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Worst Timing Ever
Jace
Laurel seems so desperate to cling to her defenses, to hide, to pretend that she’s okay. She’s resolved to shut everyone out, and I get it. Staying inside and avoiding people is safer. Just how bad did the media attention get that she’d want to build such an impenetrable shell?
Almost impenetrable. Underneath it, she must be longing for a life full of adventure again. She wouldn’t get into my car otherwise.
Man, did she give me a run for my money. I’m honest to the point of being annoying. Whatever I think comes out of my mouth, no matter how many times it’s gotten me into trouble. With Laurel, every word is a potential grenade. Very exciting. I haven’t had this much fun trying to befriend someone in forever.
I steal a glance at Laurel. I always thought love at first sight was created by artists, writers, and poets to sell more of their work, but after hearing Laurel play at Bjornson’s shop, I might just believe in love at first chord. She snatched that guitar, and my brain stopped. I still see her relishing the music, the tip of her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth.
While she played, a single thought dominated my thoughts: mine. I need to be hers. She’s a beautiful mystery and a mysterious beauty. A spark of fire. A girl who seems to feel the same about music as I do. That’s why I ran after her, knowing full well I’d ruin her plans to escape from the embarrassment.Shetouchedmeand ignited my whole being. My heart is still beating in uneven patterns. There’s no denying something is simmering between us, and I’ll hold on to it by all means possible.
“Remember,” Laurel says after a short drive to our destination. “This is an exchange. You’ll tell me the true story about you, Shane, and your Juliette.”
“You must be starved for drama. Or you watch too much TV. Do you expect Juliette to be a sharp-clawed heart devourer who juggled me and Shane or something?”
“No. I think what really happened and what you tell yourself happened are different things.”
“So you’re on a mission to make me accept my feelings?” Girl, the only one who breaks my heart right now is you.
Laurel huffs. “And you think you’ll be the one to finally break me free from my prison.”
“Do I think that?”
“Don’t you?”
“Would you like me to?” I pull into a small parking lot. “I’m game if you’ll let me. I’m good at ignoring others when they kick and scream against something that’s for their own good.”
Laughing, she gets out of the car. I love to make her laugh. It’s a sign that she’s not sick of me. Yet.
Laurel stands beside my car, scanning the city park ahead of us. “I see no restaurants.”
“Sorry. It’s a short walk down the street. Parking by the actual place is a pain.” I offer her my hand.
Laurel shoots me a quick glare and marches on ahead, in the right direction at least.
A light drizzle mists the evening, the kind that should pass in a few minutes—the clouds aren’t thick enough for real rain. Laurel walks with hands in her jacket pockets, humming. I stumble when I figure out the tune—the song I was playing at Guardian of Rock the night we met. The song she said I was playing wrong. Only unlike me, Laurel isn’t stuck. She hums the whole thing through, weaving the perfect melody from my awkward pieces, and her solution is so simple, I could smack myself. I thought of those obvious notes too, but I wanted something punchier, more difficult. Well, more difficult doesn’t always mean better. I should’ve stuck with the simpler route.
Laurel stops at an intersection. While I’ve been grinding myself to a pulp for yet another composing failure, we have arrived at a busy avenue with restaurants lining its sides. Cars are everywhere, and people zip around with delivery orders. A few tables dot the sidewalks, and every one of them is full and loud. I love the overall impression this area of Portland gives off, a pinch hectic but also cozy.
“Okay,” Laurel mutters, her shoulders tense.
“Two blocks down from here.” I offer her my hand again.
Laurel lifts her chin in defiance and walks on by herself. I swallow a laugh. She might not see it that way, but I’m kind of already helping her break free.
We dodge the pedestrians. Laurel sticks to the curb in her attempts to avoid other foodies. I’m over the moon that I have this chance with her, but I’ve got to remember this evening is about her, not me. My job is to help her feel comfortable outside the safe walls of her house.
“What are you up to these days?” I decide to try small talk. “Rock-n-roll princess’ life of leisure by the poolside?” Ugh. Dang. I don’t mean to mock her, but it comes out this way all the same.
To my relief, Laurel smiles. “Something like that. What about you? Anything new in the works with your band?”
“Yes, actually. We’re in the middle of writing our next album.” I’d rather not talk about that in too much detail though.
“Dear Eugeniais my favorite song of yours.” Laurel arranges her hair to cover more of her face.
“I’m very sorry you wasted your time and listened to our garbage,” I joke, but I should be fair toDear Eugenia. Link wrote that one, and it’s cracking. He’s good with soulful lines.
