Black Bird of the Gallows(27)

I grind my teeth and pluck out the simple fourteen notes I’d been screwing up for the past half hour. “Yeah, so?”

Lacey smacks my leg. “You make us jump through hoops, tell a thousand lies to keep this alter ego of yours secret because of some social phobia you have. Then, this new guy shows up and you’re fine with him knowing. I get that you have the hots for him, but—”

“It’s not some social phobia. My music is a separate thing.” Why must I keep explaining this? “You’ve never been national news. It’s traumatizing.”

Lacey gives me a stern look. “Sparo is not national news.”

“But I was.” Sweat breaks out on my palms and I crack, just a little. Enough to finally admit the truth. “I don’t want my music to be listened to in the context of the girl with the dead junkie mother. My music is untouched by all that. Don’t you understand? I don’t want those stories—my life with her—to infect it.”

“Angie, your mother isn’t a disease,” Lacey says, nose scrunched. “She can’t contaminate your music. Or you.”

But that’s what I’m terrified of. Half afraid it’s already happening. “Just forget it. It’s done. Reece knows, and I didn’t just tell him. He accidentally saw me Friday night in the parking lot. I didn’t have my glasses on.” I slice a hand through the air. “Not that it matters. He wasn’t all that impressed.”

It shouldn’t bother me so much. Reece has far bigger issues than me or my part-time job.

Deno, who had been carefully—and wisely—quiet, appears relieved the conversation is steering back to a safe topic. “The music must be too complex for him.”

“I don’t think it’s that, not that it matters.” I fiddle with the knobs of my guitar pickups. “I’m sure Kiera told him some lovely stories about my mother and me. The ‘prostitute’ one is always a fan favorite.”

“Anyone who listens to Kiera Shaw isn’t worth your time,” Deno declares. “So there’s your litmus test for Reece.”

A smile curves Lacey’s lips. “Litmus test. Nice, Deno.”

“That’s right.” He tosses back his head. “Who’s the Neanderthal now?”

If only it were that simple. If Deno and Lacey knew what I know about Reece, they’d agree that Kiera’s blather is the least of my concerns with him. If only he weren’t so complicated. And interesting. And possibly not human. If only I didn’t know things about him that no one else does. And there’s that sadness that drapes over him like a cloak. Those lost, broken eyes that no one seems to notice but me.

Roger’s ears prick up at the sound of footsteps on the basement stairs. It’s my dad, and there’s a spring in his step. He’s excited about something, and it’s not the ginger-carrot smoothies he’s been pounding lately. He knocks on the door, sticks his head through. “Hi Deno, Lacey.” His face is flushed. “Angie, there’s a boy here.”

I’m not sure, but I might be a little offended by the surprise in his voice. “Okay. Who is it?”

His gaze flickers to the stairs, and he drops his voice to a whisper. “It’s the kid next door, I think. I don’t know his name.”

By some miracle, my friends keep quiet as my dad delivers this news. I, on the other hand, instantly turn into a jumble of nerves. “Did he say what he wanted?”

“He didn’t. He just asked to speak with you.” Dad’s voice is still incredulous, and yeah, I am a little offended.

A dozen thoughts crowd my head at once. Very few of them are good. He came here, to me, after clearly telling me to leave him alone. “Okay.” The word exits more evenly than the breath pulled in to form it. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

Deno lets out a low whistle as soon as my dad is gone. “And you didn’t think you left an impression.”

“Go, Angie.” Lacey wiggles her brows. “This is exciting.”

“It’s not. I don’t know what he wants.” I place my guitar on its stand and chew on my bottom lip. I’m not sure I want to know why he’s here.

“Well, go find out,” Deno says. “And use complete sentences, instead of your usual grunting.”

“I don’t grunt.” I fiddle with the choppy ends of my hair. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. Make eye contact. So he doesn’t think you have social anxiety.”

“I do have social anxiety.”

“He doesn’t need to know that.”

Probably too late for that. I go to the door and look back. “I’ll be right back.”

Lacey smiles beatifically. “Oh, I hope not, Angie.”

Reece is in the foyer, alone, pacing. My dad is nowhere in sight, but I guarantee he’s not far. Reece’s hands are stuffed in the front pocket of a hooded sweatshirt. He pulls them out when I come into the room and rubs them on his thighs. “Hey,” he says, looking so very normal in a well-worn baseball cap.

“Hey yourself.” I cross the foyer on the balls of my feet—a nervous habit I hate—and uncross my arms, at a loss of what to do with them. “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to show up like this.” He peeks up at me, his face solemn. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”