Even If the Sky Falls by Mia Garcia Page A

believe him.”
    â€œSocks and sandals can never be taken seriously.”
    Miles hops up. “Let’s do it.”
    â€œLet’s do what?”
    He reaches out his hand for mine. I place my hand in his before I know what’s happening. “Let’s do what?”
    â€œLet’s get our fortunes told from socks and sandals. Why not?” He pulls me to my feet; I tumble into him. “We already know there’s a tall, handsome stranger in your future. So maybe I can get some juicy secrets from those cards.”
    He keeps his tone light, but Miles’s smile quickly fades into something deeper—is he remembering my reticence back in the cathedral? My heart hammers in my chest, the rise of panic. My hand is still in his, and his other is around my waist. I’ve made no move to push myself off, and we stand like that, entwined under the shine of the streetlamps. I slow my pulse—there will be no secrets spilled yet. Miles dips his head down, my own reaching up before I whisper, “Who says you’re handsome?”
    I push him away, massive grin on my face. I walk away from him, knowing he will follow.
    After a moment I hear, “But I am tall, right?”

I’m with the Band. I Am the Band.
    W E LEAVE J ACKSON S QUARE WITH A SPIN AND A NEW DIRECTION . As quiet seeps into the rest of our walk, I become restless and just a bit worried—the memories are beginning to creep in like water when it’s quiet and I know it’s so easy to drown. I’ve kept my body from tensing, but I know all my emotions are visible on my face if only for moments at a time. Miles watches me, too kind to press, or maybe he’s just waiting for me to open up more. I need a distraction. When a group of three women stumble out of a bar, giggling down the street, the cadence of the music reaches out into the night, tangling around me.
    The night has been amazing so far, but I need another jolt—I need my heart to beat out of my chest—I need tofeel alive if only for shorts bursts of time. I walk into the bar, not caring if Miles is behind me. It’s dark and I feel the band—the thump of the bass—before I see them in the back. They’re playing folk mixed with jazz, and the song keeps luring me forward. It starts: I hardly know my name.
    There’s a small dance floor—or just a bit of floor where people have moved the tables and started to sway. Under the music I can hear the chatter of the people around me talking about heading out, but nothing can drown out the beat. I grievin’ myself away. Haven’t had a bite to eat since the day before yesterday.
    I’ve never heard this song before, but something tells me it was written long ago—there’s a sense of place and time even though the tempo feels new and energetic. My feet are ready to hop in once again when there’s a hand on my shoulder, twisting me around. I turn to face a giant of a man with a hat far too small for his head. “You got ID?”
    Shit.
    Technically I do, but that’s not going to help me out at all since it’s not fake. I sputter and grasp for something to say when Miles circles around the guy and maneuvers his banjo to the front of his body, tipping his imaginary hat. “We’re the next act.”
    â€œNext act?” The giant is narrowing his eyes, looking at Miles, then at the banjo, trying to figure out if this kid is for real.
    â€œYeah.” The lies come smooth and fast. Miles strumsthe banjo for effect, no care in the world. “Got a call from Mike that you could slot us in. We’re really excited to perform.” Miles turns to me. “It’s our what . . . third show?”
    I nod far too eagerly but I am so far from good at this. Which is odd because with all the lying I’ve been doing to myself the past few days you’d think I’d be a pro by now. Instead I stumble on the words and inch closer to Miles.