Page 45 of Reckless At Raleigh High
“Probably,” she agrees, leaning her head against my shoulder. “But he’ll give up one of these days. He’ll stop trying, and then what? I guess you’ve just got to ask yourself…aside from the fact that he paid someone to try and shank you, and he knew who your father was when you guys met, do you think he reallywasyour friend? If you do, then you should probably forgive him and move on before you lose him altogether.”
* * *
Silver
Over the next thirty minutes, people filter slowly into the diner. My stomach roils, churning, and I begin to regret joking about throwing up on the stage. Why the hell did I agree to this again? What was I thinking? I’ve spent the past year trying to convince people not to notice me, not to stare at me, not to draw attention to myself, and now I’m purposefully putting myself front and center, asking the members of Raleigh to do exactly the opposite.
This is all Dad’s fault. If he hadn’t made out like we’d be doing Raleigh some sort of community service by helping Harry, then I’d be curled up on Alex’s couch right now, watching television.
Alex leads the way across the diner. He sets up my guitar for me, mic-ing it so that the sound will play through the large speakers Harry’s set up on either side of the little triangular stage that fits snuggly into the corner at the back of the diner. I watch him, my fingers tingling like crazy, adrenalin prickling all over my body. Fuck, I won’t be able to play at all if I’m shaking this much.
I keep my back to the people taking up their seats in the booths, around the tables, and at the counter, trying not to panic every time the bell above the door rings out and someone new arrives. Alex seems completely oblivious to the amount of people who have braved the weather and come out on a work night just to watch us play. He’s even and calm as he tells me to sit on a stool and he sets up the mic that I’ll be introducing the songs into. I’m seconds away from bursting into tears when he asks me to say something into the mic to test the sound level.
He nearly drops the mic when he looks over and me sees the state I’m in. Placing his hands on the tops of my arms, he ducks down so that he’s level with me. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You’re reallythisfreaked out? We can walk out of here right now if you like. My place is thirty seconds across the road. We’ll be locked inside the apartment and the door will be bolted before anyone even realizes we’ve made a run for it.”
I let out a breathy laugh. “Harry’ll never forgive me. Look at all the people who came. He’s going to double his takings tonight…”
There really are a lot of people here. They’re ordering coffees and hot sandwiches, chattering quietly to one another in their little groups, but their chairs are all turned toward our dark little corner, angled so they can get a better view of the mystery musicians who’ll be performing here tonight.
“Recognize anyone?” Alex mutters, casting an indifferent glance over his shoulder.
Slowly, I nod. “Halliday brought her little brother. They’re sitting at the counter. Dad’s a couple of seats down from them. Why the hell doeshelook so nervous? He’s not the one standing up here on a stage.” His face, anxious though it may be, is reassuring, though. He’s trimmed the beard that was starting to look a little scraggly back to a reasonable length of stubble, and he’s wearing a button down shirt underneath his down jacket, which completely breaks his newI’ll-never-wear-anything-smart-ever-again-because-your-mother-can’t-make-medress code. A dress code I fully endorse. The dark grey material suits him, though. I’d never tell him to his face, but he actually looks quite dashing.
I continue my sweep of the diner, looking for familiar faces. “Harriet Rosenfeld from school’s here.”
Alex smirks, unraveling a long cable and plugging it into the back of an amp. “Ahh. The trumpet player. Aren’t you glad you agreed to give me lessons instead of palming me off on her? I could have been playing ‘Reveille’up here with her tonight…”
“I didn’tagreeto give you lessons. You gave me no choice. Oh god…is that…?”
Alex looks up, following my line of sight, and his hands go still on his guitar. “Yeah, it is,” he clips out. “I haven’t spoken to her since she came to the apartment. She’s been calling…”
On the other side of Harry’s, weaving her way through the crowd, Alex’s social worker, Maeve, looks like she’s trying to find somewhere to sit. She spots a vacant seat at the bar and grabs it quickly…right next to my dad.
“Well.” Alex clears his throat. He looks unhappy all of a sudden. Maeve shouldn’t be here. To Alex, I’m sure she’s an ill omen. She delivered the news that changed his life forever. That must have been so hard for her. It wasn’t her fault. Ben’s death had absolutely nothing to do with Maeve, but to Alex, every time he looks at her, I’m sure all he hears is her voice saying the words over and over again…
‘I’m so sorry, Alessandro. Truly, I am. But…there’s been an accident. It’s your brother. Ben…oh god, I’m sorry butBen’s dead.’
At the counter, Dad turns and smiles at Maeve, and something uncomfortable twists in my gut.
“Alright, kids. I think that’s it.” Harry appears next to the stage with two cokes and a couple of glasses of ice for us. I’m one hot second away from asking if he has any tequila but then I check myself. Harry’s old school; he wouldn’t serve alcohol to a teenager even if he did have a liquor license. Also, Dad wouldn’t approve, and he’d be mad that I’d asked one of his friends such a dumbass question. “I think everyone I invited has arrived,” Harry says cheerfully. “I’m not sure what you two are planning on playing but some of the locals have made a few requests. Easy stuff. Y’know, Eric Clapton. The Eagles. I love Hotel California myself.”
Alex pulls a face. I think he’s trying to smile but it’s coming across all warped and twisted. “We’re not playing Hotel California, Harry.”
The old man brushes off Alex’s refusal like he saw it coming a mile away. “Okay, okay. No problem. I bet you guys have got it covered. We’ll all just sit back and enjoy the show. How about that?” He hurries away and stands behind the counter, not waiting for a response.
Alex hands me my guitar, then sits himself down on a stool three feet away from mine, putting the strap of his own instrument over his head. He seems a little grim now, as if Maeve’s presence has thrown a spanner in the works and destroyed the playful mood he walked in here with. “You ready?” he asks. His eyes are hard as jet when he looks at me, but then they soften. “You’re gonna be amazing. I already know you are. Just play. Don’t worry about any of them and I’ll do the same, okay?”
Taking a shallow, shaky breath, I nod. “Okay.”
My fingers move to the strings of my guitar, knowing exactly where they need to be without any assistance, and I pause, repeating the same phrase again and again inside my head.Please don’t fuck this up. Please don’t fuck this up. Please don’t fuck this up.
And then I begin to play.
The notes come haltingly at first. My fingers do what they’ve been doing for years, gliding up and down the frets, my other hand slowly plucking at the strings as they’re supposed to…but I can’t seem to move past the intro of the song, pedaling over the same notes, Travis Picking the same strings in a loop.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Alex positioning his hands, ready to come in. When I fail to move past the same cycle of notes again, he speaks softly beside me, so only I can hear him.“Respira e basta. It’s okay. Just breathe. Show them how bright you shine,mi amore.”
The music comes unstuck immediately, my fingers breaking the cycle. I don’t even know how it happens, but the sound of Alex’s voice is enough…
