Love Songs & Other Lies(14)
Personality Traits: Pathological liar. Temptress. Not in a fucking band.
By the second song I’ve drifted out of myself, letting my nerves slip away. By the third, I feel like someone else, and also more like myself than I have in months. I’ve forgotten about everything around me and everything behind me. Each time a song ends, Anders yells out, “Hell, yes!” or “Fuck yeah!” from behind his set. I guess he’s into it. I close my eyes and feel the vibration of the music run through me, the bass drum pounding in my chest like a second heartbeat, the heat in my fingers against the cold strings. The bass tingles in my toes.
I’m not sure exactly when it happens, because of my music-induced mind-buzz. During a chorus—when Anders’s shout pulls me out of my thoughts again—I see her. She’s leaning against the doorway, a white binder in her hands and a purple messenger bag hanging from her shoulder. My stomach bottoms out at the thought that it might be her. I recognize this girl. She’s in a couple of my classes.
As the song ends, Logan waves the girl over. “This is VA. She’s our official manager. And unofficial groupie.”
VA Day.
“You know I hate that word, Logan.” Her hands go to her hips and she’s glaring at him, but her voice is still friendly. “It makes it sound like I’m here to have sex with everybody.”
“Well…” A giant smile spreads across Logan’s face and he’s ducking away from her before she even moves.
They move in sync like stuntmen. She aims low, anticipating him, landing a smack across his shoulder. “Logan Samuel Hart.”
Logan throws his hands up in the air. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Settle down.”
“He”—her pointed finger is aimed at me—“doesn’t know that.”
Logan turns to me with a serious face. “Listen.” His voice is deadpan. “She’s not here to have sex with all of us.” He turns back to her with a mocking grin. “There, now he knows. It’s official.” He puts two fingers to his forehead in a tiny salute. She’s shaking her head and smacking her fist into her palm, but a smile is already starting to play at the corners of her mouth. Obviously, they’re friends—or siblings.
“I’m Vee.” She finally sticks her hand out to me, shaking her head and smiling. “Only Logan calls me VA.”
“Cameron. I’m in your math class, actually.”
“Right.” She nods, lazily, and I have to remind myself that she doesn’t know me. And she’s blissfully unaware of just how much I know about her. “Hey, Cam.”
Cam? Huh. Interesting. Everyone has always called me Cameron. All three syllables, every time. My mom used to say that if she wanted people to call me Cam, she would have named me that.
Am I a “Cam” now? I guess I can roll with it. “What’s the VA stand for?” Friends can ask that sort of thing. We’re friends now, right? You already “Cam”-ed me, after all.
“Virginia.”
“Like the state.”
“The nineties song,” Anders says, smiling. “‘Meet Virginia’?”
I shake my head. I don’t know it.
Anders starts humming and Logan sings, “Meet Virginia, I can’t wait to meet Virginia—”
She rolls her eyes. “No one calls me that, though. Just Vee. Or VA, if you want to be like Logan.” The way she says it makes me think I don’t.
Vee. VA. Virginia … Ginny. Definitely her.
She’s nothing like I imagined. She isn’t ridiculously thin. No giant tree trunk legs. Her hair is long, in waves over her shoulders, a million shades of brown and blond. Still, seeing her now it all fits together in my mind. Even in her faded jeans, I can imagine her in the leather pants of my mental picture; the tattered T-shirt hanging off her shoulder, the crazy hair. Maybe it’s in there somewhere.
Vee opens her binder, pulling out small squares of yellow paper. “Parking passes for the gig at Carnivale this weekend.”
The bar gig.
“Put them in your windshield and we can park in the reserved spaces to unload.” She hands one to each of the guys, stopping in front of me and looking over to Logan and Anders.
“You in, Cam?” Anders makes a show of crossing his fingers in front of him and looking up to the sky as if he’s praying.
“I’m in.” The words escape so quickly, I almost don’t have time to second-guess them. Almost.
A huge smile fills Vee’s face as she begins slowly chanting, “Cam! Cam! Cam!” Everyone joins in, clapping and shouting. Anders beats on his drum. Logan plays a crazy riff on his guitar. Looking at Vee—cheeks red against her light hair—it feels like a fifty-pound weight has dropped from around my neck, as I realize that this is my chance to start over. To be a new version of me.
Cam.
Cam has zero baggage—no complicated past. People don’t look at him like he’s going to break. There are no expectations for Cam.
Cam is freedom.
My fresh start.
VIRGINIA
I’m sitting in my usual corner, across from the band, scribbling down the last of my Calc exercises. The guys are herding up the stairs to the kitchen, like it’s filled with naked girls. Or beer … I imagine the reactions are similar. Usually everyone has at least one can under their belt by now, but I don’t see any empties lying around. Either Cam’s appearance distracted them, or Logan’s older brother Drew hasn’t been home from college to replenish the stash they keep in the garage. Tucking my book into my bag, I’m ready to head upstairs to grab a snack, when I see that Cam’s still sitting on a stool next to the equipment, guitar in hand. Just a few feet away. He’s playing softly, unplugged, and the song becomes familiar as it grows louder.