I can’t fathom that. “I don’t know why anyone would need a house that big.”
Kylie shrugs. “You don’t. It’s totally unnecessary. Lin actually kind of hates it. She says she gets tired just walking from her bedroom to the kitchen. There’s really no point to a house that big.” She gestures at the house above us. “This? It’s only four thousand square feet. Compared to most of my friends’ houses, it’s tiny.”
I snort. “And my mom and I live in an eight-hundred-square-foot apartment. It’d fit in your kitchen.”
She seems chagrined. “Oz, I—”
I push at her arm, gently, teasingly. “Ky, it’s fine. It is what it is. We just come from different lives.”
“Not that different,” Kylie says.
“Yeah, that different. Totally different. Nothing at all alike.” I peruse the selection of guitars, admiring all of them. “Which makes me wonder. Why are you going to a community college? Why don’t you go to Vanderbilt or wherever, like Ben and your other friends?”
Kylie blushes. “I’m still technically in high school,” she mumbles.
“You’re what?” I demand, turning in place, choking on my own surprise. “How old are you, Kylie?’
“I’m seventeen, almost eighteen,” she says. “How old are you?”
Shit. I thought she was at least eighteen. Fuck. Not good. Not good. “I’m twenty-one,” I say. “So if you’re still technically in high school, how is it you go to the community college?”
She fiddles with the cover of the keyboard. “I tested out of most of my senior classes. I’m in a co-op that lets me attend the community college for college credit. I’ll graduate high school with more than twenty college credit-hours.”
“Damn,” I say, impressed. “So you’re wicked smart, huh?”
She shrugs. “I guess.”
“When do you turn eighteen?”
“Two months,” she mumbles. “Why does it matter?”
It matters because eighteen is on the very edge of acceptable, seeing as I’m twenty-one, but seventeen? Not so much. I don’t look twenty-one, which is probably the only reason her parents are even letting me be around her. Because we’re not really dating, I suppose. Just hanging out. Friends. Just friends.
I don’t know what to say to her, though. “It doesn’t, I suppose. I just thought you were older, is all.”
She eyes me warily. “You’re not going to suddenly vanish on me now, are you? I’ll be eighteen soon. Stop worrying about it.”
“I’m not worrying about.” Lies. I totally am worrying about it. I like her. I want to do dirty things to her. But she’s not even eighteen, not even out of high school. Fuck me, I’m an ass**le.
“So, let’s play,” Kylie says, dismissing the topic.
“Okay,” I say, and grab a guitar from the rack. Not the nicest one, not the vintage Martin. That one’s probably worth more than my entire existence. I take an older one, a classical acoustic Taylor. It’s old, but beautiful. Kylie stops playing abruptly, hitting a wrong note.
“No! Not that one. That’s Mom’s favorite. Pick another one.”
There’s a Yamaha, mid-grade, basic black. “This one?”
She nods absently, lost in the music-trance. “That’s fine.” She grins at me. “You should play the Martin.”
I make a face of mock-horror. “Are you kidding? Do you even know how much that’s worth?”
Kylie frowns. “Obviously. But you’re not going to, like, break it, are you?”
I sigh. “Ky. I’m not playing your dad’s Martin. Those are worth thousands of dollars used, for a standard. That’s a vintage, in mint condition. Gotta be worth more than a good used car.”
“I thought you didn’t play acoustic? How do you know the value of Martins, then?”
I growl. “I don’t play acoustic. I’ve looked into it, though. Thought about it. I just haven’t been able to afford a new guitar.” I find a stool and perch on it, settle the Yamaha across my knee. “This is fine. More my speed.”
I try a basic C chord, get used to the spacing on the fret board with a few practice strums. I try a few more chords, just stringing them together without really thinking about the sound, just trying to get accustomed to the different feel of the strings, the different sound. I recall one of Nell and Colt’s older songs, try to remember the melody. Try the tune, search for the right chords. Finally, I get it, and I listen to the song in my head and try to make it come out via the guitar strings. I have to close my eyes to focus, and when I finally find the groove, I settle into it. It feels weird, but good to play like this. Slow, soft. Like I’m tapping into some other as-yet untouched portion of my musical soul.
When I finish the song, I open my eyes, and I’m embarrassed to see that Kylie is frozen at the piano, and Nell and Colt themselves are both in the booth, listening.
“Sorry, I—I was just goofing around.” I feel like I’m…imposing, or intruding on sacred territory, trying to play and probably murdering Nell and Colt’s music in their own home. What the hell was I thinking?
I set the guitar down, but Nell’s voice comes from the intercom. “Why are you apologizing? That was amazing!”
I shake my head. “Nah. I was just messing around. I’ve never played acoustic before. I just—”
“No, for real, that was good Oz.” This is Kylie, from the piano. “I’ve heard Mom and Dad play that live, and you got it just right on the first try. You’re seriously talented, Oz.”
I shrug, and scrape at a string with the pick. “Thanks, I guess.” I’m uncomfortable, embarrassed, and my instinct is to bolt. I want to throw the guitar down and run, fly on my bike back home. I don’t. I force myself to stay in place, and to bear up under the scrutiny. I glance at Kylie. “Play something for me.”
She strokes the piano keys, thinking. A glance at her parents in the booth reveals her nerves, but she sucks in a deep breath and nods. “Okay. How about…how about this. I’ve been working on this for a while. It’s ‘Freedom Hangs Like Heaven’ by Iron & Wine.”
A few beats of intro, and then she starts singing, and I’m blown away. Just…breathless. Having heard Nell and Colt, I shouldn’t be surprised that their daughter inherited their talent, but the scope of how good her voice is totally floors me. It’s got a soulful rasp to it, a la Adele, and of course she’s just absolutely pitch perfect. I steal a glance at her parents, and I can tell they’re both surprised, too, since they sit back and watch, mouths slightly ajar.