Page 65 of Crash & Burn

“You’re going to share with me?”

“Only because you bared your deepest, darkest secrets with me.” There is a playfulness to her voice, one I’ve been missing. I watch her as she breaks her pieces into two, and I do the same. “Thanks for telling me,” she adds.

“Thanks for listening.” I take a bit out of my share of the chocolate bar. “You know, there are better gas station orders than Kit Kats and Diet Coke?” I finish one of my Kit Kat sticks and lick the melted chocolate on my fingers. I can’t help but notice Mia watching as my tongue touches my thumb.

“Careful, sunshine. You can’t be looking at me like that.” No matter how much I like it, I want to add. There is a heat in her eyes I haven’t seen before, a heat not used to look at a friend, but I keep that to myself.

“As if,” she laughs, quickly recovering, and I know the skin on her chest is heating up. I don’t need to see it to know the redness is there.

She doesn’t miss a beat, changing the subject. “What’s your gas station order?” To think the two of us can go from talking about childhood trauma to our go-to snacks when at a gas station is enough to give me whiplash, but it also proves what I said earlier about Mia getting me in a way no one else does. It is why I can’t lose her, and why I wish I could haveallof her.

I pop the rest of my share of the Kit Kat in my mouth before reaching into the plastic bag still on my lap. I pull out a Sprite and a Twix bar, opening the packaging and giving her one of the two sticks

“Thesecondbest candy bar,” she says, swiping her half of my Twix bar and taking a bite.

We get back on the road, and we only have the last end of the ride left. We should be back at Mia’s by noon, and we fall into comfortable conversation. We talk about our favorite movies, books, and TV shows, agreeing to disagree on who has better taste. She asks me why I decided to join Cross My Heart, and I tell her how I didn’t know it at the time, but I was dying to feel part of something. I’m realizing now that it was a way for me to just feelsomething.

“Where do you get your inspiration for your songs?” She asks, taking another sip ofmySprite. I choose to ignore the opportunity to point out that Iobviouslyhave the better gas station order.

“My own life mostly.” Cross My Heart’s songs have a strong beat with the presence of rock instruments like the electric guitar and electric bass giving us that “rock” sound.

Our lyrics have more of a grunge rock influence due to the more heavy, darker lyrics, but we also make sure to have a healthy balance of punk and pop to create a sound that can reach a wide variety of people.

“As someone who has always appreciated all types of music for their uniqueness and individual purpose, our sound and lyrics have been cultivated over the years to be something we hope everyone can connect to. I try to write about things that everyone can understand, like losing someone, finding someone, looking for someone, and so on.”

I go on to explain that I like writing music that all types of music-listeners can appreciate, whether you enjoy songs for their lyrics or for their beat. It isn’t until I get to the end of my long-winded response that I realize I don’t even know how long I’ve been talking.

“Sorry,” I run a hand through my hair, my hat forgotten and thrown in the back seat from when I needed to do something with my hands when Mia was still ignoring me. “That was probably not the answer you were looking for.”

I take my eyes off the road for a second to see Mia watching me, as if what I had to say is the most interesting thing she has ever heard.

Which is odd because I know Mia isn’t a music person like me, so I can’t imagine anything I just said is that interesting to her.

“What?” I ask as I turn back to the road. I let out a little chuckle as I ask to hopefully distract from the flush spreading across my cheeks. I didn’t mean to go off on a tangent, but I can go on and on when it comes to talking about my music or just music in general.

“Nothing,” she answers, turning her head back to face the front windshield. She shakes her head, but she has a soft smile on her face, like she is holding in a secret that she wants to share but thinks she shouldn’t.

Chapter 21

Mia

Listening to Eddie talk about his music is like turning on a light in the attic, where all your memories, stored and forgotten, are. It has been years since I could talk about music with someone who sees it the same way I do, like a way to feel your feelings through someone else’s words.

“So,” I start. “What kind of music do you listen to?”

“I listen to a little bit of everything, but alotof the good stuff.” He smirks, his eyes are on the road, but I know the smirk is for me. Like he knows something I don’t know.

“And what’s the good stuff?” I ask, not sure what answer I’m going to get. It has been years since I have opened Spotify or turned the radio on. I don’t even know what songs are popular these days.

“You tell me, sunshine.”

How do I tell him music reminds me of everything I’ve lost?

And how do I tell him that he makes me want to listen to music again?

“I used to listen to a little bit of everything.”

“Not anymore?”

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