Where You Are Read Free Page B

knows I’m kidding. Luke and I have a history, but mostly a platonic one.
    â€œYou want the wrath of Curtis to fall on your head?” he jokes. “He’s the jealous type, you know.”
    â€œI do know.”
    I study my good friend. Luke is the head drum major and my former pseudo-boyfriend. Long story. Curtis is a junior at Sam Houston State University. They’re crazy about each other, and I’m crazy with envy. He settles back in the seat, grabs the cuffs of his hoodie, and folds his arms tightly across his chest to warm up, then puts his feet up on the dash and rolls his head to me.
    â€œSo what’s going on with you and Nic?” he asks.
    â€œHave I ever thanked you for fixing me up with Whore-Hay?”
    â€œNo, I don’t believe you have.”
    â€œThen I won’t.”
    He laughs. “That good, huh? Well, I never told you this, but remember when I set you two up? It wasn’t exactly the way I told you.”
    â€œExactly what way was it?”
    â€œI told him you liked him and he should ask you out. He said—wait.” He sits up and takes on a prissy air, then says, “ ‘I don’t ask boys out; boys ask me out.’ ”
    His Nic impression is so spot-on, I can’t help but laugh.
    â€œListen,” he says, “you should come up to Sam with me one weekend. Curtis has friends. Who knows, you might like one of them.”
    â€œWhat’s it like dating an older guy?” I can’t resist asking.
    This slow grin inches its way across his face, and he flicks his eyebrows at me.
    â€œThat’s just cruel,” I say.
    He props his feet back on the dash and breathes a dreamy sigh. “So, um, what’s it like with Nic?”
    â€œI wouldn’t know.”
    â€œReally? Ha, ha. You know, one day you’re going to consider that a blessing.”
    I already do. Reluctantly, I check the time on my phone. “I got to get going. I have my music therapy group in fifteen minutes.”
    â€œYou still don’t have all your service hours?” Luke asks, surprised.
    â€œI just need a couple more.”
    He takes a deep breath and lets it out loudly. I do the same and he smiles. “You call me if you want to talk. Okay? Don’t worry about Curtis. I’ve got him wrapped around my little finger.” He winks and gets out.
    Â 
    â€œYou sure you’re up to this?” Ms. Momin asks as she closes the front door behind me. She’s the facilitator of the group, an elementary school music teacher who does music therapy with special-needs kids on the side.
    â€œYeah. Of course.”
    I wasn’t so sure about working with these kids when Ms. Lincoln first suggested it. I’d completed most of my sixty hours of community service—a graduation requirement—last summer working at the animal shelter, but Ms. Lincoln thought some diversity would look better on my college applications and hooked me up with Ms. Momin’s group. I’m glad she did. It’s the highlight of my week now.
    From the foyer I see Patrick wrestling an ornery chair toward the living room. It tips. He steps back and utters a frustrated “Bah” as the chair falls over on the tile floor.
    â€œPatrick,” I call out.
    When he sees me, a big goofy grin takes over his face. He lumbers over and gives me an awkward hug.
    â€œHey, man. Thanks for starting to set up the chairs. You want some help?”
    He bears down and concentrates hard before exploding with a big “Bah.”
    â€œAll right. Let’s do it.”
    I right the chair and help him maneuver it into the other room, careful not to get ahead of him and pull the chair from his hands. When we position it, he steps back and throws his bent arms out to the side. “Bah.”
    â€œGood job, man.”
    â€œYa. Ya.”
    Patrick makes me smile. He’s fourteen and tall and lanky, with a sprinkling of acne on his forehead. But