More Than Maybe - Erin Hahn Page 0,20

it’s something with angry guitars and a twitchy backbeat. I pull back, ever so casually and point to my headphones like Oh, hey, got to go where the music leads, and hopefully not like Sweet bollocks, I want to make you scream my name.

If only Zack could read my thoughts right now, he’d know I was the furthest thing from a monk.

Vada nods and starts another painfully slow groove on her own, and I slam my eyes shut for posterity because I know logically there is nothing overtly provocative about how she is moving or how we are dancing. It’s three years of longing turning my stomach. I knew it would be like this if I ever got close enough to smell her scent and feel her soft skin.

I need to get my shit in order. This is a school project. I close my eyes, turning my headphones up louder and losing myself in the next few songs until I can feel myself slipping into that distracted, centered place. My head slips side to side on my neck, and my hands rise above me, mimicking the movement. I turn before opening my eyes, taking in everything fresh. The view through my glasses is jarring. So clear and focused instead of the molded, colored shapes on the back of my lids.

Groups of people are in circles, taking turns in the spotlight, almost like you would see at a wedding. A lot of people dance alone, eyes shut and bodies feeling the music. Couples are making out. No surprise there. The music blocking everything out makes you feel like you’re invisible. It’s a false sense of privacy, but I get it and can’t bring myself to be annoyed by those taking advantage.

Slowly, I spin to where Vada was last. This time I’m prepared. I brought her here to do something weird and experimental, but also to study her. Allow myself to be inspired by her. The song I am listening to ends, and I pull out my toggle, muting the music but keeping on the noise-cancelling headphones so the rustles of bodies and smacks of kissing don’t interfere. I watch her and listen to my mind.

I’ve always been able to do it—compose. Create. I assumed everyone could until I was ten and realized Cullen couldn’t. I’d always thought Cullen and I could do everything the same. Until I didn’t. Until I could make songs in my brain and he couldn’t find a girl attractive.

Turns out sharing 50 percent of our DNA doesn’t mean much.

Vada sees me, and I nod. She seems to understand and scrolls through her stations, finding one that works for her, and turns her back to me.

It’s not as voyeuristic as you might think, I swear. I’m past that. I can compartmentalize like a painter working with a nude model.

God, don’t think of her nude.

It starts with a backbeat. I work mostly with piano, but like a rapper or spoken-word artist, I need something concrete to hit against. (I don’t know why, I just do.) It’s not long before I find myself moving along with her. Not touching. Not even close. My eyes are already closing, and I’m humming, but no one can hear me. I can imagine what is moving her, and I want to write that. I want to be the one who moves her. There are words, but self-preservation takes over, and I only have the energy to create the melody.

One day, the words will come. Hopefully, I’ll be ready for them.

8

VADA

This feels like home. Well, okay, if I’m being really honest with myself (and I am only because no one can see or hear me and therefore this place feels like a magical portal), home was when Luke Greenly held me between his long, pale, strangely muscular arms.

But the rest of the night is close enough. I found a station specializing in jam bands, and there are songs on here I haven’t heard since my mom used to play Dispatch while she cleaned our scuzzy bathroom in that tiny studio apartment right after the divorce. Phil would love it. The man seriously digs Guster. He told me once he tried to grow dreads but instead ended up shaving his head when he couldn’t handle the smell of beeswax.

Heaven, that’s what this is.

Luke is watching me dance. I can feel his eyes on me, and it feels fucking fantastic. Behind those serious black frames, his eyes glint with something I’ve never seen before, and it makes