Authors: Katy Atlas
And she sounded the same in concert. Sometimes the music would go soft, and all you could hear in the whole theatre was April’s voice, flooding the room with echoes, making me shiver even when I knew it was coming.
But it wasn’t the same as what I was hearing from three feet away.
Sure, April still had a great voice. She sang beautifully, following the game’s screen as the music changed pitch, hitting every note. But she would not have given anyone goosebumps, if they were sitting in the room with us. She was a great singer. But it just wasn’t the same.
A thought occurred to me, but I buried it as quickly as it surfaced. I focused on pressing the right buttons on the plastic guitar until the song, mercifully, ended.
Our scores flashed across the screen. I scored an eighty nine percent on the guitar, on the easiest level. Sophie scored ninety eight percent on the drums -- I was right, she hadn’t missed a single beat. Her only deductions were for adding her own improvised rhythm to the song.
April had scored an eighty seven percent. She rolled her eyes, handing the microphone to one of the twins, and left the room without a word. I hoped she was going to help Sophie’s aunt and uncle in the kitchen, but we all knew she was probably going outside to talk on her cell phone.
One more song, okay? Sophie’s aunt called out to us, her voice carrying through the hallway.
I want to beat Sophie on drums, one of the twins cried, grabbing the drumsticks out of Sophie’s extended palm.
I turned to Blake, taking the guitar strap off my shoulder. Do you want to try?
He nodded, looking at the plastic buttons where the guitar strings should go like some kind of science experiment.
I don’t want to sing, the other twin held the microphone out, offering it to Jesse.
Not a chance, kiddo, he laughed. I’d probably break the whole game if I tried to sing into that thing.
One of the twins held the microphone out to me, and I glanced at Sophie, who shook her head.
Great, I thought to myself. Following April singing -- even April singing in a somewhat unimpressive way -- was not high on my list of things I wanted to do in front of Blake.
Please? One of the twins asked, and for a moment I thought about Trevor, and missed him so badly I could feel it in my stomach, like a knot that wouldn’t untie. The video game I’d bought didn’t seem like much anymore.
I blinked, hesitating for a moment. Sure, I said quietly. There was one song I knew I could sing competently, at least. Can we do Maps?
I liked the songs on Rock Band where the lead singer of the band was a girl too -- sometimes I’d get choked up on the male songs, just because my voice couldn’t go low enough to make the notes register.
The boys whooped in agreement, and Blake just nodded, still examining the guitar. I left it on the easy level for him, wondering how quickly he would pick it up.
He flubbed the first two notes, and one of the twins called out to him to strum the bar like he was actually playing, but once he got the hang of it, he didn’t seem to have any trouble moving his fingers in the right rhythm. The twin on the drums was doing almost as well as Sophie had, and I wondered if he played them in real life -- maybe her family just had some genetic drumming advantage over the rest of the world.
Sophie was watching her cousin intently, as if she was thinking the same thing.
I barely noticed when the vocals of the song started, and almost missed the first words. But this was one of my favorites -- one of the few songs I loved from the past few years that wasn’t by Moving Neutral. It was what I played on my iPod on my way to school every morning during the winter, shivering and rubbing my hands together at each stoplight as I waited for the car to warm up.
It was the first time I’d thought about home wistfully since leaving the week before. Looking around the house, I missed living with parents, little brothers, video games, a kitchen where people actually cooked. Again, I wondered if Blake felt the same way -- he’d been away from home a lot longer than I had.
The song ended with chords I knew by heart, and I realized I’d barely paid attention to whether Blake had mastered the guitar buttons or not. I looked up as the scores flashed across the screen -- Sophie’s cousin hadn’t outscored her, and I could tell she was a little bit relieved. Blake had done fine too -- playing real guitar was a lot harder than playing Rock Band guitar.
I felt the silence before it registered, and looked around the room awkwardly. Sophie’s cousins were grinning at me, and Sophie had a dazed look on her face.
What had I missed?
I turned to Blake, who was staring at me with an expression I couldn’t read. It was starting to make me uncomfortable.
What? I asked, not aiming the question at anyone in particular.
It was Jesse who broke the silence, clearing his throat before he spoke. Wow, he said quietly, his voice barely audible. Casey, you can sing.
You got a hundred percent, one of the twins chimed in, looking at me with renewed interest.
Dinner, Sophie’s aunt called from the kitchen, and I had never been more grateful for an interruption in my life. I felt my cheeks blushing beet red, and all I wanted was for everyone to stop looking at me as if their family dog had just learned to talk.
I followed the twins into the dining room, and as I walked down the hallway lined with their school pictures and soccer team trophies, I felt someone take my hand. Looking up, I shivered as I realized that Blake was beside me, giving my palm a gentle squeeze. For an instant, he looked at me intently, like he had the first night we’d met -- like there was no one else in all of Chicago, except me and him. Then he smiled, breaking the moment and pausing to let me walk into the dining room first, his fingers lingering on my wrist as he let go.
By the time Sophie’s uncle dropped us off, it was almost two in the morning. The twins had fallen asleep on one of the couches, one boy’s head on his mother’s shoulder, the other’s head in her lap. I was starting to feel like I might do the same when Sophie reluctantly suggested we go back to the hotel.
Blake and I were the last ones out of the car, and he waved the elevator to go ahead without us, deliberately slowing his walk so that everyone else was out of earshot.
Despite how tired I was, I felt some excitement rise up in me -- tonight, for the first time, Blake and I weren’t sharing a room with the rest of the band. Still, after a week had passed without a single kiss, I couldn’t help but wonder if he just thought of me as a friend.
We rode the elevator in silence -- a natural, easy silence that stemmed partly from exhaustion and partly from being at each other’s sides for a week straight. We could communicate without saying a word now, and I smiled as he nudged me with his hip when we hit our floor.
Do you want to watch a movie? he asked quietly, sliding his keycard into the slot on the door.
It was two in the morning, and our first night alone together. I looked at him, dumbfounded. No, I didn’t want to watch a movie.
Immediately, insecurities rose up in me. Even after a week, I still wasn’t sure what I was to Blake, and suddenly it felt like I couldn’t go another minute without knowing.
The feeling doubled when I looked inside the room. When he had checked in, apparently Blake had chosen a room with two queen beds. So I had my own.
I tried not to sigh. Part of me wished I could just be like the girl at the concert, and whisper something into his ear that would make crystal clear what I wanted from him.
Casey, Blake said quietly, hesitating.
It wasn’t like I had wanted to sleep with Blake in some random hotel, with April and Jesse in adjoining rooms. But I had wanted him to want it, at the very least.
What? I said, unable to keep the disappointment out of my voice.
He sighed, sinking down onto the bed like his shoulders were too heavy for him to stand. I wish it wasn’t like this, he said, groping for words as though he was trying to articulate something he couldn’t put a finger on. I wish I’d met you at some stupid freshman party, he said softly. I wish you were drunk on keg beer and I could take you back to some awful dorm room with bunk beds and no bathrooms.
I sat down on the bed next to him, gingerly, trying not to break the moment.
Why?
Because then it could go somewhere, he said, his voice bitter and tense. Because then I wouldn’t have to stop myself from falling for you, because it could last as long as we wanted it to, he paused, looking into my eyes again. Nothing’s changed, since that first night. It still has to end.
I’d thought the same thing a hundred times, but I still felt my heart sink as Blake said it out loud. I thought about college, seven weeks away. I tried to picture myself drinking beer and flirting with fraternity guys in polo shirts, after this summer. It was everything I’d been looking forward to, and now it felt like torture. All that freedom, but no Blake.
Do we have to think so far ahead? I asked. It was my only hope. Just to take each moment at a time.
He looked at me. I can’t stop, he said. I think--
But he didn’t finish. Cutting himself off in the middle of the sentence, he looked down at the tan bedspread, and I wasn’t sure in the dim light, but I thought that maybe he was blushing.
I wanted to do something to shake him out of this mood. We had seven weeks together -- half of Madison’s relationships didn’t last that long, even without a definite end date.
Do you want me to go? I wasn’t sure if I meant to leave the room or the tour. Either way, I guess, I wanted to know.
When he looked up at me, his eyes were defeated. No, he said. I want you to stay as long as you can. But that’s just me being selfish.
I wasn’t sure how to respond. Part of me just wanted to go back to blocking out all thoughts of the end of the summer, but somehow I knew that after tonight, it would be a lot harder.
I stood up and went into the bathroom, splashed some water on my face. It was late, and maybe tonight was a lost cause anyway. It was a small consolation that, apparently, Blake didn’t think of me as just a friend. I rubbed the damp towel over the back of my neck, putting on an oversized tee-shirt to sleep in.
When I came back out, Blake had opened the door to the balcony and was standing outside, looking out at the rest of the city. I walked past the plush hotel curtains, standing in bare feet next to him.
Sometimes I wish I didn’t have any of this, he said to me, putting an arm around me and pulling my body into his. Some nights I hate every inch of it.
He looked down at me for an instant, and I wanted him more than I could bear. Rising up onto my tiptoes, I pressed my lips softly against his, and I felt the moment rise up around us, as if everything that Blake had said could be unsaid. He wrapped his arms around my body and kissed me back, harder and greedily, pulling me closer until I could barely breathe.
Seven weeks, I thought to myself, closing my eyes and trying to push the realization out of my head. Blake paused, his forehead still touching mine, his hand still buried in my hair. I kissed him again, not letting the moment fade, not letting the doubts creep in.
I love you, I thought, but didn’t say it out loud.
I woke up with Blake’s arms around me, and for a moment, I thought I was still dreaming. But then I took in the rest of the room -- the second queen-sized bed, untouched, the sheets still folded pristinely in that way that only a hotel ever does.
We had kissed on the balcony until we were both too exhausted to stay awake any longer, falling asleep so close that I could feel his chest rise and fall as he breathed. We hadn’t solved anything, just forgotten it -- but for now, that felt like enough.
I closed my eyes to see if I could fall back asleep, but it wouldn’t come. Reluctantly lifting Blake’s arm from around my waist, I tried to sit up without disturbing him, but he opened his eyes the moment I moved.
Morning, he said, smiling at me with a new smile, something I hadn’t seen yet. What time is it?
It’s afternoon, I looked at the clock. Almost one. We missed the whole day.
Fortunately, we have all day tomorrow, too, he said, sitting up and resting his back on the bed’s headboard. He was wearing athletic shorts and a tee-shirt, his toes curled under the bottom of the bedspread.
I need to find a post office before they close, I said. There’s something I bought for my brother.
Okay, he grinned. Is that all?
What do you want to do?
I want to go back to bed, he grinned, fingering the hem of my tee-shirt. But we can find a post office first.
Using all the willpower I could muster, I got out of bed and started to ruffle through the clothes in the suitcase Sophie had packed for me. She mostly wore pants in the shows, but she’d packed almost entirely dresses for me -- I wondered if there was a single skirt left in her closet. I picked out a printed minidress in soft jersey material, excited to try it on. Borrowing Sophie’s clothes was like going shopping for something new every morning, each item more gorgeous than the last.
I went into the bathroom to take a quick shower before we left, steaming up the mirror as I brushed my teeth and waited for the water to warm up. In the corner of the fogged surface, I drew a heart with my finger and colored it in.