Tone Deaf(35)

A hand taps my shoulder, and I give a little yelp of surprise as I whirl around. Killer stands there, although I’m not sure exactly when he came inside the RV. He peers over my shoulder at the screen, and, even with his nerd glasses, he has to squint.

Killer nods toward the laptop. “What’cha doing on a lyrics site, darling?”

Without any invitation, he sits on the edge of the desk and leans in to get a closer look at the screen. I take a deep breath and resist the urge to shove him away. Killer seems to take the hint, because he backs off like half an inch, which I have a feeling is a pretty big move for him. Then he proceeds to nudge my hand away from the mouse, click on the History bar, and scroll through my latest page visits. He turns and grins at me, like he’s not doing something totally invasive and annoying.

“Sooo,” he says, drawing out the word. He clicks open a blank text document and tilts the keyboard toward himself, his fingers flying across the keys as he types out a message: You like Jace’s lyrics?

I shrug. “They’re all right.”

He rolls his eyes and types a little more, then spins my chair so it faces the screen directly. Millions of girls don’t fall in love with “all right.” Jace’s lyrics are phenomenal. The dude’s got talent.

I raise my eyebrows. “You do realize you’re calling your own band talented, don’t you?” Killer just busts out laughing, like my response is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. Then he squeezes my shoulder in an awkward little hug. “Darling, I like you,” he announces.

“Um, okay?”

You’re cute, you know that? he types, turning back to the screen. I forget how cute girls can be. It’s just not cute at all when they’re strangely obsessed with you. But you’re not obsessed, and that makes you cute.

I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I just nod. Killer smiles in return and, to my relief, backs away another inch.

Then he wags a finger at me, like I’m a puppy who’s peed on the carpet, and types out another message. And Jace is a fabulous musician. His lyrics are awesome, and his music is awesome, and you can’t deny it.

“Okay?”

He sighs, and his glasses slip to the tip of his nose as he stares down with an exasperated look. Can’t you sound a little more enthusiastic about his awesomeness?

“Yippee?”

No. Try ditching the question at the end.

I give him my best you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look. “Jace is awesome. Hooray.”

Much better! Now add some excited arm flailing.

Jace strides out of the kitchen and turns to me, a frown on his lips. “Why are you talking to yourself?” he asks, and heat floods my cheeks as I realize how crazy our half-typed conversation must sound. Then Jace sees Killer and the messages on my screen. “Oh.”

Killer waves him away. “I’m just teaching Ali how to get excited over something,” he says out loud. “I don’t think she’s quite grasping the concept, but with a little coaching, she’ll have it down eventually.”

“I’m sitting right here, you know,” I snap. “And I can read lips.”

Killer winks at me, his mouth lifting in a playful smile that tells me he’s just teasing. Oh. I try to smile back a little, making the expression apologetic. I might have good reason for mistrusting guys, but I guess I shouldn’t assume Killer is the type to intentionally cause harm.

Jace’s chest moves up and down in a groan. “Excuse him,” Jace says to me as he strides over to the desk. “Killer is socially inept and an idiot and very rude to company.”

I cross my arms over my chest and look Jace right in the eye. “I like him.”

“Well, then you can keep him,” Jace says. “Seriously, keep him with you when you get to New York. It’d solve a lot of problems.”

Killer turns to rattle off some retort. I can’t see his lips from this angle, but judging by Jace’s amused expression, Killer’s language is getting pretty colorful.

Turning back to the computer screen, I leave the two to their bickering. I close the text document and the Internet browser, before Jace can read anything and start asking why I’m so interested in his lyrics. Not that I’d answer him. It’s like I keep finding a little piece of myself in each of his songs, and some part of me thinks that maybe if I read all his lyrics, then I’ll understand myself. But that sounds stupid even to me, and I’d never admit anything like that out loud.

As I click out of the browser, I find myself staring at Jace’s desktop background again. When he asked me not to change it, I figured it would be some sentimental picture. I should have known better. Instead of a picture, the desktop is a plain white box with the words Serva me, servabo te written in it.

“What does that mean?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“What does what mean?” Jace asks.

I point to the computer. “Your desktop. What do those words mean?”

“It’s an old Latin saying,” Jace says. Then he hesitantly adds, “My mom used to always wear this locket with those words engraved on it. It was a family heirloom. My dad lost the locket, but I like to keep the phrase around.”

“But what does it mean?” I insist.

He bites his lip and stares hard at the screen. Then he murmurs, “It means hope.”