Page 26 of Our Moon
“I think that’s good for tonight, guys,” Trevor says as he wipes the sweat off his forehead with his arm. We’ve been practicing in his parents’ garage for three hours already. Even with the A/C Mr. Monroe installed and the fans we added, it’s still hot.
“Yeah, mom and dad have been riding my ass for staying out here so late this past week,” Alex adds. He’s the only one of us still in school, junior year of high school. Joey should have been, too, but he dropped out a year before. Shit like that happened when youdidn’t have parents that gave a shit about you, not that I could talk. I didn’t have parents who gave a shit, but I still finished school. That was mainly thanks to all the time I spent at Trevor’s house growing up, Mr. and Mrs. Monroe treated me like their fourth child. They would have done the same with Joey, but he didn’t let them. He was a bit of a loner, and while he loved the family and all of us, he kept his attachments limited to his best friend, Alex.
I pack up my guitar and set it next to Trevor’s bass in the corner. Joey tucks his sticks into his back pocket, and together we all walk out the side door to the driveway. We say our goodbyes, and I offer Joey a ride home, which he declines like always. I know it’s because he’s not in a rush to get there. Trevor and Alex head into the house, and I go to my car, which is parked in the street.
“Shit. I don’t have my keys,” I say to myself.
I turn around and head back up the driveway. I go to enter the code in the keypad lock on the garage door, but pause when I hear what sounds like sniffling. I look around but I don’t see anyone, and it’s gone quiet again, so I enter the code in the pad and turn the knob. My keys are just where I thought I’d left them, on the side table next to the couch.
Mr. and Mrs. Monroe were pretty cool for setting this place up for us, complete with couches, carpet, acoustic ceilings, central air, cable, a small bathroom, and a mini-fridge. Itwas like an apartment. Hell, Joey and I’ve even slept in there a few times when we didn’t want to go home. Trevor, Alex, and Ally hit the parent lottery with those two, and they knew it.
I grab my keys and lock back up. As I’m walking back down the driveway, I hear the sniffle again, this time followed by a sob. Now I know I’m not imagining things. I quickly turn and walk back towards the house. I step in between the house and the garage and head for the backyard. The only person I can think of who would be out here is Ally, and I hope to hell nothing is wrong and she’s okay.
I look around the yard, taking in her usual favorite places. She’s not on the tire swing, or on the bench in her mother’s garden. She’s not sitting on the deck either. I scan the grass, but she’s nowhere to be found.
“Ally?” I call out in a loud whisper. I hear another sniffle and turn around. There, sitting on the ground with her back pressed up against the side of the garage is Ally. She has her knees pulled up to her chest and her forehead resting on them. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her legs.
I step over to her and squat down. “Ally, are you okay?” Stupid question to ask a crying girl, I know, but I’m a guy. We don’t always know better.
“I’m fine, just leave me alone, Chase.” She says as she sniffles, but it’s muffled since she’s talking into her lap.
“You know I can’t do that, kid.”
She picks her head up so fast I startle and fall back onto my ass. “I’m not a fucking kid!” she yells.
I frown when I see the makeup smudged on her face and smell the alcohol on her breath. “Have you been drinking? Did someone do something to you?” I ask, assuming the absolute worst.
She glares at me before tucking her head back on her knees. “Just go away.”
I prop myself back up and onto my knees so I have a little more stability in case she erupts again. “Ally, you know I’m not going to do that. Not without at least letting your brothers or your parents know you’re out here.”
“I didn’t ask for you to come save me, Chase.” Her voice breaks mid-sentence.
“What happened, Al?” I try softly. I bet it was her douchebag boyfriend. Little shit was never good enough for her.
“Nothing,” she snaps. “Just go on and go. And if you tell my parents or my brothers I’m out here, I will go in that garage and break your damn guitar.”
Well, that’s hitting a little below the belt. Threatening assault on a musician’s instrument was like insulting a momma’s boy’s mother. But I’m not going to get mad, not when she’s obviously been through something tonight.
“I won’t tell on you,” I say soothingly, like I’m dealing with a wounded, scared animal. I guess in a sense I am. “Just talk to me? I swear whatever you say will be in complete confidence.”
After a few minutes, she picks her head up and looks at me, then nods.
“Why don’t we go sit in the garage, let you get some water and get cleaned up, okay?” I stand up slowly, afraid if I move too quickly I might startle her. I put my hand out to pull her up, and she takes it. She doesn’t let go as she follows me to the garage. I punch in the code and open the door. “Ladies first,” I say, sweeping my hand in front of us. Corny, I know.
She lets go of my hand and walks in, setting her purse on the side table where my keys had just been. Thank God I left them behind, who knows how long she would have been out there by herself if I hadn’t found her. I flip on the light and she quickly reaches over to turn it back off.
“I don’t want to attract any attention from my family,” she tells me, and I nod. “I’m just going to use the restroom,” she says quietly as she hurries over to the small bathroom.
I go to the fridge and pull out a couple bottles of water, then sit down on the couch. I have no idea what I’m doing here. I’m not an emotional guy, at all. Yeah, I have feelings just like anyone else, but girl problems? Not my area of expertise. I don’t know what to do with a crying woman or girl rather. Ally is sixteen, almost seventeen. Teenage girl problems? Even worse.
Ally comes out of the bathroom a moment later with what seems like a little more pep in her step. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me I looked like a raccoon,” she jokes as she sits on the couch beside me.
“You want to tell me why you looked like a raccoon?” I ask. I know what she’s doing, trying to get me to forget I just found her crying on the side of her house at eleven o’clock at night. Well, I’mnotgoing to forget, and sheisgoing to tell me what has her so upset.
“Blake and I broke up last week,” she says simply.
Well, I kind of figured that much. “What did that little asswipe do to you?”
