Page 76 of Bloom

As soon as the lights dim and they come on stage, I remember why I fell for Ryan. He is effortlessly masculine, and he barely seems to register all the screaming fangirls at the front of the stage. Everything about him is sexy. He offers the crowd that panty-dropping grin of his, and launches into their first song. His voice is low, rough, amazing. I remember the way I once felt when I heard him sing, and know I’d be lying if I said some part of it wasn’t still there. But it’s not what I feel for James, and it’s only a ghost of what I once felt for Ryan.

We stand to the right of the stage, in a raised area not too far off the floor. They do covers and they play their own stuff, which the crowd seems to know as well as the other songs. Kristy, Ginny and I move in sway with the crowd, who anticipate every stop and start, every bass line, every chord. Ryan sees us and catches my eye. When they begin to play “Used to Be”, my favorite of all of their songs, I jump off the platform we stand on and dive into the crowd, with Ginny right at my heels, and Ryan laughs and shakes his head. He was always oddly proud of that, the way I’d let loose when he played. I feel his pride at the same moment I feel James’s displeasure.

The song ends and Ryan steps back to the mic. He points at me. “That’s my ex-girlfriend,” he tells the crowd. “Isn’t she hot?”

There are catcalls and laughter. “I messed up, Elle,” he says. “You don’t need to tour with me. I just need to know you’ll be waiting for me when we get back to school.”

He launches into a song he wrote for me last winter but said was “too girly” to play in public. As he sings it I can’t help but look over at James, who is looking at me. I’ve never seen him look so lost. It makes me want to comfort him, and angers me in turn. Why am I always worried about his feelings when he worries so little about mine?

The song ends and Ryan mouths “I love you”. The noise of the crowd is deafening. They all love this kind of thing, even the girls who’ve come here to throw themselves at him are whistling and stamping their approval. It would have moved me two months ago, but it doesn’t now. Even if I’m only a fling, even if he plans to move on once summer is over, there’s no room inside me now for anyone but James.

**

We make our way back up to Max and James. “I’m going backstage,” says Ginny, bouncing on her heels. There’s a defiant note in her voice.

James turns to me. “What about you, Elle?” he asks pointedly, every word brimming with anger. “Do you want to go backstage?”

“I need to talk to Ryan,” I tell him.

His face grows cold. “I’m going home,” he says.

“Wait for me,” I tell him. “I’ll just be a minute.”

His nod of agreement is so subtle it’s hardly a nod at all.

The backstage of a bar isn’t much like you see in footage about real bands, but there’s still plenty of beer and plenty of inadequately clothed girls waiting around looking hopeful. Ryan sees me and grabs my hand. “Let’s go out back,” he says. The alley smells like day-old trash, but it’s quiet, and it’s the only place we can be left alone.

“So,” he asks. “Did it work?”

I look at him sympathetically. A part of me wishes I could give him the answer he wants. “No,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

He looks at his feet and nods. “It’s that guy, isn’t it?” he asks quietly. “Your friend’s brother?”

When I nod he closes his eyes and rests his head against the side wall. “How serious is it?”

“I’m not sure,” I say, sadness leaching into my voice.

“Why wouldn’t you be sure?” he asks, clenching his fists. “If he can’t even commit then you should be kicking him to the curb. Even I was able to do that.”

He’s right. I deserve better than this ambiguity from James. “It’s complicated.”

“Well I’m not done trying,” Ryan says. “Whether this guy fucks up or not, I’m not done trying.”

I kiss Ryan’s cheek and let him return to the whole room full of girls who want him. Girls he’d give up to be with me. And return to the guy too embarrassed to even admit we’re together.

Chapter 43

James is leaning against the bar, looking more unhappy than I’ve ever seen him. He turns without a word when I find him and heads outside.

My anger comes to a head. What possible right does he have to be mad when I’m the one getting jerked around?

When I come to a dead stop just outside the door, he rounds on me, his face so angry and so hurt that it shocks me into silence.

“Are you getting back together with him?” he asks. The words are clipped and tight. The rage in his voice makes me remember my own.

“Why do you care?” I seethe. “You and I are only friends, right?”

“We were never just friends,” he says, that muscle ticking in his jaw. “So answer the question.”