Page 100 of Shark Bait

’Cause when you look at me, I can’t keep my cool.

You ask about Mira, I say she’s yours,

It’s you who’s been keepin’ me up at night.

“Paper.” I walk around the living room, looking everywhere and finding nothing. I open the hidden drawer under the TV and find three remote controls from 1955. “Paper, paper, where is paper.” I stand in the middle of the living room hoping I don’t hyperventilate from excitement. “Daddy, where are all the papers?” Quickly!

Can’t stop the current, when you’re on my mind.

My dad hands me the pad and pen, but I can’t move, afraid that if I move, my brain won’t “write” any more of this song.

“Child,” my mom says, “are you well?”

“I’m afraid if I move, the rest won’t come.”

My dad puts the notepad and pen on the coffee table. “It’s here when you’re done doing whatever you’re doing.” He looks at Shark. “Already got you babysitting, huh?” With that, he sits back down at the dining room table and throws a card on the pile. He holds up another card. “Uno, losers.”

I’ll wait for you, I’ll wait for us,

While the world flows on, I’m holdin’ us

in the words of her song.

I sit down on the couch, write down what came to me, make a few edits, read it back out loud, chew on the tip of the pen. “This is so cheesy.” Gah.

“Give it.” Levi appears next to me and snatches the paper from me. I protest and try to take it back, but he holds it up and makes me jump to try to reach it. Levi is tall. No way I can reach the paper.

Denver can. He sneaks up from behind Levi and grabs the paper and reads.

“It’s stupid,” I say. “Don’t read it.”

“My millions of fans say your songs aren’t stupid.” He looks up and says, “You know how the fans renamed ‘When She Left’ into ‘Troy’s Song’?”

“Yeah,” Liam answers.

He holds up the paper. “This is Mira’s song.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” I say even though butterflies lift in my belly. I haven’t felt those creative little beauties in a long time, the ones that make me want to write music, get excited about the creative process, the madness of it all.

Denver slaps the paper on my chest. “Finish it.”

“Boy,” my dad says as he walks by. “You better watch how you talk to women in my house.”

“Mmhm,” Shark mumbles. “Shooters abound.”

THIRTY-SIX

THAT’S WHY YOU SHOULD MARRY ME

TROY

That night, I walk out of the bathroom, toweling off my hair after a nice long bath, where I did more thinking about “Mira’s Song,” namely how I could tighten up the words, but coming away with lame ideas that I won’t implement. But I’m thrilled I wrote some words again. It’s a great start.

I grab the remote and aim it at the TV when I see a figure standing in my bedroom. A hand covers my mouth before a scream rips out of me. A man’s strong hands yank me to his body, and he whispers, “Boo.”

Under the palm, I bare my teeth, wanting to bite Shark for scaring the bejesus out of me, but he rips off the towel and grabs my pussy, forcing a gloved finger between my folds. “Are you going to be a good quiet girl, or should I keep my hand over your mouth?”

I see our reflection on the TV. He’s wearing black on black like he’s going on the mission, complete with gloves, guns, and a mask over his face.

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