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Me:
As if you’d be any better.
Sera:
I probably would, but it’s hard to tell since you’re still dancing around telling me anything. What did you do?
Shit, here goes nothing.
Me:
So I bumped into this girl…
My palms are sweaty from holding the phone, or at least that’s what I tell myself as I tighten my grip when the damn thing buzzes with the incoming call.
Of course, it does.
“Texting was fine,” I mutter, trying to keep my voice low.
“Not as fine as hearing you say it. This is getting too interesting,” Seraphina says cheerily on the other side of the line.
“What is?” somebody yells in the background.
“Bash has made an ass out of himself in front of a girl.”
“Well, that’s not surprising. Why do we care?”
Lyra. One of Seraphina’s bandmates.
“I know, right?!” Seraphina chuckles. “And we care because apparently, helikesher.”
“Ohhh…This is getting interesting.”
I shake my head at the two of them. “Okay, I’m done here.”
“No!” Seraphina protests. “I’m here, don’t get your panties in a twist, Black. You bumped into a girl and acted like the entitled asshole you are. So, what’s new?”
My gaze falls on the table—Birdy’s book surrounded by crumpled, scattered papers and an empty notebook. “What’s new is that I need her, and she doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
“Need her, huh?” I don’t miss the teasing smirk in her voice. “I didn’t realize we were calling it like—”
“Not like that,” I stop her before she can get any ideas. “Get your head out of the gutter, Sera. I need her music.”
The admission I’ve been holding back for months now slips out of my mouth before I can think better of it.
Well, shit.
Just then, the waitress arrives, placing a new drink in front of me. I grab it, downing half of the glass in one go. The sweet drink slides down my throat easily, but at the same time, I can’t help but wish for something stronger.
“You need her…music?” Seraphina repeats as if she doesn’t quite understand what I’m saying.
Who could blame her?
She and I? We were the same. That was part of the reason why we’ve been such good friends for years. We got each other. We lived for our music. We were creators. Music was in our blood, our essence, the thing that made us who we are.
“Yes, I need her for her music.” I rub the back of my neck, feeling that tension growing there. “I haven’t been writing.” The papers mock me from the table. “At least not anything worth mentioning, but her… I heard her play, and she’s…” I tilt my head back, trying to find the right words to describe Penelope’s music, but there are none.
Seraphina whistles softly. “That good?”
