This is bad. Did I say something I don’t remember? What did I do? “No, trust me, I can make this better. I’ll go there right now.”
Mary considered me a moment. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”
“I have to,” I said. “Please.”
Mary sighed. “Well, I suppose it should be Rose telling you, not me. But Zeus . . .”
“Yeah?”
“She’s under a lot of stress. Keep that in mind.”
“Of course,” I said. Then I motioned to Grub, who had been hiding behind my legs. “Would you mind keeping an eye on him?”
For the first time since we arrived, Mary genuinely smiled. “Of course not.”
Grub left the safety of my legs and approached Blackjack, poking him in the shoulder. Blackjack slowly turned and studied my brother with vacant eyes. “Who are you?”
Grub blanched as Mary and I exchanged a worried look over his head.
Blackjack squinted closer at Grub. “Do I know you?”
Grub took a cautious step forward. “Private Grub, sir?” he said.
Blackjack slowly blinked a few times, then his face broke into a smile. “Of course you are. What took you so long, Private? I have a new top-secret mission to discuss with you.”
“I’m at your command,” said Grub with a salute.
I raised my eyebrows at Mary in question and she nodded in response. “Go on,” she mouthed.
Mary and Rose’s apartment was less than a mile from Hilltop, so I had a short ride to prepare my thoughts. As I pumped the bike pedals through the thick heat, I rehearsed various conversations in my head, uncertain about what to expect.
I was worried.
Had I screwed up our entire relationship in one fell swoop?
I turned into their ground-level apartment complex, which formed a U shape around a blacktop parking lot. I propped the bike on its kickstand and walked up the short sidewalk to the front door. The curtains had been drawn, the mailbox lid flipped open wide, empty. I paused, deliberating whether to ring the doorbell or knock.
I knocked.
I heard movement inside and wondered if my fish-eyed profile was being viewed through the peephole. I heard the locks turn.
Deep breath.
Here we go.
The door opened, and Rose stood before me in yoga pants and a T-shirt. Her hair was tied back in a messy ponytail. She wore no makeup, and her face was blotchy red, eyes swollen from crying.
I hadn’t prepared for crying.
“Hi,” she said in a soft voice. She looked surprised to see me.
“Hi,” I said back, trying to match her tone. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
Unconvinced, I asked again. “No, tell me. What’s wrong?”
She shook her head again, faster. “It’s nothing.”
“Obviously it’s something,” I said. “What is it? Is it me? Something I said yesterday?”
Rose gave the slightest hint of an eye roll. “Zeus, I’m just not ready to talk about it yet.”
“Can I come in at least?”
“Fine, come in. But it’s not you.” She opened the door all the way, and I walked into the living room.
“What is it then?”
Rose crossed her arms. “Are you seriously going to make me talk about this? I’ve told you like three times I don’t want to.”
I decided to take the bull by the horns. “Okay, I was kind of a jerk yesterday. I should have walked you out. I should have—”
“Zeus, this isn’t about yesterday.”
“Well, what then? Tell me.”
Rose’s mouth tightened, and her eyes welled with tears. “Fine. Since you won’t let it go, I’ll tell you. I found out that I can’t go to the Manhattan Music Conservatory. The scholarship fell through,” she said, her voice catching, “and now I’m stuck here in this stupid town.”
Those last words felt like a knife wound to my side. “Stuck here? You mean stuck here with me?”
Rose shut her eyes and took a deep breath. “Are you even listening? No scholarship. No New York. No music school.”
I thought for a moment, remembering how Mary had said Rose was under a lot of stress. “Is that why you were acting so weird yesterday at the Open Mic?”
Rose moved her head back, as if dodging an invisible bee. “Actually, I just got the letter this morning. You don’t even care, do you?”
“What are you talking about? Of course I care.” I felt my pulse increase. She had no idea how much I cared—I cared about her more than anything! I’d spent an entire week learning a song for her, risking it all, ready to embarrass myself in front of a crowd. For her!
Rose looked at a spot above my shoulder. “Well, it doesn’t feel like it.”
“How do you think it made me feel when you left the Open Mic yesterday?”
Rose’s eyes flashed back to mine. “You know what? Let’s talk about yesterday some other time, okay?”
Apparently, I couldn’t say anything right. “So we can’t talk about this, we can’t talk about that, and I don’t care about how you feel. Does that sum it all up?”
The tears returned to her eyes. “I told you I wasn’t ready to talk about this.”
“Rose—”
“Maybe you should go.” Rose opened the door.
I left.
TWENTY-TWO
I’D BEEN WATCHING THE CEILING FAN SPIN ALL MORNING, LISTENING to the clickity-clack of its off-kilter rotation. I kept replaying the fight in my head, analyzing everything I could remember. But her last words kept thundering back to me: Maybe you should go.
And that look on her face . . .
I finally summoned the energy to stand on my bed and pull the chain to change the speed setting, only to have it snap off in my hand and send me falling into the headboard.
Great, stuck on high forever, I thought. What else can I break?
I’d single-handedly ruined the only relationship I’d ever had. With the only girl I’d ever wanted. She’d received terrible news, and instead of being there for her, I’d made everything worse. And now she probably hated me. She definitely hated me. She’d kicked me out of her house.
I hadn’t eaten, I’d barely slept, and I’d hardly left my room except to answer a few calls of nature. I still wore my clothes from yesterday, which reeked of sweat and failure. If a color described my mood, it’d be dull gray; a sound, a muted trumpet going wah-wah-waaaaah. I tried strumming my guitar for a while, but all that came out was off-key dissonance.
Fortunately, the café was closed for the Fourth of July, so I didn’t have to worry about making deliveries. That gave me plenty of time to let my thoughts wander and feel sorry for myself. Every time Rose came to mind, I felt slightly ill. Of course, everything made me think of Rose.
Spider plant by the window: Plant. Flower. Rose
Guitar leaning against the door: Guitar. Piano. Rose.
Dirty socks on the floor: Rose has feet. Rose.
I was trying to sleep again when I heard a soft knock on my door. I rolled over into my pillow and grunted. Another knock. I grunted louder. A third knock. I lifted my head and grunted unmistakably at the door.
“Zeus, can I come in?” said Mom.
“Gaarrg,” I replied.
“Is that a yes?”
“Mmmph.” I pulled the pillow over my head. I heard the door open.