Scar Girl (The Scar Boys #2)(15)

HARBINGER JONES


The silences between us are almost always awkward.





CHEYENNE BELLE


When we finally got to Richie’s house he wasn’t there. Mr. Mac, his dad, told us that he’d come home after school, grabbed his skateboard, and left. We thanked him and went to Richie’s usual skating spot, the playground at PS 28, where Johnny and Richie went to grade school. (Even though they all lived close together, Harry was districted for a different school, PS some number I can’t remember.)

Sure enough, Richie was there, just kind of skating in circles by himself. He had a Walkman on his hip and headphones on his ears.

We sat and watched for a minute from the car.

“I envy that,” Harry said, as much to himself as to me.

“What do you mean?”

“Look at him. He’s completely lost in the moment. It’s like the world outside doesn’t exist.”

“And?”

“Don’t you wish you could feel like that sometimes?”

“Who, me?”

“No. I mean, maybe. I guess I mean me.”

I stared at him, thinking he must be kidding. When he looked over at me, I could see he was surprised.

“What?”

“Harry, have you ever seen yourself play the guitar?”

A flash of understanding made its way across his face, and he smiled. It’s a weird and unusual smile, but I still think it’s beautiful. He stepped out of the car to go get Richie.

I watched as Harry trudged to the playground. It’s amazing how he looks completely normal from the back. I mean, that’s got to be hard. Someone is behind you in line at the store, then you turn around, and wham!

Harry startled Richie, who fell off his board but laughed anyway. Harry helped him up, said something to him, and then they both looked at the car. Richie nodded and followed Harry back.

“What up, short stuff?” It was Richie’s standard greeting for me. “Are we picking up Johnny, too?”

I didn’t know what to say. Luckily, Harry did.

“John’s not feeling so hot today, so we thought we would jam with just the three of us. You know, like in Athens.”

Richie, being Richie, sat back and said, “Okay.” And that was that.

When we got to Harry’s house, Richie and I went to the basement while Harry went upstairs to talk to his mom about something. Richie took his seat behind the drums, and I sat down on my amp. I looked him in the eye.

Like I said earlier, Richie and I didn’t talk much, so he wasn’t really expecting anything from me. He was kind of in his own world when he noticed me staring him down.

“Yo,” he said.

“Yo,” I answered. “So what did Harry tell you about why we’re jamming on our day off?”

He raised one eyebrow and said, “He just told me that you were in a place that you needed to jam. As you know, I can respect that.”

“You didn’t ask why?”

“Didn’t need to. A dude—or dudette—needs to jam, you jam. Why, you pregnant or something?”

Holy crap, I was not expecting that, and it must’ve showed all over my face. I was too stunned to answer.

Richie was quiet for a moment while he looked at me like a puppy, with his head cocked to one side. Then he saw something—maybe it was my eyes, maybe it was my boobs, and, yeah, he looked there, too—that gave me away.

“Holy fuck,” he said. “I was just kidding. For real, you’re pregnant?” I nodded, and he paused a beat before asking, “Does Johnny know?”

“No! And neither does Harry, and you can’t tell them, all right?”

He nodded. “Damn, you feeling okay?”

And you know what? Of the few people I’d told—Theresa, the priest—the only one who bothered to ask how I was feeling was Richie. Everyone else got lost in their own hang-ups. Theresa was still lost in the tragedy of her own experience, and the priest was lost in the rules of Mother Church. They both saw my pregnancy as their problem or their opportunity. Only Richie saw it as mine.

He isn’t always the sharpest tool in the shed—I don’t know, maybe that’s not a fair thing to say; more like he’s not always the most interested tool in the shed—but he’s probably the most decent. It also felt really good and really scary that someone in the band knew.





RICHIE MCGILL


When Chey told me she was pregnant, I was completely freaking out on the inside. I mean, she was pregnant! I wanted to ask her all sorts of questions—Was she gonna keep it? How could she play bass when, you know, she got big and stuff? Could she feel it squirming around inside her?—but I didn’t. I could tell she wanted her space, so I kept my trap shut. I’m pretty good at that. I guess that’s why the other guys in the band tell me stuff. I’m good with secrets. I hate them, but I’m good with them.





CHEYENNE BELLE


When Harry came back into the room, you could feel the tension. It was like waves pounding a beach. He looked at me and Richie, waiting for us to say something.

Richie, true to his word, kept my secret. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s make some noise.” And we played.

For a little while, everything was great. It’s always great when we play music. It’s like it connects me to the rest of the world.