Page 30 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

I can almost see it. The two of us running away and hopping on a bus to California. We’d be celebrities and kids everywhere would hope they could be us. But then I think of how far away that is. She grabs my hand and my fingers slip through hers.

“Promise we’ll do it someday,” she whispers. “Promise we’ll do everything we want to do.” Her necklace swings forward and I can see the little golden sun. It sparkles as it catches the light from a nearby window and reminds me of the first time I ever saw her. How her hair was like a glowing halo of sunlight.

I realize then and there that I would wait an eternity to make her dreams come true. I squeeze her hand. “I promise.”

CHAPTER8

Something in the Air

JOEL

It’s the fourth time this week I’ve sat outside of The Sudsy Dream hoping Cherry might appear, but she doesn’t. I might have missed her. I can’t possibly sit here all day. Key is already suspicious enough, and there’s only so many gallons of milk I can drink to excuse these trips. He’s still in his funk, and one of the perks is that he seems to readily accept my excuses, but the more I think about it, the more I’m worried for him.

I had no idea he felt that way about romantic love. I thought he was just super happy being single. A young up-and-coming rockstar taking advantage of our newfound fame to take home any girl he wants without the hassle of a relationship. But what he said about the others—about love—he sounds bitter, and it makes me all the more nervous to mention I might have fallen for a girl who still hasn’t even agreed to go on a date with me.

There’s a flash of red out of the corner of my eye, but when I turn to look, it’s an elderly woman in a red head scarf who walks quickly past the laundromat windows. I press my fists against my temples and sigh. I’m going fucking insane. I’m such an idiot. Why did I think this was a good idea? The woman won’t even give me her real name. I know she’s attracted to me, but that doesn’t mean shelikesme. Our connection in Vegas must just have been an alcohol-induced fever dream that I’ve spent the last two years obsessing over. I should go home.

Another flash of red, this time from inside the laundromat, and I’m out of the car and walking through the door, searching for fiery hair before I can convince myself to leave. Glancing around, my chest deflates when I confirm that the red I saw was someone’s football jersey in a dryer.

“This is stupid. I’m stupid. Everything is stupid,” I mutter. “Just go home, Joel.” Turning for the door, I grasp the handle.

“Back again?” asks a voice that sounds like sandpaper.

I whip around only to find the old lady at the counter staring at me over her magazine. Her nails are purple polka dots this week, I notice as I walk toward her. “So it would seem.”

She tilts her head and glances up at my forehead. “Nasty bruise you’ve got under all that hair.”

“You’re very observant,” I mutter, wondering why she bothered speaking to me at all.

There’s a pause, and I glance over my shoulder to where Cherry and I folded laundry together less than a week ago.

“Don’t even think about it.”

I turn back to the woman who’s watching me shrewdly. “Huh?”

“You and her. Ain’t no way that’s gonna happen.”

“What? Why not?” I ask indignantly.

“She’s too good for you.”

I scoff. “You don’t evenknowme.”

She looks me up and down. “I know you couldn’t take care of her the way she needs.”

I cross my arms. “Oh really? And how’s that?”

“That girl needs a strong man. One who can provide for her and keep her safe. Not some little boy who’s charmed by long legs and a pretty face, hanging around to have fun.”

“I’m not just hanging around to have fun,” I argue, but as the words leave my mouth, I really think about what that means. What this woman is trying to tell me in her own crabby way is that I shouldn’t be coming around if I don’t want something serious. A relationship. And now that the word is floating around in my head, do I even want one? What exactly is my plan here?

The woman leans forward, folding her fingers together so that her nails click. “My advice? Forget about The Sudsy Dream and forget about her.”

My mouth twists. I wish I could argue with her, but how can I when I don’t even really know what I want? So instead, I say, “I’ll be back tomorrow,” and leave the sloshing machines and tumbling symphony behind me.

* * *

The soundsof a large crowd are still thrilling even years into this music journey. The chanting of our band name, the adrenaline that seems to explode through my veins as we get hyped up for a show. I’ve never known anything that’s matched the thrill and as I peer out from the wings of the curtains on stage, I don’t know if I ever will.

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