Scar Girl (The Scar Boys #2)(36)

But rather than tell Johnny about all the loot, I just gave a vague answer. “You know, the usual embarrassment of riches. You?”

“The same,” he said. “So listen.” It was his serious-Johnny voice. “I’m worried.” I expected him to say he was worried about me, about how distant I’d been. “I’m worried about Chey.”

“Chey? What about Chey?” My brain was trying to catch up.

He was quiet.

“John, if this is about that night at the Bitter End, you need to let it go. It was a one-time thing.”

“It’s more than that. She’s been really distant lately, like she’s pushing me away.” I’d been so busy pushing the two of them away that I hadn’t noticed. Or maybe I had but was deliberately not paying attention. “Has she talked to you?” Johnny’s voice cracked on the last you. “I mean, you and Chey seem pretty close. She seemed to really connect with ‘Pleasant Sounds.’”

And there we were, to the heart of the matter. Johnny McKenna, the once great and mighty Johnny McKenna, was actually jealous of me, and not just jealous of me, but jealous of me and Chey. I would be a big fat liar to suggest that some small and thoroughly unlikable part of me didn’t smile on the inside.

“No, Johnny,” I said softly, but as firmly as I could. “I haven’t seen Chey outside of the band since that day I first played ‘Pleasant Sounds’ at your house.” Then I thought for a second and added, “I’ve been taking a breather from everything.”

He let out a big breath of air. “Okay, Harry, thanks,” he said, ignoring the opening I was giving him to really talk. I think by that point, Johnny was starting to check out of reality.

“Dude, why don’t you just call her and talk to her?”

“I tried to invite her for Christmas dinner, but she made up some story about having to go to her aunt’s house.”

“Did you stop to think that maybe she really did have to go to her aunt’s house?”

Silence.

“Call her, John. Remember what happened last time you shut her out?”

“Yeah,” he said after a minute. “I guess you’re right.”

“If you would just start with that presumption, the world would be a better place.”

“Huh?”

“Start with the presumption that I’m right. That if I’m right, the world would be a better place. It’s a joke.”

Finally, I heard a chuckle. “Asshole.” That was the old Johnny. “Tell your parents I said Merry Christmas, too,” he said, meaning to end the call. “Wait,” I said.

Silence.

There was something stopping me from hanging up. Like a feather tickling my brain, and not in a good way.

“Listen,” I started, but I didn’t know how to finish. At this point in the conversation Johnny would normally jump in and seize control, but not today. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit, I don’t know, distant. Like you said at rehearsal, maybe I haven’t been all here.”

“Is everything okay?” He sounded genuinely concerned. Like he really wanted to help me. Like he felt bad for not asking. That’s the kind of friend he was.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve just been taking some time to clear my head. It’s been a crazy year.” There was a pause, and then I realized it had been a much worse year for him. “I mean not as crazy as your year, but still kind of crazy.”

“It’s okay, Harry. I understand.”

“Anyway, I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

There was a sigh on the other end of the phone. I couldn’t read between the lines of that sigh. Was Johnny exasperated with me? Was he as tired of my bullshit as I was of his? Or was he just tired, and sad?

“Anyway, like I said,” he started again, “tell your folks I say Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah, man, I know they’d wish you the same.”





CHEYENNE BELLE


I figured Johnny was pissed at me for blowing him off for Christmas dinner, and I wasn’t even sure we were still going out—we hadn’t had a private moment since the Bitter End gig—so I was surprised he called me the next day.

I was in my room, enjoying my one and only Christmas present, a Rubik’s Cube from my youngest sister, Katherine. With so many Belle girls to deal with, instead of everyone doling out presents to everyone else, our family held a Christmas grab bag. Each December first, while we were putting up our fake Christmas tree with the garland and decorations already on it (and, of course, our nativity scene, because God knows you can’t have Christmas without a really tacky nativity scene), we would each pull the name of one family member out of a hat. For a while it was just the seven sisters, but since last year, even my parents threw their names in. They still bought presents for the three kids under twelve, but for the rest of us it was the luck of the draw.

I got Agnes. She’s easy to shop for; just find something sensible. I got her a set of very nice colored pens. They were what the bookstore called sidelines, and I got them at a big discount. She seemed to really like them. As for my Rubik’s Cube, for a present from a seven-year-old, it was pretty good. And, hey, it’s the thought that counts.

Anyway, I was getting pretty wrapped up in trying to make the damn thing work but could never get more than one side at a time to match colors. I wanted to give it to Harry to see how he would do with it. I also wanted to smash it with a hammer. Anyway, that’s what I was doing when the phone rang. A minute later, my mother was calling up to me.