(NOT QUITE) THE SAME OLD SONG
Lindsey Ouimet Copyright © 2019
Chapter One
I was going to kill my brother.
Yep. Kill, as in maim brutally until he succumbed to death’s cold, dark embrace. Because a slow death wouldn’t do. No, he deserved to suffer. I didn’t know much about Chinese water torture, but I could learn. And the leaky faucet in the bathroom, the one he’d promised to fix months ago, would do the trick. A couple of hours of that would surely drive him insane. His brain might even start to liquefy. Maybe dribble out of his ears a bit.
I wondered if that would be painful enough. Or painful at all, considering he’d killed most of his brain cells already, taking hit after hit of whatever his crackhead friends put in front of him.
I hoped wherever he was at that moment, whatever he was smoking was laced with some bad shit. I didn’t even feel bad thinking it. This always happened. He’d disappear, lifting cash from Mom’s purse and leaving her sick with worry instead of anger. One day turned into two, three, eight at the most. He’d stumble in eventually, visibly worse for the wear, but with a sheepish I’m sorry, Mommy. I’m sorry, Darcy. I promise I’ll be better from now on smile plastered on his face. And then he’d do it
Getting clean was part of Quinn’s regimen. Staying clean was a different story.
Eventually, he’d fall back off the wagon. He’d get picked up in the alleyway behind a bar or hanging out at one of the other trailer parks in town, the ones far worse than our own. He’d spend time in the county jail but would never be dumb enough to call us from it asking for bail. He knew we wouldn’t have it. Mostly because he’d pocketed what we did have to score whatever shit landed him there in the first place, but also because ... well, the residents of Whispering Oaks Mobile Home Community weren’t exactly rolling in dough in the first place. And even though Mom had started doing clients’ hair in our poorly lit kitchen on the side, we were barely getting by.
Really, he was no worse off than half of our meth-addicted town, but it was bad enough to make Mom cry at night when she thought I couldn’t hear her. Our trailer walls were paper thin though, and I hadn’t slept soundly since I was thirteen and woke up to find one of my brother’s acquaintances rifling through my dresser drawers at three AM. Junkies were the goddamned worst.
Beating the snot out of him always crossed my mind. I’d tighten my fists at my sides when he inevitably made his reappearance, or when I’d find him sitting at the kitchen table in the mornings before I left for school, smiling nervously as he pushed a plate of apology pancakes—dusted with powdered sugar the way I liked—in my direction.
Every time, I’d bite my tongue and forgive him. Every time, I’d wonder if one day those apologies would actually mean something. I hoped they would.
Whatever apology he offered this time, though, it was going to have to be good. And it damned well needed to mean something.
The guitar case slipped in my sweat-slicked hands and I nearly lost my hold on it as I pushed through the heavy glass door, the bell jingling to signal my entrance to Addams Gold & Pawn. My fingers tightened around the handle of the battered and beaten-to-hell case. The leather was cracked, torn, and covered in stickers from dozens of different bands—some long-forgotten, others legendary. And it held my favorite thing in the world. When I was little, my father let me have the honor of opening this case for him each time he played the guitar inside it. Later, he taught me how to play it myself. Letting it go, even temporarily, was going to hurt like a bitch.
I straightened my shoulders and walked to the front counter.
This time... Well, this time I really was going to kill my brother.
****
“I know what this guitar is worth.”
It wasn’t the first time I’d found myself at this counter. Even though it was embarrassing and I’d die if anyone from school ever saw me, I’d patronized Addams Gold & Pawn—much more pawn than gold in the shop, by the way—for years. Our entire DVD collection came from the place, as well as the piece-of-shit, way- outdated iPod that resided almost permanently in my back pocket and the headphones around my neck. I’d sold and bought back the flat- screen television Mom had splurged on at least four times.
“I know what it’s worth too, Miss Andrews.”
I found that highly unlikely considering there was a wall full of Wal-Mart’s First Act brand guitars behind him. He wouldn’t know a quality guitar if it bit him on the ass.
“I don’t think you understand,” I started, barely able to hold it together and hating every trace of vulnerability in my voice. “What you’re offering me—”
“Is a better deal, with better terms than you’re going to get from anyone else in town.” He cut me off with a satisfied smirk.
I wanted to slap it off his smug, I-own-this-joint face. “This is the only pawn shop in town.”
“Exactly.”
I flinched. There were at least three pawn shops I knew of two towns over. I didn’t know if they’d offer me a better deal than the man in front of me, but I would’ve given anything to throw their names in his face. Then I glanced out the front window to where my bike leaned against the side of the ice machine on the sidewalk. It was old, rusted in places, and not even worth chaining up. No one in their right mind would want it—and no one in their right mind would use it to make the twenty-mile trip to Franklin in one-hundred-degree heat. My shirt was still damp from the ride over.
One look at Mr. Addams’s face told me he knew these things just as well as I did.
I took a deep breath and stood up straighter. “$650.”
He let out a terrible, condescending little laugh before he turned his attention to something behind the counter. He didn’t care
that I was practically pawning my soul. He didn’t even have the decency to look me in eye as he countered with his original offer. “With the interest rate you want? $600.”
It was barely enough to cover rent and the past-due portion of our current power bill, but we could scrape by until the end of the month on it. I thought of the wad of cash Quinn had stolen from Mom’s purse—at least $900 from a wedding party she’d worked on the week before. He’d probably already blown it all before passing out on someone’s ratty, molding sofa.
“$625,” I spit out, gritting my teeth so hard my jaw ached. The extra $25 wouldn’t make much of a difference, but it would mean an extra tank of gas for Mom’s car. “Surely you can give me the same rate with only a measly $25 extra.”
“I can give you a lower rate with a bigger loan, Miss Andrews. You know that.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “And owe even more money in the long run? No, thank you.”
“Fine.” He shook his head and pushed a clipboard across the counter. He shoved a pen into my hand and nodded to the paperwork. “You know the drill.”
I sighed. Yeah, I did.
Chapter Two
“Still no word from Quinn?”
I groaned and dropped the old US Weekly I’d been reading into the grass. Despite their age, the pages had still left my fingertips smudged with ink. I swiped them across the towel I was lying on before wiping the sweat from my forehead. Turning to my best friend, I shook my head. “Nope. Not a word. As usual.”
Maddie fidgeted from the corner of my eye. She tied three additional knots in the side string of her bikini bottom before finally spitting out what I knew she was going to say.
“I mean, you think he’s okay, right?” She cleared her throat. “You don’t think something’s happened to him, do you?”
“Oh, for God’s sake. Not you, too.” I narrowed my eyes at her, forgetting she couldn’t see them through my dark sunglasses. “Look, Quinn has enough admirers, Maddie. How exactly, I don’t fucking know, but you’re way too good to count yourself among the ranks. And of course, I think something’s happened to him. Somethingalways happens to him.”
She wanted to argue, probably even say how she wasn’t interested in Quinn. But she was a shitty liar, so she kept quiet instead. She might not have been interested now but she had been in the past. Maddie could romanticize the hell out of a person like it was her job. She’d talked about Ryan Wadley for months after she found out he’d adopted a dog with only three legs from the shelter. As if his parents hadn’t had a big part in the decision-making process on that one.
So, of course, she still managed to bring up how Quinn had saved her life once every time someone mentioned summer, or swimming, or near-death experiences. Like it was a scene from an epic romance movie and she’d been on the verge of going into the light.
I hated to burst her bubble, but the Quinn we grew up with— the one she’d looked at with hearts in her eyes after he rescued her from that awful, life-threatening leg cramp at the deep end of the pool at the YMCA—was long gone. Some days, when his eyes were clearer and he actually ventured out of his room, I would catch
glimpses of that big brother. The older we got, though, the fewer and farther between those glimpses were. I didn’t want to think about it. It hurt too much.
We sat in silence. A couple of yards over, a neighbor cranked up their lawnmower, and I wondered how they could stand the heat this time of day. I was roasting, both underneath the harsh Georgia sun and in the remaining anger my brother had left in the pit of my belly.
I’d intended to make the most of the summer before my senior year. I knew that soon I’d be back at school, slaving over homework assignments and studying as hard as I could for all my tests. Hoping with all I had that my grades would be worth it. That I’d be able to land a scholarship that would get me out of our crappy little town. I could go away to school and get a jump start on a new life. A better life.
I shifted a little, trying to dry the sweat that had pooled in the small of my back against the scratchy towel underneath me. After another thirty or so seconds, I gave up any pretense of enjoying our sunbathing session and pushed up onto my elbows. “I’m bored.”
“And I’m sweating like a pig,” she countered, sitting up with each of her long, lean legs crossed over in her lap. Maddie was built like a freaking supermodel. At almost six feet tall, I swore her legs made up four of them. My legs were short and, like the rest of my body, chubby. Maddie smoothed her somehow still perfect hair back from her face and huffed out a sigh, tilting her head toward the back door. “What do you think the chances are of your AC automatically working double-time and actually cooling it off in there?”
It wasn’t likely. Window-unit air conditioners in tiny metal cans didn’t stand a chance against a summer in the south. I stood up, pulling my bikini bottom out of my asscrack before the creepy neighbor kid next door peeked out from his bedroom blinds again, and tossed my towel over my shoulder. “About as good as Quinn suddenly showing up not only sober, but with enough money for me to buy Darlene back from the pawn shop.”
“You’ll get her back,” she assured me.
I wasn’t as confident. The $625 I’d gotten was long gone and my shifts at Mama Jo’s weren’t stacking up nearly as much as I wanted them to. I was banking on Mom helping me out after she paid the phone and gas bill, but I knew I’d be cutting it close. I was still
short about $90 on my payment for the month. There were only three days and two shifts left before the cut-off day, and tips needed to be good at Jo’s. I tried not to think about it, though, like so many other things. There wasn’t an option. I had to get that guitar back.
Quinn had been gone for a record twenty-eight days. And I was a lot more worried than I let on.
Worried, but still pissed about my guitar.
I shrugged. “It’s got to be cooler inside than it is out here. Let’s go.”
After we were settled on the couch, a half-eaten bag of tortilla chips between us, Maddie dug her phone out of her purse. Mine had been out of minutes for weeks, but she kept a careful eye on hers— sometimes not even answering it when I’d call, opting instead to run the two streets that separated our trailers and knock on my bedroom window to see what I wanted. That was how I knew she must have really been bored when she started to scroll through her contacts.
She muttered something about giving someone a call, but I was too engrossed in an episode of House Hunters International to pay much attention. I hadn’t seen the episode yet, but I knew the couple would pick the five-bedroom split level just seconds from the beach, despite the ugly paint job and outdated guest bath. I couldn’t get enough of House Hunters. I doubted I’d ever be in their situation myself, but it was good to be prepared.
I realized Maddie was waiting for me to say something. “Uh huh,” I said, nodding while my eyes were still glued to the screen. I usually felt guilty about the stolen cable Quinn had rigged up years before, but never when House Hunters was on. During their exit interview, the wife was explaining how they’d expanded the kitchen when I heard Maddie saying, “...your combat boots?”
“Wait, what?” I said, snapping out of it. “Why do you need those?”
“Well, dur. I’m going to look totally out of place if I go to the show in a sundress and sandals.”
“Show? Wait... What?” I looked over to where she was swinging her clasped hands back and forth in front of her, fluttering her eyelids. Classic oh please, oh please, oh please in Maddie-speak. “Oh, you bitch.”
“I took advantage of your distraction. And they should’ve picked the house with the big backyard.” She grabbed for my arm to
yank me off the couch. “Now come on. We only have a couple of hours to get ready!”
I stood my ground. Or I planted my butt as firmly against the couch cushions as possible.
“How much is this going to cost?”
“Jake said the cover’s like, $5.00, but he can get us in for free.”
“I don’t know...”
Her on-again, off-again boyfriend Jake wasn’t the most reliable of sources when it came to well, anything. And it might not have been much, but every penny counted. I was already having visions of being exactly $5.00 short when I totaled up my money to make this month’s payment at Addams Gold & Pawn.
“Sean will be there.” Maddie grinned.
I shrugged. “Meh.”
“Meh? That’s not what you were saying after Austin’s party
last month.” She wiggled her eyebrows and hips at the same time. “I believe it was something more along the lines of ‘mmm... mmm ... Mmm!’ Oh, wait. That was during Austin’s party.”
I chucked a pillow at her head and she laughed as she released my hand to back away.
“Sean’s cute, but he’s such a slut. And people probably thinkI’m one too just because we hook up sometimes.” I tried not to let it bother me, but people were quick to associate words like whore andslut with your name when they already considered you trailer trash. “And ... well, he’s kind of dumb.”
He was. Cute and dumb. Kind of like a puppy. Incessant licking included.
“So?” She backed up the two steps that put her into the short hallway leading to my room. “So are you.”
She barely made it to the bedroom door before I slammed against it.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” She held her hands out in surrender when I finally shouldered the door open. The locks barely worked. You only had to jiggle it the right way and put a little pressure on it. “Forget about Sean. There are like, a hundred bands playing tonight, though. New music! Maybe they won’t all suck. Doesthat pique your interest?”
Unfortunately, it did.
**** I looked around at the venue.
Venue was a strong word, really. We were at the American Legion on the other side of town. It was pretty much one big room with space for maybe fifty people and a small stage. The acoustics were awful and there was no sound system. We’d have to rely on whatever shitty equipment the bands playing brought with them. I wasn’t optimistic. But at least cement floors and cinderblock walls would make it easy for the cleanup crew.
Which was definitely a good thing because there was somehow way more than fifty people here.
Outside, there were cars parked on both sides of the dark, narrow side street the Legion was on, the parking lot of the bank it was tucked behind, and even in the church parking lot across from the bank. I didn’t think that the First Methodist Church of Arnoldsville would appreciate any of the music coming from a bunch of high school bands, but at least there weren’t signs telling people not to park there.
“I can’t believe they’re charging for this shit,” I mumbled.
“Yeah, well, there are like, eight bands playing tonight, so...” Jake let his words fade into the crook of Maddie’s neck, along with his nose, lips, and tongue. I guessed they’d flipped the switch back to “on” in their relationship.
I didn’t bother with a response as I pushed my way through the crowd. I wasn’t surprised. They would hook up tonight, it would go great for a couple of days, a week tops, and then they’d each be back to thinking the other was an asshole. I also wasn’t surprised that Jake hadn’t come through with his promise of getting us in for free and that Maddie showed up with empty pockets. I was $10 poorer and irritated as hell, so I hoped at least one of the bands wouldn’t suck ass.
But three bands in, I was starting to lose that hope. I was hot, sweaty, and seriously underwhelmed. A punk band who’d only mastered two of the three chords needed to play their songs was on stage and making my ears bleed when someone wrapped their arms around my waist from behind.
“Hey, sexy,” a deep voice said just beside my ear.
I relaxed and tensed at the same time. Relaxed because at least I wasn’t being accosted by a stranger. Tensed because I really, really
wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone’s shit.
“Hey, Sean.” I wormed my way out of his hold, glancing
around to see if anyone was watching, but still ended up stuck in a sort of sideways hug that left his slightly sweaty armpit over my shoulder. He smelled like Old Spice deodorant and really rank weed. Not the best combo, but I’d dealt with worse. His hand drooped over my other shoulder, dangling perilously close to my boob. He took a slightly classier route and plucked at the bra strap peeking out from the tank top underneath my cardigan instead, running his finger underneath the satiny material, down, down, down... I shivered despite myself.
“You look hot tonight.”
“Thanks. You look high as shit.”
He giggled and I pushed away from him. When he was high,
he was even more clueless than usual. And handsy.
He didn’t seem to mind the brush off, but that didn’t mean he
wouldn’t keep trying. He leaned closer to be heard over the music. “What are you up to?”
I gestured at the crowd around and then to the guys on stage. It was pretty obvious, but Sean wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box. “Just checking out the bands.”
“Cool, cool.” He nodded and pushed his hair back from his eyes in a move that I admitted made me just a little bit swoony. He had pretty arms. “So maybe after the show is over...”
Sean said something else, but a sweet Peavey 6505 being carted on stage grabbed my attention. The punk band had finished their set. I couldn’t tell if they’d played more than one song since it had all sounded the same, with barely a ten-second pause between renewed bouts of screaming. This new group had much better gear. I could only see bits and pieces because the crowd was thicker near the stage and I was so damned short, but I was impressed.
Until they were about a couple of verses into their first song. I cringed as the drummer missed a beat. Then the guitarist missed another note and continued not to notice he was out of tune.
They weren’t terrible, exactly. The song was a little predictable—a cover I’d heard done a million times—but it had a good beat. But they played their instruments like a bunch of rich boys who thought it might be cool to be in a band. Maybe because it would get them chicks. Even if they liked the music they played, they hadn’t
dedicated enough time to practicing and getting it right. I’d seen it happen before. People who thought expensive or even overpriced equipment would hide the fact they didn’t fully comprehend the instrument in their hands.
Looking around the crowd, it seemed like everyone was into it. Bobbing their heads and listening intently. Girls, falling for the trap, pushed closer to the stage, forming a barrier of skirts, eyeliner, and tight tank tops between the crowd and the band.
The guitarist missed another note that went unnoticed by everyone else in the building, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to see how he was screwing up such a simple chorus.
I turned to Sean who—surprise, surprise—was staring at my ass while he went on with whatever he was saying. Rolling my eyes, I told him I’d be right back.
I needed to get closer to the stage. I popped up onto my tiptoes, trying to get a better look. I need to see exactly who—
I stopped. Someone slammed into me from behind and I clutched onto the shoulders of the guys in front of me to keep from falling face-first into the cement floor. They shouted something at me over the music, but I just snarled and pushed past them to get closer to the stage.
Because there was Grey Addams. On stage. Looking nothing like I remembered him looking in my fourth-period English class. Holding my fucking guitar.
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