Infinite (Strange and Beautiful, Book 1) (69 page)

Skylar
had the day off, as did all of the members of Oxide—at least until later in the
evening. Band practice was in full swing by early afternoon. I decided to sit
in on their practice, and Skylar joined me on the steps to watch.

They’d
widened their net of songs to cover. It was a nice reprieve from hearing the
same songs over and over. Even though they seemed to be taking the cover band
route for the time being, I’d heard Luke playing the guitar up in his room on a
few occasions. I couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like he was trying to write
some original songs. 

Jackson
called halfway through practice. I barely heard the phone, even though I’d
brought the handset from upstairs with me down to the garage. I invited him
over, and he arrived just as Mom came home with lunch—from Taco Bell—for
everyone. Luckily, she’d ordered a bunch of tacos, so there was plenty to go
around, and everyone happily crowded around the dining room table to eat.

As
we ate, Luke revisited the topic of making a band logo, asking both Skylar and
Jackson if either of them might be interested in coming up with something. He
also mentioned setting up a MySpace account. The idea of recording some tracks
was also thrown around. The whole band seemed excited by the idea.

Even
Mom, who’d seemed somewhat distracted when she came home, took an interest. “I
saw a flyer at work about a talent show at the community center,” she
commented. “Have you looked into doing something like that?”

“I
don’t know.” Luke sounded as uncertain as he looked. The rest of the band
didn’t seem any surer. Aside from the people coming and going from the house,
no one else had ever heard them play. I couldn’t blame them for being nervous
about performing in public, but I thought that was the point of the band.

Skylar,
unmoved by their shyness, said, “What are you going to do? Be a closet band for
the rest of your lives?”

“We’re
not a
closet
band,” Toby corrected.

“You
know what I mean.” Skylar rolled her eyes. “After all that practicing and
making our ears bleed from listening to you learn new songs, it would be really
lame not to go out and play in public when you have the opportunity.”

Luke
rolled his eyes and shook his head. Of course, he’d be annoyed on principle
because Skylar was the one who said it.

“She’s
right, you know.” I decided to add my two cents. “You guys are sounding really
good. Don’t let all of your work go to waste because of nerves.”

“You’re
biased,” Luke said.

“What
makes you say that?” I questioned.

“I’m
your brother and Mark’s your friend,” he said.

I
rolled my eyes. “If anything that would be more of a reason for me to be
honest.”

“Yeah,”
Skylar grinned. “I mean, I have no problem telling you when you suck.”

“But
that’s because you’re a bitch,” Luke retorted.

Mom,
who was unloading the dishwasher in the kitchen, exclaimed, “Lucas!”

“What?”
Luke tried to look innocent as Mom poked her head into the room.

“Don’t
call your sister names,” she frowned. “And don’t use that kind of language.”

“Sorry,”
he shrugged.

I
glanced to my right at Jackson. I could see that he was trying to hide a smile
as well. Much of the remaining afternoon wore on the same way. Jackson and I
had planned to watch a movie, but it was impossible to hear the television
downstairs with the band practicing, and no matter how cool Mom had been as of
late, I doubted she’d allow Jackson to watch a movie upstairs in my room.
Instead, I watched the band practice while Jackson sketched a few logo ideas
for the band.

When
practice broke up, Jackson also decided to head home, but before he left, we
decided to go out the next afternoon instead of staying in. I found myself
eager—not only because I wanted to spend some time alone with Jackson, but
also—because I was beginning to develop a persistent throb in the back of my
head from constantly listening to Oxide play.

I’d
noticed Mark’s playing seemed more aggressive than usual. At first I wondered
if it had anything to do with something going on at home with his dad. Then,
the more I thought about it, I wondered if maybe it was because he missed
Tegan.

He
and Tegan had gone out on a couple of dates since the concert. Tegan had
assured me that she thought she and Mark would be fine without a chaperone. After
their first unaccompanied date, she’d said, “It went really well. We had a lot
of fun.”

The
next date went well too, and while they weren’t calling themselves a couple
just yet, I had a feeling things were headed that way. I was so happy for them.
Tegan deserved someone who would treat her well, and I believed Mark sincerely
had only the best intentions. Mark had done some really bad things in the past.
There was no way around it, but I thought he deserved a break. Since he’d
abandoned lurking the halls with a menacing sneer and actually had friends and
a potential girlfriend, he seemed like an altogether different person.

Wednesday
morning I was up before ten and had showered and dressed by eleven. Jackson
picked me up around noon, and he and I were leaving for lunch just as Mark—the
first of the group—showed up for another day of practice. I wished him good
luck and bid him adieu.

We
decided to go to Steak ‘n Shake for lunch. It felt somewhat awkward to actually
be able to talk to each other without shouting to hear over the sound of the
music. In fact, the whole ride to the restaurant had been pretty quiet.
Apparently, neither of us knew what to say now that we actually had the
opportunity to talk without any interruption.

“So,”
Jackson prompted as we looked over our menus, “starting to regret not taking
Tegan’s family up on the offer to tag along to Florida?”

I
glanced up from the menu. “Should I?”

“You
tell me,” he grinned. “So far you’ve had two days of listening to band
practice, and you’re probably in for more. I bet you’re on the brink of a sore
throat from talking over the music. I know I am. I’d think the beach would
sound pretty nice right about now.”

I
tilted my head to the side and gave a bit of a shrug. “That’s true,” I said
with a small, teasing smile. “The sandy beach, the warm sun, and a beach full
of nice looking guys.”

“Hey
now!”

“I’m
just kidding,” I grinned. “But to answer your question, no, I don’t regret my
decision to stay. But I miss Tegan.”

“Have
you talked to her since she left?”

“She
called as they were crossing the state line Saturday night,” I replied. “The
last time they drove to Florida her phone was out of service half the time, so
I figure that’s probably why I haven’t heard from her since.”

“Crappy
phone service.” Jackson made a sound of disgust. “When I stayed with Eric last
summer, mine was roaming most of the drive to his place. Seems kind of
pointless to have a phone in case I needed help, doesn’t it?”

I
nodded. “I guess I should be glad I don’t have a cell phone then. I don’t have
to worry about dropped calls, roaming charges and all of that fun stuff.”
Jackson made a face and I smiled angelically as the waitress finally came to
take our order.

We
quickly ordered: two Frisco melt platters, one with fries and a cup of chili
(me) and one with fries and cottage cheese (Jackson) as well as a turtle caramel nut sippable sundae
for me and a double chocolate fudge sippable sundae for Jackson.

“You know,” I began as our waitress walked away and I put my menu
away, “I think the only side option I
don’t
like is cottage cheese.”

Jackson, who was putting up his own menu, turned to me with a raised
eyebrow, curiosity clear in his hazel eyes. “And why is that?”

“Well, I never really liked cottage cheese much to begin with.
Something about it just  . . .” I shuddered. “Freaks me out.”

He laughed. “Cottage cheese freaks you out?”

“Well, one time—when I was much younger,” I clarified, “I left a glass
of milk sitting in my room for just a little too long. It got all chunky like
cottage cheese, which I guess, obviously, it would since cottage cheese forms
milk or whatever. Curds and whey and all that, you know?” I explained. “Anyway,
it smelled horrible, and it took weeks to get the smell out. After that, I just
never had the stomach for cottage cheese.”

Jackson stared at me blankly for a moment before his lips curved into
a smile. “You’re joking, right?”

“No.” I shook my head. “It took me months just to start drinking milk
again.” This time Jackson couldn’t hold back a laugh. “It’s not funny!” I
cried.

“I know,” he said between laughs.

I frowned. “I was traumatized.”

“Yes,” he laughed. “I can see how that would happen.”

I glared at him. “Forget I ever mentioned this.”

“I don’t think I could if I wanted to,” Jackson said, trying to
compose himself.

I glared, feeling foolish and exposed, as I looked away. I couldn’t
believe I’d actually shared that story with him. As embarrassing as it was, I
still considered it a traumatic experience. After all, it had resulted in an
aversion to an entire food group. I could eat dairy now, but never again would
I eat cottage cheese.

I hadn’t even mentioned how I’d been grounded for nearly a month for
letting my room deteriorate into such a state that made it possible for milk to
curdle. With a grimace, I tried to shake the thoughts from my head.

“You know,” Jackson said conversationally, “Clare doesn’t like
applesauce.” I narrowed my eyes at him and waited because I could tell, from the
expression on his face, there was more. “She says it’s something about the
texture bothering her.”

I just looked at him, raising an eyebrow, and hoping he could tell that
I was not amused. Jackson shrugged, uncomfortably. “I just thought that might
make you feel better.”

“It didn’t,” I stated flatly. “I can’t believe you would laugh at me
after I shared such a traumatic experience with you.”

“I’m sorry?” He sounded more confused than apologetic. “I wasn’t
prepared to hear about your harrowing experiences so early on in our
relationship. We went from ordering food to talking about cottage cheese
freaking you out. Next time, you need to give me a bit of notice before you
decide to share something so . . . deep and personal?”

“You . . . you guy,” I muttered, unable to think of an accurate
insult. “Hermione Granger had it right. You do have the emotional range of a
teaspoon.”

“Oh.” Jackson’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Now you’re quoting
Harry
Potter
to me?” He chuckled. “I’m beginning to think it might be best if I
just shut my mouth now before I say something else really insensitive—like
asking if it’s that time of the month.”

My mouth dropped as my face flushed. Once I got over the initial
shock, though, my eyes narrowed to slits. “That wouldn’t be any of your
business.”

“Well,” he reasoned, tilting his head to the side, “it
could
be.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t think it can.” I was flabbergasted by
the turn in conversation. “Why are we even talking about this?”

“Probably for the same reason we were talking about cottage cheese,”
Jackson shrugged.

I pursed my lips and narrowed my eyes. Jackson waited for a moment;
probably for me to see the humor in the situation. When I didn’t, he held up
his hands in defeat. “I’m only kidding,” he chuckled. “I’m really going to shut
up now. I really don’t want our first fight as a couple to be over cottage
cheese.”

“It wouldn’t be over cottage cheese,” I pointed out. “It would be over
you being an insensitive jerk.”

“Hey now!” He frowned. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a jerk. Maybe
it’s just a guy thing, but sometimes it’s hard to pick up on sensitive subjects
until it’s too late.”

“Whatever,” I sighed. “Enough of this. I’m sorry too. I’m just grumpy.
Can we just forget it?”

Jackson nodded and smiled kindly. “Of course.”

A small, relieved smile spread across my face. My face felt a little
hot because, in truth, it
was
“that time of the month” as Jackson
suggested. Of course, I wasn’t about to reveal that to him, but whenever I got
my period, I was more emotional—particularly cranky and overly sensitive—than
usual.

Thankfully, our waitress brought out our food and drinks. My mouth
watered at the smell.

“I haven’t been here in so long,” I commented as I picked up a fry and
eyed it hungrily. “Oh, greasy food, how I love thee. Even though you will
undoubtedly betray me by clogging my arteries.”

“Oh, it’s so sexy when you put it that way,” Jackson winked before
taking a sip of his sundae.

I blushed, rolling my eyes. “So, in less than a week and a month I’ll
be exactly six months anyway from turning sixteen.”

“You know, you could have just said you’re almost seven months away
from turning sixteen,” Jackson pointed out with a chuckle as he took a bite of
his Frisco melt.

“Yes, but six sounds so much better than seven,” I argued.

“Fair enough,” Jackson nodded. “When does driver’s ed start?”

“They have a session starting at the beginning of next month, but
Tegan and I are going to take it this summer,” I replied before taking a bite
of my sandwich.

I’d talked to my parents about it when I first saw the flyer back at
the beginning of February. Dad seemed to be more inclined toward the summer
course. He didn’t actually specify why, but Mom commented that it might be less
hectic.

“I don’t suppose it would matter either way,” Jackson pointed out. “You’ll
still have to wait to get your license.”

“I think my parents just don’t want me to get my permit any sooner
than necessary,” I confessed.

“Why’s that?”

I made a face. “I’ve never driven a car,” I admitted.