Page 17 of Sing Your Heart Out

Hesitating, I slow reach out and grab a chip from the pile. “I really shouldn’t have many of these. I’m trying to watch my figure.”

Smith chews, pulling a face. “What? Why? You’re too skinny as it is.”

My face flames red. “What?”

He shoves another chip in his mouth, chewing before he speaks. “I didn’t mean that something is wrong with you. I just meant like… if you let yourself get a little bigger, I don’t think anyone would notice or complain.”

My smile wobbles. “I see.”

He shakes his head. “Tell me to shut up, please. I have too many opinions. At least that’s what my sister always tells me.”

“No, it’s nothing personal. I just… my ex-husband used to constantly criticize everything I ate.”

He ducks his head. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories for you.”

“It’s okay.” I make a point to eat three more chips, then stop. Smith bulldozes his way through the rest of the nachos, not stopping until the last crumb has been demolished.

After that, he wrinkles his nose and looks around. “Do you want to go see if they’ll let us back on the dune buggies?”

I give my head a little shake. “Honestly? No. But I will go outside with you.”

His lips curve upward. “All right, then.”

As we head outside, I watch him out of the corner of my eye. I’ll admit to the fact that I keep comparing him to Justin, my ex.

In my head, I see Justin, a middle aged musician’s ‘agent’ who had a bit of a belly and an overbite. He was also perpetually broke, which I swear was half his issue with me eating when we went out.

Next to Justin, Smith looks so… appetizing. He appeals to me on a base level.

“Smith?” I ask.

He stops just outside the door, raising his brows. “Yes?”

I put a hand on his chest and raise up on my tiptoes, pressing my lips to his. He’s startled at first. But then he hold my elbow and kisses me back.

There is something real that the kiss invokes, something new and fragile. But as soon as the kiss starts, he pulls away.

He frowns deeply. “I… I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sarah.”

Turning beet red, I pull away from Smith’s reach and whirl, running back inside the little shack. Soon after we leave and Smith isn’t in the half of the people that pile in the van with me,

Which is just as well because he was right.

It wasn’t a good idea, not at all.

7

Smith

By halfway through the next week, I actually miss Sarah talking to me. It’s a little lonely here not knowing anybody, with overly chatty Rachel and nearly silent Nate being the couple of exceptions. This week we are supposed to really focus on our individual skills anyway, so I just hunker down with my guitar.

I’ve been stuck on this song for a whole day now. I try to play something different a few times, but I just keep coming back to these chords.

It’s frustrating, to be honest. I feel the same kind of creative block that I struggled with so often before I came to this house.

After eating lunch, I post up in the upstairs lounge. No one else seems to be interested in the little space which is just fine by me.

I play the same chords over and over, humming along with them. I page through the newspaper, looking for words that describe what I’m feeling. I scribble in my notebook, but nothing productive comes out of it.

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