Page 34 of Spark

Best-laid plans.

Rather than making Kendrick my first, as hoped, I got an unwitting eyeful of Kendrick’s naked, muscular backside, as he passionately kissed and made love to a beautiful blonde ona couch, his hips gyrating enthusiastically and his palm placed tenderly on her cheek.

I don’t even remember how I got back to the train station after seeing that. All I remember is sobbing on the train ride back to school, even though I knew I had no right to feel that way. How can a person grieve the loss of something that was never theirs to begin with, right? But that’s how I felt, so I cried my eyes out and resolved never to tell another living soul about what I’d stupidly done.

When I got back to my dorm, my first-year roommate was shocked to see me so soon.

“I thought you went to visit Kendrick,” she said.

“I got the dates screwed up,” I lied. “Kendrick wasn’t there. He had an away game this week.”

Thankfully, she accepted my story and never asked any follow-up questions, since she didn’t know me well enough to detect that I was brazenly lying. Which means, to this day, nobody in the world knows the truth.

To add insult to injury, Kendrick brought that gorgeous blonde home during Christmas break that year and introduced her around as his girlfriend.

Florence. That was her name. I didn’t like her.

I’d tried to like her, but it was obvious she only liked Kendrick the Football Star, not Kendrick the Goofball Sweetheart, and I didn’t like that. But since it was none of my business, and he obviously liked her a lot, I went back to school and hooked up with a boy in my dorm. Ryder. And acted like that unfortunate incident on Kendrick’s doorstep never happened.

My phone vibrates on the mattress, drawing my attention to a text from my good friend, Miranda Baumgarten, who works in PR for River Records.

Miranda: I’ve got some bad news, babe. Just found out APM is releasing a surprise single, and you’re not going to like it. It’s dropping at 6:00 Pacific time, but I’m sending it to you now so you can get your game face on in case anyone asks you about it, which I’m sure they will. So sorry, love.

“APM” is Cooper’s band, Alexa Play Music; and the link supplied by Miranda is for a song called, “Don’t Call Me.” So, naturally, I’m figuring it must be about our breakup. Bastard. If so, this could be bad. Cooper isn’t the kind of guy to hold back in his lyrics, and he didn’t take our breakup well.

My stomach churning with anxiety, I glance at Kendrick next to me on the bed and discover he’s fast asleep. Shoot. I don’t have my earbuds with me, so I dart into the bathroom with my phone.

After closing the door, I put the toilet lid down and take a seat. And with a shaking hand, click on the link.

There’s a short musical intro to kick things off, during which I tell myself not to panic; it won’t be that bad. But when Cooper begins to sing, it’s instantly clear this song is going to rip me a new one:

“Don’t Call Me”

The Stones got Ruby Tuesday

I got some hell to pay

My only goal is letting you know

I don’t want you anymore, anyway

You told me you loved me,

And I believed

So why is he starring

In your sex dreams?

Bye bye, baby

See ya, adieu

Don’t call me, won’t call you

Ooooh

I’m done feeling sapphire blue

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