Tone Deaf(25)

A movement in the corner of my eye cuts into my panicked thoughts. I whirl toward the couch, where I spot the moving object. A dog. A huge mutt that looks like a cross between a pit bull and the grim reaper. I stumble back.

Jace lets the door close, cutting off the light for a long moment. Then he flicks a switch, and the overhead lights illuminate the RV. I blink against the sudden brightness and take another step away from the dog.

The massive pit bull yawns, displaying two rows of glistening white teeth. Then it lazily stretches and jumps down from the couch, landing with a thump that shakes the floor. It trots over to Jace.

“This is Cuddles,” he says, nodding toward the dog.

I take a few more steps back and frown at his words, sure that I’d read his lips wrong. “What?”

He quickly finger spells the name for me. C-u-d-d-l-e-s. Then he sighs at my confused expression and says, “Killer named her. He likes to think he’s funny.”

Jace reaches down and scratches the dog’s head. As tall as he is, he doesn’t even have to bend over to reach her, and Cuddles wags her stump of a tail and opens her mouth. I cringe, but all she does is gently lick his hand.

Jace gives her one more pat and then glances over to me. I try to smile and pretend I’m not scared, but my lips are frozen, and my face feels cold and clammy, despite the heat outside.

“You don’t like dogs?” Jace signs.

“Not big ones.”

“I’ll go put her away for a while,” he says, grabbing her collar. “You guys can get acquainted later, I guess.”

Jace walks away with Cuddles, the giant mutt trailing along obediently after him. Her pawsteps send vibrations through the thin flooring of the RV, and I shudder, backing away.

Jace heads down the RV’s small hallway, into a room that I assume is his bedroom. I stand there anxiously tapping my foot and taking in my surroundings. I’ve never been in an RV before—we always traveled by plane when I was younger—but I imagine this RV is about as luxurious as they come. It’s way larger on the inside than I expected—from here, I can see a bathroom, a small living area with an office space tacked next to it, and an entrance to the kitchen. A short hall leads toward the back of the RV, where Jace has just disappeared to.

The furniture looks like it was all plucked straight from a magazine—sharp and modern designs, and fabrics in dramatic shades of blue. I think it should look stylish, but knowing that a nineteen-year-old guy lives here, it just gives the RV a hotel vibe, like it’s a home that’s never really been lived in.

The only personalized touches are the posters of bands on the pastel-blue walls. I read the titles one by one: Fall Out Boy, AWOLNATION, Forever the Sickest Kids. There are at least five more littering the walls, and I try not to look too surprised as I trail a finger over the glossy paper of the nearest one. Who would have guessed rock stars could get all fanatic about other bands?

I follow the posters into the living area, which has two couches facing each other and a giant flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. There’s a small mound of pillows and blankets on one of the couches, and I can practically hear it calling to me. I glance down the hall where Jace disappeared. I don’t want to look like I’m getting comfortable too quickly, but my feet are seriously about to drop off. I shake my head, deciding I don’t care what he thinks, and fall back into the pile of blankets.

There’s a thrashing movement from under me, and I shriek, the sound scraping my throat as it escapes. Jumping off the couch, I whirl around. What the heck is hiding under the blankets? Another dog? Dammit, I hope I didn’t just squish anything.

The blankets flop back, and staring up at me with bloodshot eyes is a young guy who I instantly recognize as a member of Tone Deaf. His name is Killer, I think. He was the one playing the keyboard at their concert the other night.

Avery’s always babbling about how adorable Killer is, but he doesn’t look like that right now. He’s squinting at me with an expression that screams of pain. I stumble back, gasping for breath and trying to assess the damage.

Killer takes one look at me and then groans and lets his head drop back into the pillows. He glares through half-closed eyes and doesn’t say anything, which just makes the whole thing more awkward. But he doesn’t seem to be in distress. So that’s good, right?

“Darling,” he finally says, his lips moving in a soft way that tells me he has a British accent, “it’s generally considered impolite to sit on someone with a hangover. Screaming is also rather rude.”

I stutter out a couple of incomprehensible words, unsure how to reply. Then I feel a hand tap my shoulder. It’s warm and gentle, and I immediately recognize the touch as Jace’s. I mumble an apology as I turn toward him.

Jace pulls away his hand and signs, “It’s going to be hard to hide you if you scream every time you see one of the band.”

“Sorry,” I sign lamely. “I’m a little on edge.”

“Yeah. I can tell.”

He glances over to the guy on the couch, who has taken the last few moments to fling the blanket back over his head. “That’s Killer,” Jace says to me, and then he finger spells the strange name to make sure I get it.

I nod and hesitantly say out loud, “Hi.”

Killer fishes a hand out of the blankets and gives me a limp wave.

Jace rolls his eyes. “Killer had a little too much to drink last night. You’ll have to excuse him. He’s a bit of a lightweight.”