Page 16 of Unspoken Words
He would always beat me there, and it kinda annoyed me.
“Do you even go to sleep?” I asked as I plonked myself down on the dried dirt beside the rock he was seated on. “I set the alarm on my watch to six a.m. this morning, and I still didn’t beat you here.”
He was picking at strings, playing the same tune I’d heard every morning from the moment I’d met him. “Don’t bother trying to beat me,” he said with a chuckle. “Because you won’t.”
I went to object but instead opened my notebook and jotted downDawn. Determined. Dimples. Doomed.Biting my lip, I smiled and finished my note by doodling a sun.
“What did you just write?” he asked, continuing to play his tune.
I shrugged and snapped the pages shut. “Nothin’. What are you playing?”
“Nothin’.” He strummed some more, this time with more enthusiasm.
“I’ll tell you if you tell me.”
Connor paused then recommenced strumming, repeating the same sound over and over. “You first.”
I huffed and hugged my knees to my chest. “Fine. I wrotedawn.”
“That’s not all you wrote.”
“No, it’s not.”
“What else did you write?”
“What are you playing?” I reiterated. “I want to know. It’s the same song you played on the first day of our holiday. I don’t think I’ve heard it before, but I could be wrong. What is it?”
He glanced over the river, his focus locked. “You wouldn’t have heard it before.”
“Says who? I listen toa lotof different music. Not just Madonna. I also love Mariah, Celine, Michael Jackson, New Kids on The Block, and Roxette. I even like that stupid song those twins sing.” I stopped hugging my legs and clicked my fingers a few times before slapping my forehead. “Crap. What’s it called?” The annoying song swirled around my head, but I couldn’t quite get it out. “Argh!”
Connor twanged his strings, the tune instantly familiar.
I zeroed in on his dimpled smile and pointed a finger at him. “That’s it! That’s the song. You know it, don’t you?”
He nodded.
“What’s it called?”
He started singing in a crappy Scottish accent, and I nearly rolled down the embankment from shock. “Oh my God! You do know it!”
He laughed. “Yep.”
“Who sings it? Tell me.”
“No.”
I stopped laughing and sat straight, legs crossed, like I did when sitting on the floor at school. “WHY NOT?”
“Because this is fun … me knowing and you not knowing.” He stood up, his grey shorts bunching between his thighs where the guitar rested against him, and continued singing and stomping around as he sang about walking five hundred miles. I couldn’t help it and giggled hysterically, which was when the name of the song popped into my head.
“500 Miles!” I shouted. “By the Proclaimers. That’s it!”
“I don’t think that’s what it’s called, but yeah, that’s the song.” Connor chuckled and took a seat back on the rock. “So, what else did you write?”
“Three more words.”
“You gonna tell me what they are?”
