Love Songs & Other Lies(62)
of my whole damn world—
and I swear that I will—
I swear that I will—
call this girl mine.
Wish she’d be mine.
Forever she’s mine.
There’s this girl, yeah this girl,
she’s the center of my whole damn world.
I’m choked up and staring at him, and I’m supposed to sing my last verse, but the words won’t come. Because those weren’t the lyrics I had expected. The words both exhilarate and crush me. Cam starts in on the bridge and I take a deep breath before joining in.
There’s this girl, yeah this girl
There’s this boy, oh this boy
I’m gonna make her mine.
I’m gonna make him mine.
I’m frozen on the stool as Cam leans over and kisses my forehead, the crowd erupting into applause. Real applause this time. They aren’t chanting at me to get off the stage or telling me how horrible I sounded. They don’t hate me. They are legitimately cheering, as loud as I’ve ever heard them, and even if maybe it’s all for Cam, everything inside of me is lit on fire and glowing. I take a tiny, nervous bow, and run offstage, feeling like I could fly.
CAM
Caustic Underground is playing their first song. Vee is backstage, swaying a little from side to side when I return from our post-performance pep-talk with Jenn. Everything about Vee is relaxed, loose. I walk up behind her, so close there’s no way she can’t know I’m there. Still high off of our performance, I feel like I could do anything—even face off with Vee. But right now, I just want to be close to her. Bringing her onstage was the only way I could apologize for how much I hurt her. And thank her, for how much she loved me. I wanted to give her something she had always dreamed of, something she didn’t believe she could do. I always knew she could.
“If you get any closer we’ll be cuddling,” she says, looking over her shoulder at me, her brows raised.
“Would that be horrible?”
“It might be.” She shrugs with a smirk. “It might not be. You’ve caught me in a good mood.”
I say a silent prayer as I wrap my arms around her shoulders and pull her into me. Slowly, she relaxes against me, letting her head fall back against my shoulder as we both watch the band in front of us.
“I’m sorry,” I say, leaning down to her ear. “I don’t think I ever said that. Those two words. But I am.” I squeeze her a little tighter, feeling like I can’t get close enough to her. “No more excuses.”
She nods against my shoulder, but doesn’t say anything.
I kiss her hair and feel her body tense. “I’m not giving up on us.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THEN
VIRGINIA
It’s nine days until Christmas, and twelve hours since I snuck out of Cam’s bedroom. The house smells like cinnamon and spruce. In the kitchen, Mom stirs a steaming pot of pasta for our Thursday night dinner together. There’s nothing on TV but holiday movies—I’ve been flipping through channels for ten minutes. And God, love is everywhere. From what I can tell, not a single song has been written, or movie directed, that doesn’t have two idiots falling in love.
Mom shakes salt into the pot. “I saw Logan at the grocery store yesterday. He thinks you’re still considering State.” She’s stating a fact, but there’s a question there too.
Mom taps the wooden spoon on the edge of a saucepan. “Why don’t you give him a call later and tell him about Northwestern?”
“Don’t worry about it, Mom.”
“He said he’s going to visit State in a few weeks. He wants you to go with.”
“Mmhmm.” I slam my thumb down, assaulting the remote as I ascend to the premium channels we don’t get. I click on Gold Rush, and an obnoxious blue box fills the screen, telling me what I already know: we don’t get this channel. “Why can’t we get any good channels?” I slam the remote down onto the coffee table. All I’m asking is to see some fat, beardy guys dig in the dirt. Love-free. Why can I not watch the one safe show on all of television?
“Virginia.” Mom’s face is tipped down and she’s staring at me from over her dark rimmed glasses, giving me a squinty look that says, Shut down the attitude. “I think you should tell him, now that—”
—Now that I’m going to Northwestern with Cam.
“I think”—I’m yelling, throwing my arms across my chest as I swivel on the couch to stare at my mother, who is still stirring the steaming pot—“maybe you should consider telling me that you and Dad are getting divorced. If we’re so concerned about disclosure in this house.” Tears are scraping at the corners of my eyes, my throat is tight. “Actually … maybe you should have considered it a few years ago, when you started this whole charade.” I wave my arms around me, at the house that shows no trace of my father. “Where’s his stuff, Mom?” She’s stopped stirring, resting the wooden spoon on the edge of the silver pot. “Isn’t it strange that he has to come home with a bag of clothes?” My eyes are fixed on the window behind her, steamy and opaque, tiny droplets of water dripping down. It’s nice not to be able to see all the snow outside for once.