The Distance Between Us(47)

Skye moves in front of me and pets my shoulders. I must’ve gone completely catatonic. “It’s probably not a big deal. Even if she is pregnant it’s not a big deal.”

“She’s not pregnant,” I insist. “She’s too old to be pregnant.”

Skye laughs. “She’s only thirty-five.” Her phone chimes and she pulls it out and smiles after reading the text. “It’s Henry. The band is hanging out at Scream Shout. You want to go?”

I look at the now-solid light on the answering machine. Then I glance at the door. I can’t catch my breath. When will my mom be home? I need to ask her about this. But will she tell me? She’s been refusing to tell me anything for weeks now.

It’s nothing. My mom is fine. Standard procedure. “Yes. I’ll be right down. Give me one minute.”

She hesitates but then leaves. I scribble a note about spending the night at Skye’s and leave it on the counter. I pack a few things in my backpack and lock the door behind me.



We walk into Scream Shout and it’s practically deserted. The bartender points to the door off to the side of the stage when Skye gives him the questioning shoulder raise. Then she marches across the club and straight to the door. Music from a back room seeps down the dim hall. We follow the sound. The band is sitting on couches in a small back room and look up when we enter.

Henry greets Skye by singing a soft “There’s my beautiful girl,” accompanied by a few strums of his guitar.

She smiles and slides into the small space between him and the arm of the couch.

Mason winks at me. “Hey, Caymen.”

“Hi.” I throw my backpack against the wall, find some floor space, and settle in. I just want to melt into the floor and fade from existence for a while. It seems to work as the guys start goofing around with lyrics and music. I let the blended melodies bounce around inside me.

Derrick, the drummer, randomly sings about his day. How he drove in his car and listened to the radio. How he went to the store and picked up some milk and on and on. I stop listening until he asks, “What rhymes with ‘fire hydrant’?”

Mason gets serious and I think he’s going to say something like “Don’t be an idiot. Why are you singing about a fire hydrant?” But instead he says, “I don’t know, ‘wire tyrant’?”

“What’s a wire tyrant?” Henry asks.

“You know, someone who hoards all the wire. It’s a rising epidemic.”

I give a small laugh.

“How about ‘tired rant’?” Skye says. “If you draw it out, it rhymes good enough.”

“This is our tired rant about a useless fire hydrant,” Henry sings.

Mason laughs. “This is our tired rant about Henry the wire tyrant.”

“How can a rant be tired?” I ask. “Aren’t rants by nature lively?”

Henry strums a chord, looks up at the ceiling for a minute while playing several more chords, then sings, “I’m so tired of the same old rant when what I really need is a second chance.”

Mason points at him. “Yes. Let’s call this song ‘Fire Hydrant.’”

They laugh, but Derrick starts writing on a notepad as they yell out more lines about making up and starting over. I don’t believe I just witnessed the birth of a song that started out with the words “fire hydrant.” It’s weird to see something created from nothing. I think about myself and how Xander is trying to create something out of my nothing life. How he kind of has. He took the ridiculousness, the fire hydrant, from my song and made me realize it could be something more, something different.

After the day I had, this thought makes me happy. I start shouting out lines with them. They get pretty far on the song before ridiculousness is reintroduced when someone yells, “And why won’t you just let me eat turtle soup?”

Skye gasps in offense but then everyone laughs.



At ten o’clock the laughter has not ceased. We’ve gotten past laughter and into slaphappy stupidity. Skye is on the floor draped across me. “I better get you home, little girl,” she says. “It’s a school night for the underage one.”

“I’m spending the night at your house!” I yell.

“You are?”

“That’s what my note told me so it must be true.”

“Yay! Slumber party.”

“We should toilet paper someone’s house,” I say.

“Yes. We should TP someone’s house. Whose?”

“I don’t know.” Then I raise my hand like she’s a teacher. “Xander’s!”

She laughs. “Who wants to TP Xander’s house?”

The guys just look at us and groan.

“We don’t need you.” I stand. “Let’s go.”

Skye runs ahead, but just as I clear the door, I’m tugged back by my arm. I whirl around and face-plant against Mason’s chest. We’re standing just outside the door in the dim corridor.

He kisses my cheek. “You left without saying good-bye.”

I step back and meet his eyes. “I’m . . .”

He blinks hard. “You and Xander, huh?”

“I think so.”

“Are you sure you fit?”