Page 9 of The Sound Between Us

3

grow up

Seren

A knot of girls clusters in the left aisle, flipping through record sleeves. They smell like school and summer and pink body spray.

Simon scowls at his phone beside me, scrolling through whatever digital landfill he’s currently fixated on. “What are you even looking for?” I tilt my chin at him, abandoning my half-hearted dusting of the A section.

“Trying to find that picture of Hailey,” he says.

“Please don’t.” My voice comes out sharp. “I’m not interested.”

“But it’s insane. She thinks she’s Kim Kardashian now.”

I grimace. “Apart from the part where she looks nothing like a Kardashian.”

Hailey and I have the same basic framework—long limbs, angles. But she’s sculpted herself into something sellable. Lips. Cheeks. Tits. Contour.

Me? BB cream and the mascara I found on the bathroom floor.

“No, no, Seren—just look.” He waves his phone again. “Here’s Felix in New York, apparently.”

He angles the screen at me, but I defocus my eyes and shoot him a warning look.

“I honestly don’t get why you won’t introduce me. I’ve suffered your friendship for this long—you’d think I’d at least get access to the super sex-god brother.”

“You know I don’t talk to either of them unless absolutely necessary. Like Christmas. Or death.”

Simon mumbles something under his breath, but stops when one of the girls glances over.

“Wait. Are you talking about Felix Rogers?” Her voice goes up two octaves.

Simon falters, flinging a sheepish look at my scowl. “Uh—yeah. Just gossip stuff.”

I narrow my eyes until they’re slits.

“Hailey and Felix are so beautiful,” the girl breathes, stepping closer. “It’s, like, not fair. How can two people get all the genes and all the talent?”

I snort. Loud enough that I have to disguise it as a cough.

My chest tightens. My skull starts to pulse. My ears buzz. I turn away before I say something I’ll regret.

I storm off toward the back wall, pretending to straighten some stacks that were never crooked to begin with. There’s only one other customer in here—a guy hovering near the door in a cap.

Behind me, Simon tries to rescue the situation by chatting to the girls about whatever celebrity meltdown was trending this morning. I tune out.

Accidentally, I end up at the J’s. And there it is—my sacred object. Faith Jones: The Red Session.

I own it already. Signed. Framed. Hung in the only spot in my flat that gets sunlight.

The girls explode into collective hysteria. “Do you have any Elementary vinyl?” one shrieks. “Oh my god, we are so excited for tomorrow. We’re gonna be first in line, right?”

They clutch hands and bounce together. I glance down at the black-and-white tile floor and briefly hope it crumbles beneath them.

“He always comes to the front,” one girl gasps. “Right by security!”

I mime shooting myself in the head. Make a soft little boom sound with my mouth. Simon chokes down a laugh, suddenly engrossed in the floor.