Love Songs & Other Lies(32)

She nods against my arm but she doesn’t move. We lie in the darkness for hours, listening to the music drift down from the dunes, as her heart beats in rhythm against my shoulder. This isn’t what I came here for, but it’s what makes me stay. It’s what helps me forget.





VIRGINIA


Step Three: Exit Your Comfort Zone

I’m sitting in Cam’s car, in the leather pants he bought me and a vintage concert tee I found at a thrift shop. I cut open the neck and stitched it into a wide scoop, so it hangs over one shoulder. My guitar is in the backseat with Cam’s, and we’re pulling onto the dimly lit streets of a small beach town thirty minutes north of Riverton. We drive down the brick streets, past the gift shops and restaurants, until the road dumps us out onto a small beach.

“Dakota Gray and Parker Sunset are going out tonight.” My whole body had tensed when Cam said it this afternoon. I knew “going out” was code for singing. At first glance this beach is empty, but as we leave the car—pulling our guitars out behind us—I can hear the familiar sound of bongos. Do they give you a bongo the first time you buy weed? Or if you show up at a beach after sunset enough nights in a row? Is it part of a starter kit or something?

“God bless the stoners,” Cam says. “I came here once this summer thinking maybe the waves would be better.”

I give him a mocking look. I love harassing him about Lucy the surfboard.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m stupid. Whatever.” He’s waving his hands in front of him like he’s heard it a million times. Which he has. “What I did find here are more beach musicians.”

“So you brought me to get my first joint. That’s so sweet.” I know that’s not why we’re here, but it actually feels like the lesser of two evils at this point.

“You’re not as cute as you think you are.” He grabs my hand and starts to lead me toward the wooden stairs that stretch up into the dunes. “We’re here to play.”

“In front of people?” I plant my feet on the concrete, bringing us to a stop.

“For people. Baby steps.”

Before I can protest, Cam’s face is in front of mine and he’s tugging on the ends of the long black wig I’m wearing. I’m fully embracing Dakota Gray.

“No one knows you here. We’ll start out playing by ourselves, okay?” He’s giving me these pleading puppy dog eyes he’s so good at. “I really want to play with you. Will you let me play with you?” He’s smirking and I can’t stop the smile that’s creeping onto my face as he teases me.

“You can play with me,” I tease.

We make our way up the steep steps and take a seat on one of the wooden observation decks. We’re two levels up from where a group of dirty-looking guys—and maybe a girl?—are gathered with bongos and guitars. I can still hear the soft beat of their music, but we’re above them now and I can’t see them. They can’t see me.

Cam takes his guitar out first, and starts strumming a rhythm he’s been working on for weeks, playing in his living room while I sit on the couch doing homework or watching movies. He hums along as I do the same. My guitar is sitting on my lap, but I can’t bring myself to join him yet. I’ve known this song almost as long as he has. As soon as he had started playing it, I went home and learned it on my own. I’ve even added to it, and changed it.

“I know you have lyrics in your head,” he says over the music. “I can practically see them on your lips. They want out.” I get the puppy dog eyes again. “They need out, Vee.” He gives me a huge smile, and I start to lose my resolve. I don’t know if he even realizes it, but Cam doesn’t smile much. Not like Logan or Anders, who walk around with perpetual grins on their faces. Cam makes you work for it. Each smile he gives me is like a carefully wrapped present. And he’s right; there are absolutely lyrics trapped in me. But in my mind, the song he’s singing is different.

I take a deep breath and steel myself. “In my mind it’s actually a duet,” I say. “A two-part call-and-response.” Cam is looking at me with so much hope and excitement that I forget I’m supposed to be scared. I forget about that hidden fear, and that I don’t play in front of anyone. “Like this.” I pick the first few notes. “You keep playing, and I’ll add.”

Cam plays and I add a new rhythm line, and by the time the sun has fully set, Cam has started to add words and I’m beginning to feel alive. I didn’t even know I wasn’t, until this moment, when everything inside me began to open up, blossoming into something so much bigger. My heart starts to pound in rhythm to this song. Our first song.

There’s this girl, yeah this girl,

who makes the world seem

brighter than it’s ever been.

There’s her smile and her eyes

and I just wanna make her mine—

The lyrics Cam is singing aren’t the ones in my head. They’re better. I add my own response that mirrors his, and we trade verses back and forth, telling each other all the things we haven’t said. With the kind of honesty only lyrics can offer. And it’s not Dakota telling Parker how she feels; it’s Vee telling Cam. When it’s just the two of us and our guitars, there’s no room for anyone else.

When we play the final notes we’re staring at each other and it suddenly feels too quiet. I can hear the blades of dune grass scratching against each other, and our heavy breathing. The soft rush of the water as it rages toward the shore. I think I hear Cam blink. And then a strange rhythmic sound that doesn’t fit. I’m still staring at him. I wonder if this is what falling in love sounds like. Like butterfly wings in my ears and trumpets in my stomach and like the pound of bass in my chest. Until I realize it’s the sound of applause. I lean over the railing and the group on the deck below us is clapping and cheering. One of them is shaking a tambourine overhead. Cam gives a dramatic bow and I follow. And I know; this is exactly what falling in love sounds like.