Page 19 of Secondhand Smoke
She’d completely transformed, blossomed from her cocoon into her true form like she’d been there the whole time, hiding behind that patchy dark hair and pale skin.
He recognized her now: that smile, those kind blue-violet eyes, the bubbly personality that had been sitting there the whole time. Who knew it would take only a blunt to bring her out. He greeted her like an old friend, though they’d never actually been friends, and a simple grin his way sent his blood into a teenage rush.
The best part was she never once acted disgusted or annoyed or weirded out as he prattled on about his music. Even though she vocalized her interest—or lack of—in the music, she still listened and gave it all the benefit of the doubt.
He’d always known she was kind. Feeling it firsthand was another experience altogether. He loved her silly questions, her twinkling laugh. He wouldn’t even hold the entire bag of Doritos she’d eaten against her. She listened with full, active attention to his tales of playing in a band with his lovable, idiot friends.
She seemed to care, and almost no one cared.
This entire experience was a one-of-a-kind rarity.
“How long have you played guitar?” She interrupted his pointless story to ask the question, and he didn’t mind one bit.
“Since I was eight.” He didn’t need to think about it, because the day he started was one of the most fortuitous and best days of his life.
Shortly after he’d come to live with Ron, he’d been so depressed, but his poor uncle had pooled together what little funds he could to get him a guitar so Barrett had something to keep him busy and happy.
It’d done more than that, though. It’d given him meaning, and to this day, he lived every day because of that guitar.
Janelle nodded and popped a Skittle into her mouth. “You must be pretty good at it then.”
He could pretend to be modest, but there was a sense of dishonesty in that, so he just told it as it was. “Only the best in the state. Possibly the entire region.”
“So modest.” She chuckled. “I bet KC is better than you.”
“Who?”
“KC,” she repeated, like saying it twice would flick on the light bulb above his head.
He didn’t answer and wracked through his mind for that name. It was familiar, sure, but it wasn’t ringing any bells, which made him agonize over trying to remember the person who was on the tip of his tongue. She stared at him, waiting, then suddenly it clicked. Somehow, he connected the dots.
KC. Most people had known her as Kelly Anne Carter, but he remembered now hearing Janelle and her friends call her KC. But the nickname wasn’t what tripped him up the most; it was the tense Nell had used.
“I bet KCisbetter than you.”
Not was.Is.Like she was still alive.
He didn’t have the heart to correct Nell, so he just carried on like he wasn’t totally caught off guard by the mention of one of the three girls who had been killed. He could picture her though: dark brown skin and tight natural ringlets.
“She played guitar?”
“Guitar and piano,” Janelle corrected him without any condescension. “And she writes her own songs.”
Guitar, piano, and a songwriter? Barrett hadn’t touched a piano in his life, but he’d taken a dig at songwriting before. Needless to say, he’d stick to his covers until inspiration struck.
“Was she as good at that as she was at guitar?” he joked, hoping she wasn’t offended by his past tense.
“Better.” She didn’t blink an eye but looked at a blank spot on the wall with a dreamy sigh.
Barrett raised a brow.
“She’s got the most beautiful voice. Like, she wanted to be the next Tina Turner or Whitney Houston, but I think she could have been even bigger.”
Barrett watched her carefully. It was her first time mentioning Kelly Anne in terms of what could have been rather than what was.
He half expected Janelle to start crying, which wasn’t uncommon in this phase of a high, but despite her red eyes and blown pupils, she seemed steady. Despite what her words suggested, she didn’t look to be wavering on the line of acceptance and denial.
“Why didn’t I know this? I could have asked her to be in my band.” Barrett put his hand on his chest, scandalized and putting on a show.
