“I cannot believe—no, seriously, Icannot believe—you put her on your shoulders just so she could grab candy over everyone else’s heads,” Steven wheezes hours later. We’re sprawled in a circle on the Coopers’ living room floor, pizza boxes empty, candy bags ripped open like treasure chests.
Vincent adjusts his glasses, tosses his cowboy hat onto the couch, and peels open a Snickers. “It’s called thesuper move,” he says between bites, looking smug.
Steven raises a brow. “Thewhat?”
“Thesuper move,” I explain, holding up a grape jelly in triumph. “Vincent puts me on his shoulders, I grab as much candy as possible, and we win. Next year we need a three-person super move. Like... a formation. Candy Avengers.”
Vincent nods solemnly. “Brilliant idea.”
Steven shakes his head, ripping open a bag of Sour Skittles. “You two are absolutely insane. Not happening.”
“Oh, come on,” I say, tossing a gummy at him. “Admit it. You had fun.”
He catches the gummy midair, pops it in his mouth, and smirks. “Not admitting a damn thing.”
Vincent laughs. “That means yes.”
Steven throws a Skittle at his forehead. “Shut up.”
And just like that, we’re all cracking up again, rolling on the carpet, candy scattered everywhere, costumes falling apart.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Vincent Cooper
PAST (2015)
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"Music is a moral law. It gives soul to the universe,
wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and charm
And gaiety to life and to everything."
Billie Joe Armstrong
“You know, I found out something incredible in physics class today.”
“Yeah? What is it?” I murmur, twisting a strand of her long brown hair around my index finger.
Nova’s head rests on my stomach as she braids daisies into a wreath. We’re in a hidden spot in Golden Gate Park, a little clearing tucked inside the grove we found last summer when we were taking Percy for a walk. No one ever comes here, and the meadow’s filled with daisies—Nova’s favorite flowers.
We come here almost every afternoon after school since it’s only a ten-minute walk from our high school. We alwaystrytodo homework, but we never finish, and Steven usually ends up helping us later. Nova always gets distracted, wandering off to look for bugs to photograph with my phone or her camera, while I lose myself playing guitar.
My parents gave me an acoustic guitar for my eleventh birthday, and at the music club I’ve been learning to play electric. I wish I had one of my own.
I love instruments—I already have a classical guitar, a wall piano, a keyboard, a recorder, and the ukulele Nova gave me when we first met. But I’d like to own every instrument in the world.
I dream of living in a house covered with them, waking up one morning unable to decide what to play because I have too many choices. My guitar’s lying next to our backpacks, and I’d be strumming if Nova hadn’t claimed me as her personal pillow. Not that I mind. Even when I do play, half the time it’s for her, and the other half of the time, I play thinking about her.
The tree branches shield us from the scorching October sun, while a soft breeze stirs the leaves. Some drift down to the lawn, a few landing right on us.
I wish I could feel this peace all the time—not just when I’m here with Nova in places like this. Most of the time, it feels like there’s a chasm inside me, an unbridgeable void. I hate being left alone with my thoughts because my own mind scares me. Music is the only thing that fills the emptiness, the only way to quiet the voice inside me.
The problem is, the people around me just make noise. Loud, meaningless noise. And sometimes I wonder if my silence is better. If I tried to explain this, people would just say it doesn’t make sense—and I’d agree, because even I don’t understand what I really need.
I’m just sad. And tired. Tired of everything, though I can’t even name what. The only thing Idowant is to play.
