Rhythm & Clues: A Young Adult Novel (6 page)

His eyes fell on the street sign, and his body went rigid. “Let’s avoid this street.”

Was he trying to distract me? “We can’t. There’s something we have to do on this specific street.” I smiled encouragingly at him. I knew he didn’t want to stay this close to church, but chances like this didn’t come along on every street. “We’ll be fast. Promise.”

“What are we doing?”

“Liberating a couch.” I pointed to the faux-leather one sitting in front of a neatly trimmed lawn just waiting for the garbage men to transport it to the dump. “I found it on my way to pick you up.”

“Oh.” He glanced around warily. “Is this allowed?”

“It’s not stealing, if that’s what you’re asking. Besides, would that be more sacrilegious than ditching whatever church activity you’re skipping out of to meet with me?”

I wanted him to celebrate the irony with me. Instead, he tugged on the strings of his hoodie, shrinking the opening so less of his face stayed visible. For some stupid reason, this made me feel better. Because I wasn’t the only one who had to go incognito in his presence.

“What I mean is,” I said when we reached the couch. “You say your parents are going to extremes, but look at all you’re doing to break some strange rule about music, your passion.”

I’d parked my car a few feet away from the couch to hide it from other pilferers. Together on the curb, they both looked desperate to relocate to a dump. I popped my trunk and extracted the coiled rope I’d purchased from the hardware store before I’d picked up Gavin.

“My parents brought me up thinking pop music was stupid since it didn’t have a deeper connection to spirituality.” He circled the couch, examining it. “I used to love religious music. Just because I expanded my horizons doesn’t mean they did.”

“Not all secular music is like that.” I worked on uncoiling the rope. “The stuff I write has a deeper meaning. Or at least I like to think it does.” I let out a small chuckle.

“Right, I see that now. And your stuff is definitely on a higher level than…” He didn’t finish, just smiled at me.

Than what? Than most people would think me capable of writing? Gavin wouldn’t know that. But I still must have impressed him. I turned away to hide my blush. “Back to my original point,” I said. “It still sounds like your parents are sheltering you.”

“Just with music.” Gavin lifted the couch onto its side, and I spread the rope on the ground so it would run down the center of the couch’s underside when he let go. “I don’t want you to think I was sheltered or unhappy. I have a lot to be thankful for. My parents love me. They made learning fun instead of boring classrooms all the time.” He picked up his end of the rope and brought it over to my end.

“How so?” I tied them together in what I hoped was a sturdy knot.

“Like we went on exotic vacations all over the world instead of just reading about places in textbooks. And they’d often set up these scavenger hunts for us that counted toward my curriculum. I grew up thinking I was so lucky, but now, I think I may have missed out on some things too.”

For some reason, I assumed he hated his home life. But he spoke in such an excited tone, I started to think maybe I’d misread things, skewed them so they’d more closely resembled my own situation. I couldn’t imagine spending so much time with Krystal. “Do you get along with your parents?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

He crossed the rope over our first loop. I thought he might not answer, but after a moment, he said, “They used to be my best friends. That sounds pathetic, I know. I told them everything and they never got angry with me when I questioned them.” He met my eyes. “But they don’t know I gave up religion once. Well, I guess I’m still doing it.” He showed me a toothy smile.

This going against his parents thing really was a big deal. I tested the strength of the rope.

“Hey, how come you never talk about your mom?” Gavin rested his elbows on the back of the couch.

The rope went slack in my hands. When I started this conversation, I’d intended to open up a bit to him too. But he wouldn’t understand that Krystal never took me on a vacation, even though she went on several herself. How she disappeared whenever a new man came into her life. I was never sure if I’d come home to find her sleeping before her night shift started or if I’d wonder for days if she was dead or just sunning herself on a pretty beach with a man she barely knew.

“Are you okay?” Gavin angled his head toward me.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I tried to wipe away whatever he saw in my face, plastering a smile on my lips. I decided to steer the conversation away from the topic of Moxie. “Homeschool does sound good though. Everything you said.”

“That’s funny. Because sometimes I envy you.”

I chuckled. “You don’t want to do that, trust me.”

“No, really. I’m curious about what it’s like to go to a regular school. I used to think all homeschooled kids were as reclusive as I was, but I started hearing about more social groups.” He threaded the rope around once more and knotted the ends, pulling so hard the couch skidded toward him. “When I asked my parents about it, they finally agreed to let my sister and me join. And even there I feel so out of place because I don’t know how to talk to people I’m not comfortable with.”

“Not everyone is worth talking to,” I said. “School is full of people you’d want to avoid.”

“I wouldn’t want to avoid you.”

I spun away from him to hide my smile. “I’m not a reason to give up what you have.” And as the words slipped out of my mouth, I knew they were true. Here I’d been thinking of his parents as evil guards and Gavin’s house as a prison, but in their eyes, they were doing everything right.

“It’s all about the way you look at things. Before I met you, I would have agreed. But now, I’ve jumped ship.” Gavin crouched at the opposite end of the couch. “Lift on three.”

I dug my fingers beneath the base as he counted. We heaved the couch off the ground, and I let out a grunt. My side dipped under my lack of strength as we tried to lug it over to the roof of the car. Gavin bent his knees to match my height.

The couch hovered over the front of my car.

“Gavin!” someone shouted. “Gavin, is that you?”

His eyes widened. and he let go of his grip. His end slammed onto my front bumper, severing it from its attachment with a tinny crash. The weight and impact of the accident was too much for me, and so the rest of the couch followed the bumper to the ground. I fell forward, landing on top of the couch, its edge thudding into my chest and knocking the wind out of me.

“Oh! Sorry, Moxie.” Gavin’s eyes darted from the broken bumper, to me, and to the strange, plump woman running in our direction from a house across the street. She waved her hands frantically, calling his name.

“Mrs. Waverly. Hi.” Gavin said, straightening. He tore his hoodie off, no longer resembling a burglar.

Mrs. Waverly must be why he didn’t want to turn onto this street. I stood up and brushed the dirt off my jeans.

She stopped in front of the sideways couch, panting to catch her breath. “I saw you from my window. Do you know this girl?” she asked, clearly not worried about offending me.

He stepped away from me. “Of course not. I was just…” His eyes flicked over to the house Mrs. Waverly emerged from. “Coming to talk to you.” The tone of his voice grew more confident with each word.

Mrs. Waverly stepped forward, arms crossed. Her eyes flicked to mine. “Then why are you picking garbage off the street?”

Blood rushed to my face. I backed away.

Gavin hesitated a moment. I took the opportunity to rescue him and tried to keep my voice steady against the lump in my throat. “He’s a good Samaritan. I asked him to help me lift this onto my car.”

Mrs. Waverly relaxed a little. “Good deeds aside, I assume you were coming to talk to me about starting piano lessons up again? Are you done with that project for your mom?” She eyed him suspiciously, and I realized this must have been the excuse he used to get out of the lessons initially.

Pretty sure another excuse would not suffice, I mourned the loss of our Thursday night practice sessions. This didn’t bode well for our band’s progress. We hadn’t yet made the transition from completely butchering songs to performing each one semi-accurately.

“Yeah, it’s done.” Gavin bowed his head in surrender. “I’m available again.”

“I have to be at the church in a hour. I can take you there early and fit you right in.” She smiled. “I’ll keep this little”—she swept her hand toward the couch and me—”mistake to myself.” It wasn’t an offer. It was a threat.

They started walking toward Mrs. Waverly’s house. Gavin didn’t look at me, but he crossed his fingers behind his back. We’d never established code words, so I had no idea what he inferred.

“I can’t lug this thing all the way to Clarendon Street.” I hoped Gavin would get my subtle message: I’d be waiting the Clarendon Street warehouse later, whether he showed up or not.

Mrs. Waverly spun around, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the street name. “That’s not my problem or his.”

Gavin cleared his throat. “Doesn’t the church want us to help others in need?”

Mrs. Waverly glanced from Gavin to me. He kept a sincere smile on his face but I saw through it. He delivered his own threat to her. Only he threatened her morality.

“Fine.” She dug her hand into her purse until she found her cell. She held it up to me like a police badge. “I have the police on speed dial. So don’t try to pickpocket him. We’ll take inventory before we leave.”

Gavin opened his mouth to defend me, but I shot him a warning glance. I knew nothing he said would improve this woman’s opinion of me. So as Gavin helped me heave the couch onto the top of the car and reattach my bumper with the excess rope, I thought about how pressured I felt. Mrs. Waverly’s reaction to me was just more confirmation that Gavin’s freedom teetered on my ability to fool his parents tomorrow night, whether Gavin agreed or not.

T
hough Gavin never showed up at the warehouse after the encounter with Mrs. Waverly, I assumed dinner with his family was still on. Nerves kept me from calling his house and finding out for sure. I’d managed to untie the couch and push it off the car into the warehouse parking lot, but I couldn’t do much more than drag it right inside the foyer. Attempting the stairs would have been suicide.

To complete my physical disappearance, I found a product at the drug store that resembled mascara, but claimed to temporarily take away gray roots. If it could work on grays, it could work on bleached blond streaks. It turned my hair crunchy, as if I emptied an entire bottle of hair spray onto my strands. But a neat bun held in place with a claw clip fixed that problem. Surprisingly, it looked sophisticated, like I was about to head to an interview. In a way, maybe I was.

Hair like that demanded a certain look, and a reconstructed outfit just wouldn’t cut it. What I needed was a skirt, but trying to find one in my closet would be like trying to hunt down an endangered species. That left only one option: Krystal’s room. The thought made me want to vomit.

I pushed her door. Gaudy jewelry and glittery scarves hung off the dusty oval mirror. Piles of dirty laundry covered every possible furniture surface. Bloated cigarette stubs floated in a glass of water like dead bodies.

I picked my way through her options, holding my nose against the booze smell. Her night job outfits were too low cut, doused in smoke and something else I didn’t want to identify. Crumpled in the bottom of her closet, I found a black skirt that rode low on my hips, the hem falling below the knee. I wasn’t even sure why Krystal had one this long; maybe for a funeral.

Ketchup splatters decorated the white button down shirts from her lunchtime waitressing job. I had to get creative. I paired one of the white button downs with Krystal’s low-cut blank tank top over it. The tank top hid the stains on the shirt, resulting in a conservative ensemble.

Combined with my hair, I looked like I could blend in, like I might have a reputation that fit me instead of one I could never live up to.

I drove past Mulberry Street and parked my car two blocks over. Then I doubled back on foot until I reached Gavin’s house. A Victorian-style prison stood in front of me, complete with the obligatory picket fence, green shingles, lace-pattern shutters, and perky flowerbeds lining the walkway.

Before I could approach, the front door opened and Gavin and his family hurried out to meet me by the white Volvo waiting in the driveway. His dad shut the front door firmly behind them, sealing the house into mystery.

I noticed Sabrina first, walking with her mother. They wore similar outfits: knee-length skirts and satin blouses in drab colors buttoned all the way to the top. I fidgeted with my collar, fastening the top two buttons as they approached.

Gavin blinked at me, his eyes tracing from my hair to my shirt. His lips curled into the biggest of grins.

Gavin’s father stood tall and lanky next to his equally height-gifted family. His full head of hair ran wild around his head, bushier and messier than Gavin’s.

They made such a perfect picture of an adorable family that I fought the urge to run away screaming.