Tone Deaf(28)

Arrow smirks at me, and I throw him a half-hearted glare. Killer is a nuisance and an ass, but he’s also loyal and devoted. Mostly to Arrow, but also to Tone Deaf. We never would have gotten the band off the ground without his tech skills.

“Next time, ask,” I say.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Our conversation is interrupted by coughing coming from the bathroom. A second later, I hear a faint splashing sound and try not to cringe.

Arrow raises an eyebrow at me. “Your girl bulimic?”

“She’s not my girl. Not by a long shot. And, no, I think she’s just getting over the flu.”

Liar, liar, liar. I grit my teeth against the fit my conscience is throwing. Sure, my conscience is about the size of a pea, but the little thing is devoted to my band. Lies don’t work well in our musical family.

But I can’t just blurt out the truth: that Ali doesn’t have the flu, that she’s terrified and worried and hurting. I recognize that expression she was wearing earlier, the one that probably just looks stressed to most people. But not to me. I can see the pain in the lines of her small frown, the anxiety in the way her eyes squint just a little. The expression screams of abuse, and years of it.

But it’s not my place to start blabbering about that. Chances are, Arrow will know I’m lying the moment he sees Ali and realizes how completely freaked out she is. But, for now, I’m not going to say a single word more about her abuse than absolutely necessary. Earlier, she’d seemed embarrassed when I mentioned that the band knew why she was running away, and I don’t want to make her feel any worse.

I glance toward the bathroom, wondering if I should go check on her. If she’s secluded herself in there, she probably doesn’t want to be bothered. But I also don’t want her to feel alone. I get the feeling she’s dealt with too much loneliness already.

Arrow grunts, bringing me back to our conversation. “Great. You brought a sick girl on board. What happens if she gives it to us all, and we miss the next concert?”

“Stop being a pessimist,” I snap.

“I’m just taking over for you,” Arrow says. “You’re always Mr. Worst Case Scenario, but that seems to have flown out the door since this girl showed up. That and your logic.”

I stand from the couch and head toward the bathroom. “I’m going to check on her.”

When I reach the bathroom, I gently knock on the door. “Ali? You okay?” I immediately feel like an idiot. She’s deaf. What am I expecting, for her to actually hear me? I knock harder, sending vibrations through the wall. A long second passes, and then the lock clicks, and Ali opens the door just a crack.

“Are you okay?” I repeat. “I heard you throw up.”

“I’m fine.” Her response is mumbled and scratchy.

“Liar,” I say.

Hypocrite, my conscience replies.

I sigh and lean against the doorframe, resting my head against the cool paneling. Then I raise my hands and sign, “Can I get you anything?”

“No.”

“You’re sure you don’t want a drink or something? I have a glass of water for you out here.”

“I’m fine.”

“You already told me that. And I already called you a liar.”

“Just go away.”

“You know, you’re in my RV. You can’t exactly start bossing me around.”

She bites her lip and looks down, and immediately, I feel like a jerk. Scratch that; I know I’m a jerk. What’s my problem, anyway? There must be something wrong with me, if I keep upsetting this girl. Not that I wasn’t aware of that before, but being a jerk has never felt bad. It’s felt comfortable and vital to survival. Now it just feels . . . wrong.

I shake away the thought and ask, “Do you want to go take a nap? You look like you haven’t slept much.”

She blushes in embarrassment and quickly rubs at her face, as if she’s trying to brush away her obvious exhaustion. She looks cute like that, all flustered and freckly. I’ve never liked freckles before, but hers are pale and sparse, and they’re kind of . . . adorable, I guess.

It’s a strange contrast to the rest of her. There’s nothing adorable about her oval face and refined features, or her dark auburn hair. No, not adorable. Just beautiful.

I take a step back. No, no, no. I’m not going to do this. I’m keeping this relationship completely, utterly platonic. Period.

“I’m fi—” She cuts off and sighs. “I’m good. I can just, um, hang out by the couches. Or the kitchen. Wherever I won’t get in the way.”

I push the door the rest of the way open, and Ali shuffles her feet so she faces the door of the RV, like she’s considering bolting. I step in front of her and do my best to offer a small smile. Her expression stays scared, telling me that the Friendly Jace look has failed. Time for tactic number two.

“Look, I told you that I was going to help you get to safety. Remember? And that means I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m not going to let anyone else hurt you. Got it?”

Her eyes grow wide, and for a moment, I think she might actually go along with it. Then her eyes narrow and she says, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

I shrug.

She sidesteps away from me. “I’m about to travel across the country with you, Jace. I want more than that.”