Chapter 9

"It's like this,"Izzy says, once we sit down on the bench, spreading her fingers out over the white and black keys.

And then she begins playing.

The song sounds familiar, but I don't know the name. My eyes get all big and wide watching her fingers fly across the keys. Music filling the room.

Her fingers twitch, stumbling, making it sound all whacky, and we both cringe.

She huffs, shaking her head, and tries again. "I always mess that part up."

"What song is this?" I say, tilting my head.

We sit next to each other on the shiny black bench, and her elbow bumps me, so I scoot over, giving her room.

"‘Ode to Joy.' Beethoven. It's kind of boring, but Madam Elise says I have to get this perfect before I can move on to the good stuff." She says this all while she continues to play.

Blinking at her face, I glance down and watch her fingers move. She has purple nail polish on—it's chipped in spots. And it looks like she bites her nails.

Her head tilts to the side and she closes an eye, moving her shoulders along with her hands, making the song higher. Under us, she taps her foot on a pedal.

And from the top of the piano, next to where I sit, a thing she said is called a metronome ticks-ticks-ticks. She said it's to keep time. I didn't know what she meant, but now that I'm listening to the song play, it makes sense. She's trying not to go too fast or slow.

She holds her fingers down, making the last deep note drag on.

Lifting them, she whirls toward me and grins. "Cool, huh?"

I nod. It is cool. The coolest thing I've ever seen.

"Do you wanna try?"

"Um," I say, looking down at the keys. There are little stickers on them with letters and symbols. "I don't know…"

"Here," she says, reaching for my hand.

I have no idea how I"m gonna make my fingers do what she did. But she seems to know how to do it—make them work—because she puts my finger on a key, and has me tap it.

"That's an E. Like it says right there. And there." She points to the sheet music spread out, then down at the sticker. Seems easy enough, and when I hit it by myself, it sounds just like the sound she got me to make.

Izzy teaches me the next ones—the whole first line on the yellowed paper—using just my one finger. I don't understand the blobs and squiggles, but I know the letters. I'm good at letters.

"This is how I learned. With one finger. Mom says you need to understand the piano and how music works first. It's like a language, and you need to know the basics. Your body will follow." She says this so seriously, sounding like such a grown up.

She explains things like sharp and flat, showing me the difference.

"How do you know all this?"

She shrugs, moving my finger over the keys, and suddenly I hear it. The song she was playing. The melody, she called it.

"Mommy and Daddy say I have a gift. Like it just makes sense to me. I see the notes flying through my head like little birds, and my fingers just know what to do."

"And your brother?"

She pauses, her fingers still on mine, and she looks at me, the note dragging as we hold it. She smiles big and wide. "He draws. He's really, really good. He wants to make comic books like the ones he reads." Her mouth opens, and she slams her lips together, shaking her head with big brown eyes.

They're the same as Jeremy's. I see that now.

They're twins. She told me that at school. But they look nothing alike, except for their eye color. Though there's something about them that's different. I just can't tell what. Maybe it's 'cause he never actually looked right at me—at least, not long enough for me to get a good look—and Izzy…she always looks right at me when talking to me.

"I shouldn't've said that," she whispers really fast. Her cheeks turn red and she makes a cringey face. "It's a secret."

I lift a shoulder. "I won't tell anyone."

"Pinkie promise?"

I nod, and we lift our pinkies, twisting them together. Her skin is warm and soft just like Momma's, but her finger is small like mine.

She bends down, kissing her knuckles and I grin, doing the same.

Then she twists her head over her shoulder, leaning away, and spits at the air, and I pretend to do the same the other way, trying not to laugh.

"What?" she huffs, wiping the back of her mouth. She makes a scrunchy face. "Girls can spit too. But don't tell my mom." She rolls her eyes, and turns back to the piano.

I like her. She's funny.

I've never had a friend who was a girl before. Boys are always saying how they're annoying, and Dad made it seem like they're boring and whiny and too sensitive, but so far she's nothing like that.

"Come on," she says, and I bring my hand back to the piano. This time, she lets go as soon as my fingers start moving. It reminds me of the time Dad taught me how to ride a bike.

And just like then, it's like something just clicks in my brain. I hit the wrong note—I feel it. Hear it. Izzy goes to show me the right way, but I shake my head, and try again, this time finding the right one.

"You did it!" she says, clapping, and I feel a smile, the biggest smile I've ever smiled, stretching across my face.

Izzy squeals, jumps up, and starts dancing as I play the song again. She looks like a monkey jumping around the piano, and I find myself laughing.

I make a couple mistakes, but I'm doing it.

I'm making music.

I am the music.

"More?" I say when I hit the next note.

She grins, and plops back down next to me. "I totally skipped the basics," she says, giggling. "But it's okay. We'll go back now and start over."

She starts playing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."

And that's what we do, until her mom calls us up to do homework. She shows me every song she knows, and I'm not nearly as good as her.

But it's there.

I feel it.

It's like my fingers are buzzing with lightning, and it makes me think of my favorite song—the one I listen to when I pretend to be invisible—and makes me wonder if I finally found my superpower, and it was inside me all along.

The music…

It's in me.

He cut his hair.

It makes me sad, though I'm not really sure why. There's just a twisty feeling in my chest when I think about it and remember yesterday, when he peeked up at me, long silky blond hair hanging down his face.

It doesn't look bad, but still. I don't like it. I feel like he didn't actually wanna cut it.

And then I remember.

Girl. They called him a little girl.

Is that why?

But his hair was so pretty…

"For fuck's sake, Sher. What the hell is this pretty boy shit?"

"Travis!" Momma hisses in that way she always does when she doesn't want me to hear something. They're sitting on the couch behind me, watching some movie I'm not paying any attention to, while I lay on the floor colorin'.

"It ain't right." And he mutters something under his breath about God.

I lift my head, peeking at the TV to see what he's goin' on about.

On the screen, there's a man sipping coffee looking out a window. He's got long black shiny hair, and when he turns and smiles at some girl walking through the door, I feel myself frown.

What's wrong with him?

Twisting my head over my shoulder, I peer up at my Dad. "Am I pretty?"

Dad huffs angrily. "No."

Oh. I look down.

"See?" he says to Momma. "Turn this garbage off. We're not gonna start fillin' his head up with ideas."

When I peek up through my lashes, Momma's fumin' against his side, clearly mad. But when he just holds her tighter, she winces and looks down at the remote, quickly flipping the channel to some boxing match.

Dad nods, and points a finger at the TV. "See that, kid?"

I turn and face the TV, my eyes widening when I see the big sweaty man throw a punch at the other guy's face, making his head snap to the side, and a wad of blood and spit burst out.

Whoa…

"Now that's a man."

Later, when Dad's fallen asleep on the couch, snorin' up a storm, and Momma puts me to bed, she brushes my hair from my face and says, "Remember something for me, okay?

I nod.

"Beauty means nothing, if you're ugly in here." She presses a hand against my chest, over my heart. "Be kind to people, and you'll be the handsomest, prettiest boy of all."

I grin. "Really?"

She nods, smiling, but her eyes seem sad. "Yep." She boops me on the nose. "Got it?"

"Got it."

The memory playslike a movie in my head, and I frown, feeling all sad and confused inside because I'm supposed to be mad at her right now.

Why can't boys be pretty too?

What's so wrong with that?

Jeremy seemed kind too, and like Momma said, that's supposed to be more important anyway.

Either way, I'm just really happy he's here.

Izzy told me earlier when she said our moms talked and I was coming over today, that we were all gonna be friends—her, Waylon, me, and her twin brother, JJ.

JJ.

Jeremy.

The boy from the song.

I had no clue he was her brother. Her twin.

I'd never met twins before. I didn't even know a boy and girl could be twins.

I was nervous coming here, but I was also excited to have friends. Momma said the Montgomery's are a nice family. She went to school with their mom, though she was a couple years older.

Apparently everyone knows everyone around here. That's what Mr. Gavin said.

Waylon still doesn't seem to like me, and I didn't know if her brother would either. Izzy doesn't seem to notice or care about that sort of stuff, but I do. I want people to like me.

But I'm not nervous anymore. Now I'm excited. 'Cause even if Waylon never likes me, that's okay. I have Jeremy—JJ—and JJ likes comics and superheroes—I saw him coloring a Spider-Man in the kitchen—and I have Izzy too, who likes music like I do, and is really nice.

And she tells me, if I want, I can take piano lessons like her.

I really, really want that.

I need one in my house.

I want to learn all the songs.

After dinner,the phone rings.

Mrs. Montgomery comes back and tells Waylon he'll be staying over tonight.

I'm jealous. I want to stay over too. I want to play with the piano. I want to see what comics Jer—JJ has, 'cause I feel like he has a lot. Wayyy more than me.

He's looking through one now. I can't see what it is from over here—he's at the opposite end of the dining room table—but I think it's Spider-Man. I remember he was drawing him earlier, so I wonder if it's his favorite, like Captain America is mine.

If he did have homework, he must've finished it earlier.

Or maybe he was sick today, since he was already home when we got here.

Waylon and Izzy finish their worksheets before me. Now they're talking about some movie they watched the other day, while I work on my last math problem. JJ keeps to himself. He's barely said a word all night. At one point, when Mr. Montgomery asked him a question—how was his day—and JJ glanced at me, his face reddening.

Izzy started to answer for him, but her mom scolded her. "Isobel. Let your brother answer for himself."

She'd muttered sorry, and shared a look with JJ, who just shrugged, before eventually saying, "It was okay."

Mrs. Montgomery's face tightened at that, but she gave him a small smile and nod and no one pushed him to say more.

He hasn't looked my way since. And I wonder if he was lying.

"Alright kids, you two, hit the showers," Mrs. Montgomery says from the attached kitchen. She rounds the island, washing her hands on a dishtowel. She says this to Waylon and Izzy. Then to me, she says, "Your mom should be here any minute."

I nod, and finish up the last problem. 3+2=___

5, I write on the line.

"But Mom," Izzy whines.

"Say goodbye, you'll see each other tomorrow."

She pushes her chair away from the table with a dramatic, "Fine."

Waylon's already heading for the stairs across the room.

In the dining room, Izzy gives me the biggest smile. "Bye, Mason," she says, her cheeks turning all pink.

I feel my neck grow hot, and my smile shakes, my voice no more than a whisper as I say bye back. Mrs. Montgomery says she'll be up soon. Izzy races after Waylon, shoving him, and Mrs. Montgomery's yelling after them, "No rough-housing on the stairs!"

The phone rings again, and Mrs. Montgomery leaves the dining room.

Mr. Montgomery's in the living room—I can hear whistles and cheers coming through the walls. He must be watching football, or something.

For the first time since yesterday morning, it's just Jeremy, or rather, JJ and me.

I shove my homework in my folder, and start putting things back in my bag.

Mrs. Montgomery pokes her head in. "Your mom's running a few minutes late. Got tied up with work."

I nod. "Okay."

She smiles and looks at JJ, then me, then leaves the kitchen. I hear her muffled voice through the walls as she calls out something to her husband.

Inside my backpack, I see my MP3 player and headphones. I haven't listened to them since this morning when Momma took me to school.

Pulling them out, I walk around the table to where JJ sits. He's got his head downturned, hands clutching his comic book.

"Is that Ultimate Spider-Man? I only have the first two issues," I tell him.

A long moment passes where I start to wonder if maybe he's going to ignore me.

He gulps loudly, then whispers, "Y-yeah. It's, um, Volume 2, Issue 3."

I smile. "Cool."

More silence.

"So, uh, do you know Pearl Jam?"

He lifts his head, eyes finally meeting mine. It was hard to see them yesterday, what with his long blond hair coverin' them, but now there's nothing to hide them. As if thinkin' the same thing, he frowns and looks away, bunching his shoulders by his ears. "No…"

"Here."

I unwind the cord and go to hand him the headphones, but he's not looking at me, so I just shove them on his head instead. He flinches back, brown eyes going wide as they dart up to mine.

"Sorry," I mutter, pulling back my hands.

He doesn't remove the headphones though, like I expect him to. He just adjusts them so they're fully covering his ears, watching me curiously from under his lashes.

Biting the corner of my lip, I pull up the song I want, and hit Play. It's loud—too loud—he flinches again.

"Sorry," I mutter again, quickly lowering it, but not too much. Just a couple clicks.

It's muffled, but I can still hear the opening guitar riff—that's what Mr. Gavin told me it's called. He said he can play a little bit. Maybe I can learn that too. I wonder if it's similar to piano, with E notes and flats and sharps.

JJ's eyes grow all big and he sits a little straighter, and this time when he meets my gaze, he doesn't look away.

His mouth parts, and I feel my own stretching into a big grin. Nodding, I say, "See?"

He probably can't hear me, but he must be able to read it off my lips, 'cause he nods.

I watch his face as the song really gets goin', with the man singing about drawin' pictures and yellow suns. About a minute into it, I see it the second he must hear his name.

He straightens, his mouth gapin' all big with shock.

And I'm grinning even wider.

And now he's grinning too. Not a big one, like mine, but it's still a smile. Still counts.

His eyes are locked right on mine, and he's not looking away or trying to hide. And I don't know if it's 'cause I know they're twins or what, but I search real hard, trying to find any differences. Like it's one of those games on a placemat, where you have to circle all the ways the two pictures don't match up.

"Mason?"

At Mrs. Montgomery's voice, I turn around to find her standing under the archway. Her head's tilted, a small smile on her face as she looks between us. I wonder how long she's been standing there. Or why I even care.

"Your mom's here."

I nod, and turn to face her fully. Behind me, the music plays on, muffled against JJ's ears.

"You'll ask her about the piano lessons?" I say, double-checkin' so she doesn't forget.

The music's playing louder now—more clearly—telling me JJ removed the headphones.

Mrs. Montgomery's gaze darts behind me, super quick, but then she's nodding and smiling back at me. "Of course."

JJ's not looking at me anymore when I turn back to face him. He hands me the headphones and mutters, "Thanks."

He then pushes away from the table, and all but runs out of the room. "See ya," I say, but he's already gone.

Forehead wrinkling, I just shrug, and get my things.

Outside, Momma's standing by her car talking with Mr. Montgomery.

"Momma, Momma," I say, running over to her, hugging her waist. She looks down at me, eyes wide with shock, a smile teasing her face. "I can play piano! Izzy taught me. I need lessons. Please? I want to get better. I need?—"

"Whoa," she says, crouching down, clutching my shoulders. She's nodding, and Mr. Montgomery's chuckling. "Okay, okay. We'll get right on that." She searches my face. I don't know what she's looking for, but whatever she sees has her smiling real big. She looks up at Mr. Montgomery, then her gaze flashes behind me to where Mrs. Montgomery stands in the doorway. "Thank you," she tells them.

"Of course. He's welcome here anytime."

Momma releases me to open the car door, and I'm just about to climb in when I hear racin' footsteps, and Mrs. Montgomery calling out from the porch, "Bubs?"

I turn around just as JJ stops in front of me in the driveway, and thrusts a stack of comic books at me. Ultimate Spiderman.

Our eyes meet, and he says, "So you can catch up."

I smile and take them. He goes to turn away, but I say, "Wait."

He stops.

"Hold on." Turning, I set the comics in the car, and reach for my bag. Pulling out my MP3 player, I make sure the cord is wrapped tightly around it, and turn to find JJ standing there, looking at what's in my hand.

"Mason, you don't have—" Mr. Montgomery starts to say. He's joined Mrs. Montgomery, standing at the base of the steps.

"It's okay," I tell them quickly. "He's just borrowin' it. I have my CD player at home to use." And I hand everything to JJ.

He stares down at the bundle in his hands like he's not sure what to do with it all.

"Bye, JJ," I say.

He meets my gaze and mouths something before whipping around, and racing back into the house, rushing past his parents without a word.

Mrs. Montgomery and Mr. Montgomery share a look of surprise.

"Come on," Momma says gently.

Rememberin' my manners, I yell out to the Montgomerys thank you, and climb into the backseat, bucklin' up. Momma makes sure I'm secure, and closes the door.

I look up at the house through the window just as Momma pulls out of the driveway. On the second floor, a head appears in the one window. Frizzy brown hair lit up gold around her head where the light hits.

Izzy waves, and I wave back.

Friends. I made friends.

It's not until a little later, when I've had my shower and am changed in my pajamas, and Momma's tucking me into the bed we're sharing at Mrs. Linda and Mr. Gavin's house, that I realize what JJ was saying before he went back in the house.

"Jeremy!" I blurt, my eyes bulging. He was telling me his name. Not JJ, but Jeremy.

I don't know how I know that's what he meant. I just do.

"What's that, kid?" Momma says, crouching down next to the bed. She brushes my damp hair back.

"I found Jeremy, the boy from the song," I tell her, grinning.

Her mouth twitches. "Oh?"

I nod, and then my face crashes down with a scowl. "People are mean to him too."

Momma's eyes crease, and her mouth thins. "I'm sorry to hear that."

I shake my head. "It's okay," I rush out. "It's not gonna happen again. He has me now."

She smiles, tilting her head.

"What?"

Her eyes are red now, like she might cry. She shakes her head. "Nothing, just… I'm proud of you, kid."

I open my mouth, close it, then?—

"Dad…Dad wasn't always nice, was he?"

Her eyes widen, and this time her head shake is a lot slower. "No. No he wasn't."

I swallow and nod, thinking back on Mr. Gavin twirling Mrs. Linda around in the house. Then, earlier, watching Mr. Montgomery kissing Mrs. Montgomery on the cheek, calling her beautiful.

"I won't turn bad on you, Momma," I whisper. "I promise."

Her face breaks, her breath hitching with a sound that's a sob and laugh at the same time. She leans over, hugging me to her, squishing me.

"We're gonna be alright, kid."

And I nod.

"I love you."

"Love you too," I tell her, tapping my fingers along her back.

E sharp.

F sharp.

B flat.

She climbs into bed, and holds me until I fall asleep.

And when I dream, it's of piano keys and flickering swirls of brown and gold and red.