Page 35 of Grown

Korey Fields... is FaceTiming ME.

“Holy shit,” I gasp.

Mom’s footsteps inch closer. I snatch my biology book out my bag and stare at the phone. Do I answer it? Tell him I’ll call him back? What if he never calls again? But how will I explain this to Mom? I’m not even supposed to have his number.

It took 432,000 tiny paper cuts to press decline... just as Mom swings open the door.

“Found it!” I yelp, wiping the sweat off my neck.

Chapter 22

Feels Like Home

Saturday comes and I can’t decide what to wear. I try on everything, even some of Shea’s outfits. I settle on a tight green top and jeans with a denim jacket.

Daddy is taking me to the studio today but doesn’t plan to stay.

“I have to go to Far Rock,” he says, resisting a grimace. “Make sure the place is all right. Might run into some traffic, so just wait for me at the Starbucks on the corner when you’re done. And remember to behave, Korey’s doing you a big favor. He’s big time!”

I tell Korey we have an extra two hours, and his smile could light up the world.

“That’s just what we need.”

We sing “Best Part” by H.E.R. and Daniel Caesar (one of my parents’ favorite songs). Then we sing “Shallow” by Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper (Korey loves playing the guitar), followed by a Whitney Houston solo (he loves my voice).

I don’t fit in at school or in Will and Willow. And I can’t fully be myself at home because, well, no one really wants me to sing. The only place I’ve ever felt comfortable letting loose was at Grandma’s. But here, with Korey, feels like it’s the first time I’ve been myself in a long while. If I could stay here forever, I would.

“Ready to write a little something?” Korey says, waving a notebook.

“For real?” Been bringing my songbook with me, waiting for the right moment to share. I could just burst as I slip it out of my bag.

“Yep,” he laughs, pulling me over to the sofa. “Well, first, we gotta talk about making love.”

I freeze. “What?”

“Making love,” he says, matter-of-factly. “We gotta talk about it so we can write a song about it, Bright Eyes.”

I close my songbook, full of childish words. “Um. OK.”

His head cocks to the side. “Hold up, you ever been with a guy before?”

“Like... sexually?”

He laughs. “Damn, you make it sound mad... formal. But yeah.Sexuallyor whatever.”

I shake my head.

“Ever been kissed?”

I shrug, since it feels like that sloppy, wet kiss with Jose Torres shouldn’t count.

“Damn, Bright Eyes, you really don’t know nothing. That’s good, though. It’s better to learn that type of stuff from someone you... trust.”

I gulp, my heart thumping, heat rising through my chest.

“And you know,” he starts, eyes on his paper, “maybe you can teach me something.”

“Something like what?”