Letters to Nowhere(54)

“I’m clearly not as smart as you, although only idiots turn off their cell phones when they go out alone.” His eyes narrowed at me.

“I’m sorry.” Guilt totally hit me hard this time. I shouldn’t drag Jordan into my battles with his dad. Although, I kind of turned my phone off for that very reason. I didn’t want him to have to help me through that drama or pick a side between me and Bentley. “How did your classes go?”

“Good. I think I surprised my dad. But he doesn’t realize that I always got the younger kids who were siblings of the really good gymnasts at camp. I had to work hard to keep them entertained for six hours of gym time every day when their most difficult skill was a cartwheel.”

“Well, at least you don’t have smart–mouthed teenagers to coach.”

He gave me a long look, like maybe he was about to break one of our rules and kiss me inside the walls of this house. We’d already decided not to do that, mostly because on TV, everyone always gets caught, even when no one is supposed to be home for hours or days or whatever. Someone always walks in.

“I have something to show you,” he said, looking a little nervous. He got up from his chair and reached up in the top of the closet, retrieving a guitar. “I haven’t touched this since before winter break. It was in my dorm room.”

I watched as he sat down and tuned it, strumming a few chords. I was honestly a little nervous that he’d be really bad and I’d have to say something nice because…well, because it was Jordan.

“What do you want me to play?”

“I don’t know. I have choices?”

He laughed. “Somewhat limited choices, but yeah.”

I shook my head. “What songs are only guitar?”

“Okay, I’ll pick something, even though I make it a mission statement never to do this because everyone thinks I’m singing about them.”

“Oh, that’s cute. Jordan gives everyone a love song.”

“That’s the least of my worries. I always get in trouble by singing ‘She’s So Mean’ or something along those lines.”

I laughed and waved off his concerns. “Play whatever you want and I won’t assume it’s for me.”

He nodded and his eyes immediately dropped to the guitar as if he wasn’t going to be able to look at me while doing this little performance, and it was starting to make me nervous, too. He held the pick between his teeth and did some more tuning before grabbing it and starting to play.

When I had first found out that Jordan had done gymnastics for years, I’d expected to see that spark on his face the day he jumped up on the tumble track, but I hadn’t seen it then, despite his obvious talent and build for the sport. But I was seeing it now.

I’d never heard this song before, but when he started singing, softly at first and then gradually growing in confidence, I wanted to hear it again before we even reached the middle. I wanted so badly to keep staring at him, but I was afraid he’d get more nervous and stop playing, so I lay back on the bed and let him finish the song before saying, “I know what I want to hear. Can you play ‘Hallelujah’?”

He was silent for several seconds before practically whispering, “Yeah, I can.”

I rested my arms behind my head, relaxing and falling into the long intro. It was a favorite of my dad’s. I’d always asked him what it was about and he’d say, “A lot of things. A whole lot of things.”

I had no ability to judge singing talent, but the second Jordan started singing the lyrics, I had to close my eyes and let the sound completely surround me. And maybe that’s because it was Jordan, and I wanted him to touch me so badly and he couldn’t do that now. This was as close as we could get tonight.

Even though it was a really long song, it felt like only seconds later we were overcome with silence again. I lifted my head and sat up on my elbows. “That’s my dad’s favorite song.”

“It’s one of mine, too,” he said.

“Do you know your mom’s favorite song?”

He stuck the pick back in his mouth and lifted his eyes to meet mine for a second. This was such a different Jordan. I couldn’t even grasp how shy and humble he seemed.

The pick returned to his fingers and his mouth turned up into a charming half smile before he started playing something much faster than the two previous songs. The opening line was, “Mama Pajama rolled out of bed and she ran to the police station . . .”

It was about someone named Julio and a schoolyard, and sticking someone in the house of detention.

He got nearly to the end and I was laughing really hard and Jordan had a big smile on his face when Bentley suddenly appeared shirtless in the doorway, rubbing his eyes.

Jordan slapped a hand to the front of his guitar, cutting off all the sound. His eyes were wide and he looked ready for an argument.

“It’s late, Jordy,” Bentley said. “Karen’s got practice and you’ve got school in the morning. Let’s get to bed, all right?”

There was no trace of anger or frustration in his voice, but Jordan leapt to his feet anyway, stuffing the instrument back in the closet. “Sorry, Dad.”

Then I saw Bentley, so very briefly, like it almost didn’t happen, step inside the room and pat Jordan on the head before leaving. I followed after him, shutting the door behind me. “He’s really good,” I said, deciding to break the icy silence.