Love to Hate You

Chapter Eleven

My stomach is doing strange things, churning and twisting and making me feel sick. I should just stay home, I should just quit, but that would just prove that everything Stephanie’s told him is true, wouldn’t it? If I come to practice acting like nothing has ever happened, if I act perfectly normal, I should be able to pull this off. This “innocent” and “clueless” façade.  I’ve been nothing but a model girlfriend and band member. It’s all okay.

I let myself roll to a stop, my teeth grinding in time with the gravel under the wheels of my skateboard. Taking a deep breath, I step off my skateboard and walk up Justin’s driveway with my shoulders back and my head high. It’s just a normal day. Nothing is out of place.

The first person I see is Kris, he’s having a regular conversation with Austin who’s looking at him like he’s the greatest thing to grace the planet. Alex sits back on the stool behind his drum set. His headphones are in and he’s rocking his head to the beat, tapping his drumsticks on his knees.

Awesome. Everything looks great.

Then, there’s Justin standing with his back facing me, guitar slung around his shoulders and fingers picking at the strings.

“I’m here,” I say when I’m under the roof of the garage. Justin turns then and smiles at me, his grey eyes seeming lighter than usual, almost white.

“Hey, babe,” he says and walks up to peck me lightly on the lips. “I was wondering what was taking so long.”

I’m taken aback by his serenity. It’s unnatural.

“I, uh, left late,” I tell him, knowing it’s the truth but feeling as though he doesn’t.

“Okay,” he shrugs and turns back to the guys. “Hey, let’s get started.”

My eyebrows furrow once he’s turned his back to me. He didn’t even comment about the scratches all over my face or the bruise on my jaw. The thought makes me feel uncomfortable. Either he thinks it was just me being clumsy, or Stephanie really did tell him. He would usually ask about my clumsiness to embarrass me so I don’t think that that’s it. He has to know.

Justin strides up to his mic stand and turns on his heels, straightening his guitar. “I heard an old song on the radio last night that I thought would be really fun for this Wednesday,” he tells us. “Do you guys remember that song by The All-American Rejects? It’s called Dirty Little Secret,” he says, looking around the room with his eyes finally landing on me, holding my stare. I swallow thickly and break eye contact, walking up to my mic stand and throwing my skateboard to the side.

“I love that song,” Austin grins, playing a few cords of the chorus on his guitar.

Justin looks over his shoulder at him and smiles. “Me too,” he says.

Is it just me or have things gotten really stuffy in hear? I wonder. I’m starting to sweat and begin to grind my teeth again, rubbing my clammy hands on my shorts. No big deal. It’s just a song.

“Carrots.”

I jerk my head to the side, realizing that Justin’s staring at me, looking like he’s said my name more than a couple of times.

“You can sing the chorus,” he says. “I’ve got the verses down. I was thinking about this song all night.”

I notice the way he tilts his head back, looking at me between thick eyelashes. He looks cocky like that, especially when he reaches for the mic and rocks it back to him, nodding at me for approval.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” I say.

“Great,” he says and then turns to the other boys, “do you guys remember the instrumental? We played this song last year.”