He shrugs. “You never know. What if there’s a big earthquake, no other food?”
Trent plucks it from my hand, humming. “I’ll take my chances.”
He opens a black rubbish bag.
And Grandpa launches off his chair for it.
“Over my dead body.”
I laugh, steering Grandpa away. “That might just happen if you eat it.”
Grandpa grumbles but relents, instead turning his focus to the piles on his bed. He digs deep, pulling from the bottom an old black shoebox.
My curiosity flickers.
What’s inside?
But before I can think too much, the next song kicks in. Not just any song. The Mutton Birds. ‘Anchor Me’.
Grandpa waves at Trent, but this one?
This song is mine.
I grab the guitar, sling the strap over my shoulder.
Grandpa sits back, expectant.
Trent leans against the wardrobe, watching quietly.
And then it’s just me and the song.
The chords pull deep. My eyes close. I cry out the chorus. Jump to it. Let the guitar hang as I throw my arms up.
Anchor me.
I finish with a release of breath.
Grandpa claps, grinning.
I set the guitar down and glance at Trent.
He pushes off the wardrobe and steps onto the round rug. “You can sing.”
“And dance. And act.” I smile, but he’s still looking at me. Still seeing me.
It’s almost too much.
It is too much.
I sweep my hair back, twisting it into a knot. Something, anything to do.
Grandpa rifles through the shoebox. The newspaper clippings inside look old. Ancient history.
I shift on my feet. Curl my toes against the rug.
Trent moves closer.
I glance up sharply. His eyes are focused on my face. He’s coming too close. Another zap. Time to step back. “Th-this room won’t sort itself.”
