Love Songs & Other Lies(22)
“And you don’t think it does?” She turns to look at me, her cheek pressed against the headrest. “You don’t think that’s basically the definition of caring about someone? I mean, if your best friend isn’t the person who knows the most about you, how else would you define it?”
If she had heard all the people who talked to me nonstop for the last ten months, their words piling up meaninglessly like their frozen meals—words for the sake of words—she would never ask me this. “I don’t think you have to know someone’s life story to care about them.” Even with the music, I swear I can hear my own breathing, acutely aware of how loud it is. Why does she make me so goddamn nervous? Maybe I’ve become completely socially inept over the last few months. “What you don’t say means more, sometimes.”
Vee sits with her head back until we pass the school, but her eyes are open now. Something feels different. The air around us feels full, heavier, like the last moments before a rainstorm. “It’s just a few more blocks. Sycamore. Fifth house on the right.”
Her house is small, just off the main street that runs through downtown. It’s yellow, with navy blue shutters, and the lights are all off. Putting the car in park, I turn the music down. Is she out past curfew? It’s already after midnight, but she doesn’t seem to be in a rush.
“Why don’t you play in front of anyone?” As soon as the words come out, I regret them. I’m asking questions. Why am I talking?
“I’m just terrified.” She’s twisting a silver ring around her little finger. “I don’t even know what of.” There’s a long stretch of silence. I don’t know if she’s going to speak again, and I don’t want to break it. She finally does. “Terrified they’ll hate me, maybe.” She sighs.
My stomach is twisting under my ribs like the first time I went out onstage with my guitar, wondering if the crowd would like me.
She’s taken her ring off completely, fingering it in her palm. “I started playing when I was eight. I was always writing these poems and making up little songs. So Nonni”—she turns to look at me—“that’s my grandma. She bought me this pink kids’ guitar for my birthday, and I taught myself to play watching online videos. Then Logan and I became friends, and a few years later he talked me into playing at the school talent show. We practiced this stupid song for weeks and I loved it. But onstage, I just froze.” She shrugs. “And I know this sounds completely cliché and stupid, and not a good reason at all.” She looks at me and rolls her eyes. “But I just sat there. Logan played that entire song by himself and he was amazing. People were floored by him.”
“And he was a jerk about it, or what?”
“Not at all. He felt horrible. And that made me feel horrible.” She pushes the ring back onto her finger. “I didn’t want him to feel bad about something he was so good at. That’s messed up.” She’s picking at her fingernails, scraping at the purple polish. “So I acted like it wasn’t a big deal. Said I didn’t even want to play anymore. And as far as most people know, I don’t. It’s still this annoying ‘remember that time’ story for a lot of people. Like that’s the one stupid thing people can remember about me. ‘Remember when you were ten and totally froze onstage?’ It’s hard to break out of that, to feel like you’re not that person.”
“That’s crazy.” I stare at her, wondering how she could be so confident about every detail concerning the band, and so completely unsure of herself.
“It is what it is.” Her voice is rough and quiet. And resigned.
I want to tell her that she’s crazy, and she has played for someone else. And he thinks she’s amazing. But I can’t say any of that. I have zero clue what to say right now. I should probably just let it go, but I can’t. I know all about reinventing yourself, and that’s exactly what she needs. “But what if it’s not ‘what it is’? What if I could fix you?” I regret the words the second they fall out of my mouth.
“Fix me?” Vee’s giving me the same look Logan got for saying she shouldn’t drive my car.
“Not—I just mean—sorry. I just—I think I know how to get you over it. If you want to try. I promise no talent shows will be involved.” I paint an “X” over my heart with my finger. “And no one else has to know if you don’t want them to.”
She doesn’t say anything, but finally she nods.
“What you need is an alter ego.” Her head swings toward me and I have her attention. “You need a completely different persona. Someone who isn’t afraid. No baggage with playing.” I give her my most serious face. “It won’t be easy. But it will definitely be fun.”
She finally smiles and the tension starts to dissipate. We sit in the dark, both of us silent as we stare out at her navy blue garage door. The paint is peeling. I’m counting the squares when she finally speaks again.
“This is good timing.” She’s nodding like she wants to convince herself of something. “It’s time to change things up, right? Say yes to new things.”
I know exactly what you mean. “It’s a great time to say yes,” I say, holding back a smile and keeping my voice even. “Say yes to everything.” I can’t help myself. It feels like I’m standing backward on the edge of a cliff, just waiting to be pushed off. Her eyes meet mine. And I swear to myself I’ve sat behind that curtain for the last time, because my heart is about to explode as I wonder if she’s about to call me out.