all we care about.”

  It’s sweet of him, and I know he means it. But he really shouldn’t lump my mom in with him in statements like this.

  “It’s all working out so perfectly now.” He clenches the steering wheel, a hint of uncertainty betraying his bravado.

  “Three weeks, huh?” I turn toward him. “How are you and Mom going to practice?”

  “This building was created for musicians. The walls are insulated almost like a recording studio. They even have a music room with extra insulation with individual cubbies for playing. They have a drum set in one of them.”

  “Makes sense in Nashville, I guess. How many bedrooms?”

  He grins at me. “Two. It’s tight, though, just eight hundred and fifty square feet.”

  I think of my mom. She likes her wide-open spaces, and she lives on the patio anytime it’s above fifty degrees. She’ll be claustrophobic at this place.

  “Terrace?” I ask.

  “Decent sized one,” he says.

  Mom will be splitting her time between there and the music room, guaranteed. I shrug. “Tiny living, here we come.”

  “I saw a family of four move into a two hundred square foot shipping container on one of those shows,” he says.

  I shiver. “I don’t love either of you that much.”

  He chuckles.

  “Where is Mom?” I ask.

  He furrows his brow. “She has a gig in Chattanooga tonight.” He doesn’t mean for it to, but his voice comes out strained.

  Mom has been playing more and more gigs without my dad. I’m not sure how that makes him feel as a husband or as a musician. Before I came along, they were Annie and Mack, bluegrass duo sensation. Once I was born, they tried taking me on the road, but apparently a colicky baby doesn’t make for a relaxing bus ride. My mom gets all pissy when she talks about it, like I’m supposed to apologize. I don’t know what the hell I was crying about all that time.

  “You want to go see her?” I ask.

  “I thought we’d have a lot to review tonight after your first day. We tried to keep your schedule as much the same as we could. Are the classes carrying over okay?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s hard to tell. I think they’re behind Cliff Ridge in Precal but ahead in Debate. We’re talking government healthcare involvement.”

  “What side are you taking?” he asks.

  “They’re too far in for me to join a side. I’m going to observe and help judge.”

  “That sounds interesting.” He perks up. “Hey, how’s chorus?”

  “Good,” I say. “I think I’m going to like my teacher. She’s been on Broadway in New York, which is kind of cool. She played Rizzo in Grease.” I laugh at the idea of my dowdy teacher in hot pants.

  “Mmm-hmm,” he says, his eyebrows worried, lips tight. He’s off for some reason.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask.

  “Yes, of course.” He wiggles around in his seat, regrouping. “It’s more than okay. Now over dinner, let’s pick you out a song to sing for that talent show.”

  “Actually, do you care if Chloe comes over instead? I want to tell her about my new school.”

  He smiles. “Of course, sweetie. I know you two are going to miss one another. You’re always getting into something together.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I utter, keeping any further details to myself.

  Chloe and I lay side by side on my bed, our legs stretched upward, feet resting against the wall.

  “What are you doing without your phone during the day?” she asks. “That’s insane.”

  “I know, right? I kept grabbing for it all day. I probably looked like a mental patient.”

  She crosses one foot over the other. “What’s your favorite class?”

  I consider it as I whiff Miles’s shirt again. “I have this Music class. We’re doing a songwriting unit.”

  She jerks her head toward me. “You’re kidding. A class on songwriting. I think that’s the coolest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “It’s legit, too. Today we learned the structures like ABABCB or AABA or AAA.”

  “So, the verses and choruses are the A’s and B’s?”

  I nudge her in the side. “Yeah.”

  She smiles. She’s been doing that so much more than she used to ever since she got with Landon. I adore it.

  I stare at my socks, deciding how much I want to spill about meeting Miles.

  “Well, what else?” she asks. “Did you meet anybody? Found my replacement yet?”

  I rest my head on her shoulder. “Never. But there is this guy…”

  “Here we go.”

  I poke her leg with my toe. “Not like that.”

  “Okay then, like what?”

  “Remember me telling you about the guy Saturday night who jacked me up with the Spice Girls song?”

  “Of course.”

  “He’s in my Music class.”

  She turns toward me. “Shut up.”

  I grin, ready to go in for the kill. “And he’s my songwriting partner.”

  She sits up cross-legged. “How did that happen?”

  I explain the reverse psychology tactic and add, “I didn’t even know we were going to be partnered up. Everybody else seemed to be clued into the game.”

  “Th
ey’ve been around. They had the inside scoop. You were totally innocent…for once.”

  I pinch her arm.

  “Ow!” she shouts, but she’s smiling at me.

  I settle my back against the wall. “He thinks I should know him…like we’ve met before.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “I don’t think so. But he’s crystal clear on the fact that he hates me, so I’m thinking we went to middle school together, and I was shitty to him or something…which is weird, because you know I’m not shitty to you unless you’re shitty to me first.”

  “Have you checked your yearbook?”

  I nod at it on my desk. “Yeah, I checked the eighth grade one. He’s not in there.”

  “Well, what does he look like?”

  I pull up my app where Nicolette has already friended me, and search her friends for him. It’s a picture of him and a couple of other guys with her.

  I point. “That’s him.”

  Chloe enlarges the picture with her fingers and then pulls away. “Oh crap. I totally remember him.”

  I sit up. “From where?”

  She points at my phone. “The audition for Sensation.”

  I blink, trying to process it as Chloe stares at me, waiting for it to click. And it does, suddenly, like a bowling ball rolling down a hill, picking up speed. “Oh crap,” I say.

  She nods. “Yeah. That’s the guy whose audition you stole.”

  I stand up and walk around the room, energy coursing through my body. “I did not steal it.”

  She moves to the edge of the bed, dangling her feet off. “Well, not technically, but it was his spot.”

  I smooth my hair back out of my face. “What was I supposed to do? The stupid diva judges petered out. They were only taking five more, and he wasn’t there.”

  She lowers her chin, not saying anything, but it’s clear what she’s thinking.

  I wave her off. “I know I could have told them he was in the bathroom, but do you seriously think that producer would have waited on him?”

  She shrugs. “Maybe.”

  I inhale in a heavy breath and then clench my fists. “His number was right there, and that producer was holding the door open waving those people in like she had ants in her pants. She was totally impatient. She never would have waited for him.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Chloe says, keeping her mouth shut, which makes me feel even guiltier.

  “She just would have taken the next number in line.”

  Chloe lowers her chin. “Which wasn’t you, either.”

  I toss up my hands. “Oh my god. Quit making me feel even worse. I feel awful as it is.”

  Chloe shakes her head. “Sorry.”

  I let out a huff of air and consider her. “What did he say when he came back in the room and his number was switched? Did he notice?”

  She nodded. “Oh yeah.”

  I toss up my hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She holds out her hands. “You’d made it to New York. I wasn’t going to burst your bubble.”

  The guilt seizes me like I’m being covered in a blanket of roaches. “I can’t believe I’m seeing him again. I can’t believe I’m partnering with him.”

  “Hey, look at this as your chance to make it right.”

  I drop my chin. “Oh yeah. Sorry I screwed you out of your chance at fame and fortune. Hope you’ll forgive me. Now let’s write some great hit songs.”

  She stands in front of me and takes me by my upper arms. “All you can do is apologize…a ton…and try to get past this.”

  I toss out a hand. “He looked different that day. His hair was short. And I don’t remember him wearing any glasses. How’d you even recognize him?”

  She shrugs. “I was kind of…into him.”

  I lift my eyebrows.

  She blushes and crosses her arms over her chest. “He was cute. Besides, I had a little more…interaction with him than you did.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She lets out a deep breath. “I waited for you because I wasn’t sure if you were going to get caught…like if the numbers were matched up in some system with people or something.”

  “It wasn’t that complicated.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know that at the time, so I wanted to be there in case you got kicked out. It was just me and a couple of other people in the room when he got back from the bathroom.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  She nods. “One of the other people explained how they could only take the next five in line, and he was all like, ‘But that’s me,’ and the other guy was like, ‘Sorry, dude,’ and then he looked down and saw his number had been replaced, and he was like, ‘Whose is this?’” She holds up a hand like she’s taking an oath. “I swear, I don’t know how he figured it out, but he glared at me, Jenna, like he knew I was with you, and you were the one who took it.”

  My whole chest is on fire right now, I’m so freaked out. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Nothing. He just gave me this look like I’d whipped his dog and then left.”

  I walk around in a circle biting my fingernail. I stop. “Why didn’t you ever tell me this?”

  “Because you were on a high, and then everything was this crazy whirlwind. You left for New York, and I didn’t even see you again for months. We could barely talk because of your crazy schedule. We were just texting mostly. It wasn’t like I was going to pull that story out while you were up there competing. And then after you got home and settled back in, well…”

  She cuts her eyes down and away, and now my guilt has shifted in a different direction. Around the time I came home from the show, she went through a terrible attempted sexual assault. I pull her in to me for a hug. “I’m sorry. I get it.”

  She hugs me quickly. “It’s fine. It’s just…the timing was never there, then we moved on. I never really thought about it again past a certain point.”

  “Understood.” I rub my forehead. “I’ve got to figure out how to play this now.”

  She cocks her head to the side. “I’d start with I’m sorry.”

  I swallow hard. “Of course.”

  She gives me that look that says she can’t trust me as far as she can throw me.

  I widen my eyes. “I’m serious.”

  She gives me a closed-mouth smile. “Okay. I’ve got to go. Landon’s calling at nine, and I still have homework. Text me tomorrow, okay?”

  I nod, and she heads out. This is bad. This is really bad. I need to work some magic here…prepare for some major groveling. I just hope what I offer him will be enough for him to forgive me.

  Chapter Six

  Miles

  I’m combing through songs for the assignment that Jenna and I never finished when my text alert dings. I don’t recognize the number. The notification reads:

  Unknown: Should we finish our assignment?

  I’m not working with a partner in any other class right now, so there’s only one person this could be.

  Me: Jenna?

  Unknown: Yep. Are you busy?

  I don’t want her to know how much time I’m spending on this assignment. I probably would be investing this much time no matter what partner I had or if I were working by myself, but she doesn’t know that. I don’t need her thinking I’m trying to impress her…because I’m not.

  Me: Just finishing my Physics. How’d you get my number?

  Jenna: You think I’m not resourceful?

  I huff a laugh. I bet she is.

  Me: I’ll take AAA and ABA if you’ll take AABA.

  Jenna: I actually already did them all. It’s an hour and a half car ride.

  I feel a little deflated after all the time I’ve spent on this tonight.

  Me: You did them while you were driving?

  Jenna: My dad drives. I ride. No car.

  Me: How are you going to a Nashville school if you live an hour and a half away?

  Jenna:
We have an apartment there.

  Me: Where?

  Jenna: Hillsboro Village. We’re moving to the Adagio.

  Damn. Her family is moving to the Adagio. How freaking cool is that? I remember from her bio that her mom and dad are bluegrass musicians. How did she get so lucky as to have parents like that?

  Me: I still want to do AAA and ABA.

  Jenna: That works for me. I’ve got ABABCB and AABA.

  Me: Okay.

  I start flipping through songs again, determined now more than ever to find the perfect ones for this assignment.

  My phone dings again, and I let out a sigh as I pick it up.

  Jenna: I remember you.

  My heartbeat speeds up as a knock sounds on my door. I turn the ringer down on my phone. “Come in.”

  My dad stands in the doorway. “How’s your homework coming?”

  “Done.” It’s not a lie. I am done with everything but this, and technically, since Jenna’s already finished it, I don’t have to keep going.

  My dad takes a few steps into my room, which is abnormal. “I just got off the phone with Whit. He says they initiated two brothers this semester.” He makes a hand gesture. “Actual brothers, not fraternity brothers. What I’m saying is you’re a shoe-in for his fraternity because you’re his brother.”

  I can’t imagine there’s a person on the planet less suited for a fraternity than me. My dad knows this. I’m inclined to believe he’s delusional. Otherwise, why would he be offering this to me like a perk rather than a punishment?

  I don’t say anything. He hates it when I do that. Gets frustrated.

  He crinkles his brow. “It’s called being a legacy.”

  I stare at him wordlessly, and he turns away from me. Point Miles.

  He sits on the edge of my bed. “Look, son, Belmont is a fine school, but if you’re going to have a shot at Harvard for grad school, you’re going to have to do better than Belmont.”

  I know not to speak at this moment, but I can’t help myself. “Belmont is a well-respected school.”

  “For music,” my dad clarifies.

  “For what I want to do.”

  My dad shakes his head, resting his fingertip against his temple. “This is my fault. I’ve let this whole deejaying nonsense go on too long.”

  I sit up. “I don’t want to go to school for deejaying, Dad.”