Fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling on a pair of leggings, an oversize T-shirt, and some sandals. Not my best look, but it’ll have to do for an eight-hour road trip. I tie my hair into a loose bun and meet the others down in the lobby, where the boys are posing for pictures with the hotel staff.
After the band manages to gracefully escape their fans, we all get back into the van. But this time, I share the back row with Jason. As he settles into his seat after I’m already in, I notice I’m not the only one who showered—he sweeps wet hair out of his eyes with his fingers.
I take out his iPod again and replace his headphones with my earbuds, then stick them in my ears. After searching through a myriad of songs whose names I can’t read, I find a playlist called Grace’s Music. As I scroll through the list of bands that includes some of my favorites, all I can think about is the fact that my name is on his music player and how stupid I am for reading anything into that.
I sneak a sideways glance at him, but he’s just staring out the window, shoulders rigid and jaw clenched. Sophie and the other two boys carry on a conversation in front of us, leaving Jason isolated. Because he thinks no one’s looking, he’s let down his guard, and in the pale light of the streetlamps we pass, I make out melancholy etched deep in his expression. And I’m reminded of my brother.
Again, I remember that there’s something deeper here, something he doesn’t want anyone to see. I suppress the jolt of dread that rockets through me, fear that he has some dark secret like Nathan. I don’t know Jason well enough to leap to such conclusions. But I can surmise that his isolating himself and keeping his feelings away from everyone else isn’t helping.
Shoving the memory of him snapping at me earlier to the back of my mind, I pull out one of the earbuds and reach across the darkness between us, offering it to him. He stares at it a second, then takes it from my fingers and places it in his ear. The cord pulls taut between our heads, and he has to scoot closer, our shoulders brushing. I smile and close my eyes, leaning my head back against the seat and getting lost in the relaxed melodies and soft, plucking guitar of Bon Iver.
Drowsiness settles on me as the subtle rocking of the van and the long day breaks down any fight in me to stay conscious. As I hover between sleep and wakefulness, I feel a soft touch on my fingers that rest on the seat between me and Jason.
“Grace?” Jason whispers.
But I don’t answer, eyes heavy and lips parted in half sleep.
Another brush against my hand. A solid, warm pressure. My brain jolts awake when Jason threads his fingers through mine. I swallow hard, and my breathing accelerates.
I risk a quick peek at Jason, my eyes squinted so I can shut them again at a moment’s notice. He peers out his window still, but instead of tension making the lines of his body sharp, he angles himself toward me, muscles relaxed. A soft smile plays at the edges of his lips, and his fingers twitch against mine, our palms pressed together.
Does he think I’m asleep? Should I tell him I’m awake? My mind races through possible motivations for him grabbing my hand, followed by what might happen if I revealed my not being asleep. He would probably say something mean, and we wouldn’t talk for the rest of the trip. So I just keep my mouth shut and let him hold my hand.
And enjoy it entirely too much.
Chapter Twelve
Big Brother,
Do you remember that conversation we had before you left for the Grammys two years ago? I confronted you about how much you were drinking, and you told me that I should “just let it go.” Well, I did. I even ignored all the “signs” of depression you exhibited that they write about in those little pamphlets they give away in the school counselor’s office. You probably didn’t even know I was paying that much attention to you.
But when you got back from Los Angeles, I thought we could talk about everything. I knew Dad wasn’t going to help; he was in denial about the whole thing, the way he is about all our family issues. (Either that or he thought I couldn’t handle knowing the truth.) But when I saw you, you seemed better. Happier. You wrote some new songs.
I realize now that you were faking it. That’s what life was for you back then, faking—don’t deny it! I get it now. I just wish I’d understood then.
Sometimes I think I was the one who was supposed to save you from it all. Momma sees what she wants to see, Dad checked out of our lives ten years ago, and Jane is too busy with her own life to notice something messed up in ours. So that left me to help you, and let’s be honest, I totally failed. I know that’s why Momma refused to look me in the eye after she discovered I had known about the depression and did nothing. Maybe that’s why Dad pretends like it never happened, because he can’t face his oldest daughter and how she screwed up his family.
Maybe that’s why I feel better here, in Korea. Because nobody knows about my past. Nobody knows about our family. I can pretend Momma doesn’t hate me and that God isn’t trying to get back at me for being stupid. And I can just be me. You understand that, right?
I still miss you, and I’d love more than anything to hear back from you. I want to hear you tell me you don’t think I caused this. I want you to say it’s not my fault.
From Korea, with love,
Grace
October flies by with me studying like crazy for midsemester exams in November, which all seem to hit at the same time. Sophie and I don’t go out on music video shenanigans with the boys anymore. We hole ourselves up in our room and hide away from the fact that we’re going insane with all the homework and tests teachers like to give.