Again, But Better(19)

“‘In the Sky with Diamonds,’” he confirms with a half smile.

There’s a beat of silence. My heart rams nervously. “I listened to Porcelain Trampoline yesterday,” I blurt.

His eyes light up. “And…”

And—why didn’t I prepare a beautifully thought-out review? I’m not quite sure what to say. I liked it, but I’m still upset about last night, and it’s making me wary of complimenting him.

“It was really good. I rated it four out of five stars.”

His grin stretches. “Four out of five? Why not five out of five?”

I stammer for a response. “Uh, with five out of five, there’s no room to grow! Maybe next time will be five stars.”

He laughs. “It’s okay, I’m just kidding.”

I nod and focus on the guitar instead of his face. “Are you working on new stuff?”

“Yeah, like I said, hoping to put out that next album while I’m here.”

“Oh, yeah! So, the five-star album is already in the making. Has London inspired you?” I say teasingly.

He blows out a breath. “Actually, a lot of family stuff,” he says more quietly. The way his demeanor changes throws me. Guarded. I shouldn’t have asked such a personal question. I falter for a second. Change the subject.

“You should start a YouTube channel so people can hear your music!”

He picks up the guitar, strums something, and stops. “I don’t know, maybe,” he muses unconvincingly. “Anyway, new album’s almost done. I’m just adding in little things here and there, and then sending it to Ted so he can make final tweaks.”

“You almost have two albums under your belt. That’s awesome…” I trail off as he starts to play again, and back away toward my own room, not wanting to impede on his guitar time.

“Shane,” he calls out, as I’m shoving my key into the lock. I pivot around.

“Yeah?”

He’s smiling now. “What time are we playing cards tonight?” The fuzzies bubble again.



* * *



The Skype call I scheduled with my parents rolls around before I’m ready for it. At 4:00 p.m. I dial them, swallowing hard at the nervous lump in my throat. Seconds later, their pixelated faces swim up in front of me—nicely framed, I may add. My how-to-frame-a-photo lectures have paid off. We exchange hellos and basic pleasantries. My palms are sweating.

“So, how’s it going?” my mother probes excitedly. “How’s class? Are your roommates on the premed track? I was looking at that brochure today and it sounds like it’s gonna be tough—you should make some friends in your program.”

My parents have a YU London Study Abroad—Premed Track brochure that I forged last semester. I trekked down to the YU study abroad office, took a brochure for each track offered in London, and put together a masterpiece.

“Guess what? I’m going to Rome this weekend!” I deflect.

Mom full-on gasps. “But you just got there.”

Dad’s brows knit together. “How much is that gonna cost?”

“Don’t worry, I’m using the money I’ve saved from working over breaks.”

Mom’s lips fall into a worried frown.

“And what happens when that runs out?” Dad asks bluntly.

Mom’s eyebrows shoot up. “Sal!”

“Hey! I’m just lookin’ out for our daughter.”

“I’ll work over the summer. Dad, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

He sighs. “Well, that’s great, I guess. Headed to the homeland, eh?” He smiles like he’s been to Italy.

“And you guys said learning Italian wouldn’t come in handy,” I add in a silly voice. Dad waves his hands dismissively.

Mom scoots her chair closer to the desktop and leans in toward the camera. “Make sure you’re careful! You’re wearing the cross-body purse like we talked about, right?”

“How’s class? This travel won’t affect your studies?” Dad asks.

“Have you made friends in your program?” Mom smiles. “Are you sleeping well? Eating healthy?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Ma, and everything’s going great! And yeah, um, one of my roommates is in my program … Sahra’s premed.”

Mom’s smile stretches. “Good! That’s great, Shane.” And then, just as quickly, it droops. “Oh my god, Shane, your nails!”

I quickly move my hands out of the shot. “Ma!”

“What did I tell you about leaving old nail polish on? It’s not professional. Let me see your nails again. They look terrible, Shane. Go out and get some nail polish remover.”

“Okay. I’ll pick some up.”

Dad interrupts. “You seeing any guys out there?”

I drop my head into my hands. “Dad,” I groan.

“Shane, really, your nails.”

I shove my hands under my thighs. “No! I’m not seeing any guys, gah! I’ve only been here for, like, three days. What’s going on there?”

Dad looks pointedly into the camera with his eyes all wide. “You know it’s okay for you to date people. I never said you can’t date!” This is, like, the third time we’ve been through this spiel. Dad’s already worried I’m going to die alone. Either that or he’s worried I’m gay. I have to check Dad and Uncle Dan on homophobic crap all the time.