Will's Story (4 page)

Roar like a lion

Kiss like one, too

These complications

What's a boy to do

No one is more surprised
than me when Amber launches herself into my arms at the end of the song. She throws back her head, all exhilaration and laughter, and then she's got her hands on
my
hips, walking
me
into the kitchen. My banjo's lying on the stage.

“Amber, wait, what . . .”

“Shut up, Will.” She's strong for her stature and my earlier fantasy about slinging her up against the kitchen counter is made real. But better—because it's my back to the Formica and her mouth coming at me full force. Oh God, this is good. She kisses me intensely and my hands, safely on her back, slide down a little and then farther, and she's got on this small skirt and screw it, I'm going for it.
Her skin is soft, soft, soft and it's way too convenient for my hand to burrow under fabric, and I can feel the hem of her underwear and I take it in my fingers, playing along the edge while she pushes all of herself against me and fuck, I can't hide what I'm feeling because she's making me come to life. And suddenly, music is the last thing on my mind and I'm wondering if I can get her out to my car, because my other hand just made contact under the shirt and this is not a graze but a full-on feel of some seriously amazing girl parts. She's breathing heavy and I'm breathing heavy and I'm wondering how far exactly we're going to take this in Sizz and Nicole's kitchen when a twangy voice cuts across the room.

“Well, look what we have here.”

We both stop moving. I bring my hands back out in the open and look toward the source of the interruption. Unbelievable. It's the dumbass drug dealer who got me busted. Sammy. But he's not staring at me. He's staring at Amber.

“Your mama know you're here?”

She steps all the way away from me, which makes him laugh. “Yeah, that's what I figured.” He comes closer and claps me on the shoulder. One of those hits that's just hard enough you know the dude is sending you a warning. He grins like a piranha. “What's up, judge's boy?”

I ignore him and stare at Amber. “You
know
him?”

Sammy drapes his skinny redneck arm over my shoulders. “Of course she
knows
me. I'm her big brother.” The last he says in this creepy sort of stalker purr.

“Brother-in-law.” Amber crosses her arm across her chest and looks away from both of us.

I knock his arm off my shoulders, a sad substitute for knocking his creepy inbred face, which is what I really want to do.

“Come on now, man, you're not still mad at me, are you?” Sammy shakes his hand like maybe I put a tiny bit of hurt on him. A boy can wish.

I'd run into him at the gas station right after Dad grounded me over the pill bottle. He pulled up to the pump as I was getting ready to leave but when I saw him, I jumped back out of my car and started lecturing him, Judge McKinney–style. Obviously my in-his-face, “you're a stupid delinquent moron” speech hadn't made an impression except that I was pissed. It sure hadn't changed his ways.

Now it's Amber's turn. “
You
know
Sammy
?” She's looking at me like I just revealed I'm secretly a warlock or something.

Sammy chuckles, obviously enjoying this bit of drama he's unleashing. “Of course he knows me. We did a little
business and he's still pouting because his name got mixed up with mine.” Sammy cracks open a beer and pushes out his lip, his voice coming out all exaggerated and childlike. “Scared his daddy would take away his toys.”

I probably shouldn't have told him my dad had threatened to take away my car when I got into the gas pump fracas with him. Especially now that he's throwing it in my face.

He slugs the beer and zeros in on Amber. “So, little sister, first practice is this Wednesday at five o'clock. Bring that other fella of yours.”

Wait, what's he talking about? Another fella. Is he talking about Devon? Or . . . my mind flashes back to her in the cafeteria with Kush's cousin, Sean. Could that be why she hasn't given me the time of day?

And
Sammy
is Amber Vaughn's brother-in-law. Her sister lives at her house, which means . . . Damn. This is messed up. I'm not supposed to have any contact with this dude.

After he leaves the kitchen, I step toward Amber but she steps away. “We need to go.” Her gaze won't settle anywhere near my face.

“Okay.” I draw it out and wait to see if she's going to give me some kind of explanation but she's tight-lipped and her eyes are anger/fear strobe lights switching with
each blink.

“Let me get my banjo.” As I walk away from her into the living room all kinds of shit thoughts come flying at me. One. I totally just cheated on Amber Rose again and I'm meeting her parents tomorrow. Two. The dude my dad expressly ordered me to stay away from is related to Amber Vaughn. And three. Amber has another “fella.” If this wasn't complicated and messed up before, it sure as hell is now.

In the car, she's still fuming, staring out the window and I don't know what to say so I turn the music up loud enough that conversation would be awkward.

A few miles from the high school she turns down the volume. “Did I do something wrong? Is it because I kissed you?”

She thinks I'm the one stewing? Okay, maybe I am. Her brother-in-law opened Pandora's ugly box back there and she's not offered word one of what he meant. After that kiss in Sizz's kitchen, I imagined breaking it off with Amber Rose before dinner tomorrow night. But shit. If Amber Vaughn has another boyfriend . . .

“No, Amber. I mean, yeah, we shouldn't have done that. Technically, I'm dating a different Amber.” I have to ask her the question she hasn't provided an answer to.
“What did Sammy mean about your other ‘fella'?”

She stiffens. “Well,
technically
, I have
no
‘fellas.' But I believe he was talking about Sean. He gave me a ride home the other night, and Sammy met him.”

My mind jumps to the worst possible scenario. I gave Amber Vaughn a ride home recently, too. Is she stuck in Sean's brain the way she's stuck in mine? Did she sing with him, too? I won't even let myself go to the bigger question. This night has gone from the pinnacle to the pit.

“Look, Amber. If you don't mind, I'm going to just drop you off. I'm not so into football game dance nights, and I think I'd rather go home.”

Amber's mouth drops in disbelief. “Sean's only a friend, Will.”

I want to believe her. I really do. But I've seen them talking at school. I've seen the way he looks at her. What guy wouldn't be into her? Especially another musician.

I pull up to the school. “No, not because of Sean. I mean, who am I to say if you like the guy or not? Remember?” I point to myself. “Girlfriend.”

Amber flinches and if I were smart I'd finish that sentence, say something like, for a few more hours anyway, but really that's not all of it. For the first time since I moved here, I finally feel like I've found a place. Like I know what my next move is. The only way I'm going to convince my
dad I'm strong enough to do what it takes to pursue music is to show him I've kept my promises and my nose clean.

Amber's doing that trembling thing again but this time I think it's anger not nerves. “I don't . . .” She takes a deep breath and starts again in a dead calm voice. “I don't like him.”

I notice she doesn't add anything about liking me.

“It's not about Sean, Amber.” Not totally the truth. I'm definitely having some jealous feels. But I'm not playing that card. “It's about me. And my dad.”

“Your dad?”

“My dad will crucify me if he finds out I've been hanging out with dealers. Tonight was fun, and you're a great singer.” God, I sound so lame. “Really great.” I stop while I'm ahead and stare at my hands on the wheel.

Amber's like a volcano. Red creeps onto her cheeks and I feel it before she explodes. “But I didn't invite Sammy! He showed up at Sizz's on his own. He would've showed up, whether or not you took me.”

The chink in my mortar. The same thought had been swimming around the edges. If Sammy's a regular then I can't keep going up there. At least not until things with my dad are rock solid again.

“I know that.” I'm getting ready to grab her hand and plead my case. To ask her to just chill for a minute or
three while I sort things out in my head, but Sarabeth and another girl walk by and I don't want Amber Rose to hear about my asshat status from anyone but me. “But things are complicated.”

Amber Vaughn sees the girls and her soft eyes turn to steel. “Yeah, I got it. Complicated.” She opens the door and climbs out. I lean over. I don't know what I'm going to say to her, but she shuts the door before I can try.

Trying to sing

The bigger man blues

Yet you want me

Playing this ruse

The next morning I wake
up feeling like a tool. What happened last night? Pretty sure I completely overreacted. Dad has to know Amber Vaughn's related to that guy. He knows everybody and she's been at our house almost every Friday night since we moved here. All I'd have to tell him is I'm seeing her, not trying to see Sammy. But then there's Sean. Why wouldn't she like him? He doesn't have a girlfriend. And I guess he's attractive in that Cobain sort of way. Either way, it doesn't matter, I need to call it off with Amber Rose. Whether the other Amber likes me or not.

Devon pops his head through the door of our adjoining bathroom. “How was the dance?”

“Didn't go. Went and hung out at the Dash-n-Burger instead.”

“Damn. First a banjo, and now you're hanging on the strip. When are you trading in the Honda for an F-250?”

“Hardy-har-har.” I wing a pillow across the room at him. He botches the catch and the pillow collides with his nose before falling to the ground. He plops down in my desk chair. “How'd your night go?” Devon's got a case of basset hound eyes.

He shrugs. “No action. I think my gaydar is broken.”

“Maybe he's repressed?” I offer.

“Maybe.” He twirls in my chair. I want to ask him about Amber Vaughn. What he knows about her and Sean. What he would think if maybe I asked her out? Would he be pissed? My stomach rumbles. Breakfast, then the dreaded Amber Rose call, then maybe I'll work up the nerve to have a heart-to-heart with my brother.

Mom's up and cooking. “Pancake Saturday,” she sings. She's wearing the colorful apron I painted for her at some day camp I went to when I was seven. “Here, this is the place I was telling you about.” She slides a pamphlet about a wilderness camp across the counter toward me. “They'll take rising college freshmen as junior counselors. It's the sort of thing we talked about, isn't it? You should apply for the summer.”

In an offhand conversation, when I'd gone to pick up my mom one day from the elementary school where she works, I'd mentioned really wanting to take my own camp experiences and turn them into something more. Her being a teacher, I think she got kind of excited about me following in her footsteps. It's not a totally bad idea. Summers and holidays off would work for a musician, if I don't hit a big break right off the bat. Or working permanently at a camp. Hiking for pay. Now that'd be a life I could chill with.

“Thanks, Mom.”

She slides a plate of pancakes and bacon in front of me. “Oh, and before I forget, your father and I bought tickets to the chamber orchestra concert in Banner Elk for next weekend. I ran into Amber Rose and her mother yesterday afternoon at the bank and invited her for you.”

My stomach growls but my skin grows cold. I put down my fork.

Mom plates up pancakes for Devon as he slips in next to me at the table. “What's the matter with you now?” He nods at my paralyzed fork.

My mom invited the girl I'm about to break up with to a concert next weekend. While her mother was standing there. Might as well put up a billboard out on the highway that has my picture plastered to it with the caption
“Colossal Douche Bag” in giant red letters.

“You know what.” I push the plate away. My brain just lost its appetite. My stomach wants to kick its ass. “I think I need to go back to bed for a while.”

“Are you not feeling well, sweetie?” Mom's face turns down and a ripple of lines appears on her forehead. “Let me see if you're hot.” She's coming at me with an outstretched palm and I try to duck but, contact. She moves her palm around. “You're not hot, but you are a little clammy. Here—” She takes my plate. “You go on back to bed and I'll wrap this and you can eat it later if you feel up to it.”

Clammy. Is that another word for coward?

Okay, so maybe I don't have the strength to break up with Amber Rose yet. It can wait till after the concert. That's only a week. But if I'm sick, I can't go to dinner with her parents, can I?

I take the cheap way out.

I'm sick. Got the flu or something.

She texts right back.

Really sick. Like a fever?

Super clammy. In bed. Skipped breakfast.
None of these things are lies.

Ewww. Totally bummed though. My parents will be sad.

Did your mom tell you about yesterday? :)

Yeah, lame right? You don't have to go.
Can't blame a guy
for trying.

No, I think it's sweet. I want to go. It'll be hot. Wait till you see the lingerie I bought. ;)

This is a total tease. And the day before I gave Amber Vaughn that ride home, I would have fallen into a mad game of try to get Amber Rose to sext me in that new lingerie. But even though part of my brain is all “Hell, yeah, show it to me, baby” the other part of my brain is “whoa, put on the brakes, remember that billboard.” But I need to say something to acknowledge her text.

'Rent in the room. Show me later? She's going to make me sleep.

;);););) You wish, Will McKinney. Say hi to Mom McKinney.

I turn off my phone and stare up at my ceiling. What's that old saying? This is a fine stew I've gotten myself into. Then I let myself slip back to last night. The way it felt singing like a rock star. The way Amber Vaughn lit up the stage. The way she kissed me. Surely a girl doesn't kiss you like that if she likes another guy?

Am I the idiot?