Page 19 of The Music of Us
However, considering Jake ended up in the news on a monthly basis, and was last seen treating the most expensive fountain in the United States like it was a public swimming pool at the Y, my comment actually sounded believable.
Mom shook her head. “Well, that’s something.”
She could say that again. “He’s staying at the Jackson Motel,” I informed her. “He booked his room underSylvester.”
Skepticism colored her face. “Sylvester?”
“Yep. Sylvester.”
“What were his other picks? Tom and Garfield?”
“You know, Aunt Josie was so right when she said I get all my sarcasm from you.”
“I agree, but don’t tell her that—she’ll just get smug,” Mom said, before her gaze dropped to the photo album on the coffee table. I hadn’t opened the book in years, but if I did, I’d find snapshots of Jake and me scattered across half the pages. Us soaking wet and covered in suds because we’d just given a café cat a bath. Jake lying on the floor, jotting down lyrics while I wrote up an extra credit report. Him mid-song, me mid-laugh. So much happiness, all frozen in the past.
“I suppose coming here would make sense, considering he practically lived at the café,” Mom mused, before looking up. “So, what’s he going to do?”
“Do?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Well, Jake’s got to do something, right? Like when you get in trouble and perform community service?”
Perform.
The word struck a chord in my mind, like someone hitting a single piano key and letting the sound resonate.
I stared down at the Munchin’ bag, thinking about how Isabelle bought so many and the pure joy on her face when she talked about the videos of US singing.
A post about the café was good. Those photos Jake’s manager wanted, great. But there was something that could be evenbetter than that. Something so attention-grabbing, it could have the power to make this the most successful summer ever in café history.
Which could be the key to fixing all the other worries I had.
“Actually,” I said, a grin crossing my face as my plan came together, “I think he’s going to do something we’ll love.”
Chapter Six
It’s been over since forever
But I still can’t help but wonder
Do you still fiddle with your jewelry?
Order green tea? Cry at movies?
Throw your head back when laughing?
Oh, can you still see right through me?
(Can you still see right through me?)
—US Lyric Bot [@HourlyUS]
The Jackson Motel’s breakfast nook was completely empty, aside from Jake, who sat by himself at an inconspicuous table in the back corner.
Well, the table itself was inconspicuous. The amount of food spread across the table was not. Jake’s feast included three scones, a box of cereal, milk, five strips of bacon, syrup, a small bowl of fruit, strudel, four sausage links, a coffeepot, two mugs, one lone banana, something I assumed to be a quiche, and assorted jewel-colored jams and jellies. I could picture him withhis arms piled high, jogging back and forth between the buffet and the table multiple times.
I rolled my eyes. People didn’t need another reason to do a double take—Jake himself already stuck out enough as it was in this run-down motel. He’d slung his black leather motorcycle jacket over the back of his chair and still wore the outfit he had on last evening, like he’d fallen asleep in his clothes. A thin silver chain necklace I hadn’t noticed before curved over his collarbone and disappeared below the open collar of his shirt, and he studied his coffee in a way that made him seem contemplative, though that might’ve just been how his face looked. Jake had the sort of enigmatic features that made him look as if he was hiding a mysterious secret. He was a modern, male Mona Lisa. Only broodier.
“Hi, Sylvester,” I greeted. Seriously, Mr. Resting Smolder Face, whatever happened to aliases like John Smith? “I taut I taw a puddy-tat.”
