Chapter 35: Smart Girls Flashback

This was supposed to be a Flashback Friday thing, but I didn't quite get it finished. So happy Saturday Flashback!

The Song: Love Shack by the B-52's. Nothing could be more appropriate for the party at Casa Soundcrush. The B-52's are also from Athens, from whence Soundcrush hails...

Marley

Six Years Ago, at Casa Soundcrush in Athens

"This is a bad idea," I protest.

Stephanie drags me by the hand up the crumbling concrete walk. We stop in front of the tiny house with peeling paint.

"It's not a bad idea. You've been stalking him for a year, hoping he would recognize you. It's getting creepy. Besides, it's now or never. You are graduating in two weeks."

My roommate is right. I am pretty creepy the way I sit in the back of the coffee house on Music Mondays, watching him on stage.

I discovered Bodie by accident, when I dropped by the coffeehouse where Stephanie works. I couldn't believe the boy I used to know was on that stage, with a talent I had no idea he possessed. His presence as natural as the new dreads and confident head-bob.

I sat in the back with an Americano to which I distractedly added to much sugar, drinking in much more of him than the coffee.

Back then it was only Leed and Bodie with a couple of acoustics—or sometimes Bodie with a bongo—doing unexpected covers that worked. Leed singing lead in his resonant timbre, Bodie providing a subtle but surprisingly effective harmony. They had a vibe like Bon Iver but instead of the raw vocals, they murmured velvet into their mics.

I appreciated the music, but it wasn't their performance that mesmerized me. It was Bodie's expressions while he sang. I told myself over and over I was imagining the similarity of his side-eye looks and Darius' mischievous glances.

You're seeing what you want to see, I told myself. Darius looks nothing like him.

But I couldn't stop seeing it.

When they finished, they packed up their mics and amp and chatted with Stephanie on their way out. I edged up to the counter, waiting patiently for Bodie to turn to me. Waiting for his smile to light, and then, maybe dim in old hurt and anger as recognition filled his amber eyes. But I was hopeful he might be able to forgive me. We were both so far from where we were all those years ago.

He did turn. He did smile. But his smile was generic—for a stranger. His eyes unrecognizing. I ducked my head, dumped my empty cup in the dish tray and fled.

What did I think I was going to say to him, anyway?

Hey, remember me? Listen, I'm really sorry that I almost got you shot in the head. By the way, that night? I got pregnant, and I have a six year old son. I want him to be yours and not Daemon's so badly that I'm imagining he looks like you, even when I know a paternity test says he can't be yours. Oh, great set by the way. Really like that cover of Iris.

I kept going back to watch him, making no more attempts to approach him. Eventually, their duo became a full band and the sound slowly transformed. Soundcrush was emerging.

I watched the transformation in anonymity. Bodie never saw me for me. He passed me by dozens of times. Eventually, I told Stephanie that I used to know him, and have a huge crush on him, but that he obviously didn't remember me.

I never told her about his near-miss with being my babydaddy. She knew about Darius, of course, because I had been going home every weekend since freshman year to be with him.

But not this weekend. Tonight, Darius has his first sleepover with a friend. I've already talked to Pat, who assured me he was totally comfortable when she dropped him off. So for once, I have a free night.

As Stephanie pulls me onto the tiny porch of Bodie's house, we do a shuffle with the girl sliding out the door. I recognize her as Soundcrush's keyboardist.

"Hey, girl," she says casually to Stephanie, looking a little stoned beneath her heavy makeup.

"Hey, Mac. Thanks for inviting me. This is my roommate Mar—"

"Dammit!" Mac leaps off the side of the low porch as a voice from inside yells something about macaroni and needing a band-aid.

"Hey," she says to Stephanie, looking up from the bushes in which she landed. "If Leed asks about me, I'm going to Rolo's, okay?"

The guy I recognize as Soundcrush's bass player appears, nearly slamming into me in his hurry out the door I'm blocking.

"Oops, I'm sorry! You first. Please," he steps back, at the same time holding the open the door for me to enter. Wow, this one has nice manners for a stoner musician.

"No problem. I'm...not quite ready to go in." I grab the frame of the door and step back. "Come on out."

He smiles and hustles through. His attention is already diverted to the beauty in the bushes. He laughs at her. "What are you doin, Shorty?"

"Avoiding nursing duties."

He looks sheepish. "I told Leed we'd make a Bandaid run."

She gives Stephanie a side-eye, then the bassist a pointed look and says, "You can make a band-aid run. I'm going to Rolo's."

His face falls. "Wait...are you really going to Rolo's?"

"Oh Jesus Christ, Adam! Are you slow!?!?" She fights her way out of the bushes and strikes off across the yard.

"Well, you don't have to get so hostile," he growls.

But he follows.

Stephanie watches them. "I think they are sleeping together, and I don't think the other guys in the band know."

I shrug, not really caring. I'm looking through the screen door into the tiny living room. Bodie is sitting on the couch, a red Solo cup in one hand and a remote in the other.

"Look, there's an empty seat beside him. Just go sit down and say, hey, remember me?" Stephanie jerks open the door and pushes me through it.

I swear, I'm gonna do it. This is crazy. We were so close for a short time, and I know I really messed that up, but it doesn't change who Bodie is. He's a great guy. Even if he's not happy to see me, he won't be mean. And if I don't do this, I will always wonder if maybe I could have made things right with him.

I am halfway across the living room when a girl in a yoga pants and a crop top sits down in his lap. He smiles at her and says something I can't hear. He pulls her slightly to the side, nestling her head against his shoulder.

I keep walking right past Bodie. The room is so crowded, I brush up against the guitar player who is sharing a beer with a very pretty girl whom I hope is older than she looks. He looks at me, gives me a chin tip, and says, "Hey, Coffee House Girl. Glad to see you out from behind your book!"

Okay, yeah. So I guess this cat is more observant than his drummer friend.

"Great party," I say.

"Thanks. Make yourself at home at Casa Soundcrush," he grins. "Keg's out back, and that red-headed bastard in the kitchen," he raises his voice and gestures to the phenomenally attractive frontman of Soundcrush, "will pour you a shot if you don't mind him bleeding into it."

Leed heard Trace and gives me a sheepish grin as he holds one dripping hand over the sink and hoists the tequila bottle in the other.

"Oh, and the weed's on me. Help yourself. I'm feeling like spending my jerk of a dad's dough tonight..." he gestures to the bong on the table.

His words fade. His searches my face for a brief second. His eyes are very, very stark.

It's weird but the thought, hurts sees hurt, flashes in my brain.

He wets his lips. "Hey, you aren't here alone are you? You got somebody with you? A boyfriend? A wing-woman?"

"Yeah, my friend Stephanie," I jerk my thumb at Stephanie, who is talking to Bodie and Ms. Yoga Pants.

"Ah. Steph from the bar. Good. She's tough. Have fun. Stay safe." The very handsome guitarist—who looks like he belongs in a boy band, not a grunge outfit—smiles like he means it. "I'm Trace, by the way."

"I'm Mar—"

The girls pokes Trace in the chest. "Hey, remember me?"

Now, that's what I was supposed to say to Bodie. Why can't I do it as easily as this pretty teen who is obviously jealous of Trace's every smile?

She grabs his chin and turns his attention back to her. He takes her hand and gives it a chaste peck. "Don't be like that, KitKat. You're my best girl, but I have to speak to our fans. She comes out every week to hear us play. Thanks very much for the support, by the way," he nods at me. Then he leans into the teen and takes her beer cup, drinking down most of it. "Now, I want to hear exactly how you gave Deacon his walking papers."

"Uggh, he's so stupid I had to break up with him three times before he got it," she laughs.

The guitarist finds this very amusing. What I find amusing is, how in the heck does he see me in the back of the coffee house and Bodie doesn't see me at all?

Well, to be fair, I guess Bodie is stuck back there behind his drums onstage. It's probably like being in his own world.

"Hey!" Stephanie yells at me. I turn. She's waving me over. Yoga Pants is kissing on Bodie's neck while he frowns at me slightly.

What the hell did Stephanie say to him?

I panic and veer down the short hall, to the bathroom. I practically leap in the open door and slam it behind me. A beautiful blonde girl is standing on the toilet, pawing through a tall shelf behind it. It looks like she's already rummaged the undersink cabinent.

She looks down at me. "Hey. I'll just be a second, I'm looking for something."

"No worries," I wave at her, panting in panic. "I'm just...hiding."

"From who?" she looks down at me.

"My...my girlfriend," I say automatically.

Ashlynn's eyes go round for one brief second, and she quickly evens her expression.

Oh. I didn't mean girlfriend like that, but whatever. It doesn't matter what a stranger thinks.

"Did you guys have a fight or something?"

"Or something."

She hops down and leans against the counter. "Are you okay?"

Wow, this girl is really nice.

"Yes. She just...wants me to do something I don't want to do..." Her eyes go wide again. "No, not..." I sigh. "It's...just...no, really, I'm fine."

She turns, and looks at both of us in the mirror. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah."

"Do you believe in love at first sight?"

I think about the first time I saw Bodie at Mrs. JJ's yardsale. "I don't know. But I believe in...something at first sight."

"Something strong," she murmurs. She's looking at herself in the mirror, not at me now. She blushes and then looks down. "Oh god. What am I thinking? I have a boyfriend."

"I had a boyfriend, too. When I felt something stronger."

She gives me a rueful smile. "I think that's maybe kind of...different."

I give her a quizzical look. Then I remember she thinks I'm talking about my "girlfriend."

"What's your name?"

"Ashlynn."

"Well, Ashlynn, take it from someone who has lived a lot in her twenty-three years. You don't always get a second chance at something strong. I would say...you owe it to yourself to at least check him out."

She blushes. "He's so hot. And I can just tell from his smile...he's special."

Suddenly I'm worried she means Bodie. "Which one? This place is full of hot specials."

"The singer," she looks down at her hands. "Leed," she adds.

"Yeah, he is pretty hot," I agree. She looks surprised.

What the hell, I might as well just go with it. "I still like guys, too," I shrug.

"Oh," she giggles. Then she points a finger at me and gives me a silly face. "Hands off my guy."

"Mmmm...the drummer is more my type."

Her beautiful smile breaks. "Bodie is a sweetheart. I was talking to him earlier. He actually looked me in the eyes the entire time I was talking. Most guys look around." She gestures from her flowing blonde hair to her perfect rack. Her pink sweater has a modest neckline but it fits nicely, and there's no hiding boobs like that in form-fitting clothes.

"Yeah, he's like that," I say.

"Oh you know him? Oh!!!!" she exclaims, picking up a tiny tube from the counter. "Superglue! That will work! Don't you think?"

"For?"

"Glueing Leed's cut closed."

"Oh yeah, sure. Make sure you use a toothpick to apply it to the cut. It flows too quick out of the tube."

"How do you know that?"

"Prison."

She laughs. "You are so funny. What's your name?"

"Mar—"

Just then the door jerks open and Stephanie flames with indignation. "Just what do you think you are doing, chic?"

"We were just talking, I swear!" Ashlynn squeaks and slides between us, rushing down the hall with the glue.

Stephanie pulls her long brown hair to one side and stares after her. "What's wrong with her?"

"She thinks you are my aggressive girlfriend."

Steph mushes her brows and lips. "I am your aggressive girlfriend."

"Yeah, but we just share clothes and an obsession with Gossip Girl, not sexy times."

Stephanie lets a laugh rip. "How in the hell did you make that girl think we're a couple?"

"I have a talent for getting in complicated situations," I mutter.

I follow Steph out in the hall, hoping we are leaving. Instead, she opens the door across the hall. Two people are sitting cross-legged on the bed a Ouija board between them. A drum kit occupies a full quarter of the room.

"You're better off asking Google for answers," Steph says bluntly to the guy guiding the planchette.

"Who asked you?"

"A lot of people ask her a lot of things," I pipe up. "She's very knowledgeable."

The girl he's with laughs and laughs. It wasn't that funny, she's just that drunk. He pulls a full wine bottle from the cabinet style headboard of Bodie's bed, offering it to her. She swigs and he clumsily puts it back on the headboard.

"Get the hell out," he says, not looking at us. The guy is probably directing that damn planchette to get answers that get him laid.

"You get the hell out." Steph is rifling detritus in the top drawer of Bodie's beat up dresser. "Bodie said he needs the room."

"For what?"

Stephanie pulls a box of condoms from the drawer and chucks it on the bed. "Dude, what do you think? Private party of three."

I choke on my own saliva as the guy grumbles and pulls the drunk girl from the room.

"Relax," Stephanie claps my arms. "Obviously we are not sexing that douchebag drummer. He's full of himself. I dropped hints about you and he still doesn't recognize you."

"What did you say?" I hiss.

"I said, hey my friend over there went to high school with you. Remember her?"

I squint at her. "We didn't go to high school together."

She cocks her head at me. "You said you were schooled in the same neighborhood."

Okay, so there may be a few things I haven't told Stephanie. Like I completed my high school education at fifteen, and then I ran away from home and lived an entirely different life. I have told her that I lived in a rough neighborhood, got pregnant at seventeen and then went to jail for my thug boyfriend. I just have a lot of history—too much to share.

"That was just...an expression. I meant, schooled in the street life," I hiss.

"Well, how was I supposed to know that? He's still a dick for not remembering you," she hisses back.

"He's not a dick," I say defensively. It's very hard to explain that I intentionally used to make myself look more black, to feel what it felt like. I'm embarrassed by that. Some people might think that was a deceptive thing to do. "I've changed. He's changed. We are different people now, I guess."

"He doesn't even like that girl on his lap," Steph huffs. "The girl was acting all googly eyed over him and he just sat there with his hand on her butt, ignoring her, talking to me and watching the game. It's like...he doesn't have any feelings. I'm telling you, you can do better."

Stephanie is an amazing friend. Completely loyal. I know she's just trying to stoke my anger so I don't feel hurt that Bodie doesn't' recognize me.

It's not working. She's breaking my heart for him. If Bodie doesn't have feelings, maybe it's because I hurt him so much he shut them down.

"Look, let's just get out of here," I mutter.

"Oh no," Stephanie counters. "We have business," she scans the room then saunters to the door and locks it.

"What kind of business?"

"Revenge business."

"Steph, no. That's crazy. I don't want revenge. He didn't do anything wrong."

"Hell yes, he did. He forgot my exceptional, beautiful, wonderful friend." She gives me a warm hug, then holds me out at arms' length. She squints and presses her thumb and index finger millimeter's apart. "Just itty-bitty revenge."

I sigh. "Steph..."

She takes my exasperation for collusion and spins me as she grabs a bag of half-eaten Ruffles from the dresser. Before I can stop her, she's slung the chips on the sheets, and jumped atop the bed, hopping around, making Bodie's bed something akin to Dante's seventh circle of hell.

"You are awful," I laugh at her.

"I am the Goddess of Retribution!" she yells and jumps harder.

The wine bottle that Oujia Playa left on the headboard falls off, vomiting a red stream into a cardboard box sitting against the wall.

"Steph!"

I reach the bottle first, but it's practically empty as I pull it from the box. I squat and turn on the small lamp atop the headboard that barely escaped it's own crash. As I peel back the flaps of the box, my heart sinks.

Red wine is soaking into four neatly stacked piles of distressed beige t-shirts bearing a circular Soundcrush logo.

"Ah, shit," Stephanie sighs as I gasp and try to claw shirts out of the box. My efforts only make it worse. All the shirts are either splattered or puddled with wine.

"Damn," Stephanie sits down on the bed. "They just had those printed. Out of pocket. I heard them talking. Leed and Bodie and Mac hustled to pay for them. They hate that Trace and Adam buy everything."

I feel like crying as I hold up shirt after shirt. "Maybe I can get the stains out?"

"That's not coming out," she says sadly.

"Well, we have to try."

"So we're just going to go in there and tell them we ruined five hundred dollars of their merch and offer to wash it?"

I quell the sinking feeling. I don't have five hundred dollars to cover these ruined shirts, but I can't just duck out and pretend we didn't do this. I can maybe borrow the money from TJ and pay him back over the next couple of months...

"Or we offer to pay for them," I say stubbornly.

"Let's try to wash them," Steph says decidedly. "We should rinse as much as we can out right now, though..."

We take armloads of shirts across to the bathroom and run them under water in the tub. We rinse and repeat for a long time. It doesn't help much. Eventually, people need the bathroom and we hustle them back to Bodie's bedroom.

The door knob rattles. A banging follows.

"Open up, we need the room," a stern voice says.

"Trace Andrew Gallant, put her down!"

"That's exactly what I'm trying to do, Ashlynn." The voice is filled with irritation.

"That sounds like Trace and the girl from the bathroom." she says.

I think so too.

I panic, grab the soggy box of wine and t-shirts and streak across the room. I motion for Stephanie and she helps me throw it out the low-lying window. I'm about to follow it out, but Stephanie grabs my arm.

"Be cool, chic."

She drags me back to the door, and lays a kiss on me as she unlocks it.

I'm so shocked I just stand there, letting her press her lips to mine.

This time when Trace rattles the knob, it opens. We pretend to break apart in embarrassment and stare at Trace.

He's holding the younger girl bridal style. She doesn't look like anything is wrong with her. In fact she looks happy as hell. He grins at our girl-on-girl kiss and then clears his throat as he moves around us.

"By all means, carry on, ladies." He sits on the bed and deposits Kat beside him.

"Okay, Kat?" he says.

She leans her head on his shoulder. "Dizzy. Bed," she murmurs, trying to pull him further on the mattress with her.

Ashlynn laughs in disbelief. "You have lost your tiny mind if you think I'm leaving you here in bed with him, Katheryn Adair Ballard."

"Will you stop with that full name thing? It's annoying as fuck," Trace sounds mildly, then, "What the hell?" as he picks up his hand from the bed to find it covered in greasy crumbs.

"Oh, there were some real sketch people in here before us. Guy had a Ouija board he uses to hit on girls?"

"Yeah, I know him," Trace says grimly. "Did he leave with anything else? Last time he was here, I'm pretty sure he stole some shit out of band van..."

"A box," Stephanie says at once. "A big cardboard box."

I look at the floor, somewhere between aghast and impressed at Stephanie's quick thinking.

Trace looks around the room. "Goddammit! For real? That was new merch. We put it back here so it wouldn't get stolen..."

"You can buy more T-shirts, Trace. My baby sister cannot buy back her...her...innocence!" Ashlynn hisses.

Trace looks angry. "Ashlynn, you better shut the hell up, okay? That is not what's going here. I am not Cameron Martin."

"How dare you!"

Trace snorts. "That's what you should have said to him when you were Kat's age. I tried to warn you about him—"

"You tried to warn me about the man I'm going to marry. The man that loves me and wants to spend the rest of his life with me."

"Is that the same guy that I see on tv, huggin' on cheerleaders after his games?"

I hate you, Trace. I really hate you."

"That's too bad, Ashlynn, because I don't hate you. If you were drunk at a party like this, I would take care of you, too," he says, gesturing at her sister, who has curled up next to him with a bliss smile on her face.

"No way is she staying here, Trace." Ashlynn's face is red. "She is fourteen years old! I can't believe you got her drunk!"

"She's a high school freshman and I know damn good and well you were drinking with Cam your freshman year of high school, so shut it. Anyway, I know how much I let her drink," he says mildly. "Not even a whole beer. Are you faking this, Kat?" he grins at her. "Cause I know you like to fuck with your sister, but you are making a whole helluva lot of trouble for me with Funsucker, here."

"No, I feel really weird. Must have been the tequila shots," Kat giggles.

Ashlynn stamps her foot. "You let her do shots?"

Trace sighs. "I had to see about...a thing. For like five minutes. You did shots with Leed?" he asks the girl, pulling her head away from his shoulder. "I'm gonna fucking kill him—"

"Nope," Katheryn sways her head in exaggeration and points at Ashlynn. "With her friends."

Trace gapes at Ashlynn. "With your friends? Where the hell were you?"

They continue to argue. "We're gonna go," I mumble and drag Stephanie with me. They hurl accusations at each other and ignore our exit.

We go out the back door and make our way to the window, to retrieve the box. It's big and heavy and we carry it down the sidewalk between us toward Stephanie's car. I'm walking backwards with it when she unceremoniously drops her end. She drags the box and me between two parked cars, and peers across the street.

"There are people making out in my car," she says with whisper shock, pointing.

"Reason number seventy-seven why you should lock your doors," I say smugly.

She doesn't even spare a glare for me. She saves it all for the squatters in her Saturn. She stalks over and jerks open the passenger side back door.

"Hey girl," Mac says as nonchalantly as she had on the porch. Apparently she's completely unphased to be caught topless. She turns to the boy. "Adam, did you know this was Steph's car?"

The bass player-Adam—says nothing. He's intent on turning Mac's hoodie right side out. Then he draws it around her shoulders. "Arms." She presses her lips into a bitter smile, but she complies and dons her hoodie. He zips it up. As an afterthought, he hands her a t-shirt and lacy purple bra. She rolls her eyes and shoves them in the bag on the floorboard.

Only once the girl is covered does he answer her question. "Yes, of course I knew. You think I would sex you in a stranger's car?"

"You had sex in my car?" Stephanie yells. "Alright, get the fuck out. Now."

"Oh calm down, Stephanie," Mac says casually. "Obviously, it didn't get that far. Adam takes forever; he tries to be all sweet and romantic. Like there is anything romantic about me and him. Or about fucking amidst fast food trash." She picks up a fry carton and shakes salt onto Adam's head.

"Hey!" Adam shoots her a look of irritation and rakes through his hair. "So much for all the nice things you said ten minutes ago."

"I was drunk. You took so goddamn long, now I'm sober."

Mac climbs off him, adjusts her skater skirt, reaches back in for her bag. Adam grabs her wrist to stop her, and puts something in the bag. She laughs and tosses her panties back out at him.

"Keep 'em. Souviner of our one and only stupid mistake," she says breezily.

He shakes his head and smiles out the window. "Okay, MacKenna. Whatever you say." He looks at Steph. "Don't tell the guys, okay? Leed will flip his shit, and Mac's right...it was just...a weird night. Bad idea. One time thing," he nods at Mac as he climbs out of the seat behind her.

"No worries," Steph says breezily. "Right, Mar—"

"Where the hell you been?" Trace yells at Mac and Adam. He's got the girl in his arms again, and he's trailed by a group of four others, Ashlynn among them.

"Getting Band-aids," Mac pulls out a box from her bag.

"Oh, he doesn't need them anymore," Ashlynn calls cheerfully. "I superglued him."

"Well that's half an hour I will never get back," she mutters.

"It was a half hour well spent. Nice walk. Nice talk."

Mac glares at him. "Shut.Up.Adam."

"Yeah." Now he looks angry. He walks away, and helps Trace load the drunk girl in a car.

Mac watches them as she talks to Steph about nothing. Finally, she says to me, with more enthusiasm but very little attention as she squints at Adam's back, "Thanks so much for coming out to the shows. It's so cool that you are a regular."

"You guys are great. I really like the acoustic vibe."

"Oh, well," she laughs a little. "That's all about to change. We've been working up a bigger sound. Our last gig at the coffee house is next week. Trace has got us a bar circuit thing lined up. Thursday nights at the Lab, Friday's at the Handlebar and Saturday's at Gregg's Place."

"That's great. You guys are going places."

"To the top, if Trace and my brother have anything to do with it. I am going to be stuck in this band with that holier-than-thou Preacher boy forever," she grins and rolls her eyes. "See you guys later," she mumbles as she gives Stephanie a hand squeeze in good-bye.

Steph and I can't leave, however, because the box of wine-stained T-shirts is still across the street shoved beneath a car. We get in Steph's car and pretend to check our phone. Part of me thinks this is ridiculous—we should just admit we ruined the shirts—but I can't stand the thought of facing Bodie now. Even though Steph got the details wrong, she brought his attention solely onto me and he still didn't recognize me.

Do I really look that differently, or did I mean so little to him that he forgot all about me in the last six years?

Finally, Kat and Ashlynn and company drive away, and all the Soundcrushers return to the party. Steph and I sneak back across the street to the parked cars, but just as we are pulling the box from beneath it, Bodie busts out of the house and begins to hoof it down the street. I panic and crawl into the car. Stephanie follows.

Does nobody in the town lock their doors?

We lie down in the backseat being extremely quiet because the window is rolled down a little. Surely he won't see us as he walks past.

Because we have the worst luck ever, someone shouts his name and he halts, right beside our hiding place.

"Bodie!" Trace says again. "Hold up, man."

"You know what, Trace? You need to back the fuck up off me, man. I already told you—"

"Look, I just want to say I'm sorry." Trace's voice lowers as he comes nearer. "I'm not trying to judge—"

"That's exactly what you are doin', Trace. We were totally cool until I you found out I was in juvi for three years for drug charges. Now every time I talk to the same fucking dude you buy your weed from, you act all sketch, like you think I'm doing anything different than you."

In the orange glow of the streetlight, I see Trace tuck his arms tight to beneath his armpits. "Look, Bodie—what the five of us do together on that stage is phenomenal, and I think we can go all the way. But I want this to be more than just about money. I want us to love what we do and fucking like the hell out of the people we do it with.

"But here's the thing. I'm not gonna lie. I got trust issues. And all the sudden I find out our drummer with the perfect GPA who wants to be a lawyer went to jail for possession of half a million dollars of blow? It's like I don't even know you now, man. You were in some serious shit, and I don't want that to blow back on anybody I care about."

"That's all in the past. I got in over my head in a situation you only get out of in handcuffs or a body bag. You think I didn't learn my lesson? I went to jail when I was fifteen and got out on my eighteenth birthday. What the fuck were you doing when you were sixteen? Riding around in your goddamn beamer, smoking the weed you bought from the trapper that replaced me in your fucking gated community. I'm not saying I know your life. Maybe you been through your own shit. But you can't see what my shit was like from behind those gates, man. You need to seriously think about that, before you come at me like this."

For a moment it looks like the two angry guys might get confrontational. Then Trace sighs and relaxes his posture, lacing his hands behind his head and muttering, "Fuck. You're right, man. Shit. I'm sorry, Bodie. I'm an asshole sometimes. I want to control things and I come on too strong. I just...I want to make sure Soundcrush is good. All of us. I want us tight. I don't want anything sliding in sideways that could get between us. Or hurt any of us."

"Look, I get that. That shit I left behind? I never want anybody I care about touched by that world, either. So you can take this to the fucking grave: the day I start dealin' in thugs and drugs again is the day I cut ties with Soundcrush. I can promise you that. But I can also promise you, it ain't ever gonna happen."

"Imma hold you to that, man. Because you belong with us," Trace says. They clap it out. They even hug. As they head back toward the house, Trace says, "Hey, so what's up with you and Hope? That's like four nights in a row she's been over here."

Bodie laughs. "It ain't no thing. You know me. I'm just livin' for the good times."

"Same," Trace swears.

"Not same. Not at all," Bodie laughs. "I ain't passin' time with hotties because I got some unavailable hometown honie that walks around with my heart in her hot little fist, that's for damn sure. In my experience, those girls-next-door you carry a torch for? If you don't snuff that torch out, you get burned."

"Ah. There's a story there..." Trace murmurs.

"Nope," Bodie says. "Closed the book on that one."

I cry into a wine-soaked t-shirt as Stephanie drives us back to the dorm.

"We hate Soundcrush," she declares as she tries to get me to burn the box of t-shirts.

"We don't," I tell her hoarsely.

I spent the two weeks before my mid-year graduation trying to repair the damage we had done to the wine-soaked t-shirts. I couldn't get the stains out, and I couldn't go back to Bodie's house and confess what we had done, either.

Bodie had put his past behind him. Unlike the wine in the cloth, he had washed me from his blood. I had no right to tumble back into his life and make another mess.

Damn. What a party, huh?

Oh. BTW.  Did you catch Bodie's pledge to Trace in this chapter?