Chapter 6
6
brONSON
I don’t talk much.
But I was a chatty child, apparently.
All that changed when I was five years old. After years of begging my mother for a son and getting nothing but daughters, my father decided that he didn’t want to be a dad after all, and left.
I didn’t have much to say after that. My three older sisters were happy to speak for me, though. Which was fine for me. Not so much for my mother. After a few years, she insisted they stop, fearing I developed a speech impediment of some kind.
Use your words, Bronson, she’d say.
But I had words. I just preferred to listen instead. I liked to express myself differently. Through clothes. Or music. Things like that.
There are situations where words are important. Sticking up for a friend, for instance. Or whispering dirty talk to a pretty girl between the sheets.
Last night just happened to be both.
I don’t remember meeting Jordan Peck. She’s always just been there, a constant presence in my life since before I even knew what life was. From kindergarten through grade twelve, she was there. We grew up together, have more shared experiences together than with anyone else I know — except maybe Addison, who lived with me and my family after her mother kicked her out.
Some might say last night was inevitable.
I’m not sure I’d agree.
But I’m not sure it was a surprise, either.
I don’t remember meeting Jordan Peck. But I remember the day we became friends.
She was small, only about three feet tall. At recess, she would always sit beneath a tree outside with a book in her lap. I thought that was so strange. Why would she read when she could play? But she seemed happy, and I liked it when she looked happy.
One day, I ran outside with the other students, and Jordan looked different . She had tears in her eyes. Her book was gone. It was torn to pieces by a bully whose name I’ve long forgotten now, but I’ll never forget how satisfying it was to walk up to him and punch him in the face.
Some guys use their words.
Others punch the kid in the nose.
I’m the latter type.
I got suspended for a week. When I returned to school, there was Jordan. She left a note in my desk, thanking me for sticking up for her. She shared her cupcake with me at lunch. From that day on, we were friends.
Later, when I met Knox and Jonah and we formed Criminal Records, I couldn’t imagine doing it without her.
Still can’t.
The tour bus rumbles as we make our way toward Chicago. Or maybe that’s just my stomach. I’m not hungry, though I could always eat.
No, today, I’m... conflicted.
About last night.
A one-time thing.
We’re both cool with that.
I told her I was. Hell, in the moment, I actually might have been. Now that I’ve been sitting here for a few hours, replaying last night’s main event over and over again in my head, I’ve started second-guessing myself.
Was it great? You’re goddamn right it was.
Was it a mistake? Maybe. I’m not one to dwell on that kind of thing.
But she is.
Jordan’s a structured girl. Not one to break the rules, unless there was something wrong. Unless there was something big at stake and the ends justified the means.
I look at her now on this bus and I sense that something is very wrong. While Knox and Jonah sit nearby with their guitars, bickering over what direction to take our new track for the Battle of the Bands , I get up and make my way toward the front of the bus. I take a seat next to Addison and Harvey. She’s reading while he’s scribbling away silently in his notebook. Much better company.
Also, it’s closer to Jordan’s table.
“Hey, Brony,” Addison says as I sit down.
I nod a hello as I look toward Jordan. She’s engaged in conversation with Chrissy and August, the three of them sitting at the front table together with their clipboards and long lists of to-dos, hammering out the details of our next few days.
She looks up as I sit down, but quickly looks away again.
I reach for my phone in my pocket.
Are you okay?
As I hit send, Jordan’s phone lights up on the table next to her planner. She grabs it with lightning speed, then stops, her face betraying nothing of her thoughts.
She taps out a reply without even a glance at me.
Jordan
Yes. Why?
You seem tense.
Just busy. All good.
You sure?
Yes.
Jordan sets the phone back down, turning to reply to Chrissy’s inquiry. After a few seconds, she picks up the phone again and my screen lights up.
Thank you for asking.
I look up from it, and we finally make eye contact, her eyes soft and friendly behind her glasses.
I nod in reply, and she goes back to her conversation.