Page 30 of Reggie and Delilah's Year of Falling

I want to be able to stand boldly as the person I am, to not have to wait until I’m on stage for that emergency release valve that lets everything I’ve been holding in out. But it’s hard. How does he make it seem so easy?

“You know, maybe I can connect you with Ryan,” he continues, probably totally unaware how he’s blowing my mind. “She used to give lessons at that music place over in California Heights. Maybe she can teach you how to play guitar and, like, write music.”

That sounds terrifying. And also... exhilarating. I’m already starting to list in my head all the ways I might embarrass myself with someone as talented as Ryan, all the ways I might fail. Butmaybe this is my first step toward being someone who does what she wants and likes what she likes. Someone like Reggie.

“Are you sure?” I ask. “Because I think I would— Yeah. Yeah, that would be awesome.”

“Of course! I’m sure she would be down. We’re, you know, friends.” The last word comes out weird, so he clears his throat. Tries again. “We’re friends.”

He crosses his arms and starts to squint behind his glasses, and seconds later, when I feel Charlie’s arm around me, I know why.

Charlie’s touch always used to make me feel safe, but ever since Valentine’s Day, it’s started to feel more... oppressive. Controlling. And I don’t want to be taken from this moment. I want to stay right where I am.

“You disappeared, kid!” Charlie says. “I was looking for you.”

“You remember, Reggie?” I say, turning to Charlie. He looks unsure, and I can’t tell if it’s a front or for real. “He was at our first show, and we saw him at that yogurt place last month too. And get this—he’s friends with Ryan Love and the Valentines.”

“Hey,” Reggie says, with a nod.

“Ryan and the Valentines! We love them,” Charlie says. Even though just last week he called them pop punk posers, insisting that we were the real deal. It really bothered me because I like their music. It makes me feel something. But instead of contradicting Charlie, I stay quiet.

“Well, nice to meet you, man, but we gotta get going,” Charlie says, tugging on my shoulder. “The guitarist from Undead Jupiter—”

I step forward, letting Charlie’s hand fall. “Reggie, can I have your number?” I pull my phone out of my pocket and hold it out to him. “You know... because of what we talked about.”

I don’t want to mention the possible lessons in front of Charlie. I want them to be just for me right now. And anyway, that’s not the only reason I want his number.

“Yeah, sure. Of course,” he says, grinning wide. And when our fingers touch, there’s a spark. I jump back.

“Whoa.”

“Wow.”

“It’s just static,” Charlie mumbles.

Reggie’s nose wrinkles as he grins even bigger, pushing up his glasses. And as I watch him tap my phone’s screen, I can feel my face stretching into a smile to match.

Reggie

I don’t know how long I’m standing there watching her walk away, my mouth hanging open (“catching flies,” my grandma Lenore would say)—when Yobani appears next to me.

“Sothat’swhy you all of a sudden like punk rock,” he says, jabbing me with his pointy elbow.

“That’s why.”

“But she just walked away with her boyfriend?”

“Not her boyfriend.”

Stubble Boy was stressing, couldn’t wait to get her away from me. But it doesn’t even matter, because Delilah is walking away with my number. My number that SHE requested! Everything finally, finally went exactly how I wanted.

I mean, sure... I had to be a little dishonest to level up like this, but I can smooth all that out when she texts me. Because she’sgonnatext me!

“Reggie is! A punk rocker!” Yobani starts to sing, hoppingaround like he’s in the mosh pit. Except he’s not. We’re still in the lobby, and it’s awkward. “Reggie is! A punk rocker!”

“Bro, can you not?”

He knocks into me and holds up his fist like a microphone. “Reggie is! A punk rocker! Nooooooooooow!”

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