Maybe Someday

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.

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