Only the Good Die Young

Chapter 36.2

"Kyle," I say, pulling on his arm.

"Don't worry," he says. "No singing."

 We enter a small room. Tony and Alex stand at a table, eating hamburgers from the kitchen. Jesse leans against a wall, beating his sticks against his legs, chatting.

"Jesse," I say, quietly.

"Rebecca," he says, turning ashen. We look at each other uncomfortably.

"Rebecca," says Alex, turning around with a mouth full of hamburger. She glances at Jesse. "Uh...what are you doing here?"

The room falls into awkward silence.

What do I say? Hey, so about that whole rape thing...? Variations of this run through my head until a sentence finally forms in my mouth.

"You sang really well, Alex," I say. It's the best I can come up with.

"Thanks. I haven't tried for an E since Whistler."

My skin turns bright red, but Kyle is steady. I realize then that he's going to take my secret to his grave.

"Hey, guys," says Kyle. "You sounded great tonight. But who set up the mixing board?"

"I did," says Alex.

"I think you misconfigured the microphone setting. There was this strange overtone that stepped all over Tony's upper octave."

"Really?" says Tony.

"Yeah. Come with me and I'll show you."

Tony grabs his case and Alex finishes her burger. They follow him out the door.  

And then there were two.

Jesse and I stand in the empty room. The band on stage begins to play, and the music of muffled guitars seeps through the walls.

"Jesse," I say, softly. "Can I speak to you for a second?"

We stand there for a long time as he decides. "Okay," he says, finally. "Come to the green room."

Jesse leads me to a room backstage with a sofa, sink and refrigerator. All the walls are painted a deep green.

"It's really green," I say, nervously. I had practiced my apology to Jesse a thousand times, but it's fled from my head in terror. "I thought that was just an expression."

He indicates the walls with a sweep of his hand. "It's been psychologically proven to pacify the autonomic nervous system. Great before a set."

I wring my hands. I'm not here to discuss psychology. "Listen, Jesse," I begin. "There's no way to say this, but – "

"You ruined my life, Rebecca," he says, facing me. His easy-going manner is gone. But he doesn't stand defeated like in the courtroom. Instead he's a kettle threatening to boil over.

"Do you have any idea what you've done? My mom's barely speaking to me. My dad hounds my every move. He's gone through all of my emails, my MSN conversations. They keep asking me where they went wrong. They've even come here tonight. Stacy's obliterated any semblance of goodwill towards me back in Nelson. It took me forever to get Alex to even speak to me. Tony's practically my only friend left. I feel like everywhere I go people look at me and whisper."

Oh, God. The hairs on my neck tingle. "Jesse. I can explain."

"Yeah? Try me." He folds his hands in front of his chest and taps his fingers against his arm.

How do I put this? I run through various apologies, but they all sound ridiculous.

"You said 'okay', Rebecca. I heard you."