Page 86 of Love Me Steadfast
I tap the brim of her hat. “I can’t die today, blackbird. Not with our opening game against Timberline Friday.”
She gives me a snarky little snort. “Blackbird?”
I laugh. “Would you rather I call you by your last name, like I do Theo?”
She makes a face. “No thank you. Mr. Paris calls me that when he thinks I’m slacking off.” She hunches her shoulders and pokes out her bottom lip to impersonate our PE teacher. “Step it up, Hannah! The goal post’s this way, Hannah!”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing again, even though the idea of her flustered is fucking adorable. “It’s settled then.”
“Why blackbird?”
“You sing pretty like one. And it’s the first song you played for me.”
From the way she rolls her eyes with the hint of a smile, I think she likes her nickname. Or maybe it was the compliment tucked into it.
“Kind of sad though,” she says. “In that song, anyway.”
I’ve read the lyrics, but I didn’t reach the same conclusion. “I dunno. It’s hopeful, right?” If I could sing worth a damn, I’d hum the chorus. “The blackbird flies off, free.”
One of her eyebrows dips, like she’s thinking this over.
We reach the thicket of blackberry vines, and I see why she told me to wear sneakers because the prickly brambles extend all the way to the ground. Alongside the berry patch is a worn path through the short, dry grass, either from animals or people who come here to pick. Growing from the center of the thicket are tall alders and cottonwoods casting welcome stripes of shade.
Charlotte edges in close to the vines and loops her arm under the bucket’s handle so she can drop blackberries in with both hands. Icopy her, and over the distant hush of the river comes thetap, thunkof the berries hitting the bottom of our buckets.
“Boxcar Doves is going to play at Harker’s Open Mic this fall.”
“What’s Harker’s?” I scan my section of prickles for ripe berries.
“An all-ages music club in Sunbeam.” She pops a berry into her mouth and hums. “Remember those two guys my dad introduced me to at the Christmas party? One of them listened to our demo. Encouraged us to sign up.”
“Are you excited?”
She releases a nervous huff. “At least it’s only three songs.”
“Which ones?”
“We haven’t completely decided, but for sure ‘Smoke and Mirrors,’ and ‘Nesting Box.’”
“Have I heard ‘Smoke and Mirrors?’”
She scrunches one eye as she thinks. “No. It’s new.”
“Sing it for me.”
She scoffs.
I elbow her in the bicep. “Come on, it’s just us.”
“Are you gonna sing backup?” She cocks her hip.
I laugh at her sass. “You wouldnotwant that, trust me.”
“I’ll think about it.” She moves past me, plucking a berry from a vine down low. “Here,” she says, and offers it to me.
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t give me a sour one.”
She pops it in her mouth. “Mmm, perfect,” she says to rub it in.
