This Song Will Save Your Life

“It’s amazing, Alex,” I said.

“It’s not done yet,” Alex warned me. “It’s not perfect yet.”

“It’s going to be the best one at the fair,” Mom said proudly, and I remembered all the times she had said those same words to me. When I designed and sewed a dress for the Girl Scouts’ fashion show; when I practiced reciting a monologue for the Shakespeare competition in eighth grade; when I baked pecan-raisin-banana-chocolate bars, my own invention, for the Election Day bake sale three years ago. My mother always said this: It’s going to be the best one.

“Does Mr. Berger give a prize for the best booth?” I asked Alex.

Alex snorted and said, “Of course not,” like I was an idiot for not understanding the exact rules of the second-grade spring fair.

“Well, if he did, you’d win,” I told her.

“But for now, Alex sweetie, it’s way past your bedtime.” Mom stood and lifted my sister from the couch.

“But I’m not tiiired,” Alex whined, and I wondered if this was the curse of all women in my family, to never get tired.

“It’s bedtime anyway,” Mom said. “You can work on it more tomorrow. Right, Elise?”

“Right,” I said. “Even I am going to bed, Alex. See?” I picked up my hot chocolate, yawned dramatically, and headed to my room.

Two hours later, I crept out of the house and walked to Start. I meant what I had said to Vicky. I meant to stay home tonight. But I wanted to see Char too much, and I couldn’t resist.

Like Char himself once told me, we all want things that aren’t good for us.

15

When I got to Start, I didn’t immediately see Vicky or Pippa. Char was in the booth with his headphones on, playing a Marvin Gaye song, and this seemed a good omen; Char knew how much I liked old soul singers.

I slipped into the booth next to him. “Hey, stranger,” I said. “Long time no talk. You miss me?” I was aiming for jokey, but it came out wrong, too honest. I saw Char flinch a little.

nobody likes me, Fake Elise chanted inside my head. why would anyone ever really like me???

“How was your week?” I tried.

“Fantastic,” Char muttered.

“Really.”

“Oh, yeah. Probably my best week ever. Have you ever been to Disney World?”

“Yeah.”

“My week was like that, only about eighty times better.”

He stared down at his computer. The song playing was “Panic” by the Smiths, which is the one where Morrissey repeats the line “hang the DJ” for about a minute straight.

“Sure, it totally seems like you’re having an eighty-times-Disney-World week,” I agreed. When he didn’t respond, I said, “So what exactly happened with Pippa last week?”

“We frolicked through rainbows together,” Char answered in a monotone.

“Char.”

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, making it stick up in tufts. “I don’t know, Elise. She was pissed.”

I fought the urge to smooth down his hair with my hand. I never touched Char first. I always waited for him to touch me.

“What did you think was going to happen when she came back from Manchester?” I asked him. “Did you think she wasn’t going to find out about us? Or she wasn’t going to care?”

“I didn’t,” Char said, “think about it. Anyway, I told her I didn’t want to be her boyfriend before she left. You know that. So why did she expect me to celibately wait for her return for a month and a half?”

“Because,” I replied, wondering if Char was secretly an idiot not to already know this, “you had sex with her after you told her you didn’t want to date her.”

“So?” he asked.

“So, what was she supposed to think that meant?” I asked. “What do you think people think it means when you hook up with them?”

He shook his head. “I have no idea. What do people think it means?”

I gave a long exhale, then said, “For someone who’s supposed to be so great at reading a crowd, you have some serious blind spots.”

Char flicked a number of dials on his mixer. “If you’re such an expert, Elise, why don’t you just tell me?”

I tried to look him in the eye, but he just kept looking at his equipment. “People think it means that you want to actually be with them. In a serious way. People think it means you care about them. That’s the point of the whole thing, isn’t it?”

Char shrugged. “Guys don’t think that way.”

I didn’t know if he was right about that or not. I didn’t know how guys thought about anything.

“Is Pippa coming tonight?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer from Vicky.

“No idea.” Char put on his headphones.

I waited until he had transitioned into the next song, but when he still didn’t take off his headphones, I tugged at his arm.

“What’s up?” he asked, taking off one earphone. “I’m working.”

“I can see that,” I said. “I wanted to tell you my big news from last week.”

Things were weird between me and Char right now. Things were weird because Pippa was back. But when I told him my news, he would be proud of me. He would remember how much we had in common. Things would be good again.

Right?

I felt like a cat bringing home a dead bird to her master. “You’ll like it, won’t you? I killed it all by myself. You must like it.”

Did bird-murdering house cats get this fluttery feeling in their stomachs, too?

“I’m going to be DJing Friday nights!” I told Char, a smile erupting across my face. I couldn’t not smile whenever I thought about it. “Starting next week. I can do whatever I want with it, Pete said. It’s going to be the best.”

Char took off his other earphone. He stared at me. “You’re DJing Friday nights,” he repeated, and I thought that maybe the loud music had garbled my words. “Here?”

“Right!” I shouted, to make sure he could hear me this time.

But his expression was still confused. “Pete gave you a Friday night party? Just you, no one else?”

“Just me,” I confirmed.

Now Char’s expression was more than just confused. It was mad. He responded with only one word. “Why?”

“Because he thought I’d be good at it.”

“Why?” Char asked again, and I felt the ground slant ever so slightly underneath me.

“He said … I have a lot of natural talent, and—”

“Do you have any idea what a big deal it is to get a weekend party at one of Pete’s venues?” Char interrupted. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve asked him to move me to Friday, so no one has school or work the next day and can really go out? And then he just gives it to you? You, a sixteen-year-old girl who started DJing all of two months ago?”

I didn’t speak for a moment. Then, quietly, I said, “It’s not my fault that I’m only sixteen. And it’s not my fault that I only started DJing now.”

Char lowered his voice, too. He sounded gentle, helpful. “Why don’t you just tell Pete that you don’t feel ready? Tell him you need more practice. Tell him you’re worried about what will happen if you have technical problems and you don’t know how to fix them. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“Because,” I said, “I do feel ready.” I cleared my throat. “This is so silly, but I guess I expected that you would be happy for me.”

Char tapped on his computer keyboard and was silent for a minute. If I were someone else, I might have been impressed. But I knew enough about DJing to know that he wasn’t actually doing anything.

“Listen, Elise,” Char said at last. “I hadn’t wanted to get into this tonight. But I think we should … stop.”

“Stop?” I repeated.

“Yeah. Like, break up.”

And the world tilted again, harder. “How can we break up?” I asked. “Were we even together?”

“I think the age gap is too much for us,” Char said. “We’re at different stages in our lives, and we’re looking for different things.”

“Now?” I said. “Now this bothers you?” I felt my breathing coming fu