Page 4 of Disharmony

“Let me in,” I mouth, jabbing my finger aggressively against the glass. “NOW.”

He slides the window open for me to climb inside. I almost fall over a pile of his clothes and books littered over the floor. Guys are total pigs. “You do know it’s still nighttime, right?”

“Why did you do it?” I shove him. He doesn’t move an inch, which only angers me more. “Why?”

“Huh?” He runs a hand through his misshapen hair and yawns. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really?” I demand, holding out my cell phone and waving it in front of him. “Care to explain what this is?”

“Oh, that,” he mumbles as the tips of his ears flush pink. Well, at least he has the decency to avoid my gaze. “You saw it then.”

“Funnily enough, I did.” I check the view count again. It’s climbed since I last looked. “And so have thousands of other people.”

“Wait, what?” His eyes widen as he looks at the number and exhales. “Holy shit, you’ve gone viral.”

“What the hell were you thinking, Brick?” I ask, my voice rising. “Did you think things weren’t bad enough without my best friend trying to publicly humiliate me and—”

“Humiliate you? No way.” He nudges his head in the direction of his door and puts a finger to his lips. “Look, give me the chance to explain myself before you wake my parents, okay?”

“You have ten seconds,” I warn, planting my hands on my hips. “Make them good.”

Brick may be a football player who dwarves me in size, but I can pack a decent punch. Dad isn’t good at talking about emotions, but he made sure his daughter knew how to defend herself. Right now, Brick is close to feeling the full wrath of my self-defense training.

“You were really bummed after getting that rejection, and I wanted other people to hear how good you are,” he says. I want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him for his damn stupidity. Has he even listened to the recording? Does he not know the song he uploaded is nothing like my usual sound? “It’s the only video I had. Your dad asked me to film it.”

“I don’t sing like that normally. You know that,” I hiss. “And do you think I want people seeing me at one of my lowest points? It wasn’t a fucking gig, Brick. It was my mom’s funeral.”

“Ash, I didn’t think…” Brick’s voice trails off, and he shoots me that look. I can’t stand it. The look people give when they feel sorry for you. I never asked for his pity, or anyone else’s.

“See, that’s why. That look.” I point at his face. He can shove his fucking pity right up his ass. “That’s exactly what I don’t want. People looking at me like you are right now.”

At the funeral, I sang my mom’s favorite song by Cyndi Lauper,Time After Time,to honor her memory. I usually hate pop music, but she loved it, and it seemed like the perfect way for me to say goodbye. I could have read a poem or said a few words, but singing was the only way I could express the loss I felt. Now, my private moment is being watched by thousands of strangers.

It’s bad enough that people in Meadow Springs knew the worst thing that’s ever happened to my family. I don’t want to share it with the rest of the world. Being stripped bare and vulnerable is not how I want to be seen—especially when I’m too choked up to hit the high notes. The song is a train wreck from start to end.

“They’re not watching the video because they pity you, don’t you get that? They want to hear you,” Brick says. He’s delusional. People love nothing more than watching others break down. Why else has reality television become one of the most addictive phenomena of the modern age? Brick looks at the rising number of views again. “Holy crap, it’s already at one hundred thousand views.”

“Take it down,” I order, shooting him my bestdo-as-I-say-or-I’ll-knee-you-in-the-ballslook.

“Are you sure?” he asks, hitting refresh. “I know it’s not how you wanted it to happen, but you’ve always wanted to have an audience. You’ve always said you want people to hear you.”

“Not like this.” Being heard is one thing, but what I really want is to be taken seriously as an artist. Getting the whole internet to throw a pity party is not how I want to find success. I want to do it my way, on my terms. “Take it down, Brick. Right now.”

“Fine.” He holds up his hands and stumbles across the room to his laptop. I watch over his shoulder as he finds the video and hits delete. Relief floods through me as if a massive weight has lifted from my shoulders. I don’t need the video spreading around town when I’ve only just gotten over the phase of people stopping me in the street to say how sorry they are. “Happy now?”

“Not even close.” I scowl, turning my back on him and storming away. I hoist one leg out of the window.

I don’t say bye as I scale back down the side of the building.

“No hard feelings then?” Brick cranes his head out and calls after me. “Ash?”

I ignore him and land perfectly on my feet among the flowers. Well, at least that’s one thing the dance classes came in useful for. Dancing is not one of my natural talents, but it’s helped my form and balance. I had to work twice as hard to keep up with the others—not that I’ll be needing those skills anymore unless I want to become a robber.

My skin prickles as Brick’s gaze follows me back to my house, but I don’t turn around. No matter how hard I try, I can never stay mad at him, but he can stew in his guilt a little longer.

two

Ash

---