She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not(12)

“Sure sounds like it is,” she mumbles.

I ignore her. “It’s about you, Kenny, and your concert tomorrow.”





Cue the flush. Bingo.

I pick up the newspaper, and let it fall on top of her textbook again. This time, her eyes scan to the bottom half of the page where a large, square announcement lies, reminding the student body to attend the Annual Winter Band Concert. It then lists soloists who will be performing. Three names in, Kennedy Russo is listed as vocal accompaniment for Ralph Waters, pianist.

“What’s a pianist anyway? Sounds suspiciously like—” Kenny slaps her hand over my mouth, and then laughs when I lick her palm, shoving me away before wiping her hand furiously on her pants.

“Gross, Christensen.”

But the smile stays on her face, even when she makes a scene out of a using her travel-sized hand sanitizer.

“How come you told me you didn’t do anything besides study and hang out with your family?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t really think about it. I mean, even singing is for school—I’m not really athletic, so this adds those extracurricular activities to my résumé. And, I’m only singing in the concert because Ralph knows Cam and he asked for a favor. I don’t sing in front of people, usually. Just in class.”

I can’t decide if she’s being honest, or purposely playing this off so she doesn’t have to share with me. Kenny’s poker face—it’s real. Kind of frightening how much she can keep locked down when she wants to.

“Well, whether it’s for your résumé or for fun, it counts as a hobby. Which means I’m coming to support you. What time should I be here? Does the auditorium fill up early?”

No poker face now, just straight horror. “You’re not coming to this.”

Oh, Kenny. Challenge accepted. “Watch me. I’m your life-partner, supporting you is what I do. Now, what time should I be there?”

+ + +

The auditorium is hot, and I’m starting to bake in the sweater my mom forced me to wear when I told her where I was going.

“Concerts are not shorts and T-shirt kind of events, Gage Wyatt Christensen.”

I submitted only because she used all three names; the use of my middle name means she’s not budging, and disagreeing with her only stalls the inevitable. So, I’m wearing jeans instead of shorts, a thin black sweater over a white tee, and my white Vans. I escaped before she could harass me about something else, and now I’ve sat through almost an entire concert—a definite first in my two and half years of high school—and I haven’t even seen the girl I’m here for.

I was not lucky enough to snag an aisle seat, but at least I was lucky enough to find her friend, Cam. “It’ll be worth it,” was all he said when I sat down. I’m still hoping he’s right.

The lady next to me shifts her oversized purse for the millionth time, hitting me three or four times and ignoring me, acting like she has no idea she’s slapping me around. Since it’s been like this for the past hour, I’m about to turn and give her a not-so-subtle reminder that she’s about to leave bruises on me when someone announces the final solo of the evening.

“Ralph Waters, a senior pianist—” I was right, the word is dirty—“will now be playing his senior piece: Inside of Here. Original music and lyrics written and performed by Ralph Waters. Vocals by junior, Kennedy Russo.”

“There’s our girl.” I have the juvenile urge to tell Cam she’s my girl, but then the spotlight finds the small guy behind the piano, Kenny next to him, sitting on a stool, and the words disappear. Her hair is down, a brown cascade over the shoulders of her simple black dress that covers her arms and reaches her knees. Her legs are crossed at the ankles, some short black boots on her feet. I can’t really concentrate on anything but Kenny’s face.

My God, it’s one hell of a face.

My stomach tightens when the first chord is played. When Kenny’s voice begins, I stop breathing. Cam says something, but I don’t hear him, and I don’t dare look away.

The melody is haunting. From the first chords to the last, I’m riveted, goosebumps breaking out over my skin while Kenny’s voice asks if anyone is there.

Her eyes stay closed for most of the song, and my eyes stay on her. I don’t think of the lady next to me, or the heat that was threatening to suffocate me only moments before. I only think of Kenny, and how her words make me want to be the one to save her.





Chapter 11


Week 3, Part 1: Meet the Parents

Kennedy

Martha. Focker.

I’m in the passenger seat of Gage’s truck, a place that is becoming oddly familiar since I’ve spent so much time in it these past two weeks, and he’s driving me home. This time, though, he’s not dropping me off. He’s coming inside. Because our assignment is to meet each other’s family—to learn about each other’s life. And as he pointed out, what better time since he’s with me?

Righto.

“You know, the kids are home and, well, they can be kind of crazy. Macy is five, and Rylon and Brandon are seven and eight. They get kind of loud.” I’m not looking at him, but I see him smile out of the corner of my eye.

“My sister, Karen, the hypersensitive ball-buster I always mention? She rages at someone in the house at least once a week about something. Joss, my younger sister, screams like a banshee anytime one of her teams loses. Since she has eight teams in every respectable sport that exists, she screams a lot. I can handle loud.”