Page 51 of Vespertine
The kid hopped up and came at him like a homing device. “Wow,I can’t believe it’s you.”
The murmurs and whispers that swept over the room when Jasonhad first called him Nico Blue now turned into action. The kids abandoned theircorners and cushions and their couches and books to come bustle around him.Their bodies somehow moved him toward the big round ottoman set off from therest of the furniture just enough that he knew Jazz must sit on it during hisvisits to the group.
Then he was sitting on it too. Mrs. Wells was still closeby, but the kids had crowded her out.
Jason thrust the guitar into his face. “Dude, c’mon. I knowyou’re Nico Blue. Will you play for us? Oh, c’mon! Play ‘Stigmata Hands.’”
Nicky accepted the instrument like he didn’t know how to doanything else. The guitar was pretty beat up, but when he strummed, it wasperfectly tuned. Nicky stared at Jason’s guileless sea-blue eyes as hefinger-picked the opening notes of the requested song, his hands obedient as afucking jukebox. The culminating lyrics of the first verse rose in his mind.
My hands bleed
From all the skin I touch
That isn’t you
There was no way he was going to play that song whilelooking at these kids’ faces. Not here in Jazz’s safe place for them. It wouldbe wrong.
“How about we play a game instead,” Nicky said, forcing hisfingers to play something else, anything else. They defaulted to a new melodyhe’d been stumbling through on the piano that morning. A twisted, broken thingwith lyrics that soured his mouth to even think about. It would never see thelight of day, but the melody was nice, and at least Jason wouldn’t recognize itand beg for more.
“What kind of game?” Jason seemed skeptical and disappointed.
Nicky tried to infuse his voice with fun, the tone heremembered Toni, Jasper’s favorite babysitter, using when she’d taken care ofthem as a kid. “You name a song, any song, and I’ll play it for you. But here’sthe fun catch—it can’t be a Vespertine song.”
“Any song?” a girl with green eyeliner asked.
Jason scowled.
Nicky nodded. “Any song at all. If I’ve heard it, I can playit. I might not recognize it by name, and I might forget a few of the lyrics,but you guys can help me out, right?”
“Cool!” a voice from the edge of the small mob said.
Nicky shot a smile that direction, hoping it hit its mark.
“What if I asked for something really old?” a pimply facedboy murmured, his arms crossed, but his expression avid. “Like, you know,old-old. From before you were born.”
“Like what?”
“My grandpa used to listen to ‘Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On MyHead,’” another guy said, a muscular, football-player type. Handsome in arugged way.
Nicky immediately plucked out the chorus of the song. He’dplayed it for his own grandmother when he was just five years old.
“What? So, like, you’re a musical genius?” Jason said, stillfrowning.
Nicky laughed. “You say that like it’s a curse word.”
“I say it like you’re a liar.”
He let his fingers fall hard against the strings while hisleft hand held down a discordant note. Then he smiled at Jason. “Well, first,that’s rude, and second, I’m a terrible liar, and I’m really rich, so I can buymy way out of most problems that come from telling the truth. So I make it apolicy to never lie.” He made a clicking sound with his tongue against histeeth.
“My foster mom said everyone in Vespertine’s a gross addict,”a small boy near the edge of the group said in a sullen, hostile tone.
“Shut up, Gus.”
Nicky noticed the dark circles under Gus’s eyes and the insecureway his arms were crossed over his developing chest. Another transgender kid.That had to be fucking tough. If Nicky had been in a cage in his mind, thesekids were in a cage in their bodies too. It made his stomach hurt to thinkabout it. He cleared his throat and said quietly to Gus, “Your foster mom musthave cared about you. She didn’t want you to grow up to make mistakes.”
“She kicked me out when I told her the truth about myself.”
“Well, maybe I was wrong. Maybe she was a bitch.”
