Beautiful Music for Ugly Children by Kirstin Cronn-Mills Page B

she had imaginary words on her forehead, they would say SCARY DUMB IDEA .
    I remind myself to push my voice into my chest. “I have a table over here.”
    “Great! Did you get a coffee?”
    I pull out her chair for her. Nothing like chivalry to convince people you’re a guy. “I did. I’ve been here a while.”
    “You have?” She looks concerned. “Am I late?”
    “I like hanging out here. I brought a book.” I point to my book bag at my feet.
    “I’ve never seen you here before.” She frowns a little. “And I usually come once a week.”
    “I mostly come in the morning, on weekends. I’m a morning person.” Like any eighteen-year-old guy is a morning person.
    “Oh. What’s your favorite kind of coffee?” She smiles again. I like that smile. It’s serious, which is strange, since I thought she was perky. Her smile is gorgeous.
    “Um … I like mocha frappes.”
    “So why aren’t you drinking one?” She gestures to the coffee mug. Definitely not a frappe glass.
    “I like to switch it up.” Please let her stop asking questions.
    She sits in the chair opposite mine and looks at me. Frowns at me, in fact. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
    My heart falls onto my Chucks. Maybe she really was at graduation. “How would we know each other?” I keep the smile light and the voice low. No panic.
    “What church do you go to?”
    “My family is a bunch of pagan tree worshippers.” Oh man, not religion. The coffee discussion is hard enough.
    The frown is still there. “Maybe it’s not church. I’ll think of it.”
    If all else fails, change the subject. “So, why did you start listening to KZUK?”
    “My parents like it, so I grew up with it. Are you in high school?” She’s frowning at me again.
    I ignore the question. “KZUK’s unique, that’s for sure.” Der, der, der—my brain’s got a skip. Why the hell did I say that? I fiddle with my mug.
    “How’d you get a show there?” She sips her coffee again. There’s more foam on her lip, and she licks it off without a thought.
    “KZUK will give anyone with a pulse some air time.”
    “Seriously, where do you go to school? West or East?” She’s not giving this one up.
    “New Sibley Day School.” It’s in the next town over.
    “Really? My cousin goes to school there—Megan Anderson? I’ll have to ask her if she knows you.”
    It figures.
    “So what’s on your iPod?” Mara pulls hers out of her bag, and it’s attached to these funky, noise-damping headphones. She and her iPod mean business.
    “Nothing too interesting.” Which isn’t true, but I don’t want to bore her.
    Fiddle fiddle. “I have 850 songs on here, and I want more. Isn’t that stupid?”
    I gesture to the moving pink rectangle. “Who’s on it?”
    “Everyone from Coldplay to Mozart.” She sighs. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve heard it all already.”
    I think for a second. “Have you tried Brother Ali?”
    “No.”
    “There you go.”
    Mara laughs. “You know what I mean. Right now I’m into nineties stuff, Nirvana and Blind Melon and the Dave Matthews Band … ”
    Her lips are red and shiny. Almost like Paige’s. I’m cheating on Paige’s mouth by looking at Mara’s mouth. But I also cheated by looking at Heather’s mouth, and the rest of her.
    “Gabe?”
    Caught. “Hmm?” I try not to look like I’ve been drifting.
    “Are you listening?”
    “Sure. Nirvana.”
    “You zoned out.” She gives me a pouty face.
    “I was … enjoying the view.” I should just shut up.
    Mara gathers up her iPod and stashes it away, and I see the blush creeping up her face. When she looks up again, she’s frowning. “I just can’t place you. Do you have a sister?”
    My heart is under my Chucks. Hopefully all the color in my face is still there. “Nope, no sister, or cousin.”
    “It’s not important. But you really do look familiar.”
    The panic rises, and I have to get out of here, like now, or my heart will leap out of my chest. I give her one