Page 84 of Talk Nerdy To Me
It sort of goes quiet after that…like no one knows how to follow that up or what conversation will make sense now. I have no idea why I’m fucking nervous right now and making this weird.
I give Sticks the eye, prompting him to step up and kick conversation back up.
“So what kind of parents did you get in foster care?” he asks Britt suddenly, and I narrow my eyes on him.
However, he just looks at her, waiting on her to answer.
She doesn’t even tense before answering, “A variety.”
“I had a variety too,” he says with a shrug. “I kept getting yanked back by my grandmother, because she was trying to keep me out of the system, but I lost three good homes before I landed in a check-casher’s place for the rest of my time.”
She doesn’t really say anything much.
He really could have gone any other direction with the conversation than delving right for the hard stuff. Sheesh. You’d think we don’t know how to socialize either.
“It’s mostly a blur,” Britt states noncommittally.
“What about your parents?” he asks when she doesn’t readily volunteer the information.
I make a throat-slicing gesture, and he clears his throat and looks away.
“I have limited information about them.”
He frowns. “You couldn’t find them or anyone who knew them?” he asks, rolling with it.
“I’m not ready to know, and I feel like I should be certain I can prepare for the worst before tackling that,” she says like she’s thought about this a lot.
“I went crazy—a little bit literally—trying to find my father. I thought life would be better if I found him, because I just knew that he didn’t know I existed. And you didn’t even wonder about yours?” Krysta asks her like she’s genuinely curious.
“I’m curious; I’m just not ready to know, because I know it’s not going to be a good story. It could be decades before I’m ready. I’m in no hurry because it’s not affecting my life,” she says with zero emotion.
I could kill Sticks for making the topic so heavy, and for leaving Britt shifting uncomfortably.
“So, can we get a preview of the new song Sticks said you guys have been rehearsing?” Krysta asks, finally shifting the topic to something we can actually communicate.
Taylor snorts. “He doesn’t let anyone get a preview. We barely get a preview before we’re expected to play it—and kill it—the first time on stage.”
“I’ve been trying to read the music,” Britt says suddenly, causing me to grin.
“You can read music?” I ask, surprised.
“I have the notes memorized, but unless you can actually play, reading music is not as simple as memorizing notes. And my playing abilities are definitely lacking.”
“You’re self-teaching yourself music?” Krysta asks, leaning forward.
“Attempting to. I was curious about what all the notes scribbled on the walls actually are.”
“You don’t even play the songs for her?” Krysta asks me, as though I’ve committed some sort of cardinal sin.
I shift in my seat. Considering Britt’s the only person I’ve seen in a club who didn’t hear us at all while we were playing, I’m clearly not in any sort of hurry to play these songs—that I fucking love—in front of her.
“Britt’s not impressed with our playing. She tunes us out,” Sticks says, smirking over at me.
Britt’s head snaps toward me. “That’s why?”
Fortunately, Taylor is stopping for gas, so I don’t have to answer that aloud. Kissing the top of her head, I hop out, thankful to be stretching my legs already.
Sticks catches up to me, and I immediately ask, “What the hell was that back there?”
He groans as he runs a hand through his hair. “You said to make her feel more comfortable. I went for the obvious bonding mechanism…kindred spirits and all that. It was all the standard questions most people like us exchange. It’s usually more casual than that, man.”
I glance back at Britt as she smiles and talks to Krysta, though the smile is an easy one and not too forced.
He scratches his head, trying not to laugh, before saying, “We used to be better at this.”
