Chapter Three
Sydney
If he hated them, the least he could have done
was send a thank you. I know it shouldn’t bother
me, but it does. Especially because I never
wanted to send them to him in the first place. I
wasn’t expecting him to praise me, but the fact
that he begged so hard for them and then just ig-
nored them sort of irritates me.
And he hasn’t been outside at his usual time in
almost a week. I’ve wanted to text him about it
so many times, but if I do, then it’ll seem as if I
care what he thinks of the lyrics. I don’t want to
care. But I can tell by how disappointed I feel
that I do care. I hate that I want him to like my
lyrics. But the thought of actually having a hand
in a song is a little bit exciting.
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“Food should be here in a little while. I’m go-
ing to get the clothes out of the dryer,” Tori says.
She opens the front door, and I perk up on the
couch when I hear the familiar sound of the gui-
tar from outside. She closes the door behind her,
and as much as I want to ignore it, I rush to my
room and quietly slide out onto the balcony,
books in hand. If I sink far enough into my chair,
he might not notice I’m out here.
But he’s looking straight at my balcony when I
step outside. He doesn’t acknowledge me with a
smile or even a nod of his head when I take my
seat. He just continues playing, and it makes me
curious to see if he’s just going to pretend our
conversation last week never happened. I sort of
hope so, because I’d like to pretend it never happened.
He plays the familiar songs, and it doesn’t take
me long to let go of my embarrassment over the
fact that he thought my lyrics were stupid. I tried
to warn him.
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I finish up my homework while he’s still play-
ing, close my books and lean back, and close my
eyes. It’s quiet for a minute, and then he begins
playing the song I sent him lyrics for. In the
middle of the song, the guitar pauses for several
seconds, but I refuse to open my eyes. He contin-
ues playing just as my phone vibrates with an in-
coming text.
Ridge: You’re not singing.
I glance at him, and he’s staring at me with a
grin. He looks back down at his guitar and
watches his hands as he finishes the song. Then
he picks up his phone and sends another text.
Ridge: Do you want to know what I
thought of the lyrics?
Me: No, I’m pretty positive I know what
you thought. It’s been a week since I sent
them to you. No worries. I told you they
were stupid.
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Ridge: Yeah, sorry about the silence. I
had to leave town for a few days. Family
emergency.
I don’t know if he’s telling the truth, but the
fact that he claims he’s been out of town eases
my fear that he hasn’t been out on his balcony
because of me.
Me: Everything okay?
Ridge: Yep.
Me: Good.
Ridge: I’m only going to say this once,
Sydney. Are you ready?
Me: Oh, God. No. I’m turning off my
phone.
Ridge: I know where you live.
Me: Fine.
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Ridge: You’re incredible. Those lyrics. I
can’t even describe to you how perfect
they are for the song. How in the hell
does that come out of you? And why can’t
you see that you need to LET it come out
of you? Don’t hold it in. You’re doing the
world a huge disservice with your mod-
esty. I know I agreed not to ask you for
more, but that was because I really didn’t
expect to get what I got from you. I need
more. Give me, give me, give me.
I let out a huge breath. Until this moment, I
didn’t realize exactly how much his opinion
mattered. I can’t look up at him yet. I continue to
stare at my phone for much longer than it takes
me to read the text. I don’t even text him back,
because I’m still relishing the compliment. If he
said he loved it, I would have accepted his opin-
ion with relief, and I would have moved on. But
the words he just texted were like stairs stacked
one on top of the other, and each compliment was
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like me running up each step until I reached the
top of the damn world.
Holy crap. I think this one text just gave me
enough confidence to send him another song. I
never would have predicted this. I never ima-
gined I would be excited.
“Food’s here,” Tori says. “You want to eat out
here?”
I tear my gaze away from the phone and look
at her. “Uh. Yeah. Sure.”
Tori brings the food out to the balcony. “I’ve
never really looked at that guy before, but damn,”
she says, staring hard at Ridge while he plays his
guitar. “He’s really hot, and I don’t even like
blonds.”
“His hair isn’t blond. It’s brown.”
“No, that’s blond,” she says. “But it’s dark
blond, so that’s okay, I guess. Almost brown,
maybe. I like the messy shag, and that body
makes up for the fact that his hair isn’t black.”
Tori takes a drink and leans back in her chair,
still staring at him. “Maybe I’m being too picky.
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What do I care what color his hair is? It’ll be
dark when I have my hands in it, anyway.”
I shake my head. “He’s really talented,” I say.
I still haven’t responded to his text, but he
doesn’t seem to be waiting around. He’s watch-
ing his hands as he plays, not paying a bit of at-
tention to us.
“I wonder if he’s single,” Tori says. “I’d like
to see what other talents he has.”
I have no idea if he’s single, but the way Tori
is thinking about him makes my stomach turn.
Tori is incredibly cute, and I know she could find
out if he had other talents if she really wanted to.
She tends to get whomever she wants in the guy
department. I’ve never really minded until now.
“You don’t want to be involved with a musi-
cian,” I say, as if I have any experience that
would qualify me to give her advice. “Besides,
I’m pretty sure Ridge does have a girlfriend. I
saw a girl on his patio with him a few weeks
ago.” That’s technically not a lie. I did see one
once.
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Tori glances at me. “You know his name?
How do you know his name?”
I shrug as if it’s no big deal. Because, honestly,
it is no big deal. “He needed help with lyrics last week, so I texted him some.”
She sits up in her chair. “You know his phone
number?”
I suddenly become defensive, not liking the ac-
cusatory tone in her voice. “Calm down, Tori. I
don’t even know him. All I did was text him a
few lyrics.”
She laughs. “I’m not judging, Syd,” she says,
holding up her hands in defense. “I don’t care
how much you love Hunter, if you have an open-
ing with that”—she flicks her hand in Ridge’s direction—“I’d be livid if you didn’t take advantage of it.”
I roll my eyes. “You know I’d never do that to
Hunter.”
She sighs and leans back in her chair. “Yeah. I
know.”
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We’re both looking at Ridge when he finishes
the song. He picks up his phone and types
something, then picks up his guitar just as my
phone vibrates and he begins to play another
song.
Tori reaches for my phone, but I grab it first
and hold it out of her reach. “That’s from him,
isn’t it?” she says. I read the text.
Ridge: When Barbie goes away, I want
more.
I cringe, because there’s no way I’m letting
Tori read this text. For one thing, he insulted her.
Also, the second part of his text would have an
entirely different meaning if she read it. I hit de-
lete and press the power button down to lock my
phone in case she snatches it away from me.
“You’re flirting,” she says teasingly. She picks
up her empty plate and stands up. “Have fun with
your sexting.”
Ugh. I hate that she thinks I’d ever do that to
Hunter. I’ll worry about setting her straight later,
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though. In the meantime, I take out my notebook
and find the page with the lyrics I wrote to the
song he’s currently playing. I transfer them to a
text, hit send, and hurry back inside.
“That was so good,” I say as I place my plate
in the sink. “That’s probably my favorite Italian
restaurant in all of Austin.” I walk to the couch
and fall down next to Tori, trying to appear casu-
al about the fact that she thinks I’m cheating on
Hunter. The more defensive I get about it, the
less likely she’ll be to believe me when I try to
deny it.
“Oh, my God, that reminds me,” she says.
“The funniest thing happened a couple of weeks
ago at this Italian restaurant. I was eating lunch
with . . . my mom, and we were out on the patio.
Our waiter was telling us about dessert, when all
of a sudden, this cop car comes screeching
around the corner, sirens blaring . . .”
I’m holding my breath, scared to hear the rest
of her story.
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What the hell? Hunter said he was with a
coworker. The odds of them both being at the
same restaurant, without being there together, is
way more than coincidental.
But why would they lie about being together?
My heart is folding in on itself. I think I’m
gonna be sick.
How could they . . .
“Syd? Are you okay?” Tori is looking at me
with genuine concern. “You look like you’re
about to be sick.”
I put my hand over my mouth, because I’m
afraid she might be right. I can’t answer her right
away. I can’t even work up the strength to look at
her. I try to still my hand, but I can feel it trem-
bling against my mouth.
Why would they be together and not tell me?
They’re never together without me. They’d have
no reason to be together unless they were plan-
ning something.
Planning something.
Oh.
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Wait a second.
I press my palm against my forehead and
shake my head back and forth. I feel as if I’m in
the midst of the stupidest moment in all of my
nearly twenty-two years of existence. Of course
they were together. Of course they’re hiding something. It’s my birthday next Saturday.
Not only do I feel incredibly stupid for having
believed they would do something like that to
me, but I feel unforgivably guilty.
“You okay?” Tori says.
I nod. “Yeah.” I decide not to mention the fact
that I know she was with Hunter. I would feel
even worse if I ruined their surprise. “I think the
Italian food is just making me a little nauseated.
I’ll be right back.” I stand and walk to my bed-
room, then sit on the edge of my bed in order to
regain my bearings. I’m filled with a mixture of
doubt and guilt. Doubt, because I know neither of
them would do what I briefly thought they had
done. Guilt, because for a brief moment, I actu-
ally believed they were capable of it.
Ridge
I was hoping the first set of lyrics wasn’t a fluke,
but after seeing the second set she sent me and
adding them to the music, I text Brennan. I can’t
not tell him about her any longer.
Me: I’m about to send you two songs. I
don’t even need you to tell me what you
think of them, because I know you’ll love
them. So let’s move past that, because I
need you to solve a dilemma for me.
Brennan: Oh, shit. I was just kidding
about the Maggie thing. You didn’t really
dump her for inspiration did you?
Me: I’m being serious. I found a girl who
I’m positive was brought to this earth
specifically for us.
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Brennan: Sorry, man. I’m not into that
shit. I mean, maybe if you weren’t my
brother, but still.
Me: Stop with the horseshit, Brennan. Her
lyrics. They’re perfect. And they come so
effortlessly to her. I think we need her. I
haven’t been able to write songs like
these since . . . well, ever. Her lyrics are
perfect, and you need to take a look at
them, because I sort of need you to love
them and agree to buy them from her.
Brennan: What the hell, Ridge? We can’t
hire someone to write lyrics for us. She’ll
want a percentage of the royalties, and
between the two of us and the guys in the
band, it won’t be worth it.
Me: I’m going to ignore that until you
check the e-mail I just sent you.
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I put my phone down and pace the room, giv-
ing him time to take a look at what I just sent
him. My heart is pounding, and I’m sweating,
even though it’s not at all hot in this room. I just
can’t take his telling me no, because I’m scared
that if we can’t use her, I’ll be facing another six
months of a concrete wall.
After several minutes, my phone vibrates. I
drop to my bed and pick it up.
Brennan: Okay. See what she’s willing to
take, and let me know.
I smile and toss the phone into the air and feel
like yelling. After I calm down enough to text
her, I pick up my phone and think. I don’t want
to freak her out, because I know she’s completely
new to this kind of thing.
Me: I was wondering if we could talk
sometime soon? I have a proposition for
you. And get your mind out of the gutter,
it’s completely music-related.
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Sydney: Okay. I can’t say I’m looking for-
ward to it, because it makes me nervous.
You want me to call you when I get off
work?
Me: You work?
Sydney: Yes. Campus library. Morning
shift mostly, except for this weekend.
Me: Oh. I guess that’s why I never no-
ticed. I don’t usually get out of bed until
after lunch.
Sydney: So do you want me to call you
after I get home?
Me: Just text me. You think we can meet
up sometime this weekend?
Sydney: Probably, but I’d have to talk to
my boyfriend. Don’t want him to find out
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and think you’re using me for more than
my lyrics.
Me: K. Sounds good.
Sydney: If you want, you could come to
my birthday party tomorrow night. Might
be easier, because he’ll be here.
Me: It’s your birthday tomorrow? Happy
early birthday. And that sounds good.
What time?
Sydney: Not sure. I’m not supposed to
know about it. I’ll just text you tomorrow
night once I find out more.
Me: K.
Honestly, I don’t like the fact that her boy-
friend might be there. I want to talk to her about
it alone, because I still haven’t decided what to
do about what I know is going on between that
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a*shole and her roommate. But I need her to
agree to help me before her heart gets shattered,
so maybe my silence has been a little selfish. I do
admire the fact that she wants to be honest with
him, even though he doesn’t deserve it. Which
makes me think maybe this is something I should
bring up to Maggie, even though it never oc-
curred to me before that it might even remotely
be an issue.
Me: Hey. How’s my girl?
Maggie: Busy. This thesis is kicking my
ass. How’s my guy?
Me: Good. Really good. I think Brennan
and I found someone who’s willing to
write lyrics with us. She’s really good, and
I’ve already finished almost two songs
since you left last weekend.
Maggie: Ridge, that’s great! I can’t wait to
read them. Maybe next weekend?
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Me: You coming here, or am I going to
you?
Maggie: I’ll come there. I need to spend
some time at the nursing home. Love you.
Me: Love you. Don’t forget our video chat
tonight.
Maggie: You know I won’t. Already have
my outfit picked out.
Me: That better be a cruel joke. You know
I don’t care to see clothes.
Maggie: ;)
Eight more hours.
I’m hungry.
I toss the phone aside. I pull open my bedroom
door and take a step back when the shit that’s
been piled up on the other side begins to fall in
on me. First it’s the lamp, then the end table it
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was resting on, then the end table the lamp and
the other end table were piled on top of.
Dammit, Warren.
These pranks are starting to get out of hand. I
press my arm into the couch that’s been shoved
up against my bedroom door. I push it back out
into the living room and jump over it, then head
toward the kitchen.
? ? ?
I carefully spoon toothpaste onto an Oreo, then
replace the top of the cookie and gently squeeze
it. I put it back into the package with the rest of
Warren’s Oreos and seal the package shut, just as
my phone vibrates.
Sydney: Can you do me a favor?
She has no idea how many favors I’d do for
her right now. I’m pretty much at her mercy.
Me: What’s up?
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Sydney: Can you look out your balcony
door and tell me if you see anything sus-
picious going on at my apartment?
Shit. Does she know? What does she want me
to tell her? I know it’s selfish, but I really don’t
want to tell her about her boyfriend until after I
have the chance to talk to her about the lyrics.
Me: Okay. Hold on.
I walk to my balcony and glance across the
courtyard. I don’t see anything out of the ordin-
ary. It’s almost dark, though, so I can’t see much.
I’m not sure what she wants me to find, so I
choose not to be too descriptive when I respond.
Me: Looks quiet.
Sydney: Really? Are the blinds open? You
don’t see people?
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I look again. The blinds are open, but the only
thing I can see from here is the glare from the
TV.
Me: Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.
Aren’t you having a birthday party later
tonight?
Sydney: I thought so. I’m really confused.
There’s movement in one of the windows, and
I see her roommate going into the living room.
Sydney’s boyfriend follows closely behind her,
and they both sit on the couch, but all I can see is
their feet.
Me: Wait. Your boyfriend and your room-
mate just sat on the couch.
Sydney: Okay. Sorry to bother you.
Me: Wait. What about tonight? Are you
still having a birthday party?
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Sydney: I don’t know. Hunter says he’s
taking me out to eat as soon as I get
home from work, but I sort of thought it
was a lie. I know he and Tori had lunch
together a couple of weeks ago, but they
don’t know I know. They were obviously
planning something, and I assumed it was
a surprise party, but tonight’s the only
night that could happen.
I wince. She actually caught them in a lie, and
she thought they were together because they were
planning something nice for her. Christ. I don’t
even know the guy, and I have a huge urge to
walk over there and beat the shit out of him.
It’s her birthday. I can’t tell her on her birth-
day. I take a deep breath, then decide to text
Maggie for advice.
Me: Question. You busy?
Maggie: Nope. Shoot.
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Me: If it was your birthday and someone
you knew found out I was cheating on
you, would you want to know right then?
Or would you hope that person would wait
to tell you until it was no longer your
birthday?
Maggie: If this is a hypothetical question,
I’m going to kill you for this heart attack.
If it’s not hypothetical, I’m going to kill
you for this heart attack.
Me: You know it’s not me. It’s not your
birthday. ;)
Maggie: Who’s cheating on whom?
Me: It’s Sydney’s birthday today. The girl
I was telling you about who writes the lyr-
ics. I happen to know her boyfriend is
cheating on her, and I’m kind of in a posi-
tion where I should tell her because she’s
becoming suspicious.
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Maggie: Jesus. I’d hate to be you right
now. But if she’s suspicious and you know
for a fact that he’s cheating, you need to
tell her, Ridge. If you don’t say anything,
you’re inadvertently lying.
Me: Ugh! That’s what I thought you’d say.
Maggie: Good luck. I’m still going to kill
you for the heart attack next weekend.
I sit on the bed, then start a text to Sydney.
Me: I’m not sure how to say this, Sydney.
You’re not driving right now, are you?
Sydney: Oh, jeez. There are people there,
aren’t there? Lots of them?
Me: No, there isn’t anyone there but the
two of them. First, I need to apologize for
not telling you this sooner. I didn’t know
how, because we don’t know each other
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that well. Second, I’m sorry for doing it on
your birthday, of all days, but I feel like
an ass for even waiting this long. And
third, I’m sorry you have to find out via
text, but I don’t want you to have to walk
back into your apartment without knowing
the truth first.
Sydney: You’re scaring me, Ridge.
Me: I’m just going to rip the Band-Aid off,
okay? Something has been going on
between your roommate and your boy-
friend for a while.
I hit send and close my eyes, knowing I’m
completely ruining her birthday. If not pretty
much every day after today, too.
Sydney: Ridge, they’ve been friends for
longer than I’ve even known Hunter. I
think you’ve misinterpreted everything.
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Me:
If
sticking
your
tongue
down
someone’s throat while straddling him is
friendship, then I’m sorry. But I’m positive
I’m not misinterpreting anything. It’s been
going on for weeks. I’m assuming they
come out to the patio while you’re in the
shower, because they’re never out there
long. But it happens a lot.
Sydney: If you’re being honest, why didn’t
you tell me when we first started talking?
Me: How does one comfortably say this to
another person, Sydney? When is there
ever an appropriate time? I’m telling you
now because you’re becoming suspicious,
and it’s as appropriate a time as it can be.
Sydney: Please tell me you have a warped
sense of humor, because you have no
idea what you’re doing to my heart right
now.
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Me: I’m sorry, Sydney. Really.
I wait patiently for a response. She doesn’t text
me back. I contemplate texting her, but I know
she needs time to absorb this.
Dammit, I’m such an a*shole. Now she’ll
probably be pissed at me, but I can’t blame her. I
guess I can kiss the lyrics good-bye.
My door swings open, and Warren barges in,
then hurls a cookie straight at me. I duck, and it
hits the headboard behind me.
“A*shole!” Warren yells. He turns and
marches back out of the bedroom and slams the
door.