Page 82 of Jaded

“So.” Olli’s grin stretches wide, devious. “You gonna sing for me or what? Deal’s a deal, Mouse.”

“You promised not to call me that.” I snatch a glove from the back of my locker and hum it towards him, hitting him square in the chest.

“Nope!” he crows, waving the glove. “You opted for the spine story instead.”

“Fuck me,” I mutter, because shit, I did, didn’t I? So I open my mouth. And I start to sing. “First I was afraid . . . I was petrified. . .”

My own glove smacks me in the face, muffling my intentionally off-key notes. “Screw you, Mouse. I want my song.”

I laugh as I fling it back towards him—except of course, he’s expecting just such a return fire and catches it well before it makes any critical bodily contact.

Before he can stage any more uncannily well-aimed protests or invent any definitely unfitting nicknames, I start to sing.

In earnest this time. For real.

Soft at first, like I don’t trust the notes as they build in my chest and flick off my tongue, through my teeth. Or maybe it’s the words I don’t trust, that I’ve gotten them all right, understood the meaning even as I set them to a beat.

My fingers tap the notes against my thighs, striking the chords to a silent guitar as my voice guides the melody.

I didn’t want the world to see my true colors

The true brightness of my soul

So I shattered that image

Into a million tiny shards

. . .

“You have a beautiful voice,” Olli murmurs as I let the notes fade away. “But you got the words wrong.”

My heart’s beating too fast, like I’m in high school all over again and Coach just sent me through a dozen rounds of suicides, like I’ve run miles through Olli’s woods, climbed mountains and snowshoed valleys and canyons. “Did I?”

Why does my heart feel like it’s trying to escape through my throat?

“It’sdarkness,” Olli says. “Darknessof my soul.”

I tilt my head against the wall of the cubby, level him with a serious stare. “No, Olli. I think maybeyou’rethe one who got those words wrong.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but the sudden trill of a phone cuts off whatever he’s about to say. He leans back into his locker to dig through his discarded pile of clothes.

My brows lift with surprise. “Who has a ringtone anymore?”

He shoots me an impressively stern death glare and smashes the phone to his ear. “Hey, Mom. I can’t—”

“Aspen!” The high, female voice on the other end is so loud I can’t help but overhear. “You forgot to callme!”

“Yeah, Mom. Hi.” Olli fairly squeaks. “I’m about to leave the rink.”

I choke back laughter at the pained look on Ollie’s face as he whisper-yells into the speaker.

“Aspen?” I mouth, and he lifts a middle finger in my face.

“I’m actually, um . . .” He rolls his eyes, but there's something almost soft, fond, in his next words. “I’m headed to a party now, so I can’t really talk?”

God, why does the sight of Olli talking to his mom warm my heart? I should look away, but I can’t stop watching the softness of his face.

“Yeah, a party . . .” His mouth twitches like he’s holding in a smile, and when he sees me looking, he rolls his eyes again. “With the team, yes. And my friend is totally waiting for meright now. Actually, he might run away and leave me alone if I don’t hang up now—”

---