Don't Kiss the Messenger (Edgelake High School, #1)(75)

“You must be pretty depressed,” he noted.

I smirked and looked up at him. “Holidays aren’t really my thing, either.”

His eyes narrowed like he was trying to piece something together.

“How’d things play out with that girl?” he asked.

“They didn’t.” I cut my hand through the air, like a heartbeat that suddenly flat lines across a monitor. “It’s over.”

“I’m talking about the girl with the scar,” Frank said. “The one you were fighting to keep your eyes off of the night of your recital. The one you’re actually in love with.”

His words made something in my chest flare up. Anger? Denial? Salt-in-the-wound? I opened up my arms in mock defeat.

“You were right. Is that what you want to hear, Frank? There were two girls in the scenario and I fell for the wrong one. Happy?”

He smiled with satisfaction. Then he looked at me like he was waiting for more. Like the game wasn’t over, but had just went into overtime.

“What?” I asked.

“So that makes the other girl the right one?”

“No. I don’t know. Maybe. Not anymore.” I shook my head.

Frank groaned at the ceiling. “Don’t be a dickhead,” he breathed.

“Excuse me?”

“You know, I pegged you as stupid the first time I met you, but then I thought, maybe I was wrong. Maybe you were different.”

I pursed my lips together. “Would you get to the point, Frank?”

He sat forward in his chair. “When you write music that exploits your feelings, and you’re completely honest, that’s your heart trying to penetrate the stubborn mush of bullshit that surrounds your brain, in order to communicate your true feelings. That’s music.”

I pulled my hands through my hair. “Thanks for the advice,” I mumbled.

“I’m trying to help you out. This is me, trying to be nice.”

“Wow,” I said, truly amazed. “I’d hate to see you pissed off at someone.”

He waved away my comment. “Listen Jock Jams, if your music is saying something to you and you’re not listening, then you’re missing the entire point and you’re not worth my time.” He stood up from his stool and pointed a finger at me. “You’ve been in here all week, sulking, playing all this melancholy heartbreaking shit, and don’t get me wrong, it’s some good material. But you’re not listening. It’s choked full of regret. You could wrap your fingers around it and wring out all the pathetic sadness, which is your heart trying to tell your brain that it’s not over. But you’re too numbskulled to listen.”

I threw back my head and blew out a sigh. “It’s a little more complicated than that,” I said.

He laughed and took a step back. “No, it’s as simple as that.” He turned and headed out of the room.

I leaned my elbow on my knee and watched him go. I knew in his own jackass way, he was trying to help me out.

“Merry Christmas, Frank,” I shouted after him.

“Fuck off,” he yelled.





Chapter Thirty


CeCe


I flipped through the latest issue of The Cardinal Gazette. The cover story featured an article on Emmett, announcing his formal acceptance to play at UW-Madison next year. The Badger’s senior year quarterback was already off to training camp and hoped to get picked up in the spring NFL drafts. The team expected Emmett to start as a freshman. The entire city was already talking about it. I assumed Emmett’s story highlighted every local newspaper and TV program around the state.

I turned the page and studied the team photo and headline announcing our state volleyball championship game. There were three individual player pictures below the headline: one of me, Tuba, and VanBree. Captions announced VanBree’s acceptance to play at Ohio State next year, and Tuba’s and my signed contracts with UW-Madison. I smiled to see the words in bold writing. I was thrilled that I got play to for my home state, alongside my best friend.

And Emmett would be there.

Emmett.

I folded the paper closed and set it aside, careful to turn his picture faced down.

I hadn’t talked to Emmett since the night I went to his house. The football team was traveling during finals week and he took the Shakespeare exam at an alternate location.

I had barely left The Church in the last week. I felt like a castaway, shipwrecked and stranded to the island of my apartment after a disastrous voyage. I avoided campus. I avoided him. The coffee shop was definitely off limits. Even the library was a dangerous excursion, too close to Emmett’s house to be a trusted destination. I kept my laptop safely stored in a drawer in my desk so it wouldn’t tempt me. I thought about texting Emmett, but what would I say? I couldn’t be just friends with him. That was an impossibility. And I certainly couldn’t be more.

I had the na?ve hope that distance would make things easier. But distance didn’t dull my feelings. It made them stretch and grow, like vines reaching around my mind and slowly tightening.

I opened a text message and started to type.

I am a tower

You have scaled

I am a kingdom

You have conquered

My thumb lingered over the words before I deleted them. God, I missed him. I missed us.