Page 36 of Reggie and Delilah's Year of Falling

I’m shocked by her words, how quickly she’s cut right to my core. So, I just nod once, then two more times. “Okay.”

Ryan stands up and walks over to her guitar wall. She presses her lips together and closes one of her eyes, studying me. I wish I could listen in on her thoughts, see what she sees. Finally, she pulls down a mint green electric guitar and places it in my hands like it’s a newborn baby.

“This is a Fender Player Stratocaster. It’s a limited-edition model. Maple fingerboard,” she says, delicately brushing the top ofit with her fingertips. “I call her Mabel. I think you and Mabel are gonna get along just fine.”

When we first texted, she told me I could borrow a guitar for today, but I thought for sure it would be some dusty, dinged-up one that she didn’t need anymore. But Mabel isn’t that. Mabel is special.

“Wow,” I breathe. “Thank you, Ryan.”

“You’re welcome,” Ryan says. “Here, let me tune her for you.”

She takes Mabel back. And as silly as it sounds, I feel the loss of it, even though we’ve only been acquainted for seconds.

After plugging Mabel into a small amp at our feet, Ryan takes out her phone and opens up an app. She strums on a string and the screen flashes yellow, so she twists one of those... twisty thingies—I need to learn what they’re called if I’m going to really do this!—on the top. Then she plays again and adjusts some more until the screen turns green. I watch her, mesmerized.

“So I’m just curious,” she says, moving on to the next string. “Why didn’t you ask someone in your band to teach you? Charlie, he’s really good.”

“Yeah, he is.” And normally I would stop right there, but I keep going. “It’s just that... he can be... kind of judgey sometimes? I think with him I’d be scared to get it wrong. Or look stupid.”

And I was totally feeling the same with Ryan only moments ago, but it feels like we’ve broken through that. I guess she already saw right through me, so why keep trying so hard to get it just right? I can breathe a little deeper, be a little looser. It reminds me of how I feel with Reggie.

“Well, you’re gonna look stupid.” She looks up and smiles. “And I probably will too. That’s making music. But I get what you’re saying, the judgey thing. He tried to talk shit to me about Feline one night, and I’m just not about that. And with people like that—shoot. I’m sure he’s talked about my band too.”

“He called you pop punk posers.” I bite my lip, as if I could catch the words once they’re already out, because that might have been a step too far. Was there truth serum in that bubbly water? Some sort of magic in her assessing stare?

But Ryan’s head falls back in a loud cackle. “Oh, fuck that! There’s always been, and will always be, some white guy with a bad haircut claiming they’re the only ones who truly know what punk is. Andconvenientlyit’s exactly what they produce.” She laughs some more, the bead hanging from her septum piercing jangling around. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to say anything to him. But, man! That is FUN-NY!”

She picks the last string, getting the green go-ahead from her phone, and then strums the guitar. The sound makes my whole body feel like it’s wrapped up in a blanket.

Ryan hands Mabel to me. “Okay. She’s ready. What’s the first song you wanna learn?”

“Uh... well.” I freeze because the only things coming to mind are notRyan-cool.

She gives me a playful look like,really?“I’m not Charlie, girl. Just tell me!”

“I really love Taylor Swift,” I admit, bracing myself for the responses I expect, the ones I tell myself when I’m trying to dothe judging before someone else gets the chance. Taylor Swift is mainstream, the pumpkin spice latte of music. Taylor Swift is for white girls.

But Ryan just shrugs. “It’s pretty punk rock, calling assholes out by name, not taking sexist shit.”

“So... Taylor Swift is punk rock?”

“Oh, fuck no!” she snorts, grinning at me. I smile too. “But what I’m saying is, you can still be punk rock even if you’re influenced by Tay-Tay. Like, there’s nothing more punk than owning who you are and what you like, unapologetically.”

“Okay.” I grip Mabel in my hands, lightly touch the strings. “Well, I like Taylor Swift. And I want to play this electric guitar and scream until my throat’s sore and... also write lyrics that make people cry.”

“Good,” she nods, like that’s that. “And anyway, I was just fucking with you. We’ll be lucky if we get to ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ today.”

Reggie

“Bro, this is way too long,” Yobani calls from his place at my desk.

“I think the length is fine,” Greg counters, peering over his shoulder.

“No one asked you, Gruly.”

“Reggie literally asked me. That is the only reason I’m here.”

“Can we, like, not do this right now?” I roll my eyes and sit up on my bed. “I mostly just need you to look for typos. I’m feeling pretty confident on the content.”

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