Page 5 of Wild Obsession

Except this time, Tim Thatcher isn’t getting an opportunity to break my heart.

This time, I’ll break his.

It might not be right. It might not be mature. But it’s going to feel so damn good.

Interlude

Tim

Eight years ago...

THE DRUMMER IS MISSING.

He’s often missing, so no one reacts when Mr. White calls out “Summers” at the start of band practice and no one responds. I know he’s here today. I saw him in algebra during third period, though he wasn’t paying attention to Mrs. Calhoun’s attempts to teach what a sine and cosine are. He was busy smirking at something, that curling smile I’ve noticed too often playing across his lips.

Not that I notice his lips, either. I just happened to notice today because it looked like he was up to something. Now, as usual, he’s cutting class.

It might not annoy me so much if he wasn’t so damngood. I also play drums in the high school band, but I’m nothing compared to Keannen. When he picks up those sticks, something happens that even Mr. White can’t explain, an explosion of sound that all the rest of us can do nothing but follow. It doesn’t matter how often he skips class or how little he practices. On the days when he does show up, this whole band is his.

Today, we’re just a normal high school band, just a bunch of kids stumbling through the same music high school bands have played forever. My heart isn’t really in it, and as a result I lag a step behind everyone else the whole time we play. Mr. White’s eyes slide toward me as he picks up the stuttering beat I bang out.

About halfway through the class period, I excuse myself for the bathroom. How can a guy who doesn’t even show up for practice be so much better than me at this? I try so hard, yet I’ll never catch up to Keannen, who’s probably off doing something illegal.

I leave the bathroom frustrated and take the long way back to toward the band room. The halls are empty in the middle of the class period. Outside, the sun beats down on the suburbs of Baltimore, scorching even though the school year has only just begun. I’m a junior now, so I’ve got two more years of watching Keannen effortlessly surpass me.

I sigh, pausing at a window and contemplating the sports fields outside it. I could leave too, I suppose. There’s nothing stopping me. It’s not like this door is locked. ButI’m not like Keannen. I don’t have an edgy haircut and pitch black eyes and a leather jacket. I don’t sometimes come into school smelling like cigarettes and lob a cocky smirk at anyone who notices. In fact, I’m the complete opposite of that. I’m the nerd. I’ve never cut a class. I’ve rarely had a sick day. I get straight As and always have.

But when it comes to drumming, none of that matters.

I can study all I like, but I’ll never be a match for the raw talent pouring out of Keannen every time he picks up a drumstick.

I don’t know how long I stand at that window fuming over the unfairness of the universe, but eventually movement catches my eye. Dark hair and a leather jacket slipping under the bleachers in front of the football field.

My heart lurches. It’s him. He didn’t even go far, just waltzed outside. The entire class period, and he’s been a mere few feet away.

Indignation spurs me on. I’m shoving open the door and storming outside before I realize what I’m doing. I stomp across the parking lot and toward the athletic fields, then clamber under the bleachers. Cool shadows drape over me, and I stop to get my bearings.

Keannen stares at me, one dark eyebrow cocked.

He’s wearing his leather jacket despite the heat. Black jacket. Black jeans. Black T-shirt underneath. Black hair flopping over to one side. Piercing black eyes shining with mirth. And that crooked God damn smirk I can’t helpnoticing during class. After a beat of surprise, the smirk turns into a full-on smile, and he brings a lit cigarette to his mouth.

“Hey,” he says.

“What are you doing?” I say.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that? Why aren’t you at practice, Freckles?”

“Why aren’tyouat practice?”

Keannen shrugs a shoulder. “I wanted a smoke.”

Indignation floods through me in a torrent. Why doesn’t he care? If he tried at all he could be so much more than I’ll ever be. He could be incredible. He’s already incredible.

“Relax, Freckles,” he drawls. “You’re going to pop a blood vessel. Why don’t you go back inside like a good boy?”

His words throw fresh fuel on the resentment burning inside me. I stomp closer, and for an instant, Keannen actually looks surprised. That flicker of an expression shouldn’t feel so good, but it does, and I place myself almost toe-to-toe with him.

“Why do you skip so much?” I say.

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