Love Songs & Other Lies(15)
“‘Yellow Shirt’?” I ask.
“Yeah.” His eyes are on me, but he keeps playing.
“I’ve never met anyone who actually knows The Icarus Account. They’re one of my favorites.” I’m trying to keep my excitement in check, but I love this song. I played it for Nonni a few days ago—it’s basically my personal anthem. Except you won’t catch me in a yellow shirt. For me, it’s purple.
He nods. His eyes drift from me to the guitar, then around the room. The only sound that fills the space is the melody of my favorite song, drifting from his fingertips, as we both stare at the dingy gray carpet.
“The guys are probably upstairs grabbing beers if you want one.” I wonder if he drinks. The guys getting drunk at practice is one of my pet peeves. I’m not opposed to drinking—I’m not looking to be a nun, or anything—it’s just that half of the time I end up having to drive one of them home when things get sloppy. Which is often. Logan’s dad is gone on business a lot and his mom lives in Florida with her new husband, Tomas. Even when Logan’s dad is around, he’s not interested in what goes on downstairs. Boys will be boys. I sometimes wonder if the guys can even play sober anymore. “They’re probably slamming them to catch up.”
“I’m good. It’ll be hard enough, trying to get home in this corn maze.” He’s still playing, softly humming along. I could hug him right now, but I just smile instead.
“Is there not a lot of corn in Wisconsin?” His eyes stay on the guitar strings. I’m not sure if he’s shaking his head or swaying along to the song, but I don’t care about corn. I’m just trying to fill silence.
“Do you ever play with them?” Cam drops a note, catching up again clumsily. “I mean, do you play? Guitar … or anything?” He suddenly seems nervous, his eyes drifting between me and his stumbling hands.
“I do, actually. But just for fun. Playing in public isn’t really my thing.” Playing my guitar makes me feel whole, and powerful. I feel honest when I play, like I can say anything. I can share my hurt and my anger, and let it all out, because no one hates you when you share your feelings in a song. Lyrics are full of gray area and room for interpretation. But the thought of playing in front of people makes me want to cry and puke and scream, all at the same time. It’s a great visual.
“Plus, it’s sort of a boys’ club. I doubt Logan would be interested in me playing with them.” I have no idea, because I’ve never asked. Logan hasn’t heard me play in five years. I’m not sure he even knows I still play. For the last few years, I’ve become the unofficial songwriter for the band. Most of the time that feels like enough.
“I guess it’s a girlfriend thing,” Cam says. There’s this apologetic smile plastered to his face that makes me a little nauseous, because Cam isn’t the first person to mistakenly peg us for a couple. Especially up until last year, before my best friend Cort graduated. With her and Anders dating, and Logan and me spending so much time with them, the four of us looked like a permanent double date. I’ve always suspected it’s the reason I’ve only had one serious boyfriend. Who turned out to be seriously disappointing. “You can blame Yoko Ono,” he adds.
“Oh.” I shake my head. “No. Logan and I aren’t … together.”
His lip twitches, like he wants to smile, and it makes me smile.
I can’t help but stare at his twitchy lips, while he plays my favorite song. “Logan’s one of my best friends. Anders, too. We’ve been friends forever.”
“Well, if you ever want to get together, just let me know. I’d love to play with you.” He shakes his head gently, his long hair falling in his eyes. “I mean I’m not weird about playing with girls.” His eyes are darting around the room again, looking anywhere but at me and I can’t help but laugh. “I just mean … I can do that … if you want someone to play with you…”
I think he just muttered “fuck,” and I burst into laughter.
“… and I realize how that sounds, and it’s not how I meant it.” He finally shuts up and smiles, showing off his perfect white teeth.
Everything about Cam feels polished and crisp, unlike the other guys, who are wearing hoodies and wrinkled T-shirts. Cam feels like a perfectly styled photo shoot, every prop in its place, every angle checked and rechecked. He doesn’t belong in Riverton any more than I belong in a band. As weird as it sounds, he doesn’t even belong in Logan’s dimly lit basement. He belongs on that surfboard, out in the sun.
CHAPTER FIVE
NOW
VIRGINIA
Nothing good can ever come after the words “There’s something I have to tell you.” Especially when Logan is looking at me like he knows he’s in trouble. He hasn’t looked this guilty since he convinced me to be in the basketball team’s date auction our junior year—and then forgot to bid on me. I had to go bowling with Jason Fetner, a brace-faced ninth-grade kid whose one redeeming quality was that Hampton (his pet hamster) had his own YouTube channel. It was adorable—still is.
We’re all squished in the front lounge of the bus, waiting for our tour briefing, now that the production crew has all flown in and boarded their matching bus. I’m sitting on one end of the leather couch, wedged between the upholstered wall and Logan. “What?”