Page 37 of Strum Me

“I’m doing it right now.” I reach over and run my finger down the soft curve of her cheek.

“Brad.” The one word carries a world of meaning. Some of it I don’t like. Some of it is telling me to stop.

“Butter. You say the word and I’m there. Or here…and wherever you want me to be. You coming back has shown me that.”

I know I shouldn’t be doing this. That going after someone in a relationship is lower than even what I will stoop to, but I want her to know. I want her to get used to the idea that maybe we came back into each other’s lives for a reason.

“It’s too late, Brad.” There’s a waver in her voice, and it gives me hope.

“It’s never too late, Butter.”

She goes quiet and I wonder if there’s anything I can say that would ever change her mind about dumping whoever the loser is she’s with and giving us another chance. On my own, I can’t think of it. So, I change the subject.

“Hey, why didn’t you continue with your piano and flute? I mean, I know why you stopped singing, but...”

“Ha-ha, excuse me, you should wonder why I’m not a professional vocalist!”

“No, really...you were so talented.”

“No, Brad. I wasn’t. I didn’t suck, but I wasn’t ‘so talented.’”

“Butter...”

“No, it’s okay. I mean, I enjoyed it.” She smiles and her fingers do some little movements, as if she’s remembering her years of music practice. “I’m glad I went to a specialized music school, but the whole time, I pretty much felt like an imposter. I mean, who goes to music school and dreads music class and looks forward to history and English Lit?”

“Ugh,” I involuntarily grunt. Now the memories come back to me. Bad ones.

“Ha!” She lets out a guffaw. “Exactly. That’s how I felt about music classes by our senior year. No one wants to be the worst in their class.”

“You weren’t,” I insist. She may not have been the best, but she had her own unique style, something I think is more important than being like the other one hundred virtuosos in your class.

“I’d give anything to play like Cadence,” she sighs.

“She does play beautifully,” I agree.

“Anyway, I just got sick of being in the shadow of real musicians. I want to shine, too, Brad. Is that so wrong?”

Those crystal-blue orbs she has as eyes grow large and she locks them on me. I swallow as I feel something crawl up my throat in response. I can’t escape the desire in her eyes to be special. I just wish she knew just how special she is.

“Um, we wear shirts with our names in glitter on them. I don’t think you need to be embarrassed about wanting to shine around me.” I flutter my eyelashes at her and wave a hand in front of my face.

“DIVA!” she yells and crumbles into a fit of giggles.

My heart leaps at the sound of her happiness. “You know it!”

She shoves me in the shoulder as she rolls her eyes, and not for the first time I forget that we’re not just lying side by side in my bed after school, making joke after joke.

I wait for the laughter to die down before I nudge her back. “You know what though?”

She raises a nervous eyebrow in response.

“You write as beautifully as Cadence plays,” I tell her, the most honest thing I’ve said in a long time.

“Brad…”

“It’s true. Since we found out you were going to be reporting on us, I’ve been reading some of your editorials and blogs and articles. I mean I’m glad you went to music school, because it obviously gives you an insight into musicians, but you’re right, words are where your talent is. It’s where you shine.”

Her whole chest lifts in a deep, deep breath.