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I chuckle weakly, distantly at that. He’s not wrong. Izzy has no problem screwing up, and going out of her comfort zone when she’s rehearsing—practicing—learning—but when it counts…
No one is harder on Izzy than she is on herself.
I could say the same for myself.
It’s something we bond in…a kindred sort of frustration when our fingers betray us.
Except…I feel that way all the time. Even when just practicing. Even when no one else is around to hear me screw up.
Like Waylon said—I trip up. Get too in my head. I’m so busy trying to perfect the beginning, that I never even see the end.
“I know now it was just a symptom of a bigger issue,” Jeremy goes on softly. “Makes me wonder sometimes, who I’d be now if it wasn’t for anxiety.”
My chest clenches at that, and I give my head a little shake, rejecting that…that alternate version of Jeremy, whoever he is, in whatever universe that version so happens to be found.
This Jeremy—my Jeremy—the only Jeremy that matters, doesn’t see me though. He’s miles away, gaze far off.
“If I wasn’t so set on not failing…having people laugh at me…”
I swallow tightly. He might as well have reached inside me, and taken out my own insecurities, and served them up on a platter between us to ponder over.
He gives a little shake of his head. “Anyway. I felt so…apart from my family, when I realized music wasn’t for me. I mean, I still do. But…but it was worse then, because I think a part of me wanted to get it. Why they loved it so much. How they could love something so much that just seemed so….” He shakes his head. “Confusing and impossible to me.”
His warm gaze refocuses on mine, his cheeks flushing, and I can’t help but think how frequently they’ve reddened in the short time since I entered his room. How vulnerable he’s being with me. Not that we never talk about personal, heavy stuff, but this is probably the most he’s ever told me all at once, without me having to more or less pry it out of him.
“Go on,” I murmur.
He gulps. “And then…you showed up.” His mouth twitches with a smile, and in his eyes, I see that boy he once was—the boy I was, reflected back. “And you showed me Pearl Jam,” he says with a laugh.
“‘Jeremy,’” I say, nodding, remembering.
“Yup, and just like that, watching you light up when you saw how shocked I was. How much I loved it.” He shakes his head, eyes full of wonder, like he’s right back there. “Suddenly, I had a…a small corner of that world,” —he waves a hand, as if indicating outside this room— “their world, but one that was made just for me, and me alone.” His gaze refocuses on mine, and he taps the headphones around his neck. “You gave me that.”
My brows furrow.
He shrugs and looks away, his face blazing. “It’s lame, I know. I’m sure I would’ve learned to love music without you. It’s not like I hated it that much. But?—”
“Hey,” I rasp. “Don’t take it back now. I…I like that I did that for you.”
His lips purse.
I cock my head, smiling sadly. “Kind of breaks my heart to think of a version of you who doesn’t have headphones constantly draped around his neck, or horrible emo music blaring from his speakers?—
He scoffs. “Hey!”
I laugh.
“You like that music too,” he grumbles, and I shrug, not denying it.
“Seriously, Jer,” I say after a moment, sobering once more. “I’m…well, I don’t know what I am. I’m just…I’m glad I gave you…that.”
I wince. Wow. Nice. Good English.
His lip twitches, humor alight in his eyes. “Don’t let it feed your ego too much.”
Climbing off the bed, he goes over to his desk, and grabs his geometry textbook. He’s homeschooled now—or rather, cyber-schooled—but it’s through a program run by our high school, so we share the same curriculum for the most part, now that he’s managed to catch up to our year.
It also means he’ll be able to walk with us when we graduate.
