Chapter 35 #2
Lea and Declan are already there, leaning against the railing. Her dark curly hair is loose, and she’s gesturing with both hands about something—some artistic catastrophe, judging by the intensity—while Declan watches her like he’s hanging on every word.
“More survivors of the victory celebration come to join us weaklings outside?” Lea asks.
“Barely.” Cass laughs. “I’m used to noise, but I’m not quite used to that much bro energy in one small space.”
“Understatement of the century.” She blows a strand of hair from her face. “I love supporting the team, but my testosterone tolerance has limits.”
Declan’s hand moves to her lower back, automatic. “She’s been venting about her thesis showcase. I’m providing moral support.”
“It’s going to be a disaster.” She huffs. “The lighting is wrong, the frames are wrong, everything is wrong, and my advisor keeps sending passive-aggressive emails about ‘artistic coherence’ as if that phrase means anything concrete.”
Cass perks up. “What’s the showcase about?”
“Visual representations of sound.” Lea’s eyes light up despite herself. “How music translates to visual art. The emotional frequencies. But everything I’ve tried feels too… clean. Too… agreeable. I wanted something with some grit and texture, but I haven’t found it yet.”
“Have you considered punk?”
Lea blinks.
“My band.” Cass leans against the railing. “We’re not polished. We’re not clean. Our sound is gritty and raw, so if you’re looking for texture…”
“Oh my God.” Lea’s voice has gone up an octave. “The contrast between visual and auditory—the way punk destabilizes traditional frameworks—”
“I understood about half of that. But it sounds like a yes?”
“It’s a definite maybe leaning heavily toward oh my God yes.”
They exchange numbers, heads bent together, conspiring.
Declan catches my eye.
I nod.
No words, just a brotherhood.
When they finally surface, Lea is vibrating with new ideas. “I have to go write this down. Declan—”
“Already moving.”
They disappear inside, and the silence that follows feels different. The party is still ranging inside, and I can see through the window that Nash and Stiles are holding court near the kegs, surrounded by a whole new batch of underclassmen.
Stiles spots me through the glass and raises his beer. “Sasquatch! You barely suck anymore!”
I raise my hand in acknowledgment.
I don’t go back inside.
Because here’s the thing. They have the glory, the attention, and the revolving door of hookups. But they’ll go home tonight to empty rooms and wake up tomorrow alone and with hangovers and nothing else. And maybe that works for them, for now or for a lot longer than that.
But I don’t want to be like that.
Not anymore.
I just want to be myself.
I get to go home with my best friend and tinker with her amp tomorrow.
“You’re thinking too loud,” Cass says.
“Sorry,” I smile. “Just observing.”
“Anything interesting?”
“Nope.” I reach for her hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
We escape up the side stairs to the flat roof of the garage, which has one of the best views on campus. The night is clear, but also the kind of cold that makes you want to huddle close. Cass settles against my side like she’s been fitting into that exact space for years.
I can see the lights of the quad, the dark silhouette of the library, and the distant glow of the arena where we won a championship four hours ago. It still hasn’t quite sunk in—the fact that we went back-to-back and I had a huge role in both victories—but, somehow, being here with her is better.
“Hell of a night,” she says.
“Yeah.”
“You set up the championship-winning goal.”
“Schmidt scored.”
“Shut up. You were incredible.” She’s quiet for a second. “I love you, Ben.”
“I love you too,” I say, without hesitation. “Even all the messy bits.”
“Well good, because I’ve got some news…” Her voice trails off. “I’ve decided that if we get this deal with Iron City, I’m leaving school…”
“Whoa!” I grin, although I suspected this was coming given how miserable she’s been about her classes.
“I’m terrified about next week, Ben.” Her voice is small. Smaller than I’ve ever heard it.
“The meeting with Iron City?”
“Yeah.” She pulls away slightly, arms wrapping around herself. “The engineers at those studios speak a whole different language. Compressors and limiters and frequency responses—” She sighs. “I’m going to walk in and they’re going to know I’m a fraud, even though we slayed the show.”
“Cass—”
“Don’t.” Her voice is sharp and defensive. “Don’t tell me I’m talented. I’ve heard that. It doesn’t help.”
“OK, here’s what we’re going to do,” I say, turning to face her, hands finding her shoulders. “You worry about the music—the songs, the emotion, the performance. But the technical stuff? Signal flow, compression ratios, gain staging? That’s me.”
She looks at me, wary. Her eyes are wet, though she’d punch me if I mentioned it. “Ben—”
“I’m serious. I’ll be there. Every session. I’ll handle the engineering conversations.” I take a breath. “I’ve got this.”
“You don’t even know the studio schedule.”
“Send it to me. I’ll make it work.”
“What about hockey? Your classes?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
She laughs. “So you’re what—my tech guy now?”
I smirk. “Your tech guy. Your sound engineer. Whatever you need.”
“And your fee?”
“I work cheap.” I pull her close again. “Kisses and the odd ego boost.”
“That’s a terrible business model.”
“I never claimed to be smart about money.”
She rises on her tiptoes and kisses me, slow and deep, and the cold night fades to background noise. Her lips are warm, her hands are cold where they grip my shirt, and she tastes like cheap beer and cherry lip gloss and home. And when she pulls back, her eyes are bright.
“You’re hired, Kellerman.”
“Best job I’ve ever had.”
We stay on the roof a long time after that, watching campus lights flicker, talking about nothing and everything. The party winds down below us. The world continues to spin, and for once I’m not worried about fitting in or saying the wrong thing or hiding parts of myself.
I’m just me… here… with her…
Not because I’ve figured everything out. I haven’t. There will be hard days. Days when the imposter syndrome comes back, when the old fears whisper that I’m still the weird kid who doesn’t belong. But I know something now that I didn’t know a year ago.
Cass is next to me, looking out at the same future I am.
Together.