Page 82 of The Drummer

“I guess social events have been conceived around less. So thatwasn’tyour first date?”

“It was.”

I squint over at him, and he rotates his head to give me a quick smile before returning to his staring match with the ceiling.

“But we all watchedyouask her. In the most obnoxious, melodramatic display of all time, if I recall.”

“I did ask her.”

“Dude. You lost me.”

Another smile skims his lips at a memory. “It started the day we were rehearsing for that open mic night at the farmer’s market. Remember that?”

“Six people, lots of baked goods, and way too many questionable wood carvings. Go on.”

“Yeah, well, during our break, when I went to the kitchen to grab a drink, Elena pretty much tackled me in the hallway and dragged me into the laundry room. I thought I was in trouble or something, but instead she told me I was going to invite her to my aunt’s party. Oh, and I’d be doing it at the family barbeque that night.”

“What?!”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Yep. She specifically said I had to be the one to ask,because she was afraid your dad wouldn’t accept the reverse. For good measure, she wanted it done as publicly as possible.”

I straighten on the couch. “Hang on. Sothat’swhat all the flowers and bended knee bullshit was about?”

“Yep.” He chuckles and rubs at his knees. “She said she knew I was into her but was too ‘chicken shit’ to act on it. Her words, and she was right.”

He goes quiet, lost in a memory, and I return to plucking on the guitar. My mind drifts back to that time ten years ago. Back when two teenagers had already lived through hell, but still had dreams of something better.

Realizing thereisnothing better is what nearly breaks you.

Shuffling behind us ends the spell, and Callie comes into view.

I can’t guess where Luke’s head is after that random confession, so I’m surprised when he tosses a smile in her direction.

“Wow, Callie, I’m a little jealous that he gets a poem and I don’t,” he jokes.

She hesitates, then comes to a decision about something.

With deliberate movements, she stalks toward us and swipes the laptop off the table.

“Hey! I wasn’t done with that!” I whine, and she returns a mock glare.

“I’ll give it back in a second.” She pivots to Luke. “I did one for you as well, but you weren’t awake.”

Luke seems startled, and maybe I am too.

“Really? You wrote two last night?” he asks.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she says as she searches for something on her computer. She must find it and tries to hand the laptop to Luke.

He shakes his head.

“No, you read it.”

She shrinks back. “What?”

“I want you to read it. I want to hear it how you intend it to be heard.”

So do I. I’m already jealous at the thought that Luke will get her words in her voice, while I had to read mine on a heartless screen.

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