Page 69 of The Music of Us
Tipping my head back, I looked up at Jake where he stood behind me. “Thanks.”
His hands rested on the slope of my shoulders for a breath before their comforting heat fell away.
“No problem,” he said, stepping back to where he’d been before.
He didn’t act like the boy I’d seen on the news: careless, fake, and full of cocky bravado.
This was someone real. Someone I wanted to know.
Someone I already knew.
“Jake,” I started slowly, his name making his eyes flicker right to mine. “The fountain thing, and all your other stunts—the graffiti, the rooftop jaunts, the joyrides—they were just for publicity, weren’t they?”
I knew the answer even before he nodded.
“Staged. The hotel and police officers were in the know and approved of everything,” he admitted. “All those incidents were planned ahead of time by Marie and the publicity team. Well, actually, the rooftops were my idea.” He paused, a sly, crooked smile spreading across his face. “And definitely not approved by Marie. But everything else usually is. When the band was put together, Marie said it needed a token bad boy. Honestly? It’s kind of great.”
“Really?” I asked, intrigued. “How?”
“Well, I love being in the band, don’t get me wrong, but ever since I joined, I’ve been expected to do a lot of grown-up stuff too that I didn’t really think about before,” he said with a shrug. “Go to official meetings and act professional, even when I’m exhausted after dance rehearsal and have algebra homework, because it’s still an official job. Or always being onstage and in front ofcameras, and not being able to slack off or mess up like a normal teenager. So getting to blow off some steam and enjoy myself without worrying because it’s Marie-approved is pretty fun.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way before. Feeling too much pressure and needing to let loose made sense too.
I grew up studying as hard as I could for a scholarship and feeling like I couldn’t mess up. And despite wanting to be there for Mom and run the café, I still felt like I’d crack under stress at any minute. If I knew I could splash around in a fountain and not get in trouble, I would jump right in.
Actually, I’d probably backflip into it.
“Besides,” Jake continued, just a bit sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck, “I’ve always wanted to see what playing around in a fountain felt like ever since I readFrom the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweilerin middle school.”
Now that soundedexactlylike the old Jake I knew.
The old Jake wasn’t really in the past after all. Because all the best parts of him were still there, mixed in with all the good parts of this new person he’d become.
I liked this new Jake too, I realized.
Reallyliked him.
“The persona’s freeing,” Jake admitted. “You know I was a shy kid when it came to everything offstage. I’m still that way. Iloveperforming, but talking to the cameras and telling total strangers about myself? Not so much.” That explained why he hardly spoke on camera, and the whole broody effect it gave off. “This way, I get to keep a side of myself to myself.”
“But does it ever bother you?” I asked curiously, and when he glanced at me questioningly, I added, “That people get things wrong? And don’t really know you?”
Jake considered this. “I think all that matters is that the right people know the real you. Everyone else is just noise.”
Quietly, I asked, “What about me? Am I one of those people? Do I matter?”
He stared at me in surprise. “Lucy, you’ve always mattered.”
For a moment, neither of us moved; we were just two still figures in the field as the dandelion puffs surrounded us like stardust. Then Jake reached out, slow and purposeful. Ever so gently, his thumb brushed between the tender curve of my temple and the curtain of my hair, before pulling away.
“Dandelion seed,” he said, holding up the tiny white plume he’d taken from my hair between his fingers. He released it, and we watched it lift up on the summer breeze. “Make a wish.”
“I’m not sure I believe in those anymore.”
“I’ll make one then,” he said, and I waited, curious. What would Jake Moody personally wish for? A break from people telling him what to do? Success in writing his own songs? But instead, as we watched the puff float away in the wind, he surprised me by saying, “I wish that you get everything you want.”
Standing there with Jake, it was hard to remember I gave up my crush long ago.
I never told Jake I liked him. But what would happen now? If I let myself feel that way again and acknowledged it out loud? If I moved closer, so we were toe to toe?
