Page 24 of Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree
Later.
“What’s up?”
“Hmm?” I ask distractedly.
“What’s up? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look this antsy before.”
I stop my knee from bouncing like a jackhammer against the chair and curl my fingers around it.
“Nothing,” I manage to squeak out.
Finn only cocks an eyebrow and continues to stare at me with his unreadable gaze until I sigh.
“Where’s Evan?” I ask. My voice is a far cry from the nonchalance I wish was there, breaking over Evan’s name like a sixteen-year-old fangirl.
“Ev?”
I don’t blame him for his confusion. Usually, Evan and I repel each other like magnets.
“Not sure. Maybe Chris knows,” he continues.
“Maybe Chris knows what?” Chris steps through the door mid-conversation, with Jessie’s hand gripped firmly in his.
“Lilah was asking about Evan,” Finn explains.
“You know Evan.” He shrugs.
Chris’s response is so cryptic it makes me want to scream. No, no, I don’t. Or maybe I thought I did. Maybe I thought that kiss meant I understood him more than I actually do.
“My bigger question is where the fuck is Milo,” Chris huffs, focusing his attention on Finn since the two of them are always together.
“He said he had shit to do and would see me later,” Finn explains.
“What could he possibly have to do?” Chris asks.
As if speaking his name conjures him, Milo steps through the door, though he’s nearly unrecognizable. Gone is the ever-present man bun and the cocky grin, replaced by a short-haired version of our carefree drummer.
He folds in on himself under the intensity of our combined scrutiny. With a quick shake of his head, he steps farther into the room.
“What the fuck are you all staring at?”
Neither Finn nor Chris says anything, so I finally speak up.
“What happened to your hair?”
He laughs and runs a hand through what’s left of his hair—which isn’t much, given the close crop—but the movement is awkward, self-conscious.
“I cut it.”
“I can see that. Why?”
Milo’s worn his hair long since Just One Yesterday took off. His shoulder-length light-brown locks have always been synonymous with the drummer.
He shrugs and barely manages to meet my eyes before his gaze skitters again.
“It was…time for a change.”
He’s not giving us the full story. I open my mouth to ask him, but he keeps talking.
