“Don’t worry about it.” He fished around for the dangling bud, and once he caught it, he glanced down at the space between us. After a moment of consideration, he scooted toward me and slipped the earpiece back in, and we both focused on the music.
The song was slow—soft in some places and loud in others. It reminded me of a combination of These Beautiful Lies and Sunday’s Calling, my two all-time favorite bands. Aaron let me listen to the whole song before pressing Pause.
“Do you like it?” he asked. His lips were slightly parted, and he held his breath as he waited for my answer.
“It was beautiful.” There was so much more I wanted to say, like how it was one of those songs that made my heart fly. I didn’t knowthe lyrics or melody, but some part of me welcomed the unfamiliar music like an old friend, as if the artist had used my soul as inspiration when writing it. “What’s it called?”
“‘Flying Free’ by the Silver Souls,” he responded, not taking his eyes off mine.
“Never heard of them.” But the first thing I was going to do when I got home was download the song.
“They haven’t released any music yet.”
I paused.If the Silver Souls don’t have an album out, how in the world does he have access to their music?
“Oh?” I prompted, wanting him to explain, but my curiosity only made Aaron clamp his mouth shut. From the way his shoulders stiffened, I knew my question had made him uncomfortable.
Again, weird.
I tugged on a strand of my hair and tried to patch up the situation. “So,” I said hesitantly. “Mind if we listen to some more?”
He exhaled through his nose and nodded. “Here.” He handed me his phone. “You pick.”
I took it from him carefully and cradled it in my palm. A few seconds passed as I thought about how unexpected tonight was turning out to be.
Aaron cleared his throat. “Um, Felicity?”
“Yeah?”
He pointed down at the phone. “You have to hit Play for it to work.”
“Right.” I fumbled with the device for a moment, and then the screen lit up. I quickly jabbed the play button. Another song by the Silver Souls started playing, and Aaron closed his eyes and settledinto the bench. I took a second to watch him listen to the music. He was drumming his fingers against his legs, silently mouthing the words. He looked so content I had a hard time tearing my gaze away from him, but I didn’t want to be caught staring. Smiling to myself, I copied him and let my eyes flutter shut.
This was by far the best part of my evening, so it was no surprise it didn’t last long. We’d only made it through three more songs before I felt something vibrating inside my clutch. When I pulled out my phone, Asha’s name flashed on the screen. I yanked out the earbud and answered.
“Hey, girl. What’s up?”
“Felicity,” she said in an I-mean-business tone. “Where thehellare you?”
“I’m sorry, Asha. I didn’t mean to ditch you, but I spilled soda on my dress and then I—”
She cut me off before I could explain. “Never mind that. I have to leave, like now.”
I glanced at Aaron before moving out of earshot. “Can’t we stay a little bit longer?” I whisper-asked. “I met this guy. His name is—”
“No can do,” she interrupted again. “Riya called. She finished her shift at the grocery store, but her car won’t start. I have to go pick her up.”
I groaned. Asha’s older sister had a rust bucket of a car. It was a banged-up Ford Festiva their dad drove around in the eighties and smoked lots of pot in. Riya was gifted Michael James—as Asha and I had christened him, since he was clearly a guy and not a Mary Jane—when she turned sixteen.
Because I lived close by, Riya offered to give me rides to school. At the time, I’d been ecstatic. Mom worked in the mornings, so I had to face the social embarrassment of taking the bus. My excitement lasted exactly one day before I reverted back to public transportation, a decision I made for my own safety. When Riya arrived to pick me up, I had to climb through the window into the backseat because the rear doors were bungee-cabled shut.
After that, the only time I rode in her car was when she lent it to Asha. Then I got to sit shotgun where there was a working seat belt. On the few occasions when Riya lent her car to us, Asha and I planned day trips together, like an afternoon at the beach or an outing to Runyon Canyon where we would hike our favorite three-mile trail. Sometimes we only had the car for an hour, so we’d cruise the neighborhood and stop at the Gas Exchange for snacks: Cool Ranch Doritos for me, slushy and Pop Rocks for Asha.
Four years later, it was a feat the car had lasted so long.
“Oh no!” I said with a laugh. “Not the Festiva! We’ll have to hold a candlelight vigil to pay our respects.”
Asha snorted. “We can thank the Lord for Michael James’s passing later. Riya has already called me three times, and I’m running low on minutes for the month.”
