Escaping Perfect by Emma Harrison Page B

isn’t it? Always has been, always will be. I’m outta here.”
    The door shoved all the way open, and I jumped. The girl—the drummer—stood there for a second, as surprised as I was, then shook her head and stormed off to a big, fairlybadass motorcycle parked nearby. As she pulled her helmet on and started the engine—a roar that I actually felt inside my chest—the other two band members walked out. Neither of them acknowledged me. They simply flipped their hoods up over their heads, trundled over to an old Buick, got in, and peeled out.
    There was another crash from inside the garage as I slowly approached the door. Jasper was sitting on a worn-out old couch with his head in his hands, his chest heaving. The two high hats from the drum set had been toppled over, and one of them was rolling across the floor.
    â€œUm . . . hi,” I said quietly.
    There was hope in his eyes as he stood up, and I can’t say I wasn’t disappointed when it died on the spot. Maybe he thought I was the drummer returning to give him a second chance.
    â€œOh. Hey.”
    I stepped inside warily, lowering the umbrella and shaking it out over the asphalt floor of the garage. My palms screamed mercy when I shifted one bag to the other hand and held them both up by my fingers.
    â€œGuess you won’t be needing all this food, then.”
    He exhaled shortly, hands on his hips as he angled away from me. “Nope. Guess not.”
    I wished he would look at me directly so I could see whether there was any recognition or suspicion in his eyes. But then I gave myself a mental smack. Clearly, Jasper was upset. Right now was not about me.
    â€œWhat happened?” I asked.
    â€œOh, nothing. Just lost another band. This one’s a new record.” He groaned, his back to me now, and tipped his head back with his hands over his face. “We were only together for a month and had exactly one gig.”
    I put the food bags down and moved tentatively into the room, stepping over thick black cords and skirting a huge amp balanced on top of a wooden platform. “What was the longest?”
    He turned to face me. My heart gave a little lurch. But there was no hint of recognition or suspicion there. He hadn’t figured out who I was. I let out a breath of relief, and he dropped down again onto the beat-up couch.
    â€œThe second one. We were together a whole nine months before it imploded.” He shook his head ruefully, letting his hands fall between his knees. The pose made him look vulnerable. I found myself standing right across from him now, not knowing what to say. This was the first conversation we’d ever had that wasn’t based on flirtatious banter. “You know, sometimes I honestly think I was not meant to be around people.”
    My heart squeezed. That was something I’d thought about myself a million times over. When I was little, right after the attempted kidnapping, I’d been so cloistered I hardly ever saw anyone other than my tutor and my bodyguards. Then, when my parents enrolled me at the Worthington School, I had no clue how to relate to kids my own age. I was so nervous that whenever someone talked to me, I froze up, and eventually they stopped trying. Sure, over the last couple of years I’d made a few casual friends, but no one I felt a real connection with. I was never sure how much I was supposed to reveal or what kinds of questions were okay to ask, and in the back of my mind I was always thinking that if I screwed up, they’d just stop trying again. So mostly I agreed with everyone and everything out loud, even when I didn’t inside my head.
    No wonder I ran away. It was easier to steal a car than to really have it out with anyone, especially my mom. Of course, none of this had anything to do with Jasper’s current situation.
    â€œHave you ever thought about going solo?” I suggested. “Then you won’t have to deal