More Than Maybe - Erin Hahn Page 0,11

for the crescendo of the song. Lunging to the side, my fingers grasp the sunshine once more, and my shadow scrambles to keep up as I spin, shaking off my melancholy.

My dad and his hurtful acts can’t find me here. Worries about my future, about college and plan B and my mom and Phil and and and …

I am ready, I am over, I am untouchable and gracelessly graceful.

I am un-hurtable here.

As I twirl and stretch and drag and tumble in my small corner, my thoughts dissipate and dissolve. It’s the part I love best—when I become the music and nothing else.

The song ends, and a switch is flicked off in my soul. When I’m finally cognizant of the glare of halogen lighting, I see my sunbeams have been swallowed by gray clouds. My classmates are gathering up their things, and the composers, if they were ever really there, are gone.

I find my small pile of belongings and cross to the doorway that swings into the ladies’ locker room.

“Miss Carsewell!”

I stop at the door and spin to face Madame. She is waving a torn piece of lined notebook paper in the air. I gulp. I had assumed I wouldn’t be chosen. I’m steeling myself to turn down whoever it is when she places the slip into my hands.

In a bold slash of black ink, spelled in capital letters, reads my name followed by another. I swallow.

Luke Greenly.

Luke was here? My Luke? Well, not my Luke, obviously. But the Luke I know? He saw me? Oh my god, he saw me. Holy hell, he saw me spazzing across the floor in my spandex and he picked me? He wants to write a song with me?

My knees bend, but I catch myself, stepping one foot back and steadying my grip on the paper. Madame waits for my answer. I was so ready to say no, but …

I hadn’t counted on Luke Greenly. I had no idea he was in the senior composition class. This shouldn’t change things. I barely know him. I’m still too picky about my music, and I’m still only here for my own therapy. I shouldn’t say yes. I need to stick with my plan.

My mouth spits out a “Yes!” before I can register it. “Yeah. I’ll do it.”

Madame’s face lights up. “Excellent! I’ll let Mr. Leonard know. Do you know this student, or would you like me to get his contact information for you?”

“No! I mean—” I shake my head, trying to get my words and brain to match up. “I mean, yes. I know him. I’ll work it out. Thanks.”

5

LUKE

I never should’ve signed up for that senior composition class.

6

VADA

Dance is the last period of the day, so even though I hear the end-of-day bell ring out and the girls’ softball team starts to arrive, I take my time in the locker room. I run a slow brush through my hair, detangling it completely, and with it, my nerves about Luke’s request. I reapply my ChapStick and spritz on some fruity body spray. I don’t have to be at work for another hour, but there’s no point in stopping home to an empty house. After repacking my bag and zipping my puffy winter coat, I deposit a few singles into the vending machine near the entrance, and when my favorite purple Gatorade loudly fumbles down, I grab it, cracking the cap and gulping half down in one go.

I’m feeling more myself as I exit the building but am quickly thrown again by the sight of Luke—my new partner, Luke!—leaning against the outer wall, his ever-present longboard propped against his leg. He’s got earbuds in, and his head bobs along with some unnamed music.

I can’t help myself. I’m already reaching for his earbud when he registers my presence. You can tell a lot about someone by what they listen to when no one is watching.

Twenty One Pilots’ mellow and painful “Car Radio.” Huh.

“Huh,” I say aloud. Because I’m relentlessly clever like that.

“Tyler Joseph is a brilliant lyricist,” is all he says. Equally clever.

The song picks up, and in the tiny speaker, I hear the electronic backbeat kick in as Tyler’s voice screams his sadness over and over. It’s a strangely relatable song. Someone mourning the loss of their car radio because now they are forced to face their silent demons head-on whenever they’re in their car.

Luke’s quiet, his hand tapping the board at his thigh. His mouth opens and closes without saying anything.

“I sometimes wonder if radios and headphones