Page 42 of Out of the Blue

“Ah. Got it. You ditched school to ride the train. Plus, you skipped out on paying.”

Eight eyes hit the deck. Trent squeezes my hand and whispers, “Man, you’re perceptive.”

Even though it wasn’t exactly praise, I stand straighter. “Well, maybe I can work with this. I can spin your story so it’s not quite so, ah, truant.” Ideas swirl inside my mind of how I can repackage their less than positive story into something the actual Light Rail could promote for us. Maybe the lyrics for one of their new songs could touch on their train rides, and the train could play it on a rotation to riders. And then we’d be exposed to so many more new followers.

We.Even my thoughts have accepted the band as a part of my life. A fissure of panic screams down my spine, which is derailed when Trent asks, “What do you have in mind?”

The band probably will think my ideas are stupid. Biting my lip, I blurt, “How about the lyrics to one of your new songs be about the real Light Rail? Then we can put out a sanitized story of how you used to ride the system all the time when you were growing up, omitting their actual timing. And all the freebies you took. If we tag the Light Rail when the song’s released, maybe they’ll share it with their customers.” I take a deep breath. “Maybe they’ll pipe it in when their patrons are waiting for a train or riding one.” I shut my mouth and swallow. Now it’s my turn for my eyes to bore into the utilitarian brown carpet covering their “rehearsal space.”

“I like it.” Maurice’s voice reaches my ears.

My chin pops up.

“Yeah, I think it could work, big time,” Joey adds.

Dwight bangs out a beat on a nearby chair, nodding. “That’s a great idea, Cordelia. Think you’re up to the task, Trent?”

My head swivels to him. If he’s not on board, my idea will be deep-sixed. Probably where it belongs.

His right hand rubs his left arm. Up and down. Up and down. “It’s solid.”

All the air rushes out of my body as their acceptance of my crazy bold proposal sinks in. It’s like I’m floating above my body. Is this what hope feels like?

After allowing myself a minute to revel in the unusual sensation, I rummage into my bag and pull out a mini notebook and pen. “I’ll work up a plan while you guys rehearse.”

Before I can even crack open my spiral-bound notebook, the guys trip over themselves offering ideas on how to implement my concept. Laughing, I write down all of them, promising to explore even the wacky ones. Like “select one lucky rider and the band will go to their house and sing the song.” I don’t think it will work, but a germ of an idea may be in here we can use.

The only person not as animated as the rest is Trent. I’m too busy transcribing their suggestions to question him.

Right now, that is.

Chapter 14 - Trent

My bandmates welcomed Cordy into the family like I knew they would. Their bet? Geez. Amazing how they could see what was going on long before Cordy and I did.

Turning my head on the pillow, I look at the sleeping beauty next to me. The blankets have slipped to below her luscious tits. Her long, brown hair sprawls around her like a halo. Most of the red highlights have washed away, and I prefer her like this. She may appear to be an angel, but a sexy devil lurks beneath the surface. And when I unleash her, she’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. So good.

I flip my head to the other side where my journal stares at me. Maybe after all the good things that have been happening, I can come up with some workable lyrics. Starting with some about the real Light Rail. Pride wells up in me about her suggestion. If it didn’t involve me writing lyrics, I would’ve been drooling all over her idea like the rest of the guys. Maybe it’s time.

Reaching over, I grab the blank book and a hotel pen lying next to it. Across the top, I scrawl, “Ode to the Light Rail.” I zero in on the first word. Is “Ode” right? Should it be “Homage”? Or “Thoughts”? Or “Memories”? My mind goes down a rabbit hole of synonyms, then floats off to remembering those rides. Running from conductors. Jumping the turnstiles. Laughing and being annoying to other riders.

Corralling my thoughts, I return to the notepad. It still says, “Ode to the Light Rail.” What rhymes with ride?

Muzak.

Nothing.

Not a single lyric floats in my mind.

Whenever I got stuck before, Mom used to recite stupid nursery rhymes, which always somehow helped me write. Obviously, that’s never happening again.

I stare at the mostly blank page for a full ten minutes, until Cordy turns over and rubs one of her nails down my back. “What’cha doing?”

I slam the book shut. “Nothing.” Placing it on the bedside table, I toss the pen on top of it. Her beauty steals my breath for a moment. “God. You’re so gorgeous.”

Pink stains her olive skin from her neck to her cheeks. “You’re not a slouch either.” She traces my ab muscles, and they contract. “Really, though. What were you working on?”

Sliding my fingers over my tattoo, I gaze deep into her mocha eyes, which beg me to spill my guts. I’ve already told her about my mother, the stage fright, and Braxton. Maybe she can help me like she’s been helping with everything else in my fucked-up life? I worry my bottom lip.

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