In Your Dreams (Falling #4)(56)

“You were great!” one reads.

“You’re going to be a star,” another says.

I smirk because, yeah…if I have anything to do with it, she is.

I flip through a few more pages, noticing the one of me at the talent show, rapping and pointing to people in the crowd. Looking back on it, I wasn’t very good. But it didn’t matter, because…well…swagger.

After flipping a few more, I get to the blank pages in the back, and there are only a few signatures left. Some people just signed names. One guy drew a picture that she’s semi-scribbled out. I can tell what it is, though—I’m pretty sure I was friends with Mr. Cock and Balls. I flip a few more, and then there’s a rush that hits me like morphine in the spine.

In your dreams!

~ Casey Coffield

My heart isn’t beating. I think if I don’t move soon, I won’t be able to, because blood is no longer circulating in my body.

I’m a dick.

I’m a massive, unbelievably self-centered, insensitive dick.

The stutterer.

The girl in the freshman picture.

She wanted to sing in the talent show.

I repeated every word she said as she tried to sing it during her audition.

When she pulled out, I took her spot.

I was amazing.

Everyone loved me.

I’m a f*cking dick.

I hear her laughing with her brother less than twenty feet away, and my eyes are red and my veins are full of adrenaline. I have to leave. I can’t fix this. And those gray eyes are going to haunt me.

My mouth is watering as I shove the book back onto the shelf, aligning it so nothing looks out of place. I grab my hat from the ground and slide it over my head, holding my palms to my eyes and stretching out my mouth that wants to scream obscenities.

With a deep breath, I step through her door and move toward her brother’s room, my keys dangling from my thumb as if this is all nonchalant, as if I’m leaving because something came up or I have somewhere better to go. I force the idea in my head that I am not running away when in fact that is all that is happening now. I’m running away, because I’m a dick.

Life is performing.

I’m on stage in five, four, three…

“Hey,” I say, leaning into Lane’s room. He smiles and waves, and I feel like a fraud.

She turns her head toward me, her fingers working on a knot in a pair of rollerblades. I can’t look at her eyes, so I focus on that knot and her fingers and the color of the wheels. Orange. They’re orange.

“Sorry, I promised him I’d fix these earlier and I forgot. He’s meeting a friend, so it will just be a minute…”

“Actually,” I interrupt, cheating and finding her innocent eyes waiting. I look away the second our gazes touch, and I know she notices. I see enough to see her smile fall. I swallow, holding my phone up.

“It’s Houston. He needs some help with Leah, so I’ve gotta go. But…I’ll call you,” I lie. I’m a horrible liar, so I keep it simple. I say the words I’ve said to every other girl I’ve ever wanted to run from. Only this is different. This one—it burns.

“Oh.” She knows.

“Thanks, though…for…just thanks,” I stammer. My eyes fall to my feet and I pat the frame of the door, quickly putting one foot in front of the other and leaving without even acknowledging the goodbyes her mom and dad give as I head through the door.

I run away.

Because that’s exactly what *s like me do when they’re caught.

Fuck.





Chapter 11





Murphy


I’m clearly not built for boys and drama. One minute, my tummy was full of butterflies, and I wanted to freeze time and take back all of the eye rolls and sighs I’d given Casey Coffield over the years. Then he left just as quickly as he came, with an incredibly fake reason—and I wanted to choke him for being ridiculous and wasting my time.

And for making my heart flutter.

And for getting my hopes up.

For having hope that I was anything more than a project in the first place.

This is not how things progressed with the nerdy librarian and the guy who was way more into his bass guitar than me while we were dating last year. I thought those relationships were weird, because…well, the guys were weird. But now, I’m thinking that is normal, because this…it’s weird.

Of course, this is also not a relationship.

This is Casey Coffield, and honestly, this could all just be a convenient stop along the way taking over my songs and making them his and getting the credit for them. I don’t really think that’s what he’s doing, but that’s where my mind keeps going.

Thank god for Paul’s tonight. I need it to clear my head. I also think I might try something new.

When Casey blew out of my house all twitchy and neurotic, I locked myself in my room and finished writing. The music came fast. This tune that’s been stuck in my head for months was perfect. That song I was so embarrassed about—it isn’t sexy at all. It’s angry! And it’s snubbed and maybe a little bit of a women’s anthem.

I called it Tease, but I wrote a little note to myself underneath the title that says Fuck you, Casey Coffield.

I talked my friend Sam into coming tonight. She works Saturdays because she’s the lowest on the totem pole at the paper, and she takes all of the classified ad calls that come in. But the paper isn’t far from Paul’s. I’ve already requested to go on last, which is good, because I’ve been practicing the new song out here in the alley, and it’s only getting better.