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I turn back around, shaking my head and making a show of settling into my seat. “Never mind. You probably wouldn’t want to do it anyway.”
“What is it? You don’t know what I’ll do for cookies.”
I wave him away. “Just forget it. You wouldn’t do it.”
“Tell me.”
I sigh. “Fine. I’ll tell you.”
His eyes widen even more in anticipation.
“All you have to do is come over to my house tonight and let me help you with your fractions. Then, I’ll have my mom make you some of her famous cookies.”
“That’s it?”
I nod. “That’s it.”
“I guess that wouldn’t be too hard,” he says but still seems uncertain.
“It won’t be. I promise. I know some tricks to make fractions easier.”
His shoulder’s relax, and he wipes his eyes on the back of his hands. “Okay.”
There’s still no sign of Caleb, and I’m starting to wonder if letting him go in there by himself was a mistake. “I think we’re going to have to go find your brother.”
Jordy dramatically rubs his forehead and nods. “What am I going to do with that boy?”
I laugh. What eight year old talks like that? “Let’s go.”
We leave the car and head into the store. Guitar strumming fills the air, and I spot the back of Caleb’s head in the farthest corner.
There’s a narrow walkway that zig zags through the store in between the rows of shelves and displays. I have to watch where I walk to avoid tripping on one of the many cords laying in my path.
Records line the walls from floor to ceiling, and every type of instrument imaginable crowds the space around the register. An older man sits on a stool behind the counter with his newspaper sprawled out in front of him. “Can I help you?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I’m just trying to find him,” I say, pointing in Caleb’s direction.
“Your friend is quite the guitar player,” he says. “Let me know if you need anything.” He returns his attention to the paper.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
I weave my way around a drum set and dodge a harp on my way to Caleb. I don’t want to admit it, but he really does sound good. He hums lightly to the music, and I catch myself wondering what his voice would sound like if he sang. Orange lighting shines on Caleb like a spotlight, and he sways his head to the beat of the music. My eyes trace along the arch of his back, following the muscles showing through his shirt as he bends over the guitar.
I blush, steering my attention away. I shouldn’t be checking him out.
My feet slam against a guitar case, and I stumble forward. My failing arms manage to slam down on the piano next to me. A horrible mix of notes groan into the air, and I’m quick to retract my hand.
Caleb’s eyes are closed, and he doesn’t even flinch at the sound. His relaxed posture is tuned into the music like it’s entranced him.
“Caleb,” I say, pushing the case away and bringing myself to my feet again. Behind me, Jordy is watching me like he’s judging my every movement.
When Caleb doesn’t respond, I wave my hand in front of his face. “Caleb.”
The corner of his mouth turns up.
“So you can hear me,” I say, unamused by his playful ignorance.
He strums one final chord, then lets his hand fall and hang over the guitar. His eyes open, and he looks directly at me.
