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Harry, trouble? Yeah, he had a neck tattoo, but he was also the gentlest person I’d met.
“You don’t know him,” I told her, and the resentment finally, finally snapped inside my voice. Gone was the flinching cowardice, yielding to every one of Mom’s glares. It was my turn to deal it out. “He’s kind, Mom. And if you’d stop being so judgmental, like all these other people in here, you’d see that. You’d seehim, not some tattoo.”
Mom raised her eyebrows in a dangerous sort of surprise. “You want to talk to me like that?” she demanded. “Really? Now?”
I hated when she did that. She’d lace an unspoken threat in her words, hoping that the fear of the unknown would get me to fall back in line. If she were judgingme, I might’ve stayed in my lane. But judging Harry? It wasn’t going to fly. “You know I’m right.”
“Let’s both calm down,” Dad interjected, ever the peacemaker. He laid his hand on Mom’s arm. “Alice, why don’t we—”
Dad cut himself off suddenly, and only a second later, I felt a hand brush against my elbow. I turned and found Harry looking at me. Inwardly, I winced, wishing the song could’ve lasted a few moments longer. “Harry,” I said, catching his hand with mine. “This is my mom and dad.”
And suddenly the entire mood between the four of us shifted. Mom found a smile somewhere in her cabinet of emotions and put it on, and if I hadn’t heard her tone a moment ago, I wouldn’t have known it wasn’t genuine. Dad, too, looked welcoming, stepping forward to extend a hand. “You can call me David, though I know it’s probably strange. But Mr. Brighton seems a bit formal, right? Don’t you teenagers go on a first-name basis?”
I cringed. “Dad. Dial it back, okay?”
After I got the words out, I realized Harry hadn’t taken Dad’s hand, which Dad still extended, almost a little awkwardly.
When I looked at the boy beside me, I found his face pale, not a trace of color in his cheeks. Whatever enthusiasm that had glittered in his eyes before had disappeared now, and not even the shadow lingered. No, this emotion was pure alarm.
Then he broke from his stupor, grasping Dad’s hand slowly. “H-Harry.”
“Good to meet you, Harry,” Dad said in a kind voice, acting as if Harry hadn’t hesitated. Mom, though, didn’t offer her hand to him. “How are you enjoying the night so far?
Harry’s hand stiffened in mine. “It’s…something.”
“A different atmosphere than you’re used to, I’m sure,” Mom said, wrapping her arm around Dad’s.
“Mother.” My voice was sharp enough that it drew the attention of people passing nearby the punch table. “He’s used to larger crowds, actually. He’s in a band—the singer,” I told them, giving Harry an encouraging smile, but he didn’t glance over. He was laser-focused on his shoes. “And they’re really good. They’re wanting to expand to new places soon. They’re playing at a coffee shop in Hallow for right now.”
Dad made a noise of approval, nodding his head. “Well, isn’t that something? Alice, which of the Preston brothers is into music? Was it Sam or Trent?”
“Trent. He owns a recording studio.” Mom’s eyes lingered on Harry. “Have you had the chance to record any songs? You and your band?”
“Not yet,” Harry said, the words forced out. “Maybe one day.”
“For sureone day,” I corrected him. “You never know who you might run into.”
Harry’s lips tried to smile, but didn’t quite manage it.
Okay, maybe this was the perfect moment to whisk Harry away before they said anything else. I didn’t trust Mom to not sneak in one more snarky comment. But right before I could interject a departure, Dad spoke up. “You know, Harry, I could mention something to Trent—he’s always looking for new music, or at least he says. I’m sure he’d love a band that’s local. Maybe he could swing by sometime to hear how you sound.”
I blinked, totally taken back by his offer. That wasn’t something I’d expected. Condescension, maybe, but not something that would help Harry move his music career along. I was utterly stupefied. Harry was too, obviously, because he looked at my dad with wide eyes.
“I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Dad went on when Harry didn’t respond. “And I can’t guarantee his response, but it could be worth a shot.”
“They play every Friday and Saturday,” I told Dad when Harry still didn’t respond. I squeezed Harry’s hand, but he didn’t squeeze back.
“Well, if it isn’t the Brightons,” Mr. Holland greeted as he made his way over, grinning at all of us. His suit jacket was loose on his frame, wrinkles lining his eyes. “Nice to see you, as always.”
Even though I was freaking out on the inside, I forced my expression to calm. “Mr. Holland,” I said with the air of someone who was thoroughly pleased. “Love the bowtie you’re wearing. Is that Gilfman?”
“Oh, why yes.” He chuckled while he adjusted the material, loosening around his collar. “Got an eye for fashion, do you?”
That, or Margot has the same tie.
Mr. Holland turned toward my father and took him by the arm, giving him a shake. “How have you been, David? We need to start our poker nights back up again—anything to get out of the house once in a while, you know what I mean?”
His words effectively captured the attention of my parents, who turned to Mr. Holland with their brilliant smiles. When I glanced at Harry again, though, I saw something I definitely wasn’t expecting.Panic. Pure, electric panic. “What’s wrong?” I asked immediately, confusion and worry bubbling up.
