Page 12 of See Her

You mess me up,

Then you set me right.

You wanna play,

Then you wanna fight.

Oh, what do we do about us?

And what do I do about you?

I need to walk away,

But I can’t stay away,

I can’t take you,

But I can’t shake you.

It’s the last song of the night, and we crush it. With a few powerful strums of the strings and a hardcore drum out, we end with a bang.We give our usualthank yousto cheers and whistles in the crowd. We played until closing time, and now we’re grabbing some drinks as the crowd is ushered out of the bar.It’s nice this way. We can catch our breath and pack up in peace.

It’s 3:30 by the time I get home. I let Trooper out, take a shower, and then collapse on my bed, exhausted. But I’m thankful. I love playing those songs with those guys, and I don’t care where we’re doing it. As the buzzing in my head quiets down, my mind sleepily drifts to Mayzie.Before we went on tonight, I was still thinking about her, and while I don’t want to bombard her so soon after meeting her, I decided shooting her a quick text wouldn’t hurt anything.I’d waited a minute to see if she’d respond, and she did.Then I put my phone in my guitar case and walked onto the stage with a smile on my face.

Jack: Hope we’re still on for tomorrow. Can’t wait to see you.

I’m staringat my phone screen, at the very text that kept me from getting any sleep last night because Jack seems to make me revert to a teenager.

“Here, have some quiche,” my mother says, snapping me out of la-la land, shoving a casserole dish of evil my way across her granite countertop.

“Blech.”

“Oh come on, you still don’t like quiche? I thought you’d grow out of that. Try some, I bet you’ve changed your mind and don’t realize it.”

“No.”

“Don’t be such a brat. Try it.”

“No!” I say, turning my head away with my tongue out.

“Quit being a shithead and try your mother’s damn quiche,” my dad says, strolling into the room.

“I don’t like baked eggs mixed with vegetables. Giveit to Ian.”

Besides, I’m almost too nervous about seeing Jack later to stomach anything. Unless it’s banana pancakes.

“He’s not coming,” my mother answers.

Figures.I kind of had a feeling Ian would be wrapped up in more Tina drama.When he has the weekend off, he can’t really justify not spending time with her. That’s one more reason I came over for breakfast today, in addition to the hopes my mom would make pancakes, that is. I’m only half here though. My mind is still swirling around Jack. I’ve known him for three days now, and it scares me that I’m so taken in such a short amount of time.He said he’d call today, but I’m doing my best not to hold my breath

“How’s work going?” my mom asks. I can see she’s given up on the quiche as she’s getting the pancake griddle out.God, I’m spoiled.

“It’s fine.It’s not thrilling or anything, but the work is coming in nice and steady.” My dad tops off his coffee and heads back out of the kitchen, seemingly satisfied with his drive-by.

“Have you been looking for anything else? Something that would help you branch out and write what you want?”

“Yeah, but just casually,” I say, shrugging and pulling out the pancake mix for her. “I would like to blog, or write articles at some point. I figure I just have to pay my dues for a while, like anyone else.”

“You know,” she starts as she measures a cup of mix and dumps it in a bowl. “They say you should journal every day. I read somewhere that it keeps you disciplined as a writer.”