Charlie picks me up the next night right on time. I have on another new outfit—ordered online with my dad’s blessing. I did my hair and put on makeup carefully, painstakingly. It’s getting harder and harder to do even the simplest things lately, but I don’t want to miss any chance I might have left to look and feel young and beautiful and alive.
My dad snaps another prom picture of us before we leave, and I don’t even protest this time. I don’t even feel embarrassed. I just try to feel grateful for the experience, like Mr. Reed said we should. The anxiety that seems to be with me every waking moment lately fades into the background. It’s just a little hum instead of a huge shriek.
Charlie holds the door to his truck open for me. I climb in. My dad waves good-bye to us from the front porch.
My hands are trembling in my lap as Charlie hops into the driver’s seat. I try to shove them under my legs to hide my shakiness, but he reaches over and takes my hands in his. Then he brings my fingers up to his mouth, kisses them individually, then places my hands back into my lap.
I give him a little smile. He’s the only one who could take the awkwardness out of a moment like this. His being so kind doesn’t make my situation any easier to accept, but it does make me realize how lucky I am to have him in my life. I settle back into my seat, psyched to find out whatever Charlie has up his sleeve this time.
We pull into the parking lot of a nondescript warehouse-looking place half an hour later. I start smiling and can’t stop. “Another pop-up concert?”
“You really think I’m that uncreative?” he says, shaking his head. “Wrong. Come on. You’ll see.”
“I’ll see what?” I ask, following him excitedly.
“You’ll see when we get there.”
Charlie leads me into what looks like the starship Enterprise’s control room. There’s a huge mixing console the size of a car with zillions of buttons and levers on it, plus multitrack recorders and digital workstations. Beyond the glass in this room is a studio, complete with musicians getting their instruments ready to perform.
I take it all in. I can’t believe I get to see an actual recording happen tonight. It’s like a dream come true. “Who are we here to see?”
“Oh, you mean those guys?” Charlie asks, flicking a thumb in their direction. “They’re here for you.”
A cool bearded dude approaches us before I can even begin to process what Charlie has just said. “You Katie? Let’s do this.”
“Oh my God, no, no, no—” My eyes get huge and I have the sudden urge to go plan a fake cat funeral. I make a break for the door, but Charlie blocks it.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes.”
“How did you? What are…? This is crazy!” I stammer. “How are we paying for this?!”
Charlie shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”
This can mean only one thing: He basically just spent his life savings on me. Money he worked so hard for this summer and the summer before that and the summer before that. I know how much a professional recording costs. Way too much. I’m overwhelmed by his generosity. Tears, which are always close to the surface lately, start pooling in my eyes.
“Charlie, no! That’s your truck money! You worked so hard for it. I can’t let you do this!”
“It’s already done,” he says, grinning at me. “Besides, most colleges don’t let you have a car on campus as a freshman.”
“Berkeley called?” I say, reaching out and putting a hand to his cheek.
“Not yet,” he says. “But I’m feeling pretty confident they will.”
“I’m really, really proud of you,” I tell him. “Whether it’s at Berkeley or somewhere else—you’re going to set this world on fire someday, Charlie Reed.”
“And you already are, Katie Price,” he tells me. “Now go. Do this. You helped me figure out my dream. It’s payback time.”
He starts pushing me gently toward the studio. I stop him and hold up my hands. They’re shaking.
“I can’t play anymore,” I whisper, my stomach a hot pit of fear and shame.
He takes my hands in his and stares into my eyes. “Just sing. Pretend it’s just me.”
I nod and try to tap into all the positive vibes he’s sending me. He spins me around and pushes me toward the studio. I step through the door into the center of the room. I feel unsure and nervous. I guess I can blame my shaking on that instead of the real reason. Then no one has to feel sorry for the poor dying girl and lie to her about how great her song is if they really don’t think so. Maybe I’ll finally get some honest feedback from real musicians—people who really know talent.
The guys in the band nod hello as they finish tuning their instruments. The engineer clicks on the speaker from the other room. “Whenever you’re ready, Katie, let’s lay one down…”
I’m ready now except for one thing. The song choice. I have no clue what I’m supposed to sing. “What are we playing?”
The guitarist, a tattooed, pierced linebacker of a guy, hands me the sheet music everyone in the studio has. I read the title. “Charlie’s Song.”
“This—this is my song. I’ve been working on this!” I exclaim, almost to myself. I look up to see Charlie smirking at me through the window of the control room. “How did you get this?”
Charlie clicks the speaker on. “I stole your notebook again.”
“You wrote this song?” the guitarist asks.
He looks like he doesn’t quite believe me when I nod.
“Not bad,” he says with a smile.
I smile back at him and put on my headphones. The drummer counts off a beat and the band starts playing. My song. Charlie’s song. It sounds even better than I ever imagined it could.
Music swells around me, and then it’s time for me to come in. I step up to the screened mic. I start to sing, softly at first. But with every note, I gain a sense of confidence I didn’t even know I had in me.
I close my eyes and sing for everyone I love. I picture my dad developing awesome photos from an exotic trip he takes not too far off in the future. Morgan and Garver still together, even after they head off to different colleges in the fall. Charlie gliding effortlessly through the pool at Berkeley, racking up just as many records there as he did in tiny little Purdue, Washington. And my mom playing her favorite song by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young.
“I have walked alone, with the stars in the moonlit night,
I have walked alone, no one by my side.
Now I walk with you, with my head held high,
in the darkest night, I feel so alive.”
When the song ends, I know I’ve nailed it. Charlie is watching from the control room, recording it all with his iPhone. He nudges the engineer, who nods. Do I even see amazement in their eyes? Because I’m amazed at what just came out of me, too.
On the ride home, Charlie and I are both still giddy with excitement. Neither of us wants the night to end, which is how we always feel. Charlie pulls off an unfamiliar exit well before we’re back in Purdue.
“Where are we going?” I’m resting my head on his shoulder. Feeling at home. Like somehow everything is right in the world despite everything that’s wrong in mine.
“I want to show you somewhere I come to think sometimes,” he tells me.
The truck climbs higher and higher until Charlie pulls over and cuts the engine. He gets out of the cab and comes around to my side, opening the door and offering me a hand.
He points at the sky. I look up and gasp. It’s like a million stars are staring back at us. Like this overlook is the doorway to heaven itself.
We climb into the back. He’s got blankets and pillows and a thermos of hot chocolate waiting there. He pours us each a cup, puts on lids, and hands one to me. I snuggle into his arms.
I take a sip and point up at a star. “Can you name that one?”
“That’s Charlinium,” he says with a laugh. “Because it’s really huge and powerful.”
I roll my eyes at him and point to another.
“That one’s Burritorium, because it’s in the shape of a burrito.”
“That’s Procyon, silly,” I tell him. “Eleven light-years away.”
He turns to look at me. “So we were about seven when that light was made?”
I nod. “Good math. That was also when you got your first skateboard, right?”
I watch Charlie’s eyes grow wide. “How did you know that?”
I decide I might as well tell him the truth. The whole truth this time. We don’t have much time left together. “Charlie, that night, when we met at the train station… I already knew you.”
I can’t tell if he’s weirded out or creeped out or what. His face is in total neutral, like I just told him it was going to rain tomorrow or something equally benign. “What do you mean?”
I stare up at the sky. “In elementary school, you walked past my window every morning at dawn on your way to swim practice.”
I sneak a sideways glance at Charlie. He doesn’t look scared, so I keep going. “In third grade, you started skateboarding. In sixth grade, you wore a Ken Griffey Jr. jersey every day for, like, a month. In ninth grade, you buzzed your hair off. I waited for you. It was the best part of my day. So by the time we met, you were already a part of my life.”
I finish my confession and hold my breath. Charlie doesn’t say anything for a while. I don’t press him either, because I understand what I just put out there is a lot to absorb.
Finally, he comes out with this. “I can’t believe you still liked me after you saw that buzz cut.”
I giggle. Leave it to Charlie to make me laugh at a time like this. To not judge me, but simply to love all that I do and am. Even when I’m admitting to being the world’s most unlikely stalker.
“I just wish I’d looked up,” he says. “Then I could’ve been with you this whole time.”
He doesn’t realize what I’ve known all along. He’s always been there with me. “You were,” I tell him, then I take a big breath and jump off into the deep end. “I love you, Charlie.”
He touches my face. Looks into my eyes. His are filled with tears, but happy ones. “I love you, too.”
He pulls me to him and I fall into his kiss. We kiss for every star in the sky. We kiss for every kiss we missed in the past and every kiss we’ll miss in the future.
I know my nights are getting numbered. I know my days are getting short. I need to seize every moment I have left. I hang on to Charlie for dear life.