Claire's Song (17 page)

"That's not all," I barely whisper, my eyes doing the same dance from lips to eyes. I watch his expression change; his eyes flare at my admission. It was stupid, I know. But it came out and I can't retract it. And maybe it shouldn't be like it was with Jamie. My days are constantly filled with regrets and what-ifs. What if I told Jamie how I felt? What if I followed him? What if I knew he was taking pills? What if? What if? What if? What ifs are constantly besieging my mind. For once, I don't want to wonder, I want to
know
. So I guess that's why I said it. I may regret it now, but I won't in the long run.

"Oh yeah?" Ryder leans a littler closer. I can see tiny dark specks in his gray eyes, shielded by a faint scar above his eyebrow. I shudder to think about where that came from.

"I'm guessing it's my boyish charm, then." Ryder looks at me again, one side of his mouth tilted up in a cross between his sexy smile and a smirk.

"You could say that," I answer, my bravado fading when he's this close to me, when I can smell the mixture of cologne, soap, and something entirely Ryder. My brain feels like it's short-circuiting.

"Ah, I see," Ryder draws out the words as he leans back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself, while I avert my eyes to the homework laid out before me. Never has math looked more appealing. A traitorous blush sweeps across my cheeks and neck, burning with each inch it covers.

"Look at you two being so studious! Look Greg!" My mom chirps as she and Dad enter the kitchen loaded down with groceries. For once I'm grateful for the interruption, distraction, whatever you want to call it.

My Dad looks over at us and gives me a smile; one that agrees that mom is a little crazy.

"I see, Mallory. Why don't we let them do their work then?" Dad suggests as he puts the bags on the counter.

"I’ll grab the rest. I think I'm distracting Claire anyway," Ryder smirks at me. He saunters out of the kitchen leaving me with two very confused parents.

RYDER

            I'm lying in bed thinking about Claire and how flustered she looked while we were attempting to do our homework. She's ridiculously cute when she blushes, leading me to think she's a lot more innocent that I thought. I don't know what I thought to be honest, but I figured there was more going on between her and Jamie than they let on. Actually, the whole school thought that. They assumed that's why he turned Lindy down. That's why Lindy hates Claire so much. What Lindy can't see is that Claire has more than she'll ever have. She's beautiful with her button nose, those big green eyes, and her messy hair. Not to mention her body. I'm not blind and I'm no saint. But I love how genuine she is in everything she does. She's caring, funny, and loves music as much as I do.

            Her face is everywhere. I close my eyes and I see it. I'm asleep and I dream about it. I'm awake and I think about her. This girl has ruined me, changed me, but yet some things remain the same. My plan hasn’t changed, but I have to know Claire, have to give this thing with her a chance. Selfish move, I know, but I'm all in now.

            Before I can second guess myself, I get out of bed and grab my guitar. I open my bedroom door and look down the long hallway where Claire's parents sleep. Television light shines beneath the closed door.

            Soft light filters beneath Claire's door and I can almost imagine the scene behind it. She loves her candles and white Christmas lights. She's probably listening to music and daydreaming or reading.

            I tap softly on the door, nerves attempting to wrestle with my resolve. It makes me think of my favorite Frightened Rabbit song, "The Wrestle." The door opens slowly, revealing Claire in gray boxer shorts and a ratty t-shirt, but she's never looked more beautiful. Tiny as she is, those shorts make her legs go on for days. Her short hair is sticking up in different directions although she doesn't look like she's been asleep. Her eyes are wide at me appearing at her bedroom door and her gaze moves to the guitar. Understanding dawns on her face.

            "I knew you'd give in one of these days," she smiles, opening the door wide enough for me to sneak in. What she doesn't realize is that statement is truer in more ways than one.

            Her haphazard white Christmas lights are on, candles lit, especially around the pictures of Jamie. Her Ipod's playing "Hands Down" by Dashboard Confessional. I let her take the lead because all of a sudden I'm nervous, the cockiness from earlier gone. Should I sit on her bed or in that uncomfortable chair? I can’t decide. Claire's watching me with an amused look on her face and now I know how she felt earlier.

            "You can sit up here," she points to the bed. She moves toward it, where a journal and book are strewn on one side. She kicks both to the floor. I follow her lead, but sit on the edge of the other side. My heart feels like it's about to beat out of my chest.

            "Anything in particular you want to hear?" I ask, throwing the guitar strap over my head and slightly turning.

            The bed moves and shakes as Claire positions herself. "One of yours?" Her voice is hopeful. She's got this look on her face. I can't describe it, but I know I can't say no. Not to her.

            "Okay," I give in. My fingers start to strum the guitar and I know immediately which song I'll sing. The one I wrote for her. She doesn't exactly have to know it's for her.

            My eyes close and I try to focus even though I can sense Claire's nearness, can smell her vanilla perfume. Then I realize maybe it's best I channel all of that. This
is
about her and I want everything I feel for her to be encompassed in each word, each chord.

           
You came into my life like a hurricane

            A perfect force, threatening to mess up everything

            I've built these walls, made them tall

            But with one look from you, they threaten to fall

            My icy heart begins to thaw

What is it about you that sets you apart?

            I'll tell you one thing, you've captured my heart.

            It's the way you move, the fact that you have no clue

            That you're the most beautiful girl in the room

            I keep hoping, praying I can make a move soon

Life is hard, a tough dealer of the cards

            But I want to be the one to pick up the shards

            And kiss your every scar

            I want to know who you really are,

            Who's the girl, deep inside, the one so intent to hide?

What is it about you that sets you apart?

            I'll tell you one thing, you've captured my heart.

            It's the way you move, the fact that you have no clue

            That you're the most beautiful girl in the room

            I keep hoping, praying I can make a move soon

There's no doubt in my head

            I want nothing left unsaid

            I think about you at night and in the morning when I get out of bed

            How could you see anything in me?

            That's the question and it's beyond me

            But I swear I'll try

            I'll make myself worthy enough to fit in your life

            What is it about you that sets you apart?

            I'll tell you one thing, you've captured my heart.

            It's the way you move, the fact that you have no clue

            That you're the most beautiful girl in the room

            I keep hoping, praying I can make a move soon

           
When I'm finished I hear Claire sigh as if she's sad it's over. She opens her eyes and offers me a smile, a brilliant one that lights up all the dark corners of her face.

            "That…that was
beautiful
," her voice is softer than a whisper. "Absolutely perfect."

            I shrug, not sure what to do with her praise. I want to tell her that I wrote it for her.

            "Did those words just come to you?" Claire continues.

            When I'm finally able to speak, still disbelieving that someone could be so in awe of anything I do, I answer, “When you're inspired words just come."

            Claire nods and gets up to switch her Ipod back on. When she comes back to the bed she falls onto the pillows. She's still smiling as she turns her head to look at me. "I'm guessing you were pretty inspired when you wrote that. I'd love to hear more of your stuff sometime."

            I put my guitar down on the floor and join her. "Maybe one day." I pause. I'm about to be a total pansy, but she's worth it. "Truth is, Claire, playing the guitar and singing one of my songs for you is like giving you a piece of my soul, letting you look in way too deep. I've never played for anyone before."

            "No one?"

            "No one."

            "Hmmm…" She answers slowly, chewing on the words. "And you still want to play in front of a crowd? Because you do realize then you'd be giving out tons of pieces of your soul, one to each person in the audience who hears it,
really
hears it and relates to what you're saying." Claire turns her head slightly so that she's looking at me.

            It's sad and disgusting that my dream is tied to my death. That's one thing I refuse to go back on. Things with my mom are crazy; idiots at school are picking their crusade back up again. But then the world is quiet and there's Claire, perfect Claire, looking at me so full of hope.

            It's not the same as what I just gave you," I answer simply and meaning every word of it. I gave Claire my heart and soul. Hell, I just gave Claire everything.

            She stares at me for a long time, her eyes studying every aspect of my face. Tears begin to build and I wonder if I've really screwed up. She reaches out and smoothes a hand over my face and then allows it retreat back to her side of the bed. I miss her touch already.

            "I know you did, Ryder. And you're right." Claire exhales loudly before speaking again. "I guess it's my turn," she says, her eyes never leaving mine and I know, actually I can feel things changing between us.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CLAIRE

            Ryder's music moved me in ways I'd never imagined. His words made me feel safe, his voice wrapped around me encasing me in warmth. I could go on for days listening to him, my own modern day Orpheus.

            The lyrics touched my heart and I could only hope that one day somebody would feel that way about me, a love so powerful that you need words and music to try to express the exact emotion. I don't know much about his past, so I don’t know who inspired him, or if anyone did. But I know that in the here and now, that song, his voice spoke to my soul. Ryder gave me something precious, irreplaceable and I know I have to give him something in return, something he's been asking about for a while now, to which I always replied, "Not yet." I wasn't ready then, but now I know I'm more than ready.

            "I'm ready to talk about Jamie," I whisper. My eyes dart to his photo shrine on my dresser.

            Ryder's hand reaches out and grabs mine. His thumb traces gentle soothing circles on my palm. It's distracting and comforting at the same time. He remains silent, but I find strength in that.

            “Jamie was my best friend." I pause, the words harder to say out loud than I thought. Ryder squeezes my hand and I continue. I push past the pain of the memories of the boy who shattered everything I'd ever known, because that's all I can do. "We met at the record store downtown.  Now that's a day I’ll never forget,” I say with a sad smile, the memory flitting back to me.

             
“When are you going to get a record player of your own?” Rick, the owner of Spinners teases. He asks me that every time I step foot in here. Sometimes I'd buy a record just because I liked the look of it, the idea of it.

            “One day,” I smile as I continue to browse through the aisles. I don’t have a lot of time because Mom is next door. I can’t wait to get my driver’s license so I won’t have to rely on her anymore and have to wait on her to do girly things like manicures or whatever it is she does.

I move to the older stuff, like Led Zeppelin, The Pixies, and the Cure. I can almost feel the approval coming off of the long haired owner as I start to flip through that section. The door dings and I look up and my eyes land on the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I mean the lead singer of Taking Back Sunday has nothing on this guy. Nothing. He’s tall, muscular, dark hair that’s perfectly ruffled like all the rock stars. I can almost feel the drool start to puddle at my feet as I take in the stretch of his navy blue v-neck shirt across his chest and the low-slung jeans on his narrow hips.

My hand is still poised between two records as I openly check him out. His head snaps and suddenly his gaze is on me, as if he can feel me looking at him, assessing him. He gives me the cockiest grin I’ve ever seen as he saunters over. Eyes averted back to the records, I act as though the hottest guy on the planet is not standing next to me.

“Hey,” he says simply.