he still said he’d pick me up at seven and take me to the drive-in theater down by the beach.
“What do you mean, you need to go to college?” Hendrix shouted from the garage.
My eyes snapped up from my textbook as the garage door opened and the guys filtered into the kitchen. “Mom said I’ll be wasting my time, and they can’t afford to put me through school. I need to take this scholarship.”
“Who hands out scholarships this late?” Everett muttered, nabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.
“Colleges who offered it to other kids who turned it down.”
Everett’s forehead creased as if he couldn’t understand why someone would do that.
“We leave in three months, man,” Hendrix said, sounding close to begging.
“Yeah? Leave with what, huh?” Graham spread his hands; his laughter drenched with scorn. “We’re all working minimum wage jobs, earning fuck all, and we don’t even have a bus that runs.”
I closed my book, thinking I’d go and re-check my mascara. Oftentimes, it felt like the band thought of me as wallpaper. They forgot I was there when I watched them play, heard them bicker and fight, and even when they shared details of their weekend escapades.
“What, you just expected it to be easy, is that it?” Hendrix said. “Nothing good comes easy, dick face. Nothing. We need to get our asses out there and work for it just like every other person has.”
“That’s just it, Hendrix,” Graham said, adjusting his glasses. “It’s us against a world full of musicians all thirsty for the same elusive thing. What makes us so different that we’ll catch a break?” The quiet that followed his words had Graham wincing, tension suffocating everyone in the room. “Fuck it, I’m out.”
“Wait,” Everett finally spoke, stalking after him.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hendrix groaned, folding over the kitchen counter like a wilting flower. “Asshole.” His forehead banged against the countertop. “What a fucking asshole.”
I kept quiet, worried that announcing my presence might only make it worse.
“Steve?” Hendrix asked after a while.
I stiffened. “Uh, yeah?”
“You wouldn’t happen to know any drummers, would you?”
“Um,” I started, searching for something to say, something helpful. “No, but maybe I can have my friend, Jean, put an ad in the school paper.”
Hendrix sighed. “Unless they wanna drop out, they’d be no good.”
“You’re still planning on going?”
Straightening, he didn’t answer and left the room.
The front door slammed a second later, and then Everett rounded the corner as I was checking the time. Clive would be here any minute.
I snatched my purse and stood. “He’s gone?” I asked Everett, keeping my eyes from his.
“Yeah. He’s just freaked. School’s out in a month, and shit’s getting real. I get it.” He shifted in his skate shoes. “I think he’ll come around.”
I nodded, praying he did while also hoping they’d part on good terms if Graham decided to go to college. It might not have been what he’d wanted. Graham had been playing drums since he got his first kit as an energetic toddler, but I understood it might not be what he needed.
“Clover, where are you going?”
I still couldn’t meet his gaze, but I could feel it. Hot and probing. “Oh, ah…” The doorbell rang, jarring me. No one ever used it, and instead just came and went as they wanted. “Movies,” I said, skirting around him.
Everett grabbed my hand, and shocked, I stopped, turning to pull it back.
His brows cinched as he stared at his empty hand. “With Adela?”
I couldn’t lie and wasn’t even sure why I was tempted to. “No, um. With Clive. From school.”
Darkening, his eyes changed to a mixture of black and green as he said, “The asshole on the swim team?”
I could feel my shoulders square. “He’s not an asshole.”
“Seriously?” Everett scoffed. “He’s a player, Clover. He only wants one thing from you.”
I rolled my eyes and started walking down the hall.
“Stevie,” he said, voice hard, and the sound of my real name had me almost stumbling as I opened the door. “Stevie, don’t let him fuck with you.”
Clive, dressed in a navy polo and light blue jeans, stepped back, hearing Everett’s words, and I inwardly cursed. “Hey, ignore him. Let’s go.”
Swiping a hand over his slicked back hair, Clive looked from the now closed door to me, and back again. “Yeah, hey.”
I didn’t know if it was Everett’s warning or if he really was being a perfect gentleman, but Clive kept things respectful. Maybe a little too respectful as his eyes stayed trained firmly on the bloodbath decorating