The Art of Lainey (18 page)

“The girl is always feisty.”

“So I’m learning.” Micah picks up
The Art of War.
He clears his throat. “
‘There are five ways of attacking with fire. The first is to burn soldiers in their camp; the second is to burn stores; the third is to burn baggage trains; the fourth is to burn arsenals and magazines; the fifth is to hurl dropping fire amongst the enemy.’
This is some serious shit.” He smiles. “Should I be worried?”

“I’m actually using it to strategize,” I blurt out. “You
know, to win back Jason.”

I’m expecting Micah to burst out laughing but he just nods to himself. “How Machiavellian of you.”

“Leo said that too. It was Bianca’s idea. She’s definitely the brains of the operation.”

“I assume you and Bee aren’t burning any soldiers or stores?” Micah asks with a gleam in his eye.

“Some parts of it are more relevant than others,” I admit.

He tosses the book to me. “Well, show me what you got.”

I show him my highlighted passages and tell him about some of the stuff Bianca came up with, like being deceptive and attacking from a position of power.

“Fall like a thunderbolt, huh?” he says.

“Right. When the moment comes, be bold. Decisive. Strike with power.”

“Got it.” The top ten list is tucked in the back of the book. Micah nods again as he goes through the strategies.

“Do you think it’s crazy?” I ask.

He laughs lightly. “I think it’s highly organized, and maybe a little scary. But I also think we’re missing an excellent show.” Rising to his feet, he holds his hands out toward me.

Tucking the book back into my purse, I grip his fingertips gently and scramble back to my feet. The image of him with his head back, eyes closed, swaying to the music flashes into my head ever so briefly. My face is flushed. My whole body still feels hot. My chest expands as I inhale a huge breath of air.
Get it together, Lainey.

When we get back inside, the main act is getting ready to take the stage. I can see two of the members of Arachne’s Revenge—the drummer and the guy with the dreads—sitting over at the T-shirt table. The lead singer is working her way through the crowd toward the front of the stage. When she gets closer, I see she’s not as old as she looked under the lights.

To my surprise, she doesn’t veer off to grab an open space at the front of the stage. She moves straight through the crowd until she makes her way over to us. And then she wraps her hands around Micah’s head, covering his eyes with her fingers. The girl leans in close to whisper in his ear.

Micah removes the girl’s hands from his eyes and turns to give her a quick hug. It’s the same kind of hug I gave Leo in the car, more of a pat on the back with lots of space between the torsos. “Hey,” he says.

Hey
is another word that can mean many things. As I watch this awkward embrace, puzzle pieces start snapping together in my head. Could it possibly be . . .

“I’m Lainey,” I say brightly. The girl and Micah both turn to look at me. Micah opens his mouth to say more, but the lights drop again and the crowd begins to cheer as the four guys from of Bottlegrate run out onstage. They’re older than Arachne’s Revenge, probably late twenties to early thirties.

People behind me press forward, pinning my body against the stage. A strand of my hair gets tangled around
something and my eyes water as individual hairs snap loose from my head. The lead singer of Arachne’s Revenge wraps her hand around my arm, pulling me to the side of the crushing crowd.

“Thanks,” I say, rubbing my scalp with one hand. I swear if I end up with a bald spot I’m going to charge Micah hazard pay.

“No worries.” She leans in close to me and I notice she’s wearing jet-black fake eyelashes. Despite the noise, I hear her next words like she’s shouting them through a megaphone at church. “Nice to meet you. My name is Amber.”

“
T
hat’s
Amber?” I mouth, once the leggy blonde girl disappears back into her throng of bandmates. They’re all sitting at the T-shirt table now, doing their best to look unimpressed by the headlining band. The lead singer of Bottlegrate launches directly into a hard-core cover of an old pop song without even stopping to greet the crowd.

Micah reads my lips. “Yeah.”

I cup my hands around his ear. The warmth of his skin makes me tremble. “How come you didn’t tell me Arachne’s Revenge was her band?”

He says something I can’t make out. The guitarist and the bassist walk circles around each other on the stage. I step even farther off to the side, to the point I’m almost hiding behind a stack of amplifiers. At least I’m not in danger of being crushed or trampled.

Micah brushes my hair back from my ear and repeats
himself. “I said I wanted to see if you liked the music before you knew who she was.” His breath makes the blood rush beneath my skin.

“They’re okay,” I say. I sneak another peek at her, envying the laid-back style of her kimono and combat boots. “She’s actually way more normal than I imagined.”

“Told you so. Also, everyone says that if they meet Phoenix first.”

“So why did you two break up?” I ask. Then I see Amber lean over and bite on one of her bandmate’s dreadlocks. He turns his face toward hers and both of them collapse into a fit of laughter. “Oh.”

Micah’s pale skin gets even whiter. “She says she’s not dating any of them. She just doesn’t have time for both me and her music.” He stares at Amber and Dreads Guy.

I watch him watch them. It’s painful. In my head I see Jason and Alex kissing against Jay’s Mustang.

The first song ends. Micah manages to rip his gaze away from the T-shirt table, like the end of the music has broken a spell. His jaw tightens. His eyes glow almost golden in the stage lights. “I’m not sure if I believe her.”

I don’t know what to say to this, so I don’t say anything. Part of me wants to hug him. Not an awkward Leo hug or a let’s-make-someone-jealous hug—a hug that says I get it. That I know exactly how it feels to see the person you love with someone else. But that’s not what our agreement is about. We’re not using each other to feel better about getting dumped. My job is to be his ally. To help him level the
battlefield and then aid in his attack. That’s going to take time. Like Bianca said: wars aren’t fought in a day.

I try to focus on the concert. Bottlegrate puts on an amazing live show. The guys are constantly laughing and joking with the crowd. I recognize a couple of their songs from the ride to Mizz Creant’s and find myself bobbing my head and singing along. Halfway through the set, the guitarist does a guitar solo where he ends up lying down on the stage, his fingers flying like lightning across the frets. The crowd explodes with cheers and whistles. I clap along with everyone else. I can’t believe how much fun I’m having.

Micah, however, is not having fun. After about two more songs of him looking over at Amber every five seconds, I reach out and give him an awkward pat on the shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I mouth at him, gesturing toward the side of the club with my head.

He cups his hands around my ear but still has to yell in order for me to hear him. “No, I’m sorry. I dragged you here. I shouldn’t be ignoring you.”

“It’s fine,” I say. “But we can leave whenever you want.”

“Let’s go.” Micah wraps his hand around mine and we squeeze through the crowd. His touch is friendly, almost protective. It doesn’t elicit the same shock waves I felt earlier. Somehow, meeting Amber and seeing Micah in pain has neutralized things. I’m refocused on our battle.

He drops my fingers as we head around the building to the gravel parking lot in back. He shakes his head as he unlocks my car door. “Maybe this was a bad idea. I don’t
think I’m ready to see her, especially not with some other guy.”

As he turns around, the fluorescent lights of the parking lot illuminate his hunched-over form, his head lowered in defeat. This time I give in to the urge. “Hey,” I reach out for him. “Come here.” Leaning in, I loosely wrap my arms around his neck.

His body goes tense as he straightens up, but his hands end up in the vicinity of my waist. “I’m not a girl, Lainey,” he mutters. “All my problems can’t be fixed with a hug.”

“I know that.” As I release my hold on him, I brush my lips against the wedge-shaped scar on his temple.

He backs away. “What was that for?”

I shrug. I’m not even sure myself. “You looked so sad. I just . . . feel sorry for you.”

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me,” Micah says in a shrill voice. His lips curl into a smirk as he heads around to the driver’s side.

It takes me a second to realize he’s imitating something I said to him the day Jason broke up with me. I slide into the car and pull the door shut behind me. “Do you remember everything people say so you can use it against them?”

“I try.” He stares at me for a moment, but doesn’t say anything.

“What?” I make a big show of fumbling for my seat belt so I can escape his penetrating gaze.

“Tsk-tsk. Breaking your own rules, Lainey Mitchell,” he says. I click my seat belt into place. Wow, he’s right. He
looked so alone and vulnerable there for a second that I didn’t even think about a kiss on the cheek being a technical infraction of my “absolutely no kissing” rule.

“Uh . . . sorry?” I offer, a blush creeping into my cheeks. “It was a random impulse. It won’t happen again.”

Micah glances over at me as he starts the car, a smile still playing at his lips. “You’re kind of cute when you get all flustered.” Then, before I can formulate a response, he plugs his phone into the stereo and cranks up the volume. As we pull out onto the road, he turns the music down slightly and starts talking about how it was the instrumental song “Wake Up Dreaming” that got Amber and her band noticed by a studio executive. “She never thought her classical violin training would come in handy with the band,” Micah says. “Everything happened so fast for them. By this time next year they might be playing venues all over the US.” His voice goes tight with grief. It’s obvious how much he cares about her.

“It was so intense, the way you got into that song,” I say. “Like you were the only person on the planet.”

“It’s definitely one of my favorites.” He slows the car to a stop in front of my house a couple minutes later.

I unlock my door and slide out. Then I stop for a second and lean back through the open window. “You were kind of nice to me tonight.”

Micah shakes his head. “Was not.”

“I think you were,” I insist.

“If you say so. I’ll try harder to be a dick next time. After
all, that is what you like, right?”

I purse my lips. “Jason isn’t a dick. He just found some other girl he likes better.” It’s the first time I’ve actually put that thought into words. It hurts, but it’s also freeing, like I’ve confessed a secret that’s been slowly squeezing me to death.

Micah runs a hand through his mohawk. The humidity has mostly flattened it. “And then he dumped you at your job, in front of your friends.”

“He probably figured it was the one place I wouldn’t make a scene.”

“Do you do that with everyone?” Micah puts the car in
PARK
and leans toward the passenger-side window.

“Do what?”

“Make excuses for their shitty behavior?”

My eyes widen. Do I? “I have no idea,” I admit.

“It’s kind of a nice quality,” he says. “But it’ll probably set you up to get hurt a lot.”

The way he says the last part makes me think we might not be talking about me anymore.

I’m about to ask him for clarification when I notice his gaze has drifted slightly lower and he can totally see down the front of my dress.

I back away from the window and adjust my neckline so I’m safely covered. “Perv.” I frown.

He grins, not at all embarrassed about being caught. “Like I said, I’ll try to be more of a dick from now on.”

“Good start.” I turn around and head for my front door.

“Why do you want him back anyway?” Micah shouts after me. “You really don’t think you deserve better?”

“I don’t want better,” I say, walking closer to the car. “I want my life back, with my boyfriend who likes the same things I do. I want the senior year I’ve been planning for since I started dating Jay. Homecoming. Prom. Soccer championships. Even graduation. Do you know how many times I’ve imagined all of those things?” I can hear my voice rising in pitch. I need to calm down before I wake one of my parents. “But I never imagined them without Jason. Nothing will be the same without him.”

Micah nods slowly. “I know what you’re saying. I guess I’m just wondering how we know when to give up and move on.”

I shake my head. “Not yet. I’m not ready to quit fighting.”

I
dream the same dream all night. It’s the first day of senior year. I’m at my locker when the lights fade and rock music starts to pulse from the intercom speakers. Micah appears in front of me, out of nowhere. He reaches out to touch my hair but it feels all wrong, like an alien has taken over his body. And then I notice he’s wearing Jason’s soccer uniform. I push him away and he floats backward across the hall. Two girls dressed all in black look up from where they’re seated cross-legged on the floor, no doubt copying each other’s homework. Ebony and Amber. Neither of them even go to Hazelton High, but you can’t argue with a dream. Ebony pulls a plastic-looking gun from her purse and points it at me. I recoil backward against my locker as a teal paintball explodes across my chest. “Matches your streak,” Ebony says. She, Amber, and Micah all start to melt into the wall behind them. As they disappear, the lights come back and the music fades. I’m standing in the hallway
all alone, covered in paint.