Chapter 7 Lex #2
Stevie fidgets near the threshold, widening the door and waving an anxious hand around the space. “Here’s my room. Super exciting. Now let’s go back outside—”
I plow through the entryway and beeline toward the upright piano flush against the far wall.
It’s big and clunky, a little old-looking, but it must’ve been expensive once.
The dark cherrywood is polished, slightly worn at the edges, and the ivory keys, though discolored with age, still shimmer under the soft glow of her ceiling light.
Carved legs support its weight, giving the instrument an air of antique elegance.
Stopping just short of it, I glance at Stevie over my shoulder. “You play?”
Of course she plays. It’s in her fucking bedroom.
Worrying her lip, she wrings her hands together and rocks in place. “Yeah. It was a hand-me-down from my grandmother. Mom couldn’t bear to part with it after Gran died, and it took up too much space in the living room, so she put it in here. I taught myself how to play.”
I peer over at the scrollwork and chipped carvings. I’ve never learned an instrument, relying solely on my voice for making music. Mom used to sing a long time ago: lullabies and peaceful things that would make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. It’s been years since I’ve heard her singing voice.
Dad says music is for lazy dreamers with nothing more productive to occupy their minds. He has no appreciation for the soul. Probably because he doesn’t have one of his own.
Nodding, I give the piano another once-over before turning back to Stevie. We face each other, a few feet apart, as sunlight from the dormer window hits her just right and makes her look like an angel. She sings like one, so it suits her, I guess.
She’s still antsy, picking at her fingernails and scuffing her feet along the once-white carpeting. It’s a yellowy beige now, dappled with a few stains that resemble spilled nail polish. Stevie heaves in a wobbly breath and tucks her hair behind her ears. “What’s your room like?”
“It’s different,” I tell her.
She takes it as a snub. “Better, you mean.”
“No. Not better. Just different.”
“Different how?”
“Well, it’s bigger, but not in a good way. It’s too big. Kind of…sterile. Empty.” I scratch the back of my neck, not used to giving pieces of myself away. I’ve probably said too much. “Your room feels like you. Like a real person lives in it.”
Cautious interest glitters in her eyes. “You look tired.”
I take another sip from the mug, and it’s the only shot of life to these cold veins. “I’m always tired, Nicks.”
She studies me like I just said something tragic, then takes a careful step forward. “We can go over lines now if you want.”
Right. The show.
I glance around for a place to sit, but there’s only her small bed covered in fifty thousand sea-blue pillows and a raggedy old teddy bear. Kind of endearing.
Stevie must not think so because her eyes round and she launches forward. “Oh, um…sorry.” Cheeks blooming with pink splotches, she scoops up the stuffed bear and shoves it in her nightstand drawer. “Let’s go outside.”
I collapse onto the bed, the mattress gently bouncing beneath my weight. “I like it here.”
“Lex, come on. It’s weird having a boy in my room. Mom will be home soon, and she’ll have questions.”
“Good thing we have answers.” I shrug. “What scene did you want to go over?”
“I…I don’t know.” She’s so flustered. Smoothing back her hair with both hands, she plops down beside me, creating a large gap between us until she practically becomes one with the headboard. “We can start from the top?”
“We’re going to have to kiss, you know.” I eye her curiously, resting the mug on my left knee. “Have you done that yet?”
Her face turns scarlet as she stares straight ahead. “Do I strike you as someone who’s been kissed?”
Yes.
She’s really pretty.
But another word echoes in my mind, a word ripe with cruelty.
Underwhelming.
Guilt eats at me. I don’t know why I said that shit to her, but I guess it’s because I’m a master at keeping people at arm’s length. Especially women.
Stevie seemed like the type. The type of girl I’d be dumb enough to let in, to allow access to my mangled heart—kind, nurturing, soft.
My defenses kicked in, and I shut it all down.
Maybe a part of me thinks that if everyone is as broken down and jaded as I am, the world would be a more palatable place.
I wouldn’t have to second-guess my instincts.
But now I feel bad.
Something pokes at me to apologize, but I don’t want to give any more life to that word, so I lean back on one hand and go to change the subject.
She cuts in before I can. “I have, actually. Once…a long time ago. It was just a dare though.”
“Some guy dared you to kiss him?”
“My friends dared me. We were having a sleepover, and one of the girls snuck a few boys into her room.”
“How was it?”
“The kiss?” She can hardly look at me, so she finds supreme interest in her untied sneakers instead. “I don’t know. Unremarkable.”
Nodding, I glance away. We go over the scene we went over today at practice, but it doesn’t give off the same authenticity. Everything feels different here in her room, like we’re under new lights, and I realize it’s harder to pretend to be someone I’m not.
At some point, Stevie scoots closer to me on the bed. I finished my coffee already and set down the mug, and now my hands are shaking in my lap.
She notices.
Humiliation ignites a fiery tunnel through my chest. I try to cover the evidence by sliding my hands under my butt and sitting on them, but she’s not an idiot.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good. Let’s move on to the next scene.”
“Your hands were shaking.”
“It’s just the caffeine. And I’m itching for a cigarette.” I feel the box burning a hole in my front pocket.
“Oh.” She frowns, a mix of worry and confusion. “I didn’t realize you smoked. I can open my window and maybe—”
“Don’t want to pollute your girly bedsheets,” I say, my feet tapping, my knees bouncing in parallel time. “I’ll be fine.”
I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. One day, I’ll be fine.
An unfamiliar look sweeps across her face as she takes in my agitated, traitorous body. She makes a motion with her hand, almost as if she plans to touch me, soothe me somehow, but she freezes with a beat of hesitation. Instead, she turns to face the little window beside her bed.
“Come on.”
I follow her gaze. “What?”
“I want to show you something.”
Drawing to her knees, Stevie crawls over to the window and pulls it open. A mid-September breeze flutters inside and sweeps across my skin like the warm hug I often crave.
“I sit out here sometimes when I feel anxious or scared…sad, even.” She squeezes through the open window, beckoning me to join her.
I do.
We take our positions on the roof, the soles of my boots catching on the shingles to keep me from sliding.
“The world looks different from up here,” she tells me, her hair crisscrossing her face in chocolate stripes. She loosens the tangles, twists her thick hair into a ponytail over her shoulder. “It seems…bigger, I guess. And I think that makes my problems feel a lot smaller.”
We sit together, side by side. It’s hard to imagine her having any problems. Her life is perfect. She has everything…everything I don’t.
I swallow, my jaw locked tight as I glance around at the acreage below. “Aren’t you ever worried you might fall?”
She shakes her head. “No. That’s the whole point. I don’t worry about anything when I’m up here.”
Envy digs its way through me, because I don’t know what that’s like. “I don’t have any places like this.”
“Really?” She looks at me, then returns her attention to the sky. “I usually come out here at nighttime. It’s even better with the stars.”
I imagine it: the vast expanse above us lit up with a thousand tiny lights and the cool night air wrapping around me, keeping all my fractured bits in place.
“You could join me some time…if you ever need an escape.” Her voice is a melancholy whisper. A lullaby. “Or if you can’t sleep.”
As I stare out at the treetops bleeding into the pale-blue skyline, I drink in a deep breath that fills me up. The fresh air dissolves into my bones, dousing me in a wash of real peace.
I glance over at Stevie, at her closed eyes and gentle smile, her head tipped back as sunshine paints her face in a muted glow. Our shoulders brush together, but I don’t pull away. I allow the moment to be what it is.
An escape.
A much-needed pause.
That’s when I notice my hands aren’t shaking anymore.