Page 2 of First Verse

Dead or alive

Someone definitely inspired this. Does he have a crush on a girl at his school? Is he going to ask her out? Has he already? Is that why he canceled last weekend?

Normally, the fact we go to different high schools is annoying, but I’m suddenly grateful for the distance between our houses and everyday lives. I don’t want to see his sunrise smile aimed at someone else.

I refuse to analyze why.

Swallowing the questions clogging my throat, I remind myself that Wilder and I aren’t the kind of friends who share every little detail of our lives. Our bond is music, and it transcends the trivial and mundane.

After reading his words a few more times, I close the notebook and drop it to the grass.

“I still like my chorus better.”

He scoffs, his gaze drifting past me. Around me. Never landing directly. Silence falls between us, vibrating with words in a language neither of us knows.

I stretch out my legs, then recross them. Chew on a hangnail. Rip out my ponytail and redo it. Pick up my guitar, tune it halfheartedly for a minute, then lay it back in its case. I look at my phone to check the time and am bummed to see my parents aren’t picking me up for another half-hour. I can’t even text them to come sooner because they’re probably already on their way.

Wilder’s exaggerated sigh snaps my head up. Frowning, he studies my face. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

I blurt, “Who are the lyrics about?”

His eyes widen. “That’swhy you’re being weird?”

My body boils with embarrassment, but I shrug like I don’t care about his answer.

Wilder shakes his head slowly. Then he laughs, a burst of disbelief. “I was thinking aboutyou, Evangeline.”

My ears ring. “W-what?”

He drags a hand through his hair, shoulders twitching in agitation. “Why is that a big deal? You know you’re my muse. It’s always been this way. It will alwaysbethis way.”

When I don’t say anything—I can’t even breathe—he huffs and glares at me.

“It doesn’t mean I want to see you naked, so stop freaking out.”

“I’m not freaking out.”

I’m definitely freaking out.

A cloud eclipses the sun, dimming the world. Darkening his eyes from a sunlit glade to a shadowed forest. Despite the warmth of the air, the next gust of wind lifts goosebumps on my arms.

“We aren’t a love story.” His voice is low. I feel it beneath my skin. In my bones.

“I know,” I whisper.

His head tilts. “Do you? Girlfriends and boyfriends are temporary. Background noise. We’re neither. We’remore.”

I nod, but it’s a reflex, my mind disconnected from the action. The ground suddenly doesn’t feel solid under my hands. Myhandsdon’t feel solid.

Wilder leans forward, one finger connecting with the cover of the notebook. His eyes are maelstroms sucking me into depths unknown.

“Tell me you understand. Swear to me that no matter what happens, we’ll stay the same. You and me—forever, Evangeline.”

After a second that lasts a lifetime, I echo, “Forever.”

* * *

That afternoon, in the dappled shade beneath the sycamore, I swore to Wilder we’d always stay the same. That background noise would never come between us. Never infect our art.

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