Page 25 of The Breakaway

“Just like band camp. Slip it in behind the bleachers.” Evan laughed maniacally as he sneak attacked Caleb.

I laughed, my mind drifting to my one and only band camp experiences. Late-night shenanigans with Tyler, a cocky sax player whose dimples looked like belly buttons under the hazy campfire glow. We’d snuck behind the cabins, not the bleachers. His breath tasted like the cheap vodka someone had smuggled in Gatorade bottles. The kiss had been sloppy but so hot. Forbidden.

I’d never been a "band geek," not really. Music had always been something more to me—something serious, something sacred. While others swapped inside jokes about marching band disasters or made weird pacts with their wind instruments, I was the girl running scales until my fingers ached. Music was home—but musicians? I wasn’t sure where I fit among them. Maybe only pieces of me did. Just like pieces fit with my Outlaws family.Almost all my pieces fit with Crystal and Maddie. And Logan. Of course, with Logan.

Lily let out a triumphant shout, snapping me back to the present. Breanna groaned dramatically as her character exploded in pixelated flames.

“Victory is mine!” Lily crowed, pointing like a Roman emperor in triumph.

I laughed, settling deeper into the worn cushions. Rob's snide comment from earlier about having a "backup plan" popped into my head, souring my good mood. Where did he get off trying to comment on my relationship with Logan when he wouldn’t know a relationship if it bit him in the face?

It especially pissed me off considering how loyal Logan had been, letting Rob crash at our place when he needed somewhere to stay. Some friend he was. The more I stewed on it, the angrier I got.

"Hey Sharla, you still in the game or what?" Caleb's voice snapped me out of my bitter thoughts.

“Sorry, just got distracted for a sec.” I glanced up at the clock on the wall, and my eyes widened. It was already eleven. “I think I’m going to call it a night, though." I put my controller down and stood up to a chorus of groans and lighthearted boos. It wasn’t that I needed to get home at a certain time, but I didn’t love walking across campus too late. Especially not alone.

“Me, too.” Lily grinned as if reading my mind.

I exhaled with relief and slipped on my shoes. The November air was crisp and bracing. The sky stretched dark and infinite, dotted with stars shimmering faintly through thin clouds. Our shoes crunched over a thin layer of frost covering the campus pathways.

We walked side by side, shoulders brushing occasionally, our breath forming soft clouds in the cold night air.

“I’m so glad we have this weekend off.” Lily stuffed her hands into her coat pockets. “That Christmas concert rehearsal schedule is murder.”

I nodded. “Seriously. If I have to play the violin obbligato from ‘Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring’ one more time, I’m going to lose it.”

She laughed. "What, you don’t like perpetual tight-rope walking?”

I laughed, kicking a stray pebble down the path. Lily slowed as we approached the fork by the bookstore. “Thanks for walking with me.” I gave her a quick hug.

She nodded, tucking her hands back in the pockets of her coat. "Sharla, if you want first chair, you need toownit. Stop waiting for someone to hand it to you.” Her voice was calm but firm. I swallowed, unsure how to respond. “You’re good enough,” she added. “You’ve always been good enough.”

Warmth crept into my chest, chasing away the November chill for a moment. I managed a small smile. “Thanks. I guess I don’t want to push, you know?”

She grinned. “Musicians? Pushy?”

I laughed, my breath blooming between us.

“Franck will appreciate it. She likes people who know what they want.”

I rocked on my heels. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” She gave a small wave and turned down the path as I continued on. The crisp night air felt good as I headed north past the bookstore, the alcohol buzz wearing off.

I heard voices before I saw anything. But then, cutting through the quad, I spotted some movement by the Charlotte Douglas statue. Getting closer, I realized it was a group of guys, clearly drunk off their asses. One was climbing on the statue while the others hooted and hollered crude remarks.

"Woo, you tell 'em, Charlie!"

"You won’t take me, you Outlaw fags!"

I stopped in my tracks, blood boiling as I watched them pull out a can of spray paint.What the actual hell?I didn’t think, just broke into a jog.

“Hey jackasses! Get the hell away from that statue!" I yelled, fists clenched at my sides. They whipped around to face me, the ringleader nearly toppling off his perch.

I don’t know what I expected. For them to startle and run? Honestly, that was what my brain had put together as the most probable outcome. It was only when the three guys on the ground turned to face me that I realized I’d vastly miscalculated.

"Well, well, boys, looks like we got ourselves a little hero!" one of them slurred, swaggering toward me. He had dirty blond hair that curled around his ears. A handsome face. He was tall, strong. His eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks flushed. “I hear Canadian girls are nice and compliant.”

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