And then . . . he spots me.
Toph raises his eyebrows and smiles, this lazy grin that makes my insides explode. Matt and Cherrie and I thrash and jump around, and it’s so
exhilarating that I don’t even care that I’m dancing with Cherrie Milliken. “Bridge is fantastic!” she says.
“I know!” My heart bursts with pride. Because she’s my best friend, and I’ve always known how talented she was. Now everyone else does, too. And I don’t know what I was expecting—maybe that Reggie’s bangs would get in the way of his playing—but he’s also pretty great. His hand tears over the
strings, pushing a wicked bass line that whips us into a frenzy. The only teeny tiny minor weakness in the whole thing is . . . Toph.
Don’t get me wrong. His antiestablishment, I’m-a-loser lyrics are perfect. Catchy. There’s so much rage and passion that even the redneck behind the
shoe counter is bobbing his head. And, of course, Toph looks the part.
It’s his actual guitar playing that’s weak. But it’s not like I know that much about guitars. I’m sure it’s a difficult instrument, and he’l total y get better with practice. It’s hard to master something if you’re always stuck behind a snack counter. And he plays loud, and it riles us up. I forget I’m in a bowling all ey, and I forget I’m rocking out with my ex-boyfriend and his girlfriend, and it’s all over way too quickly.
“We’re the Penny Dreadfuls, thanks for coming out to see us. My name is Toph, that’s Reggie on bass, and the hottie in the back is Bridge.”
I whoop and hol er.
She beams at Toph. He waggles his eyebrows back and then turns to the crowd and leers. “And, oh yeah. Don’t screw her, ’cause I already am. SUCK
IT, ATLANTA. GOOD NIGHT!”
Chapter twenty-six
Wait. What?
I’m sorry, what did he just say?
Toph kicks over the microphone stand in a grand, ass**le gesture, and the three of them jump off the stage. It’s a little less dramatic when they have to come right back to take apart their stuff before the next band comes on. I try to catch Bridge’s eye, but she won’t look at me. Her gaze is locked on her cymbal stands. Toph takes a swig of bottled water, gives me a wave, then grabs his amp and heads for the parking lot.
“Woo! They were great!” Cherrie says.
Matt claps me on the back. “What’d ya think? She played me some of their stuff a few weeks ago, so I knew it’d be awesome.”
I’m blinking back tears. “Um. What did he just say?”
“He said she played some of their songs for us a few weeks ago,” Cherrie says, too close to my face.
I back up. “No. What did Toph just say? Before the Atlanta part?”
“What, ‘Don’t screw my girlfriend’?” Cherrie asks.
I can’t breathe. I’m having a heart attack.
“Are you okay?” Matt asks.
Why won’t Bridge look at me? I stumble forward, but Matt grabs me. “Anna. You knew she and Toph were dating, right?”
“I’ve gotta talk to Bridge.” My throat is closing. “I don’t understand—”
Matt swears. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell you.”
“How . . . how long?”
“Since Thanksgiving,” he says.
“Thanksgiving? But she didn’t say . . . she never said ...”