Chapter 5
“Let me get this straight. You left him in the park?” Sofia asked as we walked into homeroom on Monday. “What’d you do that for?”
When I arrived at school, Sofia was lying in wait at my locker in order to maximize our conversation time before the bell rang. While I collected my books, I filled her in on my weekend—the fiasco of losing my Comic Con badge, what it was like to meet Melody, and how I’d hung out with Xander Jones.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Things got weird, and I sort of freaked out.”
“Define weird,” she said, shrugging off her backpack as we took our usual seats at the back of class.
“Well, we were talking and having a good time, and then out of nowhere, he asks me what I’m doing on Saturday and says he’d love to hang out again.”
Sofia raised an eyebrow at me. “I don’t know what alternate reality you live in, but in the real world, when a guy says something like that, it’s a good thing. It means he’s interested in you.”
“That’s exactly why it’s weird,” I said, digging through my backpack in search of my calculus homework. When I found it, I passed it to Sofia for her to check since she was a math wizard. “Why would he be interested in me?”
“Hmm, I don’t know,” she replied, voice drenched in sarcasm. “Maybe because you’re freaking awesome?”
Grinning, I tossed my hair over my shoulder. “Well, obviously, but I also have to be realistic.”
She looked up from my assignment and gave me a hard look. “Realistic about what exactly?”
“Oh, come on,” I said and gestured at myself with an eye roll. “I’m so not the type of girl he would date.”
Her expression turned incredulous. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me you ditched Xander because you don’t think you’re skinny enough?”
“Absolutely not!” I said, bristling at her question. I didn’t need to lose a single inch of my curves to be worthy of a guy. “This isn’t about what I think of my body. It’s about what someone like him thinks.”
“Someone like him?” she repeated. “What does that even mean?”
“A celebrity,” I clarified. “I’ve spent enough time around Gabe Grant and Ryan Klein to know guys like them don’t go for thick girls.”
Instead of responding, Sofia refocused on my homework and made a small correction. Then she handed it back to me, lips pursed.
“What? Just say it.”
She crossed her arms. “I think you’re being awfully hypocritical.”
“How so?”
“You won’t give Xander a chance because you assume his fame makes him incapable of seeing through bullshit beauty standards,” she said, “but you’re the one being judgmental, not him.”
Easy for you to say, I thought, clenching my jaw to keep from snapping. Sofia had a bone structure so delicate she looked part pixie. She never had to wonder if a boy would turn her down due to the fat roll below her bra or because her thighs were bigger than his.
“I wasn’t trying to imply that Xander is a bad guy. He’s the exact opposite, but this isn’t something you would understand.”
“And why’s that?” she asked. “Because I couldn’t possibly understand the fear of rejection?
News flash: anyone can have their heart broken, Indie.
Skinny, fat, pretty, ugly—doesn’t matter.
If you put yourself out there, there’s always a chance those feelings won’t be reciprocated. That’s just life.”
I opened my mouth, ready to snap back, but the PA system crackled to life, signaling the start of morning announcements. Mr. Wilkie looked up from his desk and instructed everyone to quiet down, so I focused on the chalkboard and pretended I hadn’t heard a word of what Sofia said.
* * *
After school, I spent my evening half-heartedly attempting to finalize an audition program, but my mind kept wandering back to my conversation with Sofia in homeroom.
Maybe she was right about me being judgmental, but I needed to do what was best for myself.
And that included finishing high school and getting into Juilliard, not worrying about boys.
Which, apparently, was easier said than done.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Xander.
I’d gone to bed hours ago, but our day at Comic Con kept replaying in my head.
With a sigh of frustration, I rolled over to check the time and found that it was nearly three o’clock in the morning.
Crap, when had it gotten so late? I considered grabbing an issue of Lady Phoenix to read myself to sleep with, but I was too lazy to get out of bed.
Maybe I could find something interesting online to read?
Xander mentioned there were stories written about the Heartbreakers, so I pulled up Safari.
My finger hesitated over the search bar.
The thought of reading a fan fiction about someone I knew in real life made my cheeks flush, but maybe if I did, I could purge him from my system?
Pushing my embarrassment down deep, I googled “Xander Jones fanfic.” Once the results popped up, I clicked on the first website and scrolled through its offering of stories until I found one with a description that wasn’t typo riddled.
FanficFiles
Discover | Fandoms | Forum | Search
Celebrities & Real People > Heartbreakers
Rhythm of Your Heart X.J. AU by JonesFervor15
Five years after World War III, the New California Federation rules what was once the West Coast of the United States with an iron fist. All forms of art, from painting and poetry to music and dance, have been banned for public safety.
Rachel Hensley knows in her heart that she was born to be a ballerina.
Living in a world where she can’t express herself is impossible, so she practices in secret.
When a soldier catches Rachel dancing in the field behind her home, she is arrested and sentenced to death.
Rachel is willing to die for what she believes in, but on the day of her execution, she’s rescued by Xander Jones, the mysterious leader of the rebel group fighting to free society from the federation’s steel grip.
Xander gives Rachel a choice: flee the only home she’s ever known and never return, or join the revolution and fight.
Rated: Mature Language: English Parts: 84 Hits: 156M Comments: 765K
The story sounded dystopian, which wasn’t really my thing, but what the hell? Reading fan fiction was already out of my comfort zone, so I might as well jump in with both feet. After squeezing my eyes shut for the briefest of moments, I clicked the link and started to read.
* * *
For the past twelve years of my life, Thursday nights had belonged to me and my mom.
It was the only day of the week she didn’t teach violin lessons, originally at Vintage Sound, the guitar store near our home in San Bernardino, then at New Wave Academy once we moved.
Our evenings consisted of ordering a pizza—half cheese, half veggie supreme—from Pacific Crust and practicing all our favorite violin pieces together, a tradition that started when I was six.
That’s how old I was when my parents realized I had a gift. They immediately hired a private instructor to hone my skills, but the hours I played alongside my mom on her night off were my favorite. After all, she was the reason I’d wanted to learn in the first place.
Before she knew Dad, Josephine Mitchell was a rising star in the classical music circuit.
She played with some of the top orchestras around the world, even performing as a soloist with the San Francisco Symphony.
The Los Angeles Times wrote a piece about how she was on track to become one of the best violinists of her generation, which Mom kept a clipping of along with other mementos inside an old cigar box on her nightstand.
Things changed when Edward Jamiolkowski came along.
They each had their own version of the story, but Mom and Dad met one fated night when he rear-ended her car.
A year later, they were engaged with Violet on the way, so she decided to settle down and raise a family instead of chasing a career in a field where very few succeeded.
But she never stopped playing.
My childhood memories were set to the tune of her music.
When I was little, she always practiced after putting me and Violet to bed.
I loved hearing her play, so I would sneak out and lie in front of her bedroom door just so I could listen.
There was something about the intricate melodies I found peaceful and mesmerizing, and more often than not, I drifted off to sleep right there on the floor.
After the divorce, Mom promised our training sessions wouldn’t end when she moved out.
And for the first few months, she kept that promise.
Every Thursday night, she drove from her apartment in Anaheim to Violet’s house in Laguna Beach so we could practice together.
We both needed to stay sharp—me in order to get into Juilliard and Mom so she could finally chase her dreams. Now that she had a fresh start, she wanted to repursue a career as a concert violinist.
Which was easier said than done.
Mom had been out of the game for over twenty years, and finding full-time symphony work in one of the most competitive fields in the world was virtually impossible.
The two of us searched up and down for a position within a day’s drive, but there was nothing.
Even when I convinced Mom to expand her search to the entire West Coast, we came up empty-handed.
Then, just as Mom was about to give up, an old colleague called. He’d heard she was looking for a job and knew of a second violin opening at a notable symphony. Mom would have to audition against hundreds of incredibly talented musicians for the spot, but I wasn’t worried—she was the best.
However, that didn’t mean there wasn’t a catch.