Super Fake Love Song - David Yoon Page 0,48

with the iPod while he choked on clouds of sulfur—no constitution-saving throw, automatic lose-a-turn. After that I would be long gone, and he would find himself now guarding a dungeon with no treasures left to defend.

“I miss high school,” said Gray suddenly.

I released my spell-casting fists, dissipating their pent-up magic.

“I should’ve just gone to college,” said Gray.

I knitted my fingers at my belly. Was Gray about to cry?

Gray cleared his throat and coughed a mock cough. “Questlove once formed a fake band to impress a girl,” he said. “That band became the Roots. My senior-year buddy Justin Lim formed the Mortals for the same reason.”

I spoke cautiously. I was now seeing the faintest image of Back-in-the-Day Gray—the slightest tremor could tear it asunder. “He did?”

“The Mortals did not become the Roots,” said Gray.

Gray picked at a hole in the recliner, realized he was only making things worse, and stuffed the brown thread back in.

“I heard Justin’s getting married,” said Gray. “So I guess it worked.”

“Do you keep in touch with—”

“No,” said Gray, stone-faced.

“Oh,” I said. His laughter from just an instant ago felt like yesterday.

Gray sneered at the air. “Justin had it right,” he said. “No one wants the musician, they just want the music. No girl wants to deal with gig after gig, night after night, stuck with a total loo—”

He was about to say loser.

Gray covered his face with his hands.

“You guys friggin’ rocked,” I said, and took a step closer to my big brother.

Gray lowered his hands. “We did, didn’t we.”

He stood. He unplugged his headphones. He picked at the back of the iPod, pick pick pick, until the gaffer tape with Property of Gray Dae peeled off. He balled the tape up, flung it into the other debris in the room. And he handed the iPod to me.

“Thanks,” I said, and reached for it.

But Gray snatched it up. “You have to play it right,” he said.

“I will,” I whined, and reached again.

“Promise me you will absolutely play the hell out of ‘Beauty Is Truth,’” said Gray. “I spent a lot of time on that song.”

I shrugged like a marionette. “All I can say is I’ll do my best?” I said.

Gray eyed me. “I don’t like the sound of that,” he said slowly. “Not one bit.”

He slipped the iPod into his pocket.

“Aw come on, god, just give it, dude, what the hell,” I said, increasing my pitch with each word until I sounded like I was six by the end.

“Promise me,” said Gray.

“I promise, god,” I said.

“Where do you guys practice?”

“Music room at school.”

“When are you practicing next?” said Gray.

“I dunno,” I whined. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“But that’s a Sunday,” said Gray.

“Mr. Tweed said we could,” I said.

Gray thought for a moment. “I got brunch with Dad tomorrow,” he said. “When’s your next practice after that?”

I stopped. “Huh?”

Gray spoke like I was a foreign exchange student who was also very slow. “Tomorrow morning. I have a brunch thing. With Dad. But your next practice. After that. We will go together. Okay?”

I blinked bemused little blinks. Was what was happening what I thought was happening?

“Okay,” I said.

III

Frost holds the virus for thousands of years.

Winter eternal protects us from fear.

Blotter

The next morning, I got up and headed directly to my phone dock located safely away from the delicate tissues in my cranium, breaking my steadfast rule of not checking the infernal first thing in the morning, because doing so led to increased anxiety and unhappiness—

But things were different now.

Because on the screen was one message from very early this a.m., from Cirrus:

I’m on a boat.

And indeed, there was a photo of a boat, taken from a dock. Brandon and Jane Soh stood nearby.

Are you leaving the country? I wrote, then deleted it. Bad joke. Instead, I just went with

Wish I was there.

At the same time, Cirrus wrote, Wish you were here.

Jinx, we both wrote simultaneously. I smiled a big dumb smile.

I think your brother’s a little jealous of you btw, wrote Cirrus.

Really? I wrote.

He’s kind of a dork, no offense, wrote Cirrus. And meanwhile you’re . . . you, heart emoji.

I slapped my thigh and twirled on one foot and hit a white plastic container, which caused me to lose my balance and fall into still more white plastic containers.

When I got back to my feet, I wrote,

Kiss emoji.

And I put my phone in my pocket, which I normally never did because of what microwaves can do to the epidermis and possibly subcutaneous tissue even through thicker fabrics. But I