He felt his jaw unhinge.“How can you possibly know their full names?” When Ginny shot himan impatient look, Caleb continued grudgingly. “The girl was theonly one talking, FYI. The guy was a total snob. Tara recognized me fromMusicfest.”
Ginny squawked into hisear. “Really? They’re like, the most important people here. Taraand Drew are the founders of Wordplay!”
Caleb didn’t care if theywere the founders of the universe. But he held his tongue anddrained what was left of his drink. His stomach rumbled.
“There’s anotherco-founder, Franco De Leon? Awesome performer. The best accordingto Noel.” She leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially.“Actually, Franco and Drew used to be a couple. Avery recent breakup.”
In front, the microphonescreeched out feedback that had Caleb wincing and covering hisears.
“Hi, everyone!”
Tara was on stage,clear-voiced and confident, with the stance of a person comfortablewith being the center of attention. As she talked about the schoolorganization named Wordplay, and how it began a year ago as apoetry outlet among friends, Caleb hailed a server. By the timeTara was done talking, a plate of steaming rice and chickenteriyaki had been plunked down in front of him.
“I know you’ve been waitingfor the performances so I’m going to shut up now.” She gave thecrowd a dazzling smile. “But tonight, we’re changing things up andopening with a bang.” She paused. “Guys, give it up for Franco DeLeon!”
The thunderous applausecame out of nowhere, causing Caleb to choke on his chicken. How itwas possible for people his age to get this excited overself-penned, awkward poetry was beyond him. Against his betterjudgment, his eyes drifted to the stage.
Everyone was going wildfor that someoneup there, who had just acknowledged the crowd’s enthusiasticwelcome with a smile. If Caleb’s outfit exuded serenity, this guy’slook was an ode to mystery. Cropped hair, a smoky gray shirt thatglided over his torso, dark jeans slung low on hips, and skin thatwas the warm kind of brown. Golden, like something freshlybaked.
But it was the soft gleamin his dark eyes before he spoke that had Caleb reaching for hisglass. Slurping on the dregs of his pineapple shake, not caringthat it tasted like metal because he desperately needed somethingto quench the fire that had jumped up his throat.
Chapter 2: Strike aChord
On an early Saturdaymorning, Caleb didn’t care if his neighbors were still asleep. Themore important fact was that hecouldn’t sleep—which was why he was playing thepiano with gusto at this time of day. At least it kept him fromcontinuing to stalk Franco De Leon on Youtube.
When Caleb got home a fewhours ago, he had immediately clicked on clip after clip ofFranco’s performances, absorbing every tiny detail. Franco was amaster of vocal gymnastics, his voice tumbling, quivering, soaringand swooping as he spoke poetry. He ran his fingers through hishair a year ago when it was longish, and against his scalp now thathis hair was shorn. His face spilled a spectrum of feelings, hiseyes appealing to an unseen someone standing right in fronthim.
By the time Caleb hadcombed through a year’s worth of performances, it was exactly 3 AM,the witching hour. He was bewitched, Caleb thought, as he forcedhimself to shut down the computer before diving into thesheets.
Three hours later, he wasawake. After a quick shower, he’d gone downstairs to eat beforesettling in front of the piano. Their living room was so small thatthe instrument ate up most of the space.
He started playing, fillingtheir tiny home with music. He needed to be sane again afterwatching Franco. Playing pulled him back to reality.
The smooth surface of thekeyboard felt solid against his fingertips as they coaxed out themelodies. He played the songs one after the other—classical, pop, achurch song, even that piece he’d played for his practicalexam.
A tap on his shoulderrudely cut off Mozart’s music. Calebturned to see his mom, shrewd eyes glinting behind thick lenses.“What time did you get in last night?”
Without batting an eyelash,he replied, “Before twelve.”
She nodded. “I didn’t hearyou come in. I fell asleep right away.”
He knew that because shehadn’t badgered him with Where areyou? messages last night—which was why hewent home two hours after his midnight curfew.
His mom slipped off herglasses and rubbed her eyes. “That new teller couldn’t balance hertransactions so I had to stay at the bank. We had to go through allthe transactions and anyway . . .” She sighed. “I’m going to achurch meeting, then grocery. You need anything?”
Caleb shook his head.“What’s the agenda this morning? New curtains for the adorationchapel?” He bit back a smile. “A debate about the lectors’schedule?”
His mom’s mouth stretchedinto a thin line. “This is no laughing matter, Caleb. If more youngpeople volunteered to be lectors, we’d easily fill up slots.” Sheeyed him severely. “Father Mon is wondering why you haven’t beenjoining church activities.”
Caleb averted his gaze, hiseyes settling on a frame above the sofa. Staring back at him was aphoto of his seven-year-old self taken before his first communion.In his white polo shirt and palms pressed in prayer, he looked likea priest in training.
“You know how school keepsme busy, Ma.”
“But you can always maketime for church.” His mom’s voice turned wistful. “I missyour sakristan and choir days.”
She bent to give Caleb aquick kiss on the head. Thank goodness he had the foresight to takea shower. If his mom smelled the nicotine on him, he would’ve beensubjected to a long lecture on the evils of smoking, even if hehadn’t picked up a cigarette in his life.
When his mom left, Calebwent up to his room. Like the rest of his house, his room wassmall—enough for a single bed, a small desk, and a chest of drawerspushed against the wall. He reached behind the chest, and retrievedlast night’s shirt and jeans. He sprayed cologne on the bowtiebefore shoving it beneath the pile of towels in the bottom drawer.Then he went down to the back of the house where he filled a basinwith soapy water and washed his clothes by hand.
As the sun shone, Calebslapped his dripping clothes onto the clothesline. He wouldretrieve them before his mom got home. By then,
