Now That I've Found You Read online

  “Be right back,” Milo says, rolling his eyes and walking over to Vinny.

  There’s no reason for me to stay seated on the couch, talking to no one. And I’m hot and thirsty. I walk to the kitchen, where Raf is in the middle of telling a story to a boy and a girl. Every time Raf moves his arms, beer sloshes out of his cup onto the floor. The boy is tall with light-brown skin, and his curly hair is cut into a fade. He leans back against the kitchen counter, with his arm leisurely draped around the girl’s shoulders. She’s short and pretty, her hair pulled back in a tight bun. She’s wearing a purple leotard with cutoff shorts pulled over pink tights. She smiles at me when I enter the kitchen. She’s focusing so intently on my face that I wait for her to say something about knowing who I am.

  “I love your hair” is what she says.

  “Really?” I blink. “Thank you.”

  She nods, still smiling. “I’ve been thinking about cutting mine, but I’m too chicken.”

  The boy smirks and nudges her. “Imagine what your mom would say.”

  “Evie,” Raf says, linking his arm through mine. “Meet my new friends Chloe and Eli. Eli is the one who designed the band logo. When he said he was in the city, I said, Bro, you’ve gotta come to the show.”

  “Do you live in the city too?” I ask them.

  “I do,” Chloe says. “I’m a student at the Avery Johnson Dance Conservatory.” She gestures at her outfit. “Eli’s just here visiting.”

  “I go to school in San Francisco,” Eli says. “A much cooler city.”

  Chloe narrows her eyes at him. “Oh, so we’re going to have this debate again?”

  “You didn’t let me finish,” he says. “It’s only a cooler city when you’re there. See, look at you jumping to conclusions.”

  She rolls her eyes, and he pulls her close, kissing her cheek.

  “Dammit,” Raf says, watching them. “I need a girlfriend.”

  I reach past him and grab a cup, filling it with tap water. “I don’t know, what if the band takes off? You don’t want any distractions, do you?” I say, smirking, leveling my eyes at him.

  “Ha, well played, Jones.” He knocks his cup into mine.

  “It was really nice to meet you,” I say to Chloe and Eli as I leave the kitchen.

  “Same,” Chloe says, smiling. Eli just nods his head, too cool.

  Milo is still deep in conversation with Vinny when I walk back into the living room. For a moment, I feel a little self-conscious that I won’t have him beside me as a shield, but I realize I don’t actually need him. No one cares that I’m here. If they’ve recognized me, they haven’t said anything.

  Feeling as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders, I go to stand by the window because it’s still really hot. Michelle and Ben are already huddling there, whispering to each other. Ben’s eyes are bugging out, and Michelle places her hand on his arm like she’s trying to placate him.

  “Just go talk to him,” she says quietly.

  “I can’t,” Ben insists. “I don’t even know what to say.”

  He glances up and catches my eye. Then Michelle turns around to follow his line of sight.

  “Oh, good, Evie, you’re here,” she says. “You can weigh in on this.”

  “Weigh in on what?” I ask as she grabs my arm and pulls me closer.

  “Ben has a crush on Adrian,” she whispers.

  “What?” I almost choke. “Adrian?”

  “Don’t be so loud,” Ben hisses.

  “But … but … he’s so mean! And you’re so nice!”

  “He’s nice to me.” Ben glances across the room at Adrian, who is leaning against the wall, brooding per usual. When his eyes find Ben, he smiles a little and nods. Ben smiles back, but he looks as if he might pass out from that small interaction. He grabs my hand and Michelle’s. Then he pulls us toward the hallway and into the bedroom that he shares with Milo.

  The two twin-size mattresses on the floor make an L shape and barely fit in the room. There’s one wooden dresser that’s covered in nicks. Milo’s acoustic guitar sits in the corner, and there’s a poster of Jimi Hendrix taped above the bed on the right. I guess that must be Milo’s bed.

  Ben sits down on the other bed, and Michelle plops beside him. They both look up at me, waiting for me to sit as well.

  I rock back on my heels and bite my lip. “Are you sure you want me to be here too?”

  “Yes,” Ben says. “You’re our friend, right?”

  I blink. He asks the question so easily, like my answer should be an obvious yes. I realize in this moment how much I wish I could be friends with all of them. “Oh, um…”

  Michelle doesn’t wait for me to answer. “I say he should tell Adrian how he feels, straight-up.”

  Ben shakes his head and sighs. “You would say that, Michelle. You’ve been with Vinny since the seventh grade. I can’t rely on the two of you for advice. And girls throw themselves at Milo, and Raf has no game. I can’t rely on them either.” He looks at me again. “Evie, you’re cool and from LA and probably have lots of experience with this kind of thing, so can you tell me how to ask out Adrian?”

  I smart a little at the idea of girls throwing themselves at Milo but shake it off. I’ve never really given advice before, especially not on dating. I’m not sure if I’m the person he should be asking.

  “Well—” I start.

  Then Vinny pops his head into the room. “Michelle, can I borrow you for a sec?”

  Michelle nods and leans over to hug Ben. “You’ve got this,” she says before hopping up and joining Vinny in the hallway, closing the door behind her.

  Ben looks at me hopelessly.

  “Just be yourself,” I say, taking Michelle’s place beside him. “You’re so sweet and talented, and like I already said, you’re nice. Maybe you don’t need to tell Adrian how you feel right away, but you could ask if he wants to hang out sometime one-on-one and go from there. How could he say no to you?”

  “You really think that will work?” he asks, looking deep into my eyes.

  “Yes.” I nod. “I really do.”

  I register that this moment is important. If he takes my advice, he really does think of me as a friend, because he trusts me.

  Suddenly, he stands up, a determined expression on his face. “Okay. I’m gonna do it.”

  “Of course. You’ve got this.” I give him a thumbs-up, stealing Kerri’s signature move.

  “Thanks, Evie,” he says, smiling. Then he’s gone. A boy on a mission.

  I lean back on Ben’s bed, not ready to rejoin the party just yet. My eyes find their way to the Jimi Hendrix poster again. I get up, stepping around the sneakers on the floor to get a better look at it. Milo’s room here has way more character than his room at Gigi’s. There’s a stack of vinyl records right by his bed, and tickets from the shows he’s been to are taped up on his wall. When I see a ticket from a Janelle Monáe concert, I get butterflies. He likes Janelle Monáe too?

  I sit on his bed. It’s soft and smells just like him. I lean down and take a big whiff of his pillow.

  Oh my God. What is wrong with me? I need to get out of here before I’m completely in over my head with this boy.

  I start to sit up, but then my eyes snag on something stuffed between Milo’s bed and the wall. I bend down and lean closer. It’s a notebook. A notebook that says SONG LYRICS.

  Oh?

  I glance over my shoulder, making sure no one is watching me, and then I open the notebook. A black guitar pick that’s covered in little nick marks falls out, and I place it on the bed beside me. I’m, of course, expecting to see angst-filled songs about all of Milo’s deepest, darkest feelings. Or maybe to find that song he allegedly wrote about me. It very well might be in here, but I can’t read his handwriting. Like, at all. It’s tiny and bunched up. Maybe he writes this way because he somehow knew a nosy girl like me would find her way into his room to do exactly what I’m doing right now.

  “There you are.”

  I slam
the notebook shut and look up. Milo, the lyricist in question, is standing in the doorway.

  Smoothly, as if I weren’t just caught red-handed, I say, “Here I am.”

  He glances at the notebook and raises an eyebrow. I shove it away as if it’s cursed and I have no idea how it got into my hands.

  “Did you help Vinny settle that argument?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

  “Not really. Dante knows his stuff.” He walks over and stands in front of me. He smirks. “If you wanted to read through my journal, all you had to do was ask.”

  “I wasn’t reading it,” I say.

  He tilts his head and gives me a look that says, Yeah right.

  “Okay, okay, I was,” I admit. “I tried to, but you have poor penmanship.”

  He laughs and sits next to me, grabbing his guitar pick. “My dad bought this for me when I was eleven and first started playing the guitar for the church choir. Before I begin writing a song, I hold on to it and feel the good vibes.” He hands it to me. “You try.”

  Feeling silly, I squeeze the pick in my palm. “I don’t feel anything.”

  “That’s because you’re not thinking right,” he says, tapping the side of his head. “You have to close your eyes and imagine that your good luck is already here, not that you’re waiting for it.”

  I try to do as he says, but I only picture Gigi’s face when we argued the night before she left. I open my eyes and give the pick back to Milo.

  “Maybe it will work for me some other time,” I say. Then I blurt, “Did you really write me a song?”

  “No.” He reaches past me to grab his notebook.

  “Oh.” Wow. All that snooping for nothing.

  He flips his notebook open to a page that’s halfway covered in his handwriting. “I wrote pieces of a song about you.”

  “Really?” There go those butterflies again. “Well, the least you can do is play it for me.”

  I say this jokingly, but I’m shocked as he leans over me and grabs his guitar from the corner. “I can do that.”

  He shifts the notebook so that he can read the lyrics. He begins to strum, then pauses.

  “I’ve never played it before, so don’t judge me,” he says, narrowing his eyes.

  “I won’t. Go ahead,” I urge, then feel embarrassed by my own eagerness.

  He starts strumming again. “I wanna tell y’all about this girl I know. She’s really pretty from her head to her toes. Cool chick from LA with no time for me. She’s never been on the subway; she’s not from NYC.”

  I laugh, and he glances up at me and smiles before continuing on.

  “That’s because she’s a movie star. Maybe I could impress her if I had a car. But all I have is my guitar and my words. Maybe that’s all I need to impress this girl.”

  I’ve witnessed a lot of magical things in my life, but I’ve never sat mere inches away from a boy as he played a song about me.

  It’s a really simple tune, but his voice is so low and smooth. Rich, like honey. He closes his eyes and stops singing but continues to strum, nodding along.

  I mean, is he even real? Where did he come from? Allegedly, he’s Brooklyn born and raised, but I’m halfway convinced he’s from outer space.

  He stops singing and sets down his guitar. Blinking, I sit up straight, trying to hide the fact that I was practically drooling.

  “You like it?” he asks. “Tell the truth.”

  “I do. I love it,” I answer quickly, with complete honesty. “You’re so talented, Milo. You all are. They’ll probably sign you at that meeting tomorrow.”

  “I hope so,” he says. “And thanks. That means a lot.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  We fall quiet. I consider getting up and suggesting we go back to the party before the silence turns awkward, but I don’t want to leave his room yet either.

  “Can I ask you something?” he suddenly says. Curious, I look at him and nod. “Did you really cut your hair because you wanted to try something new?”

  “No,” I admit. “I cut it because I was sad.”

  I think back to that day when I rushed to find the scissors, how I chopped and chopped at my hair until there was barely anything left. The numbness I felt as I stared down at the chunks surrounding me on the floor.

  “I wanted to be somebody else,” I say. “Have you ever felt that way?”

  “Of course,” he says. “I wish I had more money and wasn’t living in this tiny apartment. I wish that our band was more successful and that my parents didn’t feel like I was breaking their hearts and God’s heart too.”

  “That’s not you wishing to be someone else,” I point out. “That’s you wishing to improve the life you already have.”

  He nods, thinking this over. “I guess you’re right.”

  “Gigi would’ve never cut her hair,” I hear myself say. “She would’ve held her head high and ignored the gossip. People always say we look alike, but that’s where the similarities end.”

  “You actually have a lot in common,” Milo says, leaning back on his elbows. “For starters, you’re both really stubborn. And intimidating.”

  I snort. “I’m not intimidating.”

  “Most intimidating people don’t think they are intimidating,” he says, smirking.

  He leans closer and continues to stare at my hair. “It’s not that bad. I kind of like it, actually. You get to see your whole face in a way that you couldn’t with all the curls.”

  I start to say that it’s in a weird growing-out stage, but I decide to shut up and accept the compliment.

  “You should hear the way your grandma talks about you,” he says. “You make her so proud. I don’t think she cares about how different the two of you are. Maybe being different isn’t so bad.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I say. Then, “Before Gigi left, I had something really important to tell her.” My gut clenches up, and I stop. I’ve spent so long trying to push Milo away, but now I’m terrified that spilling this secret might make him hate me. I take a deep breath. “James Jenkins wants me to star in his remake of Every Time We Meet. But only if I have Gigi’s blessing, and only if I can get her to meet with him.”

  I expect him to back away, but he doesn’t. Suddenly, the words are spilling out of me. “I hate that I’ve struck a deal with the person my grandmother despises the most, but no one else was willing to give me a chance. I feel like I don’t have any other options, and I wonder if that makes me a terrible person.” I pause. “I can’t believe I just told you all that.”

  “I don’t think you’re terrible,” he says quietly. “I think you’re making a tough decision under tough circumstances.”

  I nod, looking away. I feel exposed after telling this secret, but I won’t lie, it feels good to finally tell someone the truth. Or more specifically, it feels good to tell this truth to Milo because he knows Gigi so well.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks.

  I turn to look at him again. I’m thinking that I never thought I’d find myself here with him in his room. That I like the feeling of being here, and I don’t know what that means. And I’m wondering when we moved closer to each other.

  “Milo!” Raf yells right before he comes crashing into the room. We jerk apart, and Raf freezes, slapping his hands over his eyes. “Sorry, sorry! Milo, I just wanted to let you know that we’re playing beer pong on the table and that Ben said to tell you first because we all paid for the table and you should know how it’s being used. I can’t see anything. I’m definitely not watching the two of you kissing.”

  “We’re not kissing,” Milo says. He wipes a hand over his face, embarrassed. “You don’t have to cover your eyes.”

  Raf separates two fingers and peeks at us. “Okay, cool. Like I said, we’re playing beer pong if you want to join. You can even be on a team together! Or you could just stay in here…” He removes his hand and shoots me a pointed look before he closes the door.

  Milo sighs. “He’s … a lot.”

&n
bsp; “He thinks I’m going to seduce you and break up the band like Yoko Ono.”

  “Why would Raf think that?” He smirks a little. “You and I aren’t even friends.”

  “I know. That’s what I said.”

  He scoots closer. “Then what would you call us?”

  I stare at the lack of space between our bodies, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath. I look up at his handsome face, at his lips, and my pulse goes into overdrive.

  Breathlessly, I say, “I have no idea what to call this.”

  We stare at each other. My eyes roam his face. His full lips, which I’ve already kissed, the hoop nose ring. His dark-brown eyes, looking intensely back at me.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks again.

  I’m thinking that if it weren’t for Gigi disappearing, I wouldn’t be here right now. I’m thinking that Gigi’s disappearance has turned my life upside down, another surprise in a long string of unwanted surprises. I’m thinking that I’m not sure how many more surprises I can take.

  What I end up saying is “I think I’m scared.”

  He smiles a little. “Aren’t we all scared of something?”

  “What scares you?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he continues to stare at me intently, searching my face. Finally, he says, “Hurting the people I care about scares me. That’s why I don’t like to lie.” He takes another long pause. “What scares you?”

  My answer is convoluted. A lot of things scare me. Failure. Never booking another job. Never being able to place trust in another person again.

  But in this immediate moment, my answer is simple.

  “You,” I say.

  He blinks. “Why?”

  “You’re just so … so…” I find myself unable to describe him in one word. I’m equally unable to describe the warm feeling in my chest. I trail off, not even attempting to finish my sentence. I’ve purposely closed myself off to people, and somehow without even realizing it, I let down the drawbridge for Milo. It’s too late to pull it back up now; he’s already marching across.

  I can’t say that I’m surprised. Somehow, he’s found a way to earn the trust of Gigi, the queen of grudges and privacy. It was only a matter of time before he wore me down too. And as much as I’ve resisted it, it’s a relief to finally let someone else in.