"You mean the same drugs you were doing up until a month ago?"

"I'm clean and I plan to stay that way. I'm not even touching alcohol. Nothing."

I grunted, not sure what else to say. I wanted to believe him; I wanted to trust that he finally got his act together. But it was hard. It was even harder because, with Dad gone, I really, desperately needed Ben in my life. He was my big brother, and I needed him to be that for once in his d.a.m.n life.

"Why me? Are you just hara.s.sing me because I'm your brother?"

"Christ, Ian." Ben laughed, the hard lines on either side of his eyes softening. "Have you ever heard yourself play? Actually listened to the music that comes from your fingers? I'd be a f.u.c.king idiot to not want you by my side, brother or no." He clapped his hands together and pointed his finger at me. "Here it is, my last effort, my speech. You're a d.a.m.n good guitarist and we want you. I want you. This could be something really amazing. Life is short, so d.a.m.n short. You never know what the h.e.l.l is gonna happen, so you need to grab it by the b.a.l.l.s and make it your b.i.t.c.h. Ya know?"

I did know. With his words, it was like something finally clicked into place. Like in the third grade when I finally figured out the reason I was failing was because I couldn't see. The moment I put on that pair of gla.s.ses, everything snapped into focus and everything was sharp, and crisp, and real.

That was another one of those moments for me.

"-I think you'd-"

I cut him off and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm in."

"You're in?"

"Yeah." I smiled at him, and my face felt like it was going to crack. It might've been the first time I'd smiled since the day we put Dad in the ground. "We'll work out the details later. I gotta go."

His eyebrows scrunched together. "Go?"

I left without giving him an answer. I sped by Mom, grabbing her shoulders and spinning her as I kissed her, told her I loved her, and kept right on walking. She blushed prettily and laid a hand over her cheek, waving a hand at me.

Stepping right into the middle of Maggie's circle of family, I walked right though them until I stood right in front of her. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

She tilted her head to the side, giving me a look very similar to Ben's. "Yeah, sure."

Lacing her fingers through mine, I tugged her behind me, away from her family, away from the crowd of people. She stumbled along, her heels sticking in the soft ground. I stopped when we reached this big, old tree, its wide branches spreading over us like green-colored fans and the gnarled roots twisting out of the ground.

Her teeth sunk into her lower lip, biting back a laugh. "What's up, Ian?"

I just stared at her, my brain working furiously to string a sentence together, to put my thoughts in order.

"Ian?" She clasped my cheeks between her hands, directing my face toward her. Her eyes searched over me like she was suddenly afraid that I finally cracked, which was the exact opposite of what was happening right then. "Are you alright?"

I rested my hands over hers, drawing them down to my mouth so that I could kiss her knuckles. "Yeah, I'm alright." It might be the first time I'd actually meant it recently. "I . . ."

"You, what? What is it?" When I didn't immediately fill the silence with an explanation, she went on, "Seriously. Whatever it is just say it. You're starting to freak me out. Are you . . . you're not trying to break up with me, are you? Because-"

"Marry me," I blurted.

Her mouth dropped open in a neat little oval. "I . . . umm . . . I just-"

"No, wait. I have . . . words."

She pinched her lips together, but a small snort escaped her.

I squeezed her hands in mine. "I love you, Maggie. G.o.d, do I love you. And I know we're young and we're just going to college and we've got our whole lives ahead of us, but . . . but maybe we don't. Life is a frickin' c.r.a.pshoot. We could both live till we're ninety-nine and mixing up our dentures, or I could die tomorrow way before I'm ready. I don't know what's going to happen. I can't predict the future. Nothing is certain, everything is unpredictable. But this? What I feel for you? I've never been more sure about anything in my entire life. I want to spend the rest of my life, no matter how long that may be, with you, by my side, as my wife. The world needs to know that in this life full of indefinites, I am positively, totally, irrevocably in love with you."

"You use a word like 'irrevocably' and I'm supposed to believe that you didn't have this whole thing planned?" Her lips were smiling, but her eyes weren't quite willing to commit.

"Is that a no, then?" I searched her face, looking for a hint of her answer.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Is this because of your dad?"

"Yes," I responded instantly. "And no." One corner of my mouth tipped up in a half smile.

"Alright Mr. Vague, you're gonna have to give me a little bit more than that."

"Yes, if my dad hadn't died, then we wouldn't be having this conversation right now. But it wouldn't be because I wouldn't want to marry you, it'd be because according to everyone else, right now isn't the time for this. We should go to college, and save up money, and get great jobs, and then once our lives are perfectly in place, then we should get married. I'm sick of playing by everyone else's rules. Life doesn't play by the rules."

She sniffed, ducking her head to her arm so she could wipe a stray tear, since our hands were still wrapped up together.

"I told Ben I'd join the band."

"Seriously? What the h.e.l.l happened in the past fifteen minutes?"

"I had an epiphany."

"And what did you . . . epiphanize?"

I laughed, and it came out all cracked and raw, like when you start your car on a bitterly cold morning and it wheezes before it finally revs to life. "How you managed to get into college with a vocabulary like that, I will never know."

"Hey!" She kicked me in the calf.

"It's exactly what I've been telling you, Maggie. I'm not going to let life just happen to me anymore. I'm seizing."

Her eyes twinkled as she looked up at me. "Is that in a figurative or a literal sense?"

I gave her hands a quick pull, slipping my hands down to her a.s.s to give it a squeeze. Her hands splayed across my chest as she stumbled into it. "You still haven't answered me."

"What was the question again?" She was wearing her mischievous smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

I dipped my head lower so that I could whisper the words right next to her ear. "Will you marry me, Maggie?"

Rising up on her tiptoes, her lips brushed across my earlobe. "Yes."

Chapter 23: Bianca.

I always get distracted when I'm walking alone, with one thing or another. That particular Thursday, on the way to another one of our dates, my eyes were on the ground as my feet swooped over cracks and sidestepped leaves. The sidewalks were on the less crowded side at the moment, and no one seemed to pay me any mind. I clutched my cell phone between my fingers, giving it a glance every now and then to make sure I was still headed in the right direction.

I stumbled to a halt when my phone gave a little chirp.

Ian: You figure out what song you're singing tonight?

Bianca: Yup, "Hallelujah."

Ian: Could you pick a longer song?

I scowled at the phone, darting my eyes from the screen back to the sidewalk in front of me. I had no desire to walk face-first into another person or step straight into traffic. With a quick Google search of "the longest songs ever," I was able to supply an adequate comeback.

Bianca: I guess I could've gone with "Free Bird."

Ian: I'll give you $50 if you can sing any line from that song, right now, off the top of your head.

In true, mature fashion, I stuck my tongue out at the phone. The woman pa.s.sing by me at that minute stared at me through the oversized lenses of her sungla.s.ses.

Bianca: This conversation couldn't have waited another five minutes?

Ian: I'm bored.

Bianca: You sure you don't just miss me?

I made it one whole block without a response, even double-checking to make sure the message went through. The little words next to the date stamp confirmed that not only had it gone through, but he'd read it.

I'd meant it as a joke, but I could see how the message could come off as having deeper meaning. Apparently, missing someone went into the category of, "No, this should not happen because it violates the terms of our exclusive, casual non-relationship." I ran a hand over my hair, fluffing the short ends that stuck out of my ponytail. After another entire block of no response, I switched the phone over to vibrate and tossed it in my purse. Even if he did answer, I didn't want to read whatever lame response he came up with.

Pulling the ends of my coat closer around me to keep out the cold, I inhaled a deep lungful of brisk air and kept on my way. I'd already memorized the end of the directions, and after one more left turn and another few blocks, I was right where I was supposed to be.

A black lacquered sign stuck out from the brick facade, its hinges squeaking as it was tossed about in the wind. Chipped, gold letters that were starting to fade scrawled out the words, The Blackbird. I stuck my face to the window beside it, cupping my hands around my eyes to try and see in. The inside looked pitch black, and either a curtain or thick set of blinds had been drawn across the window. I tried the doork.n.o.b, gold as well, but it was locked. Hesitantly, I lifted up my hand and gave a quick knock. Nothing.

I checked the time, ten-thirty on the dot. a.s.suming Ian was running late, I leaned back against the wall, crossing my leather-booted feet at the ankles. To pa.s.s the time, I started keeping track of how many cars I saw in different colors. Black was the clear winner, with silver coming in a close second.

When I grew bored of that, I moved on to cataloguing my surroundings. Gray sky above, a touch on the cloudy side with a heaviness that predicted it was going to rain sometime in the next twenty-four hours; gritty sidewalk below, an acorn wedged in a crack; and an empty c.o.ke bottle, spinning circles up against a bench. I abandoned my post to dispose of the bottle, doing my civic duty, before returning to my spot.

This was getting ridiculous.

Thumping my head back against the window, I dug through my purse, searching for my phone. Just as I managed to extract it, the door flew open next to me, and Ian's head popped out.

"Jesus!" I flinched, dropping my phone on the ground.

Ian stooped down in front of me and retrieved it. He spun it in his hand, looking from the screen back up to me. Holding it out, he said, "So, you do have your phone. What the h.e.l.l is your problem, Bianca?"

"My problem?" I pointed a finger to my chest for confirmation.

He tapped the screen. Six missed text messages. Two missed calls. "Yeah, your problem. Ever consider texting me back? Or I dunno, answering your phone? You're almost thirty minutes late." His voice was soft, but his jaw clenched, a muscle bunching in his cheek.

If I was interpreting the signs correctly, he was really p.i.s.sed off, but seriously?

I s.n.a.t.c.hed my phone out of his hand, flipping the ringer back on to ensure I didn't accidentally infuriate anyone else. "I'm not late. You're late."

"I got here an hour ago."

"Well, I've been here since ten-thirty."

If I'd been a guy, I think this is the part where we'd whip it out and measure them.

"I was inside," he said.

"I knocked."

"I . . . didn't hear you." His head dropped, and he scratched a hand across the back of his neck. "I'm sorry."

My head spun with the quick turnaround. "Sure, fine, whatever." I waved a hand in his direction, using the other to pinch the bridge of my nose. "So, why am I here?"

He snapped his fingers. "Right. C'mon." He held out his hand to me and waited to see if I would take it. I considered brushing past him, since apparently we'd taken a trip back to our teenage years where misunderstandings and hormones ruled the world. But that would have been me overreacting to his overreaction. With a deep breath, I let it go, and slipped my fingers through his.

When he closed the door behind us, the light seemed to go with it. The barest hint of sunlight filtered through the covered window, tiny dust motes floating in the air.

"One sec," Ian said, disappearing from my side.

The lights flared, and I squinted at their abrupt appearance. To my left there was a bar, of the used and abused version like Blackrose. Round tables dotted the open floor to my right, and an old jukebox was shoved in the corner. The whole wall on my right seemed to be a continuation of the brick outside and was covered with band posters, records, and advertis.e.m.e.nts.

I scuffed the heel of my boot across the wood floor. "So, you brought me to a bar. A closed bar."

He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. "Back here."

I followed behind him, dropping my purse on one of the empty tables. He stopped in front of what looked like a small stage. It was maybe only a foot and a half off the ground, with a microphone centered on it, two stools on either side, and a piano in the corner. Additional music paraphernalia decorated the wall behind it.

Ian turned around, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I thought you'd like to scope out the place ahead of time, get your bearings. I know how much you love to be prepared."

It took everything in me to hide my feelings at that moment, dropping a shutter in front of my eyes and blanking my face. Cupid had plucked an arrow from his quiver and skewered it through my heart with those two sentences. I forced my face to smile, it was used to it so that wasn't a problem, but inside I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream at Ian and beat my fists against his chest. You can't do things like this.

"Wow, that's really . . . awesome of you." I stretched the corner of my lips wider, trying to make my smile look brighter. Pulling my eyes away from his, I casually looked around again. "So, you don't own this place, do you?"

"No." His arm brushed mine as he stepped up next to me and looked the place over like it was the first time he'd ever seen it. "Belongs to a friend of mine."

"You think it'll be crowded tonight?"

"It can get a little full in here, especially on karaoke night."

I peeked at him over my shoulder. "You ever done it?"

"Yeah." A smile ghosted across his face. "Feels like another lifetime ago though, ya know?"

"Yeah, I know." I felt it then, this small bubble in time that I'd slipped inside and was hiding out in. I was Dorothy, and these few months in the city were like my visit to Oz. My ruby slippers were already at my disposal, ready to return me home as soon as I was ready. The only problem was that as more time pa.s.sed, it was getting harder and harder to visualize myself going back to a life with no color.

Brushing away the thought, I stepped onto the stage and positioned myself in front of the microphone. The place was empty, but my heart rate still kicked up speed. Fifteen tables, fourteen stools at the bar, five booths at the back. I did the math in my head, but didn't like what I came up with.