Open Road Summer(42)

By the time the bus pulls away from the gas station, Matt is sitting cross-legged on the floor between the couches. Dee’s on her couch, guitar in her hands, and she’s plucking out the chords they’ve already settled on. Matt hums along as they look back over their notebook.

“Oh, hey,” he says, gesturing for her guitar. “Idea for the bridge.”

Instead of strumming, Matt’s fingers move over the strings in broken chords. The notes waft out of the guitar like weightless dandelion seeds. Dee nods enthusiastically, then holds up her whiteboard to him, and when he nods, she scribbles something else. Beside me, my phone alarm goes off.

“Medicine time,” I announce, getting up.

Dee jumps to her feet and croaks, “I can get it myself. I’m sick, not helpless.”

“Stop. Talking.” I glare at her. “Peach left everything out on your bunk.”

She hurries to the back, but not before rolling her eyes at me.

Matt’s still playing, and I follow the sounds of one note touching the next. He’s right. It’s a good idea for the bridge of the song. “I like that.”

“Yeah,” he says. “But I’m worried it’s too similar to this.”

Matt switches to playing one of his own songs, which has a simple title like “With You” or “For You” or something. The images of his ex-girlfriends pop into my mind, and I can’t help but wonder.

“So,” I say, “who’d you write it for?”

The chords stops. He looks up at me. “That’s not fair.”

“What’s not?”

“You get to ask personal questions based on my songs.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you’re embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed.” He begins strumming again. “I just wanted to point out that you have an unfair advantage.”

“So who was she?”

He smiles. “Amy.”

“And?”

“And we dated for a long time,” he says, looking down at the strings as they bend beneath his fingertips. This has to be the boringly beautiful brunette from the photos. “Then she got really into the fame.”

“How could you tell?”

“She didn’t want to stay in and hang out anymore. Always wanted to go out, be seen.”

“So you ended it?”

“No.” He shakes his head softly, in time with the chords. “She did. When I went back to high school for my senior year. She had no interest in dating a regular guy.”

“I wouldn’t say you’re regular.”

Matt looks up again, smiling as if he can sense the sass coming his way. “Oh no?”

“I mean, you are legally an adult, and yet you feel like it’s okay to consume strawberry milk with a pound of Twizzlers. That’s irregular to me.”

“What I like about you is that you’re sweet.”

I decide to throw him a curveball by actually being nice. “I think it’s cool that you went back to high school.”

“Yeah?”

I nod. “I mean, I understand why Dee took her GED earlier this year and got it over with. But you can’t go back later in life and be in high school again, you know? It’s a big experience to miss out on, even if it sucks.”

Matt looks thoughtful for a moment. “It must especially suck to be there without Dee.”

He doesn’t know the half of it. I’ve been trying my hardest not to think about spending this next year with the people in our grade. I always get invited to their parties—half because I’m a notoriously rowdy partyer and half because I’m Lilah Montgomery’s best friend—but I have no interest in going. I’ll have to pick up a hobby for my weekends. Maybe knitting or watching documentaries. “It really, really does.”

I don’t like the subject being turned on me, shining a light on my vulnerabilities. “So. “Any Way You’ll Let Me.” That’s for Amy too?”

“No.” Matt smiles. “That one’s for Corinne.”

“A groupie? One-night stand?” I ask this even though I’m almost sure it’s the cute girl from the photos. He looked relaxed with her, smiling genuinely.

“The opposite.” He switches chords, softly playing the song in question. “My best friend in the world.”

“Did you date?”

“I wanted to.” He says this so straightforwardly that my stomach gurgles with acidic jealousy. “I’ve known her almost my whole life—literally the girl next door.”

“You’re not her type?”

“Guess not,” he says. “Besides, she’s been dating the same guy since sophomore year of high school, followed him to college in Ohio and everything.”

“Huh.” I begin applying the lyrics to my new information.

I want you because you make me laugh.

I want you because you get me.

But if it can’t be the way I want it to be,

I’ll love you any way you’ll let me.

“Do you still love her?”

“Man,” Matt says, meeting my eyes. “What is it with you and the questions today?”

“I’m trying to get to know you.”