Nerves strung tight
Things I must do
A boy’s confession
Never meant to hurt you
My fingers drum out of synch with the song blaring from my speakers as I drive home from school. My thoughts won’t settle. I told Amber Rose to come about an hour early so I could talk to her and let her know that our dating wasn’t going to work out. What I didn’t expect was to find Amber Vaughn in my den.
I hesitate for a second and glance at the clock in the kitchen. A good hour or so to kill. My heart is beating hard but I play it cool. Besides, I found some interesting banjo arrangements she might use for her audition.
I grab some of their popcorn. “Hey, Devon, do you mind if I borrow Amber for a sec? I want to show her what I found.” I lift up the arm holding my laptop and the CD she’d given me Thursday morning.
Devon groans and shoos us away. He’s playing some Lana Del Rey song on his guitar. “Go somewhere in the back where I can’t hear the twang.”
Not sure Amber’s going to follow me when I motion for her to come down the hall to my room, but she does, her crutches pushing along the hardwood floors.
I put the laptop on my desk and turn it on. “Is your ankle going to be okay?”
“Kind of. Pretty sure it’s just a sprain but Mom insists I use these for a few more days. I fell over a stupid root in the trail when I was hiking.”
Another cool thing about Amber Vaughn. She likes to get outdoors as much as I do.
She leans her crutches by the door. “What’d you think of the CD?”
“Let me show you something.” I get to one of the videos I’d bookmarked. It’s a banjo version of “Ave Maria,” one of the songs she’d mentioned as a favorite. She’s leaning in my door frame and as she realizes what the guy’s playing, her face lights with a smile.
I grin. “Right? But that’s not all. Here’s the ‘Red, Red Rose’ song you liked.” I turn to the computer and click through my favorites, pulling up another video.
Amber’s watching the screen. “You could do those arrangements?”
“Yeah, sure.” I don’t want to come across as cocky. “I mean, we can learn together. Would it be too weird if you hung out with me, though?” I’m testing the Amber Vaughn waters.
She cocks an eyebrow.
“To practice,” I add. “Instead of hanging out with Devon.”
“We’ve played together before at your house. Remember? Nirvana?”
I choose not to feel small even though her voice is “put me in my place” contemptuous. “Right.” I skip past my embarrassment. “You want to start tonight? Now?” I know I have a deadline but playing music will be a good thing to keep my mind off Amber Rose’s imminent arrival.
Amber Vaughn blushes.
She blushes!
“Yeah. That’d be good.”
I motion for her to sit on the foot of my bed, while I take the swivel chair. It’s all I can do to keep my hands from shaking. When I start in on the “Ave Maria” arrangement, I butcher it. It’s worse than bad. But it might be because Amber Vaughn has laid herself flat on my bed, her hand under her chin, watching me. I try again and eventually it starts sounding like something. She sits back up and when she opens her mouth this heavenly note escapes.
“Ave Maria.”
Her mouth, only the barest hint of something rose-colored on her lips, forms an o and she closes her eyes and draws the sound up and out from inside. And yeah, this is totally cliché, but it’s like angels singing. Specifically, the angel of Patsy Cline right here in my room. It’s hard to keep playing the banjo and watch her sing at the same time, but I do. Until I hit a sour note.
“Sorry about that. I promise I’ll get it.”
Her face is serene and calm like the words of the song have washed her pure. “I’m not worried.” She scoots herself up against my headboard.
I’m drawn to her calm and without really being aware of what I’m doing, move to the foot of my bed. The plink of notes for “Red, Red Rose” pull my focus and I play it through a few times, getting it smooth. When I start in for the fourth time, Amber joins in.
“I wish I was a butterfly, I’d light on my love’s breast. I wish I was a blue cuckoo, I’d sing my love to rest.”
Her voice fades away and I finish playing. “You want to practice that again?”
In the back of my mind, I’m aware I should be paying attention to the time. But the other part of me is living strong in this moment. This making music. This girl. This feeling.
“Sure,” she says.
I don’t look at the clock.
I start picking and this time I look at her as she sings. And she looks at me. And the lyrics are a love song and if she ever had a doubt about how I felt, she’s got to know it now. And a part of me knows she must like me, too. But every song ends and when this one does, she blushes, looking down. And I’m contemplating setting the banjo down, and crawling forward across the plaid comforter I’ve had since sixth grade, and taking Amber Vaughn into my arms for a good, long kiss, when a slow clap sounds from behind me.
Amber Vaughn’s brown eyes go wider than walnuts and I know.
I should have looked at the clock.
Amber Rose is leaning against my door frame dressed to kill. “Very sweet,” she says, her tone a barbed contrast to her words.
I jump up. “Hey. What time is it?”
Then Devon’s there and he’s looking at my face, and looking at Amber Vaughn on my bed, and shit. All we were doing was playing music. But the feeling in the room is thick. Thick as guilt.
I don’t know what all is said, but when the air thins, it’s me and Amber Rose. Devon and Amber Vaughn have vanished to the front of the house.
Amber Rose shuts my door.
I turn on music. Coltrane’s A Love Supreme. Not exactly breakup music but it will have to do.
“Amber Rose,” I say.
She cuts me off. “Don’t even, Will McKinney. Don’t even tell me the day I sent you a text of my flipping breasts, you cheated on me?”
“We were just playing music.”
“I heard.” She crosses her arms and stands ramrod straight against my wall.
“Amber Rose, listen.”
She cuts me off again. “I’m listening and this better be good. You’ve been weird all week. Are you cheating on me? With her?”
Moment of truth, Will McKinney. You going to wiggle around this or be a man? My mom’s training about what it means to be honorable kicks in. It’s time to own up to what I’ve done.
“Yes.”
“What?” She drops her arms, like she wasn’t really expecting that answer, and maybe it’s my imagination but I swear those saxophones in the background get about twelve times louder.
“But not how you think.” I take a step forward to, I don’t know, touch her arm or something, but then I think better of it and stop. “I mean, yes, we got together one day.” I won’t tell Amber Rose the details, it’s not her business to spread. “I thought it was a fluke, and you and me, we hadn’t really been going out very long, but then it halfway happened again.”
“You suck, Will McKinney.” She’s crying now and I do step forward and put my arms on her shoulders to hug her.
“Hey, don’t cry. Look, I didn’t want to hurt you.”
She snuffles. “You should have thought about that when you were locking lips with some chunky redneck girl.”
I unhug her. I know she’s mad but that was low.
“God. I sexted you today.” Amber Rose looks at my ceiling instead of me.
“Yeah. Sorry about that.”
She hugs herself and a few more tears drop down her cheeks before her next question. “You deleted it, right?”
“I know I’m a douche, Amber Rose, but I’m not that level of asshole. Yes, I deleted it. And you did look good.”
She shudders like a rabbit ran up her spine. Coltrane continues to blare in the background. “Why her? I’m prettier than her.”
“You’re gorgeous, Amber Rose. And kind.” I let her bitch comment about Not So Plain and Small slide—I know she’s hurting—but she was kind to me out on the lake. “The male population of MHHS will thank me on Monday for making you available once again. Some guy’s going to scoop you up and never let you go.”
“It’s y’all’s music, isn’t it?”
I nod. “Yeah.” I could go on and tell Amber Rose that I think Amber Vaughn is the real kind of beautiful, but I figure she won’t get it. “You can still go tonight if you want,” I offer.
Amber Rose sighs and wipes her face. Whatever raw emotion was there disappears when she pulls her hand away and all that’s left is anger. Her eyes narrow. “I don’t want to, Will. And I don’t want you talking to me on Monday. And one more thing . . .”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t make cheating on your girlfriends a habit.” She hitches her purse back to her shoulder. “I may not understand what you see in her over me. But no girl likes to be treated the way you just treated me.”
She doesn’t wait for my response as she turns and opens my door to leave.
Coltrane blares.
I can’t get to the off button fast enough.