Page 32 of Poetry By Dead Men
Ourgirl.
I don’t miss the way Bobby’s eyes flash at the words. Once again, Noah doesn’t seem to notice. Either that or he’s too confident to care.
"I mean seriously. Can you believe all the places she got into? YaleandHarvard? It’s pretty impressive."
"It is. Very impressive," Bobby agrees, staring at me so intensely my arms break out in goosebumps. "So many schools she could go to. So many options. What if she chooses Brown? How do you feel about long-distance relationships?" Bobby stands a few inches taller than Noah and looks down at him, his eyes assessing.
"Stop it, Bobby," I try to keep my tone light, but I hope he hears the bite in my words. This is my first date with Noah. We're not in a relationship, let alone a long-distance one.Why are you being such an asshole,I ask with my eyes.
"What?" he counters. "It’s an important question. Graduation's coming up. Then you’ll have the summer, and then you’ll be in school. It's a practical thing to think about. Right, Noah?"
For the first time, Noah looks vaguely uncomfortable as he taps his fingers against his thighs. "I guess you do what you have to do for the people you care about. Right?" He crosses his arms. “What about you? Are you planning on staying here?"
"I’ll find out soon." Bobby’s mood shifts. He flips his hat backward, clearly nervous, and even though I want to stay angry for how he’s treating Noah, I feel an overwhelming urge to hug him instead.
"What do you mean?" I ask, taking a subconscious step toward him.
“There’s a representative from Columbia Records here tonight. Denver Varnes is going on tour soon and needs an opening act.” Bobby messes with his earpiece. “They came to see if I’m a good fit."
"Three minutes," a tall man with a headset says, switching on Bobby’s in-ears.
"We'll let you get ready," Noah says politely. "Break a leg out there," he says, shaking Bobby’s hand again before turning and walking to the side of the stage next to the thick black velvet curtains.
"Hey." I grab Bobby's arm, forcing him to meet my eyes. "Why didn’t you tell me?"
"I didn’t know until this afternoon." He shakes out his hands. “That’s why I left your tickets at will call. I wanted you backstage. For luck."
"You don’t need luck, Bobby." My hand slides down his arm until my fingers are locked with his, and I squeeze tight. Bobby lets his Robert mask slip, and I see his nerves clearly in the lines around his eyes and the way he fidgets with the mic wire. "You're going to do amazing. Youalwaysdo amazing. And I’ll be right there the whole time." I point to my spot next to the curtains.
He leans down and gives me a hug, and I can feel his heart thundering under his shirt.“Don’t go anywhere,” he says in my ear.
"I won’t. Break a leg," I echo Noah’s sentiment, reaching up on my tiptoes and kissing his cheek. Just for luck. Just to give him something to think about other than this life-changing opportunity that all depends on the next thirty minutes.
"Robert Beckett!" the announcer shouts, and Bobby's mask slips back on.
"Wait for me after the show," he says, then strides on stage, his guitar slung around his back and his steps unfaltering, as if this is just another night at a small bar instead of a show for thousands of people and a record executive.
My heart pounds as I force myself to return to Noah, only to find him putting on his jacket.
"I’m going to head out," he says, buttoning the top button, "but I’ll see you in class on Monday."
"Wait." My stomach twists into knots. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Nothing’s wrong. But I’m not interested in—excuse my music pun—playing second fiddle.”
He’s leaving because ofBobby? "What are you talking about?" I ask. Maybe if I play dumb, I can convince both myself and Noah that I wasn't a horrible person inviting him here tonight when there’s clearly some sort of tension between Bobby and me.
"I’m not exactly sure what’s going on between you two, but it’ssomething. I know when to bow out." He smiles at his second music pun, but it doesn't ease the sting of his rejection.
Tears prick in the back of my eyes, even though I know it’s my own fault. "We’re just friends," I say, because it’s the truth. "Nothing’s ever happened between us."
"But that doesn’t mean you don’t want something to."
I open my mouth to speak, but Noah smiles, leaning down to give me a hug. "It's fine. I promise. Enjoy the show. Can you make it home okay?"
I nod. "I'll grab a cab. I’m really sorry, Noah," I say, my voice cracking. The guilt is overwhelming, because he’s right. I don't feel even a sliver of the same pull to him as I do with Bobby. It wasn’t intentional. But it doesn't change reality.
He pulls away and gives me a kind smile before sliding out the door, leaving me standing alone as Robert Beckett strums his first chord. His eyes find mine, and his shoulders relax, so I stay there, smiling back to show my support.
