Sometimes Never (Sometimes Never 1)

I stand there in shock, searching for some argument to disprove him. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “Damn it. I’m sorry. I don’t care. I’ll deal with it. I had no right to say those things. I’m cool now.” He runs his fingers through his hair and shakes his head again. “Fuck. Say something, Hope.”

“I still don’t know what to say,” I whisper.

We stand there staring at each other until Chase comes back. He looks back and forth between us. “Did I interrupt something? I can go…”

“No, man. S’all good,” Mason says. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” He says to me and I nod, letting him leave and do what I do best. I push everything away as I work on Chase’s hair.

I stare at my phone, debating. It’s a good argument between me and myself. In the end, I win. So I text Mason.

Me: SO DID U KNOW THAT WHEN UR LITTLE COUSIN ASKS YOU TO DYE A STRIP OF HER HAIR NEON GREEN THAT U SHOULD ADAMENTLY DECLINE?

Me: CUZ I DIDN’T.

Him: NO YOU DIDN’T.

Me: I DID. SHE BEGGED ME.

Him: WHICH COUSIN?

Me: …ADDIE.

Him: HOW MUCH TROUBLE ARE YOU IN?

Me: UG. WAY 2 MUCH.

Him: WHAT’S THE SENTENCE?

Me: I HAVE 2 PERFORM AT THE PARTY.

Him: THE BAND?

Me: THE BAND WAS ALREADY GOING 2 PLAY. BUT NOW I HAVE 2 PLAY SOLO FOR EVERYONE. PLUS SING.

Me: I WILL PROBABLY BE SMASHED BY THE TIME U ARRIVE.

Him: SMASHED? WAIT. YOU SING?

Me: SMASHED AS IN HAMMERED. SHIT FACED. INEBRIATED. DRUNK. AND NO, I DO NOT SING. THAT IS THE PROBLEM. JENNY IS TORTURING ME.

Me: I’M CHANGING HER NAME TO EVIL STEP MOTHER.

Him: HEY THAT REMINDS ME. YOU NEVER TOLD ME WHAT U NAMED ME.

Me: GUESS U WILL JUST HAVE 2 WAIT UNTIL TOMORROW.

Him: SUCCUBUS.

Me: PANTSLESS THE BOY WONDER.

Him: PUBLIC PUKER.

Me: HEY MASON, WILL U BUY ME SUM TAMPONS?

Him: WILL YOU EAT A CARROT?

Me: DO U SMELL CHLORINE?

Him: DO YOU SMELL COMMITMENT?

Me: WOW. U WENT THERE.

Him: I DID.

Me: U WIN THIS ROUND. WELL PLAYED SIR. WELL PLAYED.

Him: I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU GAVE UP SO EASILY.

Me: I DIDN’T GIVE UP. I GAVE U THE WIN. IT’S CHARITY BCUZ I PITY U.

Him: OUCH. THAT HIT RIGHT IN THE EGO.

Me: I THINK THEY HAVE A PILL FOR THAT.

Him: YOU ARE THE MEANEST PERSON I KNOW.

Me: R U SURE? CUZ U KNOW 1,100 PEOPLE. 1 HAS 2 BE MEANER THAN ME.

Him: NO. I’M SURE.

Me: I SHOULD WIN SOMETHING THEN.

Him: WHAT DO YOU WANT?

Oh dear Buddha. What do I want? That is such a loaded question and he knows it. He’s the one who pointed out that I have issues admitting what I want. I think he’s testing me. My fingers are practically begging for me to hit the U. But maybe he’s just testing the waters after what happened this afternoon. Maybe it’s an innocent question. So much time has gone by without me answering. What’s he thinking while he’s waiting for my reply? Is he nervous? Irritated? Is he even waiting? Maybe he’s playing Halo or watching TV.

Me: I’LL HAVE 2 GET BACK 2 U ON THAT 1.

Him: I’LL BE WAITING.

What does that mean? Great. Does he even understand the mind games he’s playing with me? Yes. Yes, I think he does. I think he also enjoys it. The sad thing is I do too. Damn.

Me: NIGHT.

Him: GOODNIGHT HOPE.

Yeah right. I doubt it.

Chapter 13

Mason

Mom drops me and Kellin off at Hope’s before she goes to work. Guy gave me the option of staying the night or having Park take me home. I haven’t made my mind up yet, but the prospect of sleeping in the same house as Hope is excruciatingly appealing.

There are cars parked up both sides of the street. The driveway’s full. And there are even several vehicles in the front yard. Mom gives me a hard look. “This is a birthday party for her dad?”

“Foster dad, yeah.”

“Don’t get in any trouble and keep an eye on your brother,” she says.

“I’ll guard him with my life,” I promise.

Guy’s dad has good taste in music. Old southern rock plays loudly from the backyard. Kellin trails behind me as I head for the gate following the party sounds and the lines of white Christmas lights.

I stop just inside the yard as I take in the scene. There are small round tables everywhere, more white lights looping throughout. A buffet table is set up alongside the garage and there are large speakers on either side of a makeshift stage. It reminds me more of an outdoor wedding than a birthday celebration.

The music cuts off and as I turn, my breath catches and something sticks in my throat, like a lung, or my heart, or something. Hope stands center stage wearing a light blue sundress that sways just above her knees and reveals a small amount of creamy white cleavage. Her hair is pulled up in a series of twists and braids showing off her neck and shoulders. And I’m pretty sure I can see traces of make-up on her face other than her usual lip gloss. She’s so pretty.

Guy unfolds a chair and Hope sits, gliding her dress up her thighs as he then hands her a cello. She places it between her legs and sits up straight. The moment is surreal. I’ve never seen anything more heart wrenchingly beautiful. Nothing, nobody has ever affected me as she does now. I can’t take my eyes off her. I don’t want to look at anything else ever again. I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. I click several pictures before she even starts playing.

And when her bow touches the strings and the first note sounds, the entire yard goes still. Everybody stops there idle chatter, enthralled with the sweet sounds infecting their senses. I click more pictures because Hope’s face has changed. Her eyes are closed, but there is this freedom that relaxes her features. A small smile plays at her lips.

I am absurdly in love with this girl.

The song ends, but Hope stays where she is. Everyone erupts with applause. Her cheeks flame with embarrassment and I smile. The rest of the band climbs on stage. Guy picks up his guitar, Chase takes the bass, and Park holds a microphone. I don’t know what I expected, but for some reason, I thought Guy was the lead singer. Now as Park stands behind the mic stand, everything about him screams rock star. The ripped skinny jeans, the faded Ramones tee shirt. The stick straight hair strategically styled in a messy, just-woke-up way. But mostly it’s his confidence. Like the stage is his home. His comfort zone.

Park smirks at Hope, holding her gaze as she lifts her bow, the cello leading them into their first song. And they’re good. Really good. I’m in awe as I listen to each piece that makes up the band. Hope’s hands are a blur as she transforms her classical cello into an instrument of rock. Park sings the lyrics, that I know came from Hope, in a smooth tenor that somehow reflects an internal aching. Halfway through the chorus, I decide I’m a fan. Maybe It’s a Catastrophe might be my new favorite band. By the second song, when Hope takes a seat behind the drum set, I confirm it.

Kellin tries to talk to me, I think to say how good they are, but I wave him off, desperate to hear every second of the music. The hour flies by and Park announces their last song.

He holds out the microphone as Hope moves around to the front of the stage. Strands of loose hair stick to her neck with sweat and I swallow tightly, nearly groaning with want—no the need—to run my tongue over her neck. I click one more picture, never wanting to forget how sexy she looks.

I snap out of my ogling as she accepts the mic, her hand shaking nervously. I cringe internally as Park kisses her cheek and jumps off the stage not far from me. He crosses his arms and stares up at her, nodding when she meets his eyes pleadingly.

Hope clears her throat. “Hey everyone,” she begins. Her voice trembles as she continues. “I had a lapse in judgment yesterday, so in retribution, I have to sing for Alec. I’m supposed to take requests, but since it’s his birthday, he gets to choose.” Her eyes move over the faces, seeking out her foster dad—uncle—whatever she calls him. She sees me then, her gaze pausing on me and she smiles before moving on. I can tell the moment she finds him. She tilts her head slightly and waits.

“The beautiful song,” Alec calls and Hope smiles widely.

Chase sets his bass down and hops off the stage throwing up his thumbs reassuringly. Guy switches out his electric guitar for an acoustic and heaves himself onto the folding chair. Hope puts the mic on the stand and lowers it between them.

Guy strums the strings as Hope’s voice fills the air.

“Pink lips, and rosy cheeks; eyes so light and hair that shines. They tell me that you’re beautiful.”

The way she sings it, soft and low, it’s something I’ll never forget, striking at my core, and changing something inside of me forever. My feet are moving me as if of their own accord. I drift forward, her voice compelling me closer. I can’t fathom why she doesn’t like to sing when she does it so well.

“Five foot nine, size two dress, bones protruding from your chest. They tell me that you’re beautiful.

“Inflated breasts, extended hair, pigment perfected. They tell me that you’re beautiful.”

Hope tips her head up, her eyes closed. The music grows faster, my heartbeat with it.

“Shape me, mold me, manufacture me, and tell me that I’m beautiful. Wax me, dye me, chop and dice me, and tell me that I’m beautiful. Choose me, use me, take me, break me, and tell me that I’m beautiful. Bleach it, cover it, go ahead and remove it.

“Erase all that is beautiful.” She nearly shatters me with one song. Her words echo in my mind. When she opens her eyes, she stares at something only she can see.

“Starving, purging, implanting, and medicating. Erase all that is beautiful. Pretend, ignore, deny, ratify, inculcate. Tell me what is beautiful.

“Tell me. Tell me. Tell me what to be.

“Shape me, mold me, manufacture me, and tell me that I’m beautiful. Wax me, dye me, chop and dice me, and tell me that I’m beautiful. Choose me, use me, take me, break me, and tell me that I’m beautiful. Bleach it, cover it, go ahead and remove it.

“Break me. Break me. Break me to fit you.”

Guy strikes the last chord. It thrums through the silence as Hope looks at me and whispers the last line.

“I don’t want to be beautiful.”

Everyone claps and Guy grins up at Hope proudly.

*******

I’m still star struck as the evening wears on. I try not to say much, but I tell her that they were great. I tell her that I loved her songs. I tell her how wonderful she plays the cello. I tell her she’s beautiful whether she wants to be or not. I finally shut up when Park makes his way over.

He hands Hope a bottle of water. “You better start drinking that now or you’ll end up hung over tomorrow,” he says.

I watch her carefully. She doesn’t seem drunk. Her voice isn’t slurred, she isn’t stumbling. I don’t even smell anything on her. She nods and takes the bottle.

“You want a shot?” Park asks me. I shake my head.

“No, man. I’m good. I’ve got my brother here.”

He looks back to Hope. “I got to get Jessie’s equipment back to him. I’ll be back later.” He touches his fingertips to hers and smiles. “You were awesome tonight.” His lips brush against hers and I turn my head. I don’t look back at her until I know he’s gone. When I do, she’s staring at me. I stare back.

“Blow bubbles,” Addie says, shoving a bright orange bottle at me. I look down at her and she takes a step back toward Hope as if she’s still unsure about me.

I accept the bottle and blow through the wand. Bubbles float in the air and Addie giggles. She and Hope race to catch them, so I blow more and more until my head is light. “I need a break,” I say rubbing my forehead.

“Mason’s about to pass out Addie,” Hope says. “Let’s give him a breather.”