Praise for Insignificant Events in the Life of a Cactus

“A remarkable, original story with true heart, a fresh voice, and an absolutely unforgettable hero. It’s a book sure to give any reader goose bumps, teary eyes, and out-loud laughs. It’s a book that doesn’t just open your eyes; it opens your heart.”

—Dan Gemeinhart, author of The Honest Truth

“[Aven] is a perky, hilarious, and inspiring protagonist whose attitude and humor will linger even after the last page has turned. The tale of Stagecoach Pass is just as compelling as the story of Aven, and the setting, like the many colorful characters who people this novel, is so vivid and quirky that it’s practically cinematic.”

—School Library Journal (starred review)

“… a tale that is not about having differences, but accepting them in oneself and others.”

—Booklist (starred review)

“Dusti Bowling’s story of a regular, hugely likable kid who deals with her unusual challenges with grace and humor is pitch-perfect.”

—Shelf Awareness (starred review)

“Connor’s Tourette’s support-group meetings and Aven’s witty, increasingly honest discussions of the pros and cons of ‘lack of armage’ give the book excellent educational potential.… Its portrayal of characters with rarely depicted disabilities is informative, funny, and supportive.”

—Kirkus Reviews

“Bowling’s sensitive and funny novel … demonstrates how negotiating others’ discomfort can be one of the most challenging aspects of having a physical difference and how friendship can mitigate that discomfort.… [An] openhearted, empathic book.”

—Publishers Weekly

Praise for Momentous Events in the Life of a Cactus

“Those preparing to ‘slay the sucktastic beast known as high school’ will particularly appreciate this spirited read.”

—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

“Readers will welcome back this most able of protagonists.”

—Booklist

“Bowling deftly weaves the strands of difficult issues into a solid narrative with a punk-rock thread of humor and heart throughout.”

—School Library Journal

Other books by DUSTI BOWLING

Life of a Cactus series

Insignificant Events in the Life of a Cactus

Momentous Events in the Life of a Cactus

Aven Green chapter book series

Aven Green Sleuthing Machine

Aven Green Baking Machine

Aven Green Music Machine

Aven Green Soccer Machine

Other works

24 Hours in Nowhere

The Canyon’s Edge

Across the Desert

Dust

UNION SQUARE KIDS and the distinctive Union Square Kids logo are trademarks of Union Square & Co., LLC.

Union Square & Co., LLC, is a subsidiary of Sterling Publishing Co., Inc.

Text © 2025 Dusti Bowling

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.

ISBN 978-1-4549-5705-8 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-4549-5706-5 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-4549-5707-2 (ebook)

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Bowling, Dusti, author.

Title: The beat I drum / by Dusti Bowling.

Description: New York : Union Square Kids, 2025. | Series: Life of a cactus | Audience term: Preteens | Audience: Ages 8 and up. | Audience: Grades 7-9. | Summary: Finding the beat of the drums helps teenage Connor navigate his Tourette’s Syndrome, friendships, and family problems.

Identifiers: LCCN 2024033700 (print) | LCCN 2024033701 (ebook) | ISBN 9781454957058 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781454957065 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9781454957072 (epub)

Subjects: CYAC: Tourette syndrome—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction. | Family problems—Fiction. | Fathers and sons—Fiction. | High schools—Fiction. | Schools—Fiction.

Classification: LCC PZ7.1.B6872 Be 2025 (print) | LCC PZ7.1.B6872 (ebook) | DDC [Fic]—dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2024033700

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2024033701

For information about custom editions, special sales, and premium purchases, please contact specialsales@unionsquareandco.com.

unionsquareandco.com

Cover design by Melissa Farris

Cover image credits: Shutterstock.com: AlphaVectorStd (wolf); MD.Riaz Parvej (background); patrimonio design ltd (cactus); Victorija Reuta (drum); Interior emojis: Carboxylase/Shutterstock.com

Interior design by Christine Heun

For Zach.

CHAPTER 1

When we moved into our latest apartment, Mom said we could each get one thing we’d been wanting for our new place.

You know, to soften the blow.

But moving again for me was worse than getting food poisoning and barfing in front of everyone on the first day of school. More terrible than sneezing and having a giant snot blob shoot out right on the face of the girl I’m talking to. More horrific than letting out a fart that rumbles the classroom walls.

Like getting a new video game could make that any better. At least it couldn’t make it worse.

Mom picked something for herself called a pressure cooker. She said people online were always raving about all the things they could make with one: pot roast and soups and stews, all kinds of rice, and yogurt. Mom was especially excited about the yogurt for some reason.

The day we brought the pressure cooker home to our new apartment, where I’d barely even started unpacking my boxes, Mom immediately opened it and dumped a gallon of milk inside. She sealed the lid and turned it on, declaring that we’d have yogurt by this time tomorrow. That seemed like a long time to wait for yogurt, but I forced a smile of yogurt support and went to my room.

I had just finally gotten my Xbox hooked up when I heard an explosion followed by screaming. I ran to the kitchen where Mom stood, her eyes wide, her mouth open.

Milk coated the refrigerator. It oozed down the walls. It spattered the boxes in the far corners of the living room. It drizzled from the ceiling.

I held my hands over my head to shield my hair. “What happened?”

She shrugged, a dazed look in her eyes. “It exploded.”

“Well, obviously. Why?” I slipped on the milk-coated kitchen floor and grabbed the counter, but it was also slick with milk.

Mom reached out and clutched me to keep me from going down. “I think I overheated the milk.” Mom laughed and wiped the milk dripping down her forehead. “I’m glad it’s just milk and not pot roast.”

It took us an hour to find the box with towels and another hour to get the milk cleaned up. As soon as we were done with the mess, Mom returned the pressure cooker to the store and came home with a Crock-Pot, stating that she could still make her yogurt. It would take longer, but at least it wouldn’t explode. She thought.

Since the day I found out we were moving again, I’ve felt like that pressure cooker: on the verge of exploding, the pressure building with every box I’ve had to pack and unpack. With every moment I think about the two best friends I left behind at my old school. With every time I see my stupid dad, who’s the whole reason we moved in the first place. With every tic I try to hold in.

Do you know what a tic is?

Have you ever tried holding your breath? Maybe you were in a pool, swimming from one end to the other. Or maybe you were hiding under your covers from some snarling monster in the middle of the night. Or maybe you were attempting to break the breath-holding world record of twenty-four minutes and three seconds (unlikely). Did you feel that pain in your chest? That horrible, stabbing need to take a breath? I bet it was all you could think about after a few seconds.

Or how about when you take a drink of something that goes down the wrong pipe, and you instantly start hacking and coughing and your eyes water and you can’t stop. Next time that happens, concentrate every bit of energy you have on not coughing. Just ignore that searing tickle in your lung. Can you imagine feeling that way all the time? I mean All. The. Time.

Welcome to my life.

I have Tourette syndrome, and that’s what it feels like to tic. Well, that’s what it feels like when you’re trying not to tic. It’s as though your body decides your brain doesn’t make the rules anymore and just does what it wants. Over and over again. And your body doesn’t care if the girl you like is nearby. It doesn’t care if the kid who always makes fun of you is watching. It’s just going to go right ahead and make you bark or blink or bob your head.

And since it’s the first day of high school, at a new school where I know absolutely no one, I get to feel like I’m holding my breath all day, that pressure building with every passing second. I mean, I want to make a good first impression, right? And I’m not sure barking and blinking is how high schoolers like to communicate, though I wouldn’t know, because I’ve never been one. Until today.

So here I go. Just gonna hold my breath and hope I don’t explode.

CHAPTER 2

“Your dad would like to drive you to school this morning.” Mom stood in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in one hand, her hospital lanyard in the other. She twisted it around in her fingers. “If that’s okay.”

I didn’t say anything. Just stood there in my first-day-of-school outfit, which I’d spent about a week figuring out—blue shorts and a plaid button-down short-sleeved shirt over a Stagecoach Pass T-shirt. Casual, but not too casual. Nice, but not too nice. I didn’t need people thinking I cared too much. But also not too little.

Maybe the T-shirt was a mistake.

“So is it okay?” Mom asked again, still twisting the lanyard ID in her fingers.

I sucked in a breath and barked. “I really don’t need the extra stress today, Mom.”

Her face fell, and she finally dropped the lanyard. “Okay, I’ll let him know. I can take you on my way to work.”

The only good thing, and I mean the only good thing, about moving was that Mom got a new job at a hospital with daytime hours. She used to work the night shift all the time, and that meant she had to sleep during the day so I hardly got to see her.

“Yeah, that would be better,” I said.

“But after school—”

“I know, I know. I have to ride the sauna on wheels.”

Mom smiled and took a sip of her coffee. “Some buses now have air-conditioning. None of them did when I was a kid.”

I pulled out a box of cereal and poured myself a bowl. “I guess Aven’s school doesn’t, because she says she’s going to start a petition about it. And one for outdoor misters.” Aven was one of my two best friends back at my old school.

Mom laughed. “That sounds like Aven. I hope she succeeds.”

After breakfast, Mom dropped me off in front of my new high school. I stood there on the pavement, my heart pounding and shoulders shrugging. I tried to calm down, because my tics always get worse when I’m stressed out or upset, and I was about to head into a huge crowd. My eyes darted around at all the endless gray—concrete walkways, cinder block buildings, steel garbage cans. Did they want us to feel like we were in a gray prison? Well, mission accomplished.

I should’ve been starting school with my two best friends. I shouldn’t have been standing here on the pavement in front of a new school where I knew absolutely no one. A lot of things should’ve gone differently this year.

This was Dad’s fault. All he ever did was mess up my life.

My parents got divorced a couple years ago, not long after my tics started. Dad just couldn’t handle it, and they wouldn’t stop fighting over every little thing—whether I should stay on medication, whether I should see a counselor, whether I should keep going to the expensive neurologist. And on and on and on. Then one day Dad lost it and shouted at me, “Just stop it, Connor! Just stop!”

Those words have echoed through my head thousands of times since.

Did he really think I could stop? Did he think I’d been faking it all along and could stop any time I wanted to? How could he have possibly thought that? Did he hate me that much?

All I knew was I never wanted to hear those words again. I heard them enough in my head. Over and over and over again.

Things went seriously downhill after that, and Dad moved out. I barely saw him for nearly two years, and then one day, Mom’s all, “I’ve been talking to Dad a lot, and he’s making some big changes in his life. He wants us to be closer so he can see you more, and I got a better job at a hospital on that side of town, and—”

Well, you know how that turned out.

Even though I was super stressed out, I managed to get through my first three periods that morning okay because Mom and I’d had a meeting with some people at school, and all my teachers knew about my Tourette’s. Even though I hadn’t wanted to at first, Mom encouraged me to give them permission to talk to the classes about it, since there was no way I was standing up and doing it myself. Now everyone knew. I guess it really was better that way. Once they all knew I barked from time to time, no one seemed to care much about it.

Aven was always nagging me to stop being so negative. I tried focusing on the positive, but my brain constantly wants to balance every positive thought with a negative one. Aven said I needed some positive brain training, which she had laughed about and called “happy braining.”

Positive: Most of the kids ignored my tics after the teachers explained it to them. Some kids even smiled at me.

Negative: That kid in my third period kept snickering and looking at me with his friend.

Positive: Since my first three periods went mostly well, maybe I could muster the courage to eat in the cafeteria.

Negative: No way. Not going to happen.

Things were going okay, but I swear I’d never missed my friends so much. I’d call them after school, but that was definitely not the same thing as getting to see them at school. At least they had each other. I had no one. Thanks to Dad.

My fourth period of the day was unfortunately algebra. Math wasn’t so bad last year because I’d had Aven’s help. She was really good at math. But this year I was mostly on my own.

Before my teacher had a chance to explain my Tourette’s, I barked. Several kids glanced around, giggling, including that annoying kid from third period, and my cheeks heated as I hunched down in my seat. But then this one girl looked at me differently. She smiled, but it wasn’t an I’m laughing at you smile; it was more of an I’m happy to see you smile. Then the girl turned back around, and I watched as she twisted her neck while shrugging her shoulders—kind of like she was stretching. But then she did it again. And again.

After class, while I was tossing my books into my backpack, she walked up to me. “Hi, I’m Amanda,” she said shyly.

I froze for a second before saying, “Hi.”

She leaned in and whispered, “I have Tourette’s, too.”

Relief flooded my whole body, easing the tension a little. “Why didn’t the teacher mention it?”

She shrugged. “I don’t have any super-loud vocal tics, so I don’t really want them to. I mean, I do clear my throat, but that’s it. Most of mine are motor.” With that, she shrugged and twisted her neck like she’d done several times during class. “What hour do you have lunch?”

“Right now.”

“Me, too.” She swung her backpack over her shoulder. “Why don’t you come sit with me and my friends?” She shrugged. “If you want to.”

I swallowed. “Where do you guys eat?”

“In the cafeteria.”

Positive: There was a girl in my class who also had Tourette’s, and she just invited me to sit with her and her friends at lunch.

Negative: She just invited me to sit with her and her friends at lunch in the cafeteria.

I didn’t want to lose this opportunity, so I decided to be honest. She had Tourette’s. She would understand. Wouldn’t she? “I’d like that, but I don’t really feel very comfortable eating in front of people.”

“Why?”

I leaned in, and she leaned closer. “Spitting is one of my tics,” I said quietly. “I spit when I eat.”

Amanda smiled. “How about we just eat by ourselves then? And not in the cafeteria.”

I stood up straight. “Really?”

She shrugged again. “I know what it feels like to be scared of people seeing your tics. I can introduce you to my friends another time if you want. I promise they’re super nice.”

We found a quiet spot outside in the grass under a tree, but after only a few minutes, Amanda was dripping with sweat, and I felt bad. Plus, I was getting sweat stains under my armpits. Amanda also wasn’t the talker that Aven was. Aven always had a way of filling the empty spaces with something funny or interesting or completely pointless. But I wasn’t like Aven. Clearly Amanda wasn’t either, and all this silence was awkward.

“This isn’t a good idea,” I told her.

“What?” she asked, her face bright red, sweat pouring down her temples.

“Eating outside. It’s too hot.”

She swiped the sweat from her forehead, leaving her blond hair sticking up in front. “Well, I don’t want to leave you out here all by yourself.”

I thought of Aven and how she’d finally gotten me into the cafeteria last year. She’d be so disappointed in me today. “Let’s eat lunch with your friends in the cafeteria tomorrow.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

I laughed. “I don’t think it could get more uncomfortable than this.”

She smiled and took a bite of her sandwich. “Thank goodness,” she said, her mouth full. “I didn’t want to say anything, but I’m dying. I promise my friends will be understanding. I’ll make sure we find a table in a corner or something.”

“Okay.”

CHAPTER 3

Sixth and final period was okay because I had a music theory class. Again, because of Aven. She wanted me to learn to play the guitar, but our lessons weren’t exactly going that well, so she told me I should take a music class. She’d kind of taken over my whole life. She was like that.

Maybe I needed to stop thinking about Aven so much.

Positive: My music teacher, Ms. Chen, was really nice.

Negative: That kid who snickered at me during third period and algebra was in there. How could he be in three of my classes?

After class, I ran outside and hurried toward the buses. Someone called my name. “Connor!”

And there was Dad, standing near the bus line. He smiled and walked toward me, still in his dark business suit. I looked around, embarrassed to be seen with a parent on my first day of school. Didn’t he get that? I rushed by him.

He followed closely behind me. “Connor, hold up.” His shiny black shoes clacked on the sidewalk. “I thought I could drive you home since I didn’t get to take you to school today.”

“I’ll take the bus.” I glanced from bus to bus for the right number, quick barks escaping my throat. What if he said something about my barking in front of everyone? What if he yelled at me again?

“Why would you ride the bus when you can take a comfortable air-conditioned car?” he asked, breathing loudly, trying to keep up with me in the heat. I wanted to tell him I’d rather take a stinky, itchy, spitting camel home than ride with him, but I bit my lip.

He grabbed my arm. “Connor, stop.”

Just stop it, Connor! Just stop!

I whirled around. “Please go away.” I couldn’t stop blinking and barking now. “I’m taking the bus.” But then the doors closed and the buses rolled forward. I threw my hands up. “Now look what you’ve done. You made me miss my bus!”

Dad stood there, frowning, dripping sweat onto his nice suit. “I’ll just take you home,” he said softly.

“I’ll walk.” I pushed past him, my shoulders shrugging under the hot straps of my backpack, which felt like it weighed about a hundred pounds.

“Connor, please,” he pleaded. “I can’t let you walk. It’s too hot. You could pass out from heat stroke.”

The remaining few kids roaming around campus were starting to look at us, and the last thing I needed was more of a scene than the one Dad was already making. Plus, my barking was getting out of control.

“Fine,” I muttered, following him to the parking lot and getting into his stupid black car. Who wants a black car in Arizona? It was already a thousand degrees in there, which made me wonder how long Dad had been waiting for me. I adjusted one of the vents to blow directly on me, but it was taking forever for the air-conditioning to cool down. I tapped my fingers on the window to try to keep from barking.

When we stopped at a red light, he asked, “So how was your first day of school?”

I stared at myself in the side mirror and blinked, kept tapping my fingers. “How do you think it was?”

“I hope good.”

“I don’t know anyone, and all my friends are at my old school.” That shut him up.

Until he said, “Maybe I can take you and Mom out for dinner tonight. You know, to celebrate your first day.”

I hated how he talked about Mom like that—calling her just Mom instead of your mom. Like he was still a part of our family. Like he could just take off when things got too hard and come back when he felt like it. Things were still hard. The moment he figured that out, he’d be gone again. The sooner that happened, the better. No need to drag out the inevitable.

I finally turned and looked at him. “Are you kidding me? What’s there to celebrate? How much I hate my new school?” This wasn’t exactly true so far, but I wanted him to think it was. “Or maybe how much I miss my friends? Or how about how much I wish you would just leave me alone like you’ve done so well for the last two years?”

Dad stared straight ahead at the road, turning into our apartment complex, his throat bobbing, his jaw muscle clenching, his eyebrows drawn together. It had taken the whole drive for the air-conditioning to finally cool down, so we were both beet red and dripping with sweat by the time he parked.

I got out of the car and slammed the door without either of us saying another word. I ran up the steps to my apartment, turning slightly at the last second to see him leaving the parking lot.

Positive: I hurt him just as much as I’d hoped.

Negative: I hurt him just as much as I’d hoped.

CHAPTER 4

The next day, I rode the bus to school. Finding an empty row as far away from everyone else as possible, I hunched down in my seat. I’d managed to walk down the aisle without drawing too much attention, and that felt like a huge accomplishment. I allowed myself to let out a bark while no one could see me, briefly regretting not having had the same conversation with the bus driver that we’d had with my teachers. A bunch of kids on here probably hadn’t heard my teachers’ Connor barks because he has Tourette syndrome lecture.

I fought the building tension in my chest, blinking several times to try to relieve the need to do other tics, but it didn’t work. Sweat broke out on my forehead. I drummed my fingers on the seat, focusing on the sound of the fake leather or vinyl or whatever the stupid seats were made of. The tension finally built so much in my chest and throat that I couldn’t fight it anymore. I let out another bark.

The bus went quiet. I bit my lip and bounced my tennis shoes on the bus’s rubber floor mat, squeezing myself farther down in the sweaty, sticky seat cushion, like I could somehow disappear inside it.

Note to self: Wear all brown from now on to stay camouflaged on the bus.

I barked again. This time I heard soft giggles and someone ask, “What is that?”

I blinked. I shrugged. I clucked my tongue. Drummed my fingers on the seat. I did everything I could to fight the bark building in my chest. But then I barked again. The giggles were a little louder this time.

The bus stopped, and a girl with long dark hair flopped down in the seat next to me. “Hey!” she said, looking down at the bus floor and stuffing her backpack under the seat in front of us. “You’re Connor, right?”

I was so surprised at her sudden appearance that it took me a second to nod in response.

She straightened up and turned to me so I could see her full face. It was only then I noticed that half her face was a different color from the other half, as though someone had painted a large brown splotch with a curvy outline that traveled from just below her left eye down to her jawline. “You’re in my music theory class,” she said. “I remember you.”

I finally found my voice. “That’s not surprising.” Though it was kind of surprising that I didn’t remember seeing her in class. Then again, when you’re completely focused on trying to be as quiet and invisible as possible, it’s easy to miss the people around you unless they’re laughing at you.

“I’m Rory.” She turned away from me and leaned down to open her bright pink backpack. She pulled out a stick of gum and pointed it at me. “You want one?”

I shook my head. Things were going surprisingly well all of a sudden, and I wasn’t about to wreck them by spitting gum in Rory’s hair.

“It’s watermelon,” she said, still waving the gum in my face, but I shook my head again. She shrugged and shoved the gum in her mouth.

“You’re kind of like Amanda,” she said, and I wondered if she was talking about the same Amanda from yesterday. “She’s my bestie,” Rory went on. “She has Tourette syndrome. That’s what you have, right?”

I nodded. “Yes.” My voice was so hoarse, I doubted Rory heard it.

“Amanda blinks and shrugs, too, but she doesn’t bark.”

I cleared my throat. “We’re all different,” I said. “She’s in my algebra class. We ate lunch together yesterday. Outside.”

“Oh yeah?” Rory nodded and smacked her gum. “She told me she ate lunch with someone outside yesterday. I guess that was you. So why are you taking music theory? Do you play anything?”

“Nothing yet. My best friend’s been trying to teach me how to play the guitar, but I think she’s getting frustrated with me, so I decided to take the music class for extra help.”

“Cool, cool,” said Rory. “I sing. Like my dad. But not in front of anyone. I also play violin. Barely. I have no idea how people play the violin without making screeching noises.” Rory rolled her eyes. “I guess it’s an eternal mystery no one will ever be able to solve.”

“Except for the people who play the violin without making screeching noises.”

Rory pursed her lips like she was trying not to smile and squinted at me with her dark brown eyes. “Anyway,” she said, “Amanda plays the piano and the organ. She’s really good, too, so she wouldn’t be in our class because she’s, like, way too advanced for it. And get this—she doesn’t even have to do her ticcing thing when she plays.”

“I’ve heard about that,” I said.

“Maybe she can play for you. Hey!” she burst out, making me jump a little in my seat. “You want to sit with us at lunch? It’s always just me, Amanda, and Keanu.” Her eyes got really big. “But trust me—he does not look like Keanu Reeves, even though he has a Hawaiian grandpa or uncle or something. His mom is just like this ginormous Keanu Reeves fanatic. I guess he went into an ice-cream shop when she worked there when she was a teenager, and she still has a copy of his receipt. She has it framed in her office.”

I smiled. “Sounds cool.” Amanda hadn’t told me nearly as much about their group as Rory did. Rory reminded me a little bit of Aven, and it was relief to have someone to fill the empty spaces again.

“Perfect!” Rory said. “Anyway, Keanu’s nice, too. You’ll like him. But don’t say anything about Keanu Reeves.” She narrowed her eyes at me, totally unsmiling. “Just. Don’t.”

I nodded in agreement and ran my fingers across my lips like I was zipping them. Then I barked as I studied her unusual face. I’d never seen anyone like her before.

Rory looked away from me and down at her backpack. “It’s a birthmark, by the way,” she said softly.

“What?”

She pointed to the darker side of her face. “This. It’s a birthmark. That’s all. It’s not, like, a rash or anything contagious.”

“Oh. I hardly even noticed.”

Rory snorted and slapped my arm. “Liar.”

I was definitely lying. The contrast in Rory’s face from one side to the other was huge. And sort of interesting. And totally unique. “I like it,” I said.

Rory snorted again. “You’d better stop lying or maybe we won’t let you sit with us at lunch.”

“Okay,” I said. “I like your birthmark.”

The lighter side of Rory’s face got a little pinker, and she looked away. “You’re the only one then. Well, you and my mom. Because you know moms always think their children are beautiful, even when they’re hideous. Even when they look like trolls or weird clowns or something.”

“If you looked like a weird clown, I’d be terrified of you.”

Rory raised an eyebrow. “Afraid of clowns, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

Rory grinned. “Just putting that little piece of info in my back pocket.”

“For what?”

Rory narrowed her eyes at me. “For whatever. You never know what might happen.”

That was for sure. I suddenly found myself happy to be going to school, which was about the biggest surprise of my life. Thanks to Rory.

CHAPTER 5

Well, that lasted about ten seconds. When we got off the bus, the kid from my music theory class walked by me. He let out a booming bark that made me jump back, my heart leaping into my throat.

Then the kid said, “Hey, Two-Face. You make a new friend?” And it took me a moment to realize he was talking to Rory.

She gave him a glare that would melt metal as he and his friend laughed and walked off together. Of course that kid would be on my bus. Of course.

Rory shook her head and smacked her watermelon gum. “That’s Liam,” she said. “He was at my middle school. He’s so obnoxious. Don’t worry—no one really likes him. Just ignore him.”

Positive: I seemed to have already made another friend, and she was cool about my Tourette’s.

Negative: Liam.

“It’s great we all have the same lunch hour,” Rory said, and I realized that she’d been talking the whole time. She never stopped talking, which was good, because I was having trouble with words this morning. She gave me a huge smile. “We planned it that way, because otherwise who the heck would we sit with? What if one of us ended up alone?” She made an exaggerated scared look and shuddered. “Anyway, just look for our table. See you later!” She bounded off, still smacking her gum, which I thought was forbidden on campus.

My first four periods were kind of boring, and by lunchtime, I was feeling pretty … normal. Especially when Amanda came up to me after algebra and asked if I wanted to walk with her to lunch.

We stepped into the cafeteria and saw Rory waving at us. I took a deep breath and let out a bark, which made the volume of the cafeteria go down several notches for a second as a bunch of kids looked over to see whether a dog had broken in. Then the volume returned to normal as everyone went back to whatever it was they’d been doing.

We reached the table, and I looked at the kid I assumed to be Keanu. Rory was right. He definitely didn’t look anything like Keanu Reeves. First of all, he was way smaller than Keanu Reeves. He may have been the smallest kid in school. And second of all, he had curly blond hair, not straight dark hair. And I was pretty sure Keanu Reeves didn’t have so many freckles.

“This is Connor,” Rory said to Keanu. “He has Tourette’s, just like Amanda!”

Amanda threw her backpack down on the table and said, “Yeah, it’s like we’re twins or something.”

I stood there awkwardly, not sure which seat to take since there were five chairs but only four of us. Should I sit next to Rory? Or Amanda? I kind of wanted to sit next to Rory more.

“Sit down,” said Keanu, and even his voice sounded smaller than everyone else’s. “Where’d you go to middle school?” I noticed that he didn’t tell me his name. He probably hoped I wouldn’t ask.

“Desert Ridge Middle School.” I shoved my backpack under my chair and sat next to Rory. “It’s in Scottsdale.”

“Did you just move here?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Over the summer.”

“Well, welcome to exciting Chandler,” Keanu said flatly.

Rory’s eyes darted to him. “What are you talking about, Kee?” she said. “This place is the best.”

Keanu gave her a disbelieving look. “If you say so, Rory.”

“Where else on Earth do they have Organ Pipe Pizza?” she said.

“What’s that?” I asked.

Rory’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding, right? It’s just, like, the most famous place in the whole city. Maybe even the whole state.”

I had my doubts about that. I mean, this was the Grand Canyon State, after all. Not the Organ Pipe Pizza State.

“It’s a pizza place?” I asked. Even though Chandler was only about a half hour away from Scottsdale, it felt like another world that I knew almost nothing about.

“It’s so much more than a pizza place,” said Rory. “Amanda’s family owns it. They have one of the only Wurlitzer organs in the whole world. And Amanda’s mom is only, like, one of two people who can play it.”

Amanda smiled and shook her head. “There are more than that, Rory.”

“And they have really cool shows, and we all work there!” Rory said.

I looked around at the three of them. “Wait a minute,” I said. “You guys work?”

“Yeah,” said Keanu. “Amanda’s parents gave us all jobs as soon as we turned fourteen.”

I didn’t want to tell them I was still only thirteen. I’d be turning fourteen next week, so I was a young freshman—about as young as a freshman was allowed to be. At least I was bigger than Keanu, even if he was older than me. “What do you do there?” I asked.

Amanda opened her mouth, but Rory’s hand shot out and covered it. “Don’t tell him,” Rory said. She turned to me, her eyes narrowed. “Let’s show him.”

Rory and I sat together in music theory that day. I caught her looking at me a few times during class. When I’d turn to meet her eyes, she would smile and look away. I noticed how she spent most of the class doodling in her notebook. When class ended, Ms. Chen called out my name and said she’d like to talk to me.

Rory gave me a look. “I wonder what that’s all about,” she whispered.

I shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’ll see you on the bus, right?”

“Right,” she said. “I’m so glad I have someone to sit with now. See ya!”

I watched her leave class, then threw my backpack over my shoulder and headed up to Ms. Chen. She gave me a warm smile and sat on the edge of a desk. “Connor, I was just wondering if you’d ever considered private instrument lessons.”

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah, actually. I’ve been trying to learn the guitar, but it’s not going so well.”

She nodded understandingly. “It can be hard to learn on your own.”

I barked. “I’m not totally on my own. My friend has been trying to teach me. But, you know, she’s not a professional teacher or anything.” I shrugged. “And she can be a little bossy.”

Ms. Chen laughed. “Well, I offer private lessons after school if you’d like to try it out with a professional teacher. And I promise, I’m only a little bossy.”

“What instruments do you teach?” I asked.

“Guitar, violin, piano, and drums.”

“Wow, that’s a lot. How did you learn all those instruments?”

“I started playing piano when I was about five and just totally fell in love with music. I’ve been teaching for more than twenty years now, and I’ve worked with other kids like you before, Connor.”

I gave her a questioning look. “Kids like me?”

She smiled. “Kids with tics. For some of them, music can be really therapeutic.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that,” I said.

She stood up from the desk. “Anyway, why don’t you talk to your parents about it, and let me know? Music was life-changing for me when I was your age, and I think if we can find the right instrument that really draws you in, it may be beneficial for you as well. It’s at least worth looking into.”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to my mom. I definitely will.”

I left the music room, my chest building with something that wasn’t a bark. It felt like excitement.

Positive: My music teacher was super nice and wanted to give me instrument lessons.

Negative: What if this didn’t go well?

CHAPTER 6

“What was that about?” Rory asked on the bus after school.

I’d been staring out the window, my forehead pressed to the hot glass, focusing on not barking as everyone got on. Now I turned my head to Rory and let out a small bark that had been building. “She asked me if I wanted to try private instrument lessons with her after school.”

“That’s cool,” she said. “You going to keep playing guitar?”

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

Rory stared at me and scratched the lighter side of her face. “You seem like a drum guy to me.”

It was hard not to stare back as I studied the curvy outline of her birthmark. “What makes you say that?”

She reached her hands out and drummed her fingers on the seat in front of us. “You’re always tapping—on the bus seats, on the table in the cafeteria, on your desk in music theory.”

“Not sure that makes me a drum guy.” I resisted the urge to drum my fingers on the seat as I said it. I barked.

“Why do you always do that? Is it a tic?”

“Sort of,” I said. “It sometimes helps me to not do other tics.” I cleared my throat. “So how come you don’t sing in front of anyone?”

Her brown eyes got wide. “Are you kidding? What if I sing badly? What if I sound like a rooster that got sucked into a lawn mower or something?”

I stared at her. “That’s not a nice image.”

She threw up her hands. “No, it’s terrible. Right? No one wants to hear that.”

“But you said your dad’s a singer?”

She nodded. “Well, yeah. But he doesn’t know I’m his daughter.”

I was confused. “What do you mean he doesn’t know?”

Rory leaned in. “It’s kind of a secret, okay? Only Amanda and Keanu know the truth. Well, and my mom, but she refuses to admit it.”

Rory’s face was really close to mine, and it made my heart speed up. I leaned back and barked. “Admit what?”

“Who my real dad is.”

“Who is it?”

Rory sat back. “We cannot discuss this top-secret information on the bus.” Her eyes darted around, as though everyone on the bus was interested in our conversation. They all seemed to be minding their own business. Rory’s eyes landed on me again. “I’ll tell you, but it has to be in private, okay?”

I shrugged. “Okay.” What could be the big deal about Rory’s singing dad? “Maybe you could come over sometime?”

She shook her head, and I felt suddenly deflated. She didn’t want to come over.

“No, you have to come to my place, because that’s where I keep the evidence,” she said.

“Okay,” I said, maybe a little too quickly.

“But not today,” she said. “I’m getting pedicures with my mom, and we’re going out for dinner. We have these monthly dates—me and my mom. Because we both work so much—me at Organ Pipe Pizza and her at Snip ’n’ Cut.”

“Oh, does she cut hair?”

Rory nodded. “Yeah, she’s, like, really good at it, too, but the nice salon she used to be at closed, so now she’s at Snip ’n’ Cut until she can find a better job.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “Maybe she could cut my hair sometime.”

Rory reached out and brushed the overgrown hair from my forehead. Again, my heart sped up a little. I barked, and she pulled her hand away. “I don’t know,” she said. “I like the messy look. Guys come into Snip ’n’ Cut all the time, trying to get that cool messy look. You kind of have it naturally.”

I smiled. “I guess tugging on my hair helps.”

Rory stared at me. “You have a lot of tics, huh?”

“Tons.”

“All at the same time?”

“No. Some come and go—like the hair-tugging one.” But now that we were talking about it, I suddenly needed to do it. I pulled on a chunk of overgrown hair and barked.

Liam yelled, “Would someone please let the dog off the bus?”

Rory and I glared at each other. Then she stood up on wobbly legs as the bus turned a corner, bracing herself on the seatback in front of us. “Could you be more immature?” she shouted.

“Sit down before you fall over, Two-Face,” Liam called back.

She sat down, the lighter side of her face bright pink.

“Don’t listen to him,” I told her.

She turned to me. “You, too, okay?”

“Deal.”

She reached out a hand and grabbed mine, and when she did, my stomach did a little flip-flop. She shook my hand. “Deal.”

CHAPTER 7

I sat on my bed that evening, working on algebra. When I hit a problem I couldn’t solve, I called Aven.

“Hello!” she answered cheerfully.

“Hey, what do you know about factoring quadratics?” I asked.

She snorted. “Just, like, everything.” She helped me through the problem. When we were done, she said, “I met someone, too, you know.” I’d already told her about Amanda, and she’d seemed sort of weird about it.

I put my pencil down and rolled onto my back, blinking my eyes and clucking my tongue. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said. “A boy.”

I rolled back over onto my elbows. “What boy?”

“His name’s Joshua. And I think he likes me.”

I tapped my pencil on my algebra paper. “Do you like him?”

“I don’t know. He’s cute.”

Cute? Aven thought a boy was cute?

“And he’s really nice to me,” she went on. “But Zion hates him.”

That made me feel a little better. “Why?”

“Zion says Joshua’s a bully who was really mean to him a couple of years ago. But people can change, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.” I thought of Dad. “I think you should listen to Zion.”

Aven started saying something, but my line beeped. “Hold on a sec,” I told her and answered the other line.

“Hi, Connor? It’s Amanda.”

“Hi,” I said. “Hold on. I’m just on the other line with my friend.” Then I flipped back to Aven. “Hey, that girl Amanda I told you about is on the other line.” Aven was quiet for so long that I said, “Hello? Are you still there?”

“I’m here,” she said. “If you need to tell her you’re busy talking to someone else, I’ll wait.”

“Actually, can I call you later?” I wanted to talk to Amanda. I liked Amanda, but mostly I wanted to get some intel on Rory.

Again Aven was quiet, though I could hear her breathing. “Fine,” she finally said and hung up. She was definitely acting weird.

“Do you want to come home with me one day next week?” Amanda asked once I was back on the line with her. “Then we can head over to Organ Pipe Pizza together. I know Rory can’t wait for you to see what we do there for work.”

The mention of Rory’s name gave me that same flip-flop in my stomach. I was glad Amanda mentioned her first so I wouldn’t have to. “Um … So … About Rory …”

“What about her?”

“Does she, like, um, like, have a boyfriend or anything like that?”

Amanda laughed. “Rory? No. Why?”

“No reason,” I said quickly.

Amanda was quiet for a few seconds, and then she gasped. “Oh my gosh. You like her, don’t you?”

I shot up in bed. “I don’t.”

“It’s okay if you do. We’ve been best friends forever, and she’s never had a boyfriend before. Oh, wait. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you that. Anyway, I can talk to her for you if you want.”

“No, don’t,” I blurted out. “Don’t tell her, okay?”

“You can’t see me, but I’m pressing my lips together. I promise I won’t say anything. So do you think you can come to Organ Pipe Pizza with us after school?”

“That would be great. I’m free any day.” I suddenly remembered Ms. Chen. “I might be starting music lessons after school with Ms. Chen, though, so I’ll have to figure that out first.”

“Cool,” Amanda said. “What instrument are you going to play?”

“Maybe guitar,” I said and barked. “I’m not sure, though. I’ve been trying to learn it, but I don’t know how much I like it.”

“Then you should try something else,” she said. “You shouldn’t play an instrument if you don’t enjoy it.”

“Rory told me you don’t tic when you play the piano.”

“Is that why you want to learn?”

“Yeah, that would be amazing.” Amanda was quiet awhile. “What?”

“It’s not like a miracle cure, Connor,” she said. “I think you have to really want to play. You have to love to play. You have to put all your energy and heart and mind into it so there’s nothing left for your body to use to tic.”

“I’ll really love to play when it makes me stop ticcing.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works. But I hope you do find an instrument you love and it helps you.”

I heard knocking on the front door. “I gotta go. Someone’s here.” I added quickly, “Don’t tell Rory.”

“Don’t tell her what? That you wuuuuuv her?”

“Shut up!” I cried, laughing.

“See you Monday,” Amanda said and hung up.

I answered the front door and found Dad standing there, still in his suit, a large paper bag in his arms. “Hi,” he said. “I know Mom’s been working all day, and since we didn’t get to go have that dinner last night, I thought it would be nice to surprise you with some takeout.” He smiled. “It’s your favorite: Mexican.”

“Thanks.” I reached out and grabbed the bag. “I’m sure we’ll enjoy it.” I started to close the door, but Dad held out a hand to stop it.

“Whoa!” He laughed. “There’s enough in there for three.”

I sighed and carried the bag to the small kitchen table as he closed the door behind me. Why was he here? Why couldn’t he just stay away?

I barked. What if I couldn’t stop barking? I could feel my stress levels rising with each passing second. With each bark. Would he get mad and yell at me if I couldn’t stop?

He opened the bag and pulled out containers. “When does Mom get home?”

“My mom gets home any minute.” I barked as I took three plates down from the cabinet, hoping Mom would get home really soon, before my barking got out of control. When I was done setting the table, I told him, “I’m working on homework.” I pointed toward my room. “So I’m just going to do that until my mom gets here.” I turned and hurried to my room, shutting the door behind me before he could say anything. I let out a few pent-up barks.

A few minutes later, I heard the front door open and close. I peeked my head out and then crept down the hallway, watching them in the kitchen together. Mom was smiling and telling him what a nice surprise it was that she didn’t have to cook after a long day.

How could she act like this? How could she smile at him and offer him a drink and act happy that he was here in our apartment? How could she be so forgiving after everything he did to us?

Before all the things he might do to us again?

CHAPTER 8

It was such a relief to get to spend the day at Stagecoach Pass with Aven and Zion. No school, no Liam, and no avoiding Dad. Just me and Zion and Aven and her new tarantula, Fathead.

We stood in Aven’s small bedroom over Fathead’s cage, or terrarium, as Aven had reminded me a hundred times. I really didn’t see the difference.

“Is she going to live?” Zion asked.

I did not think this tarantula with two missing legs was going to live, but Aven was optimistic to the bitter end. She didn’t need any happy braining. She was born with a happy brain.

“Yes, she’s going to live,” Aven said before going on some spiel about how they’d release the tarantula back into the wild and live stream it on Stagecoach Pass’s website.

I picked up Aven’s guitar and attempted to strum some chords Aven had taught me, but it just made me cluck my tongue. “Amanda plays the piano,” I told them.

Aven’s smile fell so fast, it was as though someone had kicked her in the stomach. Was she … jealous? There really wasn’t anything to be jealous about, but I decided not to mention Rory in case my face turned red or I stuttered or something when I said her name.

“You should invite her to come here with you next time,” she said, but it was hard to tell if she was being serious, because she was looking down at Fathead instead of at me.

“That’s a good idea,” I said. “I will.”

She still didn’t look at me, but I swear I heard an annoyed sigh.

“I’m probably going to go to her house one day after school next week,” I said.

Aven mumbled something, but I couldn’t understand her over my light strumming. I stopped and asked her what she’d said, but she just smiled and said, “Nothing.”

Yep. She was totally jealous, which was fine. I didn’t exactly love that she liked someone, too. Zion had told me all about this Joshua and what a jerk he was. I didn’t like that Aven liked Joshua, but I hoped he didn’t end up being a huge jerk to her either.

Later that night, after Zion went home, Aven and I sat in the petting zoo with Spaghetti, her pet llama. “He’s as energetic as Fathead,” I told her.

“He’s just old,” she said. “He’s slowing down. Everyone has to slow down at some point. Even llamas.”

It seemed like more than that to me. Spaghetti used to move around and put his head over the fence when we’d walk by so we’d pet him. Today, he hadn’t even gotten up when entered the petting zoo.

“So how’s it living near your dad?” Aven asked, petting Spaghetti with her bare foot.

“It sucks,” I said.

“Why?” she asked. “What’s he done now?”

“He keeps bringing dinner over for us and trying to drive me to school and hang out with me and stuff.”

Aven snorted. “What a poophead.”

“Yeah, he is a poophead,” I agreed, trying to keep a serious face. Aven had a way of making me laugh when I didn’t want to.

Aven looked up at me, grinning. “I was joking. That all sounds nice. I’m glad he’s trying to spend time with you.”

“Well, I’m not,” I huffed. “And no one seems to care about what I want.”

“I care. What do you want?”

“I want him to leave me alone.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

Just stop it, Connor! Just stop!

I barked and jerked my head. I gripped Spaghetti’s soft fur and focused on calming down. “I never want to go through that again,” I said.

“Maybe this time will be different.”

“I know you want to believe the best about people, Aven. But people always disappoint you.”

Aven frowned. “Do I disappoint you?”

“No, you’re the only one I know I can trust.”

“You can trust other people, too,” she said. “People can change. It sounds like your dad is really trying. Maybe you should give him a chance.”

I gritted my teeth and barked. “He doesn’t deserve one.”

“I think everyone deserves a second chance,” said Aven.

I snorted. “Of course you do.”

“I gave you a second chance,” she said. “We wouldn’t even be friends now if I hadn’t done that.”

I grinned. “I believe I was the one who gave you a second chance.”

She tore her fur-filled toes away from Spaghetti and shoved me with her foot. “Excuse me?”

I laughed. “Yeah, you said you’d punch me in the face if you had arms.”

She smiled and went back to petting Spaghetti. “Well, I never needed arms,” she said. “I could just headbutt you.” She leaned her forehead in and pressed it against mine. “See?”

I closed my eyes for a second, just feeling Aven’s forehead against mine. “I wish we could go to school together,” I whispered.

“That’s the nice thing about best friends.” She pulled her head away from mine. “Distance doesn’t matter.”

CHAPTER 9

“How was your weekend?” Amanda asked me when we got on her bus after school together on Monday. We were going to her house, then straight to Organ Pipe Pizza. Rory was being so secretive about their jobs there that I was starting to get pretty curious. Were they janitors? Was she really that excited to show me how they cleaned toilets?

“Great,” I said. “I got to go see my old friends.”

“Do they live in Scottsdale?” she asked.

“Yeah. Have you ever heard of a place called Stagecoach Pass?”

“Oh, yeah. I love that place. My parents took me there a few years ago. It was neat, but it looked like it could use a little work.”

“My best friend’s family actually owns it, and they’re trying to fix it up. Aven lives there with her parents. They have a little apartment above the steakhouse.”

“That’s awesome,” said Amanda. “It must be fun to hang out over there.”

“It is. You should come with me sometime. Aven even said I should bring you. She’d like to meet you.” I didn’t think Aven had been genuine at all when she’d said it, but I knew she’d like Amanda once she met her.

“What’s she like?”

“She’s …” How could I describe Aven? “She’s one of a kind. Funny. And nice.” The fact that she was born without arms seemed like a far less important thing to tell Amanda than all of the above.

Amanda smiled. “She sounds cool.”

“She is. And my other best friend’s name is Zion. He’s cool, too. It would be so fun if we could all get together sometime.”

“I’d love that. Maybe they could come to Organ Pipe Pizza.”

“So what’s the deal with this place?” I asked. “Why is Rory so excited for me to go there?”

Amanda laughed. “You kind of have to see it. It’s hard to explain.”

“Do you play the organ there?”

“A little. It has several rows of keys, and I can only play some of them. It’s super complicated, which is why so few people can play it. My parents have been working on it for years—expanding the pipes, making it bigger and bigger all the time.”

“So it’s just the organ then?”

Amanda let out a sort of nervous chuckle. “Oh, no. There’s … more.” She gave me a look. “You’ll see.” Then she raised her eyebrows. “So, speaking of Rory, did you talk to her about anything important today?”

“No!” I blurted. “And you better not have either.”

Amanda made a crossing motion over her chest. “I promised you I wouldn’t. You should tell her if you like her, though. She might like you back.”

I’d never told a girl I liked her before. “Wait. Did she say that?”

“No, but I can ask her for you.”

I shook my head. “No, don’t.” What if Rory found out I liked her but didn’t like me back and then things got all weird and then we couldn’t hang out anymore and then I’d be back to square one with no friends at school? “Definitely don’t.”

We reached Amanda’s stop and got off the bus. All the homes in Amanda’s neighborhood were huge with perfect lawns and brand-new cars in the driveways. I bet they all had swimming pools in the backyards, too.

Amanda tapped a code into a keypad in front of her house, and the garage door opened. She led us through the garage and into a big white kitchen.

“Your house is so nice.” I looked up at the vaulted ceiling. I bet our whole apartment could fit inside Amanda’s kitchen.

Amanda shrugged. “It’s okay.”

I glanced through a window to the backyard. Yep. Big sparkly pool.

A slender woman who looked just like Amanda—if Amanda was, like, fifty—walked into the kitchen. “Connor,” she said excitedly, reaching out to shake hands with me. “Amanda has told me so much about you. How wonderful that you’ve moved to her school.”

I glanced at Amanda and then back at her mom. “Uh-huh,” I said and barked.

“I bet you two need something to drink, and then we’ll head over to Organ Pipe.”

Amanda wiped the sweat from her forehead and adjusted her backpack. “I’m just going to show Connor my room.”

We made our way through a living room with a giant shining black piano in the corner. Amanda walked over to the piano and played a few notes, then looked up at me, her cheeks pink. “Sorry,” she said. “I just … have to do that when I walk through the living room.”

“Okay,” I said.

Then we went down a long hallway to Amanda’s room at the end. It was very clean and neat. And white—white blankets, white curtains, white walls. “You like white, huh?”

Amanda shrugged. “My mom says it makes everything look nice and clean.”

And boring. I thought of the chaos of Zion’s room and the thrift-store look of Aven’s room with the footprints all over the wall by her bed. “It definitely looks clean,” I said, afraid to even put my bag down in case I left a smear on something.

Amanda rolled her eyes. “I know. My mom has OCD, but not, like, in the that’s so OCD way. She has legit OCD.”

“Oh,” I said. “That’s okay.”

Amanda seemed to be holding her breath. “I have it, too,” she said, finally letting it out. “That’s why I have to play the chords whenever I walk through the living room.”

“Really, it’s okay,” I said. “I know a lot of people with Tourette’s have it.”

She nodded. “If we’re going to be friends, I feel like you should know about it.”

“It doesn’t bother me at all,” I assured her.

“It might after I show you this.”

I barked. “Nothing will bother me.” I laughed and barked again. “How could it?”

She pulled a box out from under her bed and opened it. “This is my manicure box,” she said. “I have to clean my nails before we go anywhere.”

“Oh, okay.” I watched her remove a nail clipper and a paper towel, which she smoothed out on the white carpet before running a pointy thing under each nail. Then she started filing them, even though they looked perfect to me.

“I can’t stand it if I have a speck of dirt under my nails,” she said without looking at me, her face down. “I keep an emergency nail clipper in my backpack in case that happens.”

“Cool,” I said, but she still didn’t look up at me. “It’s really okay.”

But then a tear ran down her cheek. She wiped it away and sniffled before going back to fixing her nails. “I really wish I didn’t need to do this,” she said softly. “I hate it.”

I threw my bag down on the perfect white carpet and sat in front of her. “Mine could use some work, too. They’re actually kind of disgusting.”

She paused a moment, finally looking up at me, her eyes shining with tears. Then she smiled and reached into the box for another nail clipper. “You can keep this.” She handed it to me. “I have about a hundred of them.”

Amanda and I spent the rest of the time at her house doing our nails before leaving for Organ Pipe Pizza, which was only a few miles away. When we pulled up, I was surprised at how enormous the building was. And how it was basically the opposite of Amanda’s white house. The whole outside of the building had colorful desert landscapes and cactuses painted over every wall. Cactuses were planted around the building, and they were all the same kind, with big, long, tubelike arms jutting up from the ground.

“Oh,” I said. “Organ pipe cactuses. I get it.”

Amanda’s mom beamed at me as we got out of the car. “Cute, huh?”

“Interesting,” I said.

We walked through the large glass front doors, and immediately the smell of pizza hit me. “That’s our gift shop,” Amanda pointed at an open doorway. I peeked through it to see walls of T-shirts and sweatshirts, as well as shelves of stuffed animals, mugs, and picture frames, all with Organ Pipe Pizza printed on them.

“Come on.” Amanda grabbed my hand. “I have to get ready.” She pulled me through the building, past the pizza counter and the salad bar, and down a long tiled hallway to a door that said DRESSING ROOM.

What kind of job at a pizza place required a dressing room? Was this where they kept all the salad dressing for the salad bar? Is that what my new friends did for jobs? Salad dressing mixers?

We entered the room to find Keanu and Rory already inside, sitting on a couch and staring at their phones. They both looked up.

“You came!” Rory said, jumping up and hugging me. She hadn’t done that before, and the feel of her arms wrapped around me made my heart pound so hard, I thought she must have felt it, too. My arms were too shaky and weak to return the hug, so they just hung there. Aven once told me she’d never get an arm transplant because she worried the arms would be too dead, and then she’d have zombie arms. That’s kind of what my arms felt like just then—zombie arms.

Rory pulled away. My heart slowed down, and the feeling came back into my arms. “What are you guys doing in here?” I asked.

But Rory just pushed me out of the room. “Go get a good seat,” she said, “with a good view of the stage!”

It took me a few minutes of wandering around the hallways before I finally found the dining area, where people were already filling tables. I sat at a small table near a stage at the front of the room and looked up at the chandeliers, the disco balls, and the pianos hanging from the ceiling. Then I gazed around at all the pipes running up and jutting out of the walls. There were pipes absolutely everywhere.

Amanda’s mom slapped a plate of pizza down in front of me. “Here you go, Connor.” She smiled. “Enjoy the show.”

But no way was I going to eat in front of a bunch of strangers. It was already taking every bit of concentration I could muster to not bark repeatedly in front of them. I let one out, but no one seemed to notice since it was getting pretty loud in the restaurant with all the chattering.

Suddenly the lights dimmed and the crowds of people quieted. Amanda’s mom popped up onstage and thanked everyone for coming. She stated that the first request of the night was for “The Phantom of the Opera” and then disappeared somewhere under the stage. Loud organ music shook the whole building and drowned out my barks, thank goodness. This could easily become my favorite place.

The center of the stage opened, and a spinning platform with a huge organ on it rose up from beneath. Amanda’s mom sat at the organ, which had so many rows of keys, I couldn’t even count them before the organ spun out of my view. The chandeliers flashed, and the disco ball reflected specks of light over the walls.

And then, right before my very eyes, Rory, Amanda, and Keanu jumped out on the small stage in front of me. Rory wore a costume that I think was a javelina, but it could’ve been a bear. It was hard to tell. Amanda wore a bobcat costume, and Keanu looked like some kind of lizard. He also wore that half-mask thing from Phantom of the Opera.

I covered my face and hunched down in my seat, spreading my fingers so I could peek at them through the cracks. Then they sort of dance-acted out a scene. I’d never seen Phantom of the Opera before, but I got the feeling this was definitely their own version of it.

After the Phantom of the Opera music, Amanda’s mom proceeded to play “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” while Amanda, Rory, and Keanu pretended to play baseball (still in their animal costumes) on stage. When she moved on to old-fashioned music like “The Twist,” Amanda and Rory put on poodle skirts (yep, still in animal costumes) and, you guessed it, did the Twist.

I’d seen a lot of nerdy things in my life. I mean, I was pretty sure I was a full-fledged nerd. Scientifically proven. But this was maybe the nerdiest thing I’d ever witnessed. Aven and Zion would love it.

CHAPTER 10

Rory stared at me expectantly in the dressing room afterward. Her eyes were wide, and she beamed with excitement. “So?”

I stared back at her unusual two-toned face. “So … what?”

“What did you think?” she practically shouted. “Wasn’t it amazing?”

“It was …” I trailed off. “Super unique.”

Keanu took off his costume lizard head. His curly blond hair was smashed down. “Now you know—we’re the coolest kids in town.” Keanu said everything so flatly, it was hard to tell if he was being serious or sarcastic. I think this was sarcastic. I mean, it had to be. Right?

Amanda glanced from me to Rory and back to me. She grinned and waggled her eyebrows. I gave her a stern look and shook my head a little. Amanda laughed.

Thank goodness Rory didn’t seem to notice the little exchange between me and Amanda. “We’re always developing new acts,” Rory said, putting her javelina head on a shelf. “We’d never done the baseball one before.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I said. “It seemed, uh, really well rehearsed.”

“Thanks,” said Rory. “We do practice a lot. Glad it shows.”

It was getting pretty late, so Amanda’s mom drove us all home, dropping me off first, so I didn’t get to see where Rory or Keanu lived. I bet they both had big, fancy houses like Amanda. As the car pulled up in front of my apartment, I suddenly felt embarrassed.

“We’re just here temporarily,” I said quickly. “Until we find a more permanent place. Since my parents got divorced, we just … we just …” I didn’t even know where I was going with this. We just what? We just live in apartments, and my mom works all the time, and my dad has hardly been around. We just what?

Rory grinned and reached out and squeezed my hand. “It’s nice.”

I glanced around the car, my throat tight and dry, suddenly feeling like I might cry for some reason. What was wrong with me? Even if they had expensive houses and their parents weren’t divorced, it didn’t mean they wouldn’t like me anymore.

“Thanks for coming tonight, Connor,” said Amanda’s mom, her face warm and caring. “We sure hope you’ll come back again.”

“Of course I will,” I said. “I mean, I’d love to.”

“See you tomorrow,” said Amanda.

I swallowed. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

I got out and watched them drive away, my insides a big cluttered mix of things, but mostly there was fear right now. Fear that I would mess this all up, just like I almost had with Aven last year. We’d gotten into a fight, and I’d said super-mean things to her. Even though she’d only ever been nice to me. Even though she’d done nothing to deserve it.

Yes, I really hoped I wouldn’t mess this up.

“Do you want to come over after school?” Rory asked me after music theory the next day. I was so relieved, I almost collapsed back down in my seat. She still wanted to be around me, even if my life wasn’t perfect. Even if it was a mess.

I was about to say yes when I remembered I was meeting with Ms. Chen. Darn it. My disappointment was as overwhelming as my relief. “I can’t. I have a guitar lesson with Ms. Chen after school.”

Rory’s face fell. “Oh.”

“But soon,” I said. “I mean, I really want to know the big secret about your real dad.” If it was anything like their secret jobs, then it might be interesting.

Kids rushed by us on their way out of school, several bumping me as they went. I barked. Liam turned around and barked back.

Ms. Chen’s head jerked toward Liam, and she opened her mouth to say something, but Liam ran out the door before she could. Ms. Chen closed her mouth and crossed her arms, an angry look on her face.

“One of these days, I’m going to lose it,” I whispered to Rory.

“You mean with Liam?” she said. “I told you, just ignore him.”

But I wondered how much longer I could possibly ignore him before I exploded like the pressure cooker. And what might I do when that happened? I really didn’t want to find out.

Rory frowned. “So I guess I’ll see you later?”

I felt bad she had to sit on the bus by herself. With Liam nearby. I sighed. “Yeah, sorry. We’ll definitely sit together tomorrow.”

She nodded. “It’s fine.” I watched her walk away, her backpack slung over one shoulder, her head down. That cluttered mess inside me knotted up and ached.

Ms. Chen propped her door open once everyone was gone. Hot air drifted into the cold, air-conditioned room. “Sorry about Liam’s behavior,” she said, sticking a stopper under the door to keep it open.

She walked back to her desk and started writing something down. “I’m going to talk to him tomorrow.”

“Please don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’m just going to ignore it.”

“That’s good.” She looked up at me, her face serious. “But I’m not going to ignore it.”

Ms. Chen grabbed a couple of acoustic guitars from a corner of the room, and we sat down in two chairs facing each other. She handed me one of the guitars, and I placed it on my lap.

“How about you show me what your friend has taught you?” she said.

I picked up the guitar and held it like Aven showed me. “Um …” I strummed a string. “This is E.” I strummed the next string. “And this is A … D … G … B … and E again.”

Ms. Chen smiled as she lifted her own guitar. “I think you had them backward, but that was pretty good.” Then she strummed the strings while singing the proper names. It sounded like she sang in the same pitch as each of the strings.

“Yeah.” I shrugged when she was done. Actually, I shrugged a lot. The guitar was not helping my tics. It never had.

“Do you want to try again?” Ms. Chen asked.

This time I got them right, but I refused to sing the notes like Ms. Chen had. No one wanted to hear that. I guess I could understand why Rory refused to sing in front of people, too.

“That’s good.” Ms. Chen tapped the front of her guitar lightly. “Has your friend taught you any basic chords?”

“Uhhh.” I adjusted my fingering on the frets and strummed. “C major?” I said, but it was more of a question.

Ms. Chen furrowed her eyebrows, still smiling. “Not quite.”

I sighed and barked and shrugged my shoulders. Shook my head. My armpits felt damp from the warm air drifting into the music room and the strain of trying to remember the guitar notes.

Ms. Chen set her guitar down. “Do you like the guitar, Connor?”

I shook my head some more. “Not really.” I felt like crying. The guitar wasn’t going to fix me. Dad couldn’t fix me. Aven couldn’t fix me. Nothing would ever fix me.

Ms. Chen leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her hands clasped together. “Is everything okay?”

My eyes heated, and I blinked. “I just …” I wiped my cheeks. “I want to like the guitar, but I guess I don’t.”

“Why do you want to like the guitar so badly?” she asked.

“So I’ll stop ticcing.”

Ms. Chen tilted her head and smiled warmly. “I’m pretty sure learning an instrument won’t help with that if you don’t enjoy it.”

I stared down at the guitar. “That’s what Amanda said.”

Ms. Chen reached out and took the guitar from me. She set it down next to the other one. “What kind of music do you love, Connor? What touches your soul?”

I thought for a long time. “I don’t know. I don’t really listen to a lot of music.”

Ms. Chen’s head shot back. “Really?”

“Between school and homework and playing video games, I guess I don’t have a lot of time for music. Actually, now that I think about it, Zelda has pretty good music.”

Ms. Chen’s face lit up. “You like video games, Connor?”

“Of course!”

Ms. Chen laughed. “I agree about Zelda having good music.” She picked up the guitar once more and played several notes.

“Oh, that’s from Breath of the Wild.”

She nodded. “Good ear.”

But Ms. Chen was, like, old. At least forty. And she was a teacher. “You like Zelda?”

She nodded again. “Sure. I’ve loved it since I was a kid. Do you have an Xbox, Connor?”

“Of course.”

Ms. Chen laughed again. “Right. Have you ever played Rock Band ?”

I shook my head. “No, but Mom said I could get a new video game. What kind of game is it?”

“You play instruments. Well, video game instruments.” Ms. Chen pulled her phone out of her pocket and tapped it for a few seconds. “Looks like you can try guitar, drums, or keyboard. You can even get a bundle.” She grimaced. “It’s a little pricey for the bundle, so your mom might not be very happy with me.”

“It’s okay.” I grinned. “She owes me.”

CHAPTER 11

Mom sat on the couch that night, staring at her phone. “That’s really expensive, Connor.”

I watched her phone as she scrolled. “But you said I could pick a video game, and I haven’t yet.”

She turned to me, her mouth hanging open. “I meant like a fifty-dollar video game. Not a thousand dollars. That’s almost as much as our rent.”

“I know it’s a lot, but it could really help me figure out an instrument, and if I can find an instrument I love, it might help my tics.”

Mom sighed and kept scrolling. “Okay, look here,” she said. “I can get the game plus a used Rock Band drum set on eBay for way cheaper. Why don’t you start with the drums and go from there?”

I’d never thought of the drums. Whenever I thought of playing an instrument, I thought of the guitar, like Aven, or piano, like Amanda, or violin, like Rory (who did make my ears bleed with her playing in music theory). I supposed the drums could be pretty cool. I suddenly remembered Rory’s words on the bus. You seem like a drum guy to me.

I supposed it couldn’t hurt to try it. “Okay.”

“I just need to wait until my next pay period,” she said. “Didn’t you tell me your new friend Amanda has a nice piano at her house? Maybe you could practice with her a little. It would also give you an excuse to spend more time with her.” Mom waggled her eyebrows at me.

“I don’t like her like that, Mom.” Sure, Amanda was nice and pretty and smart, and she even had Tourette’s like me. But I only saw her as a friend, and I knew for sure she only saw me as a friend.

“Still,” she said. “It would be nice to have a friend to hang out with regularly after school, since Aven and Zion live so far away.”

And whose fault was that? Oh, yeah. Dad’s. “That’s why you owe me the video game.”

She bumped her shoulder against mine. “I’ll order it soon.”

I leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thanks.”

Then I went to my room and called Amanda. “What do you think about the drums?” I said when she answered the phone.

“Oh, cool,” she said. “You know, we have a drum set at Organ Pipe Pizza. I mean, besides the ones hanging from the ceiling. But we’ve never had a drummer. Oh, maybe if you learn the drums, you could play it.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” I said. “I’m just starting to think about them. You know, Rory said I seem like a drum guy.”

“No wonder you’re suddenly interested in the drums.”

“I swear that is not why I want to try them. Maybe I am a drum guy.”

“I could see that,” she said.

I dug two pencils out of my backpack. “Why?”

“You just seem like the type who’d want to hit stuff.”

I laughed and sat down at my desk, tapping the eraser ends of the pencils against the desktop like drumsticks. “I hope you’re right.”

“I’m pretty good at reading people.”

I stopped drumming the pencils. “How do you know I’m not a piano player?”

“Just a feeling.”

“Well, maybe you could teach me some things on the piano and see?”

“Sure,” she said. “So what’s going on with you and Rory?”

“Nothing,” I blurted out. “She asked me to come over after school, but I had a lesson with Ms. Chen. She said she has some evidence to show me about her dad. Her real dad.”

Amanda was quiet a long time. “Oh, she told you that, huh?”

“Yeah, what’s the deal with that?”

Amanda cleared her throat a couple of times. “Not … really my place to say anything.”

I shrugged. “I’ll just wait until I go over there, I guess.”

“Connor …”

“What?”

“Just … Rory’s kind of sensitive about some things. And, you know, she’s my best friend. I don’t …”

“You don’t what?”

“I just don’t want to hurt her.”

This conversation was really confusing. “I don’t want to hurt her either.”

“I know,” she said. “So anyway, maybe everyone can come over to my place after school tomorrow before we go to Organ Pipe Pizza.”

“That sounds good,” I said. “Maybe you could show me a few things on the piano.”

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After we hung up, I went back to drumming the pencils against the desk, pretending it was a drum. I tried to think of a song to drum to, and it was only then that I realized I’d thought to call Amanda first, before Aven.

Aven wouldn’t like that. She’d been acting weird every time I mentioned Amanda’s name, so I still hadn’t told her about Rory. I picked up my phone to call her. She didn’t need to know I’d already talked to Amanda or that Rory even existed.

CHAPTER 12

We all went home with Amanda the next day after school. I made sure to take my shoes off at the door so I wouldn’t dirty anything in her big fancy white house, but Keanu and Rory didn’t bother. Amanda played the chords when we walked by the piano, then we went to her room and Amanda fixed her nails while the rest of us worked on our algebra homework.

“I hate algebra,” said Keanu.

“I especially hate it since Liam is in our class,” I said to Amanda.

She looked up at me. “Yeah, he’s annoying.” She glanced at Rory, who was focused on her own homework. “He’s never been very nice to Rory.”

Rory shrugged. “It’s no biggie. I just ignore him.”

We didn’t have a lot of time before they had to get to Organ Pipe Pizza, so Amanda took me to her piano while Rory and Keanu sat on a couch nearby, still working on their algebra.

Amanda and I sat side by side on the bench. The piano was so gleaming and polished, I was almost afraid to touch it. I read the gold lettering on it. “Steinway and Sons.”

“They make the best pianos,” Amanda said.

I gently touched a white key and barked. “I bet this was expensive.”

Amanda shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Everything Amanda has is expensive,” Rory said, still looking at her algebra.

Amanda pressed a finger down on a key in the middle of the keyboard. “This is middle C.”

I pressed the key.

Then Amanda pressed a bunch more keys, saying, “A, B, C, D, E, F, G.”

I copied her.

“Good,” she said. But from there, things were not so good. She tried showing me some chords, but I kept ticcing. I had this snapping tic that would come and go, and for some reason trying to stretch my fingers out and play the chords made me feel the urge to snap my fingers. And me doing my snapping tic made Amanda have to do her neck-rolling tic, and before long we were snapping and shrugging and rolling necks and laughing.

“This is causing a tic explosion,” Amanda said.

“I’m trying really hard,” I said. “For some reason, the harder I concentrate on the keys and trying not to tic, the more I feel the need to tic.” My smile fell. “It’s like when I tried the guitar with Ms. Chen. Just tic, tic, tic the whole time. And this pressure keeps building and building until I have to do something like this.” I slammed my fingers down all over the keys in completely random ways, making music that sounded like it belonged in a horror movie. When the pressure finally eased up, I stopped and looked over at Keanu and Rory. They were both staring at me, their algebra notebooks sitting open on their laps.

Rory’s mouth tilted up at one corner. “I told you that you’re a drum guy,” she said. “You finally stopped ticcing.”

“Hey, that’s true,” said Amanda. “Maybe you really do just need to hit things.”

Amanda ordered me off the bench. She opened it and sorted through a bunch of books and papers, finally opening a book to a page and setting it over the piano. “You kind of reminded me of this.” She hit the keys enthusiastically, but whereas my playing sounded like chaotic noise, hers sounded deliberate and familiar.

“What is that?” I asked.

“Dracula theme.”

Rory jumped up from the couch. “Oh, we should do a Dracula show for Halloween this year. I saw capes in the dressing room. We would just need to get some of those fake fang teeth.” Rory pushed her lip up with her fingers.

I imagined them wearing their animal costumes in Dracula capes and plastic fangs and almost laughed out loud, but I barked instead. I didn’t want them to think I was laughing at them.

Positive: The three of them were super close and seemed to have allowed me to join their little group permanently.

Negative: At some point, I was bound to do something to mess it up.

CHAPTER 13

“You want to hang out?” Rory asked as we sat down together in music theory the next day.

“Right now?” I asked.

“No, after school, of course.”

I wanted to say yes, but, again, I had an instrument lesson with Ms. Chen. Exactly what instrument we might be working on was a mystery, though.

“Sorry,” I said. “I have another lesson with Ms. Chen.”

Rory’s face fell. “Oh.” She opened her bag and pulled out her music theory book. “That’s okay.”

“I want to, though,” I said.

“Really, it’s fine, Connor.” She flipped through her book.

“How about tomorrow?” I asked

“I have to work.” She still didn’t look at me.

“What about Saturday?”

She lifted her head. “I guess we could before I have to go to work in the afternoon.”

“Saturday, then,” I said. “Remember? You’re going to tell me the secret about your dad, and you have the evidence at home.”

Her eyebrows finally softened. “So you really want to come over to my place?”

My heart thumped. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” she said, a smile forming. Then she got serious and whispered, “But it’s a big secret, remember?”

“Of course,” I agreed.

Thinking of going to Rory’s house during class made me nervous, and I was ticcing more than normal. I ticced so much that, at one point, Liam burst out laughing while Ms. Chen wrote something on the board. She turned around and frowned at him. “I’m not sure what’s so funny, Liam.”

He cleared his throat and stopped laughing. “Nothing, Ms. Chen.” Then he covered his mouth and started laughing again.

My cheeks were hot while I barked repeatedly until the bell finally rang.

Liam watched me as he got up to leave class, but I stayed put at my desk.

I looked over at Ms. Chen and saw that she was scowling at Liam. When he walked by her desk, she said, “Liam.” Her voice was more commanding than I’d heard before.

Liam went over to her, and she said something quietly to him while the rest of the students poured out of the room. He nodded, an apologetic look on his face, then left.

Ms. Chen didn’t look happy, but she turned to me and forced her face into a smile. “You ready?”

We sat down together in a corner of the room while she told me, “Don’t let him get to you.”

I swallowed. How could I not let him get to me? “I won’t,” I said.

We sat quietly for a minute until she said, “So what’s been going on?”

“Not much. I tried some piano at my friend’s house.”

“How’d that go?”

“I liked pounding the keys.”

Ms. Chen smiled. “Do you want to show me what you did?”

I pounded on the keyboard in the music room, and Ms. Chen laughed. “You really did like pounding the keys, didn’t you?”

I turned to her on the bench. “Yeah, but every time I tried to focus on playing anything else, it made me want to snap my fingers.”

Ms. Chen nodded. Then she placed two fingers on the keys. “Do you know this one, Connor?”

She quickly tapped her fingers against the keys, moving them farther apart every few notes.

“I’ve heard that.”

“It’s ‘Chopsticks.’ Pretty simple. And mostly just hitting the keys. You want to try?”

Ms. Chen and I played “Chopsticks” together, and I didn’t feel the snapping tic urge as much. Then we tried playing a song called “Heart and Soul,” but that was too complicated, and I started snapping again.

“I guess maybe I like the piano pretty well,” I said. “I don’t know.” My shoulders sagged. “Maybe not really.”

“We just need to find the instrument that speaks to your soul,” said Ms. Chen. “It’s too early to give up, Connor.”

“Maybe I’m just not musical.”

“I personally think everyone has music inside them, even if they don’t know it.”

“How do I find it?”

Ms. Chen put a hand to her chest. “Listen to music you enjoy.” She patted her chest. “And listen to your heart. I know when I hear a beautiful piano song, it moves me. You just have to find the thing that moves you.”

I jerked my head and shrugged. “Well, I’m always moving.”

Ms. Chen laughed. “Connor, haven’t you ever been truly and totally caught up in a song before? So caught up in it that it’s like the whole rest of the world disappeared, and all that was left was the music?”

I remembered this one time Aven had played the guitar for me when we were alone. I hadn’t ticced while she played because, for some reason, when Aven played, it was all I could think about and focus on. But then, when I tried to play the guitar, it didn’t have the same effect.

“Don’t worry about it, Connor,” Ms. Chen said. “The music will come.”

I really hoped that was true.

CHAPTER 14

Mom dropped me off at Rory’s on Saturday morning. The plan was to hang out at Rory’s and then go with her to Organ Pipe Pizza. “Going to another girl’s house,” Mom said in the car on the way over, a mischievous grin on her face. “Aren’t you a popular boy.”

“Mom, please.” I rolled my eyes. “They’re just friends.”

“If you say so,” she said as we stopped in the apartment complex parking lot. Rory lived pretty close to me, and I realized I could probably walk to her place if I wanted. I hugged Mom and got out.

Rory opened the door to her apartment, and my heart pounded when I saw her face. “My mom’s working,” she said, letting me in.

“Oh …” Why was my heart beating so hard? “Is it just you and your mom here, then?”

“Yeah, but we don’t mind. Mom and me are like besties.”

“That’s cool,” I said.

She led me down a short hallway to her room. I don’t know why I’d assumed Rory lived in a big fancy house like Amanda. Her apartment actually looked quite a bit like mine, except where our apartment was still pretty empty, hers was stuffed with things. Framed pictures covered the hallway walls. The living room was filled with more furniture than it could hold, and every inch of kitchen countertop space had either a plant or some kind of kitchen tool on it.

I stopped and looked at the photographs on the wall. Rory was in most of them with a woman who I assumed was her mom. There were pictures of them at the beach and at that place where you build your own stuffed bear and at some salon with tinfoil in their hair. “You two do look really close,” I said.

“The closest,” said Rory.

Rory opened the door to her room, and my eyes were blasted with color, color, and more color. Quilts, posters, and paintings hung on every wall. A big bookshelf held hundreds of books. And Rory’s bed had about a million stuffed animals piled on it. I wondered how she even slept. This room was the exact opposite of Amanda’s. Funny that they’d been best friends for so long.

Rory had a big collection of snow globes on a shelf, and I picked one up. It had a tiger inside and Phoenix Zoo written on it. I shook it and watched the snow swirl around the tiger. Did it snow where tigers lived? “So are your parents divorced?” I asked Rory, setting the snow globe back down and picking up another one that had a castle inside.

“Now that’s really complicated,” said Rory.

I turned to her, the snow globe gripped in my hands. “How is it complicated? My parents are divorced.”

Rory flopped down on her stuffed animal–covered bed and patted a small empty space next to her. “Come sit.”

My hands trembled a little, so I set the snow globe back on the shelf to avoid dropping it. I sat next to Rory on the crowded bed. “So what’s the big secret about your dad, then?”

She leaned in. Her unusual two-toned face was really close to mine, and my heart sped up again. “Okay, so you can’t tell anyone. Promise?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

She studied me a long time, like she was trying to deduce if I could really keep a promise or not. She seemed to make up her mind. “Okay,” she said. “My real dad is famous.”

“Famous?” I swallowed. “Who is he?”

Rory got up and opened a drawer in her dresser. She pulled out an old CD case and sat back down next to me. I saw that it was a CD for a band called Pink Daylight. I thought maybe I’d heard Mom listening to them before. She listened to lots of really old music from, like, the 1900s.

Rory removed the CD paper insert. “I found this in my mom’s collection. Can you believe she still has CDs?”

I smiled and shook my head.

Rory opened up the folded insert and pointed at a picture of the band. “You see the lead singer?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s my dad. I mean, my real dad.”

“Who’s your fake dad, then?”

Rory grimaced. “He’s nobody. Just a cover-up.” She set the insert down and turned toward me on the bed, pulling her legs up so she was cross-legged in front of me. “Okay, get this. Pink Daylight was my mom’s favorite band. I mean, she used to be a total groupie and everything. She went to one of their concerts exactly nine months before I was born.” Rory went to her dresser and pulled something else out before handing it to me. It was an old concert ticket stub.

She jabbed at the ticket stub with her finger. “Exactly nine months before I was born.” She raised an eyebrow. “Suspicious, don’t you think?”

I nodded. “Totally.”

She picked the insert up again and flipped it over to the back. “And just look at this.”

I read the sloppy writing as well as I could. “‘To my favorite girl, Leanna. Love, Ted.’”

“See?” asked Rory excitedly. “His ‘favorite girl’? And ‘Love, Ted’?”

“I totally get where you’re going with this.”

“That’s the lead singer, by the way, but he doesn’t even know I exist, because Mom never told him about me.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s super famous. Duh.”

“Have you asked your mom about it?”

“Of course. She says it’s not true, but there’s no way the cover-up guy is my real dad. I know it’s Ted Caddel.”

“That’s an intriguing mystery.”

“Oh, it’s no mystery,” said Rory. “I know Ted’s my real dad. And guess what? Pink Daylight is doing a concert in Phoenix on Halloween. I’m going to go so I can tell him.”

“Maybe we can go together,” I said. “All of us, I mean.”

Her eyes lit up. “Great!”

“Great,” I echoed.

Rory took the ticket stub and CD insert from me and placed them back in her dresser. “So is your dad close by?”

“Yes,” I said. “Way too close.”

She sat back down on the bed and picked up a small pink bear. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I wish he’d just leave me alone.”

“Why?” Rory’s eyes got huge and worried as she squeezed the pink bear. “He doesn’t hit you, does he?”

“No.”

“Kick you?”

“No.”

“Slap you around?”

I laughed. “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just … he left, and now he wants to come back.”

“Why did he leave?”

I shrugged as I sat on the bed, facing Rory. “He and my mom just started fighting a lot, and most of their fights were about me.”

“About you?”

“Yeah, about my Tourette’s. He wanted a quick fix, something that would make me stop, but the medicines I tried were just too hard. They made me so tired, I’d fall asleep in school all the time. Then I started getting bad grades, and they fought about that. Then my mom started sending me to this really expensive doctor, and they fought about that.” I squeezed the corner of the colorful quilt in my fists. “So you see, it was all about me, and now he wants to act like none of that happened and have a relationship with me.”

“Are you sure they only fought about you?”

“Yes.”

“They never fought about anything else?”

I thought a long time. Well, there were Mom’s long work hours. Dad had wanted her to cut back. And then there was that pipe that broke on a rare freezing night and caused a bunch of damage that took months to repair. They were always fighting about the repairs. Then there was the new car, that stupid black car that Dad bought without talking to Mom about.

“I guess it just seemed like it was always about me.” Not that it mattered. It didn’t change all the times they did fight about me or the things he’d said.

His behavior’s not normal.

I know he could stop if he wanted to.

He just has to try. He’s not trying!

There has to be something, anything, out there that can fix him.

Just stop it, Connor! Just stop!

“Maybe their fights about you were a symptom of a worse problem and not really about you at all,” Rory said, interrupting the bad memories.

I stared at her. “What are you, like, a therapist or something?”

Rory grinned. “I might be.” Rory tossed the pink bear back into the giant pile of stuffed animals. Then she reached over the bed and into her backpack, taking out a sketch pad and a pencil. She scribbled in the sketch pad for a second before holding it up for me. “Tell me, Mr. Bradley. What do you see?”

“I see scribbles.”

She nodded, her eyebrows furrowed together like she was truly examining me. “Look deeper. What do you see?”

I stared at the big swirly scribbles. “Actually,” I said, “it’s kind of how my insides feel.”

Rory scratched her lighter cheek with the end of the pencil. “Interesting. When do your insides feel like this scribbly mess?”

“All the time lately.”

“And why is that?”

This was getting kind of weird—like we were having an actual therapy session. I reached out and pushed her shoulder. “Because I’ve been eating a ton of spicy tacos.”

Rory laughed and wrote in the sketch pad before ripping out the page and handing it to me. “I’m prescribing you a low-spicy diet.”

“Is low-spicy a word?”

“It’s two words,” she said. She stared down at the sketch pad and began drawing or writing something I couldn’t see. “So how come you don’t want a relationship with your dad?”

I watched her, wishing I could see what she was writing. “Because … I guess because it’s just been too long.”

“Too long?”

“He left when I was in seventh grade. Then I had to go to a new school, and I hardly even saw him last year, during eighth grade. Then suddenly, over the summer, my mom’s like, ‘Dad wants us to move closer so he can see you and help out more, and also I got a job with better hours, and the apartments are cheaper in that area, and blah blah blah.’”

Rory looked up at me with wide eyes. “Did your mom really say, ‘Blah blah blah’?”

I snorted. “No, but you get my point.”

“So you didn’t see him much for a whole year?”

“Yeah. Almost two years.”

“Sheesh.” She went back to her drawing or writing or whatever she was doing. “My dad has never even met me, and I’d be so happy if he became a part of my life. That’s why I have to tell him. He should at least have the choice.”

But my dad did have the choice all this time. He had the choice, and he chose to stay away. He couldn’t just come back into my life when he felt like it and then drop me again when he felt like it, which I knew he would do when he realized I wouldn’t stop ticcing.

Rory had her head bowed low, staring at the sketch pad, so I couldn’t see her expression. But she sniffled once. She finally turned the sketch pad around, holding it out for me like she had the scribbles. I almost thought this was just scribbles, too, at first, but then I studied the lines and realized it was a face—a face full of pain and anger and fear. How had she gotten so much into such a simple drawing? And it wasn’t just any face. I spotted a freckle next to the left eye. It was my face.

“Is this really what I look like?” I asked her softly. I wasn’t talking about the features. Rory had nailed those. I was thinking more about the pain.

“When you think no one’s watching you … yeah.”

I studied the drawing. “You really like to draw, huh?”

She waved her hand around. “I did every drawing in this whole apartment.”

“You’re kidding.”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

I looked back down at the portrait. “Do I really look this angry?”

“You look like … like you’re holding a lot inside. Maybe about your dad?”

I nodded. Yeah, Dad for sure. And Liam at school. And my tics. Always holding the tics inside to some degree. “I guess it’s a lot of things.”

Rory tilted her head and asked, “Why did you want to come over today? Was it just because of my amazing personality?”

I laughed. “That was the top reason.”

Her smile fell, and she looked serious. “What was the other reason?”

“Avoiding my dad.”

She nodded. “Do you have to avoid him a lot?”

“Constantly these days.”

Rory took the sketch pad from me and began doodling on the next page. “Maybe …” She swallowed. “Maybe that’s not such a bad problem to have. I wouldn’t mind that problem.”

I didn’t want to talk about Dad anymore. “Why don’t you draw yourself?” I asked.

Rory looked up and shook her head. “No way. Never.”

“Why not?”

“Because I just don’t.”

I cleared my throat and stared at her. “Well, maybe there were other reasons I wanted to come over today.”

Rory smiled. “Whatever the reasons, I’m glad you came.”

“Me, too.”

CHAPTER 15

I was surprised when I woke up the next morning to the smell of something baking. I was even more surprised when I went into the kitchen and found Mom there. She almost always worked weekends. “What are you doing home today?” I asked her, yawning.

“Are you kidding?” She put her arms around me. “Happy birthday, sweetie.”

I hugged her back. “Thanks, Mom.”

She pulled away and opened the oven. She stuck a knife inside it. “I baked your favorite cake: coconut.” She pulled the knife out and shut the oven door. “It needs a few more minutes.”

“Smells great.”

“And I ordered a sausage-and-mushroom pizza from that expensive pizza place up the street.”

“Perfect.”

“And … your dad is going to pick it up for us on his way here.”

I sighed. “Why does he have to come over?”

“Because it’s your birthday, and he wants to spend it with you. He has a nice gift for you, too.”

“I don’t want a gift from him.”

And that was when I noticed the Rock Band drum set sitting in the corner of the living room. Now I felt guilty about having given Mom such a hard time after she got me the game earlier than she’d said. I took a deep breath and mustered the energy to say, “Thanks.”

She smiled. “Why don’t you go set it up in your room?”

Since I hadn’t gotten out of bed until almost lunchtime, I spent the rest of the afternoon setting up the Rock Band drum set, watching tutorials, and debating whether or not to call Rory. I kept thinking about my time at her apartment yesterday—the stuffed animals all over her bed, the pictures she drew, the smell of her hair …

I finally left my room without calling Rory and went back out to the kitchen, where Mom was busy frosting the cake. Before I could say anything to her, there was a knock on the door. Mom looked at me like she wanted me to open it, but I just stood there. She sighed and threw the frosting-coated spatula on the counter. Then she went and let Dad in.

“Thanks for picking up the pizza,” she said as he set it down on the kitchen table.

The pizza was my favorite, and it smelled really good, but it was all tainted by Dad getting it for us. Why couldn’t Mom have done it? Why couldn’t it just be us two today?

The three of us sat down at the little table together. “How’s school been going, Connor?” Dad asked.

I grabbed a slice of pizza and set it on my paper plate. I had been starving, having not eaten anything yet today, but now I didn’t feel like eating at all. I stared at the pizza. “Fine.”

“Mom said you’ve been taking music lessons.” He grabbed a slice for himself.

“That’s right,” said Mom. “With his music teacher, Ms. Chen.”

“That’s great,” Dad said. “She’s a nice teacher?”

I just shrugged and stared at my plate.

“She’s a wonderful teacher,” Mom said cheerfully.

“That’s great,” Dad said again. “And Mom says you’ve been trying out the piano at a friend’s house.”

I still stared at my plate.

“Her name’s Amanda,” Mom said, the cheer in her voice fading. “She’s very sweet. Pretty, too.”

I rolled my eyes. Mom seemed determined that Amanda would become my girlfriend. I liked Amanda a lot, but only as a friend. Rory, though …

“I’d love to meet her sometime,” Dad said.

That pressure built in my chest, and I barked. Like I would ever introduce him to any of my friends.

Mom smiled at Dad. “Connor said he liked pounding on the piano keys.” She laughed. “Even if it didn’t sound like music.”

Dad’s face lit up. “Then I suppose he’ll like pounding on the drum set, too.”

I turned to Mom. “I thought you said you couldn’t get it until your next paycheck.”

“I didn’t get it,” she said, looking at Dad.

He sat there, smiling, all satisfied with himself. “She said it was important to you.”

That pressure built and built and built, and I barked. I told myself to calm down. At least Mom didn’t have to spend the money. I knew things were tight. Mom needed the help. I took a few deep breaths and managed a quiet “Thank you.” I picked up my slice of pizza and took a small bite, chewing and focusing on not spitting it out as well as I could.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “Mom mentioned something about how you think it might help your tics. I really hope it does.” He smiled.

I set my slice down with shaking hands. “Oh, I see.”

Mom looked at me questioningly. “What do you see, Connor?”

“I see why you got it for me.” I lifted my eyes to Dad. “You think it will fix me.”

His face darkened. “No … Mom said you think it will fix you. I never knew playing an instrument could do that.”

I glared at him. “Or you’d have gotten me one a lot sooner, right?”

He set his napkin down and pushed his plate away. “Maybe. What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with trying to help you?”

There has to be something, anything, out there that can fix him.

My heart pounded. I barked. I jerked my head. Shrugged my shoulders. “You realize I can’t be fixed, right?”

“I don’t think you need to be fixed,” Dad said tiredly.

“Yes, you do!” I shouted.

“Lower your voice,” Mom ordered. “Everyone in this whole apartment building can probably hear you.”

I barked and drummed my fingers on the table. “You can’t fix me. You can’t help me. And you can’t buy me back!”

Dad picked up a napkin and wiped his mouth, pushed away from the table. “I’m not trying to buy you back or fix you, but I am trying to help. I want to help.”

“Well, we don’t need your help! And I don’t want your drum set.”

“I already bought it. It’s yours.”

“Well, send it back!”

Dad leaned forward, his head in his hands. “I can’t. It’s nonrefundable. Please just take it. Or throw it in the garbage if you want to.”

Mom glared at me. “Don’t you dare.”

There she was—telling me what to do again. I had no control over anything. Not over where I lived or where I went to school or who I had to eat dinner with. And I definitely didn’t have control over my tics as I sat there jerking my head, shrugging my shoulders, and letting out repeated barks.

I pushed away from the table and ran to my room, slamming the door. I leaned back against it and breathed, my chest heaving, my head jerking. The muscles in my neck screamed in pain from all the headshaking. My temples throbbed. My vision blurred.

I glared at the drum set. Mom would kill me if I threw it in the dumpster, and even though she’d promised, I knew she wouldn’t buy me another one. I had no choice. No control. No say.

I turned on my TV and Xbox. Picking up the Rock Band drumsticks, I gripped them in clenched fists while the game loaded. I picked a random song and level and began banging the drumsticks against the drums over and over and over again. My scores were terrible, but I didn’t care. It felt great to slam the drumsticks. To hear them hit the drums. To feel the vibrations. The crashing and booming and pounding and beating.

I played another song. And another. And another. I played until my arms ached and sweat dripped into my eyes and I completely forgot about everything in the whole world. About Dad. About Mom. About Liam. About the pressure. About ticcing.

After the latest song ended, I picked up my phone and checked the time. I thought it must be wrong, because it was nearly midnight. I couldn’t believe Mom hadn’t come in to tell me to knock it off and go to bed. But an even bigger realization hit me while I stood there sweating and breathing hard from playing the drums for the past several hours.

I couldn’t remember ticcing the whole time I played. Hitting things helped relieve the pressure, the constantly building urge to tic. Playing the piano that way had sounded like awful noise. But the drums were meant to be hit. And I loved hitting the crap out of them.

Rory was right. I was a drum guy.

I ran to the music theory classroom the next morning as soon as I got off the bus. “Drums!” I said to Ms. Chen.

She’d been sitting at her desk and looked up at me. “Hey, Connor. What’s up?”

“Drums,” I gasped, sweat running down my back already. “I want to play the drums. I like hitting things. Like, really really like hitting things.”

Ms. Chen’s mouth dropped open like she was about to say something. Then she closed it and grinned.

My heart thumped, and I wanted to talk all about it with Ms. Chen, but I also had to hurry to make it to my first class on time. “Okay, I have to get to class now. I’ll see you later!” I ran out the door.

I couldn’t wait for after school.

CHAPTER 16

I sat across from Ms. Chen. I bobbed my legs, tapped my fingers, shrugged my shoulders, shook my head.

Ms. Chen smiled. “Excited, Connor?”

I nodded my head furiously.

“How about we start with some breathing exercises to calm down a little bit?”

The last thing I wanted to do right now was breathing exercises. I didn’t want to calm down. I wanted to let all this explosive energy out. “I’d rather hit the drums.”

Ms. Chen laughed. “We’ll definitely get to that. But one of the most important things when it comes to drumming is feeling the beat. The beat is reliable. It’s unchanging, steady. How can you feel that when your body and mind are unreliable and chaotic?” Ms. Chen closed her eyes. “Take a deep breath.”

Even though I didn’t want to at all, I closed my eyes, took a big breath, and blew it out while motorboating my lips. I barked and opened my eyes. “’Kay. Ready now.”

Ms. Chen opened one eye and peeked at me. “Maybe try that a little more slowly. And without the exaggerated sound.”

I closed my eyes again and focused on controlling my breath, breathing in as slowly as I possibly could, then letting it out.

“And again,” said Ms. Chen.

I kept breathing in and out, focusing on my breath.

“Now,” said Ms. Chen, “do you know how to check your pulse?”

“I think so.” I pushed a couple of fingers against the inside of my wrist but couldn’t really feel anything. “I don’t feel it.”

“Press lightly.”

I eased the pressure, and then I could feel it. Beat, beat, beat, beat. It was pretty fast. “I feel it.”

“Good,” said Ms. Chen. “Your heartbeat is like the drumbeat. You feel your heartbeat, just as you need to learn to feel the drumbeat. The drumbeat is the most important thing you’ll learn, Connor, so that’s what we’ll focus on today.”

I dropped my fingers from my wrist and bobbed my legs some more. “Awesome.”

Ms. Chen fetched a couple of bongos from the corner of the room and gave me one. She sat opposite me while I eyed the drum set. “Can we work with the big drum set?”

Ms. Chen smiled. “Yes, we’ll get to that.” She smacked her hands on the bongo. “First, let’s feel the beat.”

I sagged in my chair opposite her. “We don’t even have drumsticks.”

“You’ll be holding drumsticks before you leave today. I promise.”

I perked up a little and smacked the bongo.

Ms. Chen pulled out her phone. “Even Zelda music has a beat, you know? This is ‘Riding (Day)’ from Breath of the Wild.”

We sat quietly, listening to the song. Ms. Chen closed her eyes and began tapping her foot. “You feel that, Connor?”

I tapped my foot along with hers, and before long, I could feel the beat. “I do.”

“It’s in four-four time. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.”

I counted with her while tapping my foot.

She started patting the bongo to the beat before opening her eyes. “Do it with me, Connor.”

I followed along, tapping my foot and patting the bongo along with her. “I feel the beat, Ms. Chen. Can I have drumsticks now?”

Ms. Chen chuckled. “Okay, let’s go take a look at the drums, shall we?”

I jumped to my feet and followed Ms. Chen over to the drum set in the corner of the music room, my heart pounding in anticipation, my shoulders shrugging, eyes blinking. I’d never hit a real drum set before, not in my entire life. Rock Band was the closest I’d ever gotten.

Ms. Chen grabbed a marker and a rolling stand with a giant paper tablet on top of it. “Sit down, Connor.”

I took a deep breath and sat on the little black stool. Even though I’d hit the living daylights out of the Rock Band drum set last night, I had no idea what any of these drums were called. There were metal cymbal things, small drums, big drums, floor drums.

As though Ms. Chen had read my mind, she came over and pointed at the drums one by one. “Snare drum. Hi-hat. Bass drum. You’ll use the foot pedal to hit that one. And those are the only ones I want you to learn for today. I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

I pointed at the drums with a jittery finger and repeated the names back to her.

“Good job.” Ms. Chen handed me a pair of drumsticks. “If I remember correctly, you’re right-handed?”

I nodded as Ms. Chen walked over to the large paper pad. With the black marker, she drew lines across the paper and then wrote numbers above the lines. Then she pointed at the numbers. “Say this with me, Connor: One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.”

She kept repeating that over and over until I chimed in with her. “Good,” she said. “Those are your quarter notes, because there are four per bar.”

Ms. Chen added little X’s between the numbers and pointed again. “Now say this: one and two and three and four and one and two and three and four and.”

I began repeating with her.

“Wonderful,” she said. “Those are eighth notes, because there are eight per bar. I want you to hit the hi-hat with your right hand on every number and every X. One and two and three and four and.”

I slammed the hi-hat over and over.

Ms. Chen laughed. “A little lighter maybe. And keep saying it along with me: one and two and three and four and. This is the beat, Connor.”

I lightly tapped the hi-hat and repeated the beat along with Ms. Chen. “One and two and three and four and one and two and three and four and.”

She clapped her hands. “Wonderful. Should we add in the snare drum?”

I hit the snare drum with the drumstick in my left hand. “Oh yeah.”

“Good. That was even the correct hand. So I want you to play the snare drum only on the two and the four while you keep playing the hi-hat on every beat.”

Doing exactly as Ms. Chen instructed, I hit the snare drum on only the two and the four. At first, I had to really concentrate on getting it right, but after several times it started coming more naturally until I didn’t have to think about it so much. “I think I’m feeling the beat,” I told Ms. Chen.

“And I think you’re a natural at this,” she said. “So I’m sure you’ll be up for the challenge of adding in the bass drum, don’t you think?”

“I feel up for just about anything right now.” And that was true. Ms. Chen said she thought I was a natural at this, and I didn’t think anything had ever felt more natural to me than hitting the drums.

“Great. So now hit the bass drum with the foot pedal.”

I pushed the foot pedal down, and it made a deep boom. I’d regularly felt the urge to tap my foot. Just as with any tic, the urge would always build again. And again. No matter how many times I did it, as though no amount of foot tapping could ever satisfy the need. This was like the most satisfying foot tapping I’d ever done.

“This is going to be a bit more challenging,” said Ms. Chen. “You’ve been hitting the snare drum on just the two and the four, so you’re going to hit the bass drum on the one and the three, all while still playing the hi-hat with your right hand on every beat. Do you think you can alternate them like that?”

“I’ll try,” I said.

Then Ms. Chen pointed at the numbers and the X’s. “One and two and three and four and.”

One: bass.

Two: snare.

Three: bass.

Four: snare.

Again, at first I had to really think about it, but after a minute, I could feel when it was right to hit the snare or the bass.

Ms. Chen clapped her hands. “Awesome, Connor! You just learned the money beat.”

I stopped playing. “Money beat?”

“Yep, it’s one of the most important beats you’ll learn. This means you can already play along to tons of songs, and we’ve spent only one lesson together.”

I grinned and began playing the money beat again. Ms. Chen clapped her hands and feet to help keep me in time, but I could already feel the beat. And the pressure that was always building in my chest and neck and eyes? I could feel that way less.

CHAPTER 17

Rory, Keanu, and I all went to Amanda’s house the next day after school. They had to work that night, so Mom was going to pick me up before they had to go. I was sort of semi-grounded after the way I acted on my birthday, but Mom wasn’t exactly enforcing it consistently.

Amanda played “I Just Can’t Wait to Be King” on her phone while the three of them practiced a dance routine with poofy manes on their heads.

“But Simba doesn’t have a mane yet,” I said. “He sings this song when he’s little.”

The three of them stopped and stared at me, breathing hard, mane hair all stuck to their sweaty faces.

“That totally doesn’t matter,” Rory said. “We have to have the manes so we don’t just look like desert animals.” The poofy mane surrounding her two-toned face made her look adorable, but I pretended not to notice.

I raised an eyebrow and barked. “So … you’re going to wear the manes over your other costumes?”

“Of course,” said Keanu. “We can’t just wear manes with regular clothes. That would look silly.”

“Right,” I said, holding back a grin. “You wouldn’t want to look silly.”

As they continued practicing, I closed my eyes and listened for the beat, tapping my hands on my thighs. “Hey, this song is in four-four time,” I said.

Amanda stopped mid-dance and pushed mane hair out of her face. “Right. Most songs are in four-four time.”

I continued patting my legs. “Ms. Chen taught me that.”

Rory was now blowing mane hair out of her mouth, spitting and smacking her lips. “Isn’t she the nicest? She’s, like, the coolest teacher ever.” She pulled a long hair out of her mouth with her fingers, cringed, and dropped it on Amanda’s pristine carpet.

“She’s teaching me the drums,” I said. “We just started yesterday, and I’ve already learned so much.” I sat up straight and puffed out my chest. “I can already play the money beat, which means I can already play along to tons of songs.”

Rory jumped up and down, clapping her hands. “I knew you were a drum guy, Connor. And oh my gosh, you guys! We could totally add a drummer to the show.”

I stopped patting my legs to the song. “Play … in the show?” I shook my head. “No. No way. Anyway, I just started.”

Rory frowned and pulled the mane off her head. “But you just said you can already play tons of songs. You said you know the money beat. Whatever that is.”

I tapped my feet nervously now, definitely not along to the beat. I wished I had the bass drum to hit. I blinked (also not to the beat) and barked.

Amanda sat down next to me and pulled off her own mane. “So it went well, then?” she asked, and I knew what she meant. She was wondering if drumming helped my tics. I thought it probably did, but now I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell them.

“Um … Maybe.” Sure, it seemed to help the past couple of days, but maybe that wouldn’t last, so it wasn’t like I was lying or anything.

“But you really like it?” Amanda asked hopefully.

“I love it.”

“Look!” Rory waved her phone around. “I’ve already found drum sheet music for The Lion King online. You can order it and practice.”

“Maybe …” I tried to think of other excuses. “I don’t have a costume like you guys, though.”

Keanu’s eyes widened. “Oh, we still have that old coyote costume that Aiden used to wear. Connor can have that.”

“Who’s Aiden?” I asked.

Rory raised her eyebrows about as high as they would go. “He used to be in the show, but he got fired. Then his parents sent him to military school.”

“Why’d he get fired?” I asked. I definitely didn’t want to get fired if I ever worked at Organ Pipe Pizza.

The three of them looked at one another like it was all some big scandal. Then Amanda turned to me. “He mooned the audience during a show.”

I laughed. “What?”

“Yeah,” said Rory. “He was mad because Amanda’s mom has a rule of only three slices of pizza per workday, and he wanted, like, seven. So he mooned everyone.”

“Totally showed his butt, man.” Keanu nodded, his face serious. “It was a bold move.” He sounded impressed with Aiden.

I looked around at the three of them. “His parents sent him to military school because of that?”

“No,” said Amanda. “He got fired for that. His parents sent him to military school because he stole their car one night and crashed it.”

“Whoa,” I said.

“He was a wild rebel,” Rory said with a far-off look in her eyes.

Had Rory liked him? I suddenly felt jealous.

Rory turned to me. “You could take his place as the coyote.”

“Sorry, guys,” I said. “I don’t think I can fill those shoes.” I raised an eyebrow. “Or is it paws?”

They all looked at me without any hint of smiles.

I cleared my throat. “Anyway, I’m just learning the drums for myself. Not to play for anyone.”

“Just think about it,” said Amanda. “Please?”

“Yeah, Connor,” added Rory. “We’d have so much fun!”

“I’ll think about it,” I said, but I knew I wouldn’t. I mean, I really wanted to stay a part of their group. I wanted to join them. It even looked like fun. A lot of fun. But playing drums in a coyote costume with a lion mane on my head at a super weird pizza place? People laughed at me enough already. I couldn’t even imagine how badly people would make fun of me if I did that. What if Liam found out? What if he came and watched us? I shuddered at the thought.

Rory flopped down next to me on the bed. “Oh, we have to tell them about Pink Daylight,” she said to me. Then she turned to Amanda and Keanu. “We’re all four going to go see Pink Daylight next month when they come to Phoenix.”

Amanda and Keanu looked at each other, their faces full of discomfort, and I wondered what could possibly be wrong. Amanda turned to Rory. “Rory …” she began to say.

Rory beamed. “You guys don’t have a choice. I bought us all floor tickets!”

I was surprised to hear this. I would have rather bought my own ticket. I didn’t want Rory spending her money on me. I didn’t think she had a lot.

Amanda moved toward Rory, her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes full of worry. “Rory, that’s so expensive. Maybe you can resell them?”

Rory’s mouth dropped open. “Resell them? No way. I’ve been planning this for months. I saved up all my money from summer so I could get us tickets, while you guys spent all your money on stupid stuff.”

Amanda frowned. “Rory, I don’t think—”

“Fine,” Rory said, completely deflated. “I guess I’ll go alone.”

“No,” I said, wanting to do anything to cheer her back up. “I’ll still go.”

Keanu piped up, “We’ll all go with you, Rory. We wouldn’t want you to go alone.”

Amanda jerked her head at Keanu, and it seemed like they were having a whole conversation with their eyes that I couldn’t understand. A conversation that Rory completely ignored as she watched them with a hopeful expression, her hands folded together in front of her chest.

Amanda finally sighed and turned back to Rory. “Yes, of course we’ll go with you.”

Rory clapped and bounced a little. “Everything is coming together this year,” she said. “I’m going to meet Ted Caddel in person finally, and Connor is going to join our show.”

Well, maybe one of those things would happen, but definitely not the other. What if playing the drums only helped my tics when I was alone? What if I went up onstage and had a tic explosion in front of an audience? I’d barely just started eating and going out regularly in public. Those were good steps forward, as Aven would say. But playing at Organ Pipe Pizza wouldn’t be a good step forward. It would be a flying leap off a cliff.

Amanda’s mom peeked her head in the door. “Connor, your mom is here to pick you up.”

I said goodbye to my friends and found Mom standing at the front door. “Nice place Amanda has,” she said as we walked to the car. It was a compliment, but it sounded sad.

Grabbing her hand while we walked down the long driveway, I shrugged and said, “It’s okay. I’m seriously afraid to get a speck of dirt on anything. I’m way more comfortable at home.”

Her face brightened as we got in the car. “So how was the piano playing?” she asked.

“Good.” We hadn’t actually played any piano today, but that was the only reason Mom let me go to Amanda’s house, so I didn’t tell her that. I also hadn’t told her yet that I knew I was a drum guy. I was still mad about Dad buying Rock Band to fix me. The last thing I wanted was to admit that I thought it might be helping.

“What are we doing for dinner?” I asked, wanting to change the subject.

“Um … takeout,” she said, but she seemed nervous about it.

I turned and stared at her in the car. “Takeout from where?”

She shrugged. “Wherever your dad gets it from.”

I shook my head and barked. “He’s coming over again?”

Mom’s shoulders sagged as she turned the wheel. “Connor, don’t.”

“Why does he have to keep hanging around all the time?”

“This is a big part of why we moved to this side of town. Remember? So you could spend more time with him.”

“And I had no say in that whatsoever!” I nearly shouted.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said. “But kids … kids don’t always know what’s best for them.”

My eyes grew hot and blurry. How could she not see that staying away from him was best for me? Not letting someone hurt me was best for me. “I should at least have a say. I should be part of the discussion.”

“You forget I tried to make you part of the discussion,” she said, “and you were completely stubborn.”

Because I would never be able to stop ticcing, and he would never be able to accept it. “Because I knew we’d be moving no matter what,” I said.

Sure, he could pretend to be okay with it for small periods—a brief car ride, a quick dinner, a short conversation. But if I let him back in, he wouldn’t be able to keep up that act for long. And when he finally broke and …

Just stop it, Connor! Just stop!

A tear ran down my cheek, and I angrily swiped it away.

Mom stared straight ahead, gripping the steering wheel. Her face was totally expressionless except for the streetlights shining in her glassy eyes. “I’m sorry you can’t always have what you want. I’m sorry I can’t have what I want either. I’m sorry life doesn’t ever go as planned.”

But Mom was getting what she wanted. Wasn’t she? She wanted to move to this part of the city. She wanted the new job. And I did want her to have the better job. I just wished I hadn’t had to give up so much for it to happen. I sniffled and stared out the window. “Who’s ever cared about what I want?” I asked, my voice cracking.

We pulled into the parking lot, and Mom stopped the car. She turned to me, her eyes shining with tears. She reached out a hand to touch my cheek. “I do.”

“No you don’t,” I said. “You’re just going to let him hurt me again.”

Mom’s face filled with alarm. “No, no,” she said. “No, I won’t. I wouldn’t. I really believe he’s changing, Connor.”

I rubbed my dripping nose. “How do you know that?”

“Because I’ve never seen him try so hard. He’s taking real steps to be a better dad. But he can’t be a better dad if you won’t let him.”

I turned away from her and spotted his car in the parking lot. I glanced up to see the light shining in our apartment windows. I turned back to her. “He’s in there without us?”

She sighed as she turned off the car. “I gave him a key.”

“So he can just come and go whenever he wants?”

“No, he can’t. But it’s convenient for him to have one if he needs to pick you up or drop you off.”

“Or come over for dinner.”

Mom rubbed her forehead and then leaned it against the steering wheel. “Yes,” she breathed out. “Or come over for dinner when invited. He can’t just show up uninvited, and he knows that.”

I squeezed my hands together and swallowed. “Then stop inviting him,” I pleaded with her.

She slowly shook her head, still pressed against the steering wheel. “You deserve another chance at having a father,” she said softly.

I couldn’t think of any way to respond to that as I continued twisting my hands. I barked. Why couldn’t she see that I had already let him go and that it had been one of the worst things I’d ever had to do? I couldn’t do it again.

Mom finally got out of the car, and I followed her up the steps. Inside the apartment, the table was set with a bucket of fried chicken at the center.

Dad stood in the kitchen, a bowl of coleslaw in his hands. His face lit up when he saw us. “Hi,” he said. “I thought maybe we could try this again.”

I didn’t want to try this again, and if I had to keep being semi-grounded for being mean to him, then so be it. At least I’d be moving on. Moving forward. Because I would never go back—back to fighting and guilt and shame and …

Just stop it, Connor! Just stop!

No, I would never go back.

I walked to my room and slammed the door without saying a word to him.

CHAPTER 18

Ms. Chen propped open the door to the music room, as she always did when we were alone after school. “Connor, I know this is only our second lesson on the drums, but I want to work on a song with you today. Let’s keep it fun for now.”

The air was hot as it breezed into the room, ruffling my messy hair. I still hadn’t gotten a haircut, and it was getting seriously overgrown. “Will it not be fun in the future?” I asked her, pushing my hair back from my sweaty forehead.

Ms. Chen smiled and crossed her arms. “It will be fun. But it will get harder.”

“Are we going to play more Zelda?”

“No, I thought we’d trying something new. Remember the money beat I taught you?”

We went over to the drums, and it took me a few tries to remember how to play the money beat. If I’d had a real drum set at home, I could’ve been practicing it all the time.

“Good,” Ms. Chen said when I had it down again. “How about a couple of songs that use the money beat, then?” She played a song on her phone. “This is probably the most famous one—‘Billie Jean.’”

We sat and listened, and I could hear the money beat. I found myself counting in my head. My fingers itched to play it on the drums.

One and two and three and four and one and two and three and four and.

Then Ms. Chen played a version of the song without the drums. “I want you to play the money beat,” she told me.

I picked up the drumsticks, and it was like the tension eased right out of my body when I began hitting the drums. Not only that, but I think my playing actually sounded pretty good.

Then I played “Help!” by the Beatles. When that was done, I told Ms. Chen, “I like that one.”

“I like that one, too,” she said. “See, I told you that you’d find the music inside you.”

I grinned and hit the snare drum a few times. “You were totally right.”

“Can we talk about a real drum set?” I asked Mom the moment she got home from work that night.

“What?” she asked me, her eyes wide, a paper bag of groceries gripped in her arms.

“A real drum set,” I said. “I kind of need one so I can practice at home.”

She set the grocery bag down on the kitchen counter. “You’re way ahead of me, Connor. You want a real drum set now? But you just got Rock Band.”

I could see I’d already gone about this all wrong. “I love the drums,” I said.

“Well, this is news to me. When did you figure all this out?”

“At school with Ms. Chen. We’ve done two drum lessons, and I already know I love the drums.”

She looked tired and worn out as she collapsed down in a chair at the kitchen table. She leaned on an elbow and rubbed her forehead. “Two whole lessons, huh?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s all I needed to know I love the drums. I barely even tic when I play them.”

Mom sat up straighter. “Really?”

Okay, now I was making progress. “Yeah, really. But the problem is I can’t practice except at school. So I was thinking maybe I could get a job and—”

“A job?” Mom asked, her face full of surprise. “How can you get a job?”

“I’m fourteen now. My friends all have jobs, and I was thinking maybe I could work where they work.” I would never put on the coyote costume and get up on stage, but maybe I could serve pizza or wash dishes or sweep floors. I was pretty sure Amanda’s mom would hire me, since she hired all her friends.

“A real drum set’s expensive, Connor. It would take a long time to save up enough money for one.”

“I was thinking maybe you could buy it, and then I could pay you back over time.”

“I don’t have the money right now.”

“What about using your credit card?”

“The interest on that is terrible.”

I was willing to get a job, to pay for my own drum set, to pay her back over time. I’d given her so many options. Who was the one being stubborn now? “Aren’t you even going to think about it?”

She sighed deeply. “Connor, I already got a complaint about all the noise you made the other night playing Rock Band until midnight. The walls in this apartment are thin. Everyone can hear you, and a real drum set would be even louder. There’s no way it’s allowed in this apartment complex. Can’t you just practice on the video game for now?” She narrowed her eyes. “During the day.”

“It’s not the same at all. How am I supposed to practice if I don’t have a real drum set at home?”

“I’m really glad you’ve discovered you love the drums. And it’s wonderful you think it’s helping your tics, but you’re just going to have to practice at school until we figure something else out.”

“But I only have lessons with Ms. Chen twice a week.”

“I’ll talk to her. Maybe she can let you in the room more frequently throughout the week so you can practice by yourself.”

“But …”

“Connor.” Mom stood up, took off her lanyard with the hospital ID card, and threw it on the table. “It’s been a long day. Can we please talk about this more later? I’m tired.”

I didn’t want to talk about it later. I knew what that meant—later meant never. Discussion closed. No way would I be getting a drum set. There had to be a way we could make it happen. I needed it, maybe more than I’d ever needed anything in my whole life. Again, I had no say. No say. No say. No say.

“Remember that stupid fast-cooker thing you bought?” I asked her.

She started pulling groceries out of the paper bag. “You mean the pressure cooker?”

“Yeah. Remember how the milk exploded everywhere and made a huge mess?”

She put a container of yogurt in the fridge and slammed the door. She still hadn’t managed to make yogurt even a single time with the Crock-Pot. “Connor, what does this have to do with anything?”

“Well, I’m like the milk in the pressure cooker right now. And the pressure is building and building and building, and I think the only way to relieve it is to have my own drums.”

She leaned back against the fridge and stared at me. “What are you saying? You’re going to explode and make a huge mess all over the apartment if you don’t get your own drum set?”

“Basically … yes.”

“Well, if you’re going to do that, please go do it in your room. I don’t have the energy to scrub pieces of Connor off the living room walls.”

I stood there, so frustrated and, yet again, feeling just totally not in control of anything in my life. I couldn’t have my own drum set even if I paid for it myself. How was that fair in any way? She was definitely not going to budge on this, so I ran to my room and almost slammed the door but caught it just before it hit so I wouldn’t get us into more trouble with the neighbors.

CHAPTER 19

During music theory the following week I kept glancing at Rory sitting next to me. When she’d look up, I’d look away. Then I’d catch her looking at me, but she’d look away as soon as I looked up. Eventually she leaned over and whispered, “You want to come over again?”

“I do, but I have a lesson.”

She frowned. “Bummer.”

After class, Liam walked by me, and I could tell he was holding in the urge to bark at me. He glanced from me to Ms. Chen, who was giving him a serious look, and then he just walked out.

Good.

After the class cleared out, Ms. Chen propped the door open. “How’s everything, Connor?” she asked.

I plopped down in a chair near her desk. “Not great.”

Her smile fell. “Oh? Why not great?”

“I asked my mom for a real drum set, but she won’t let me get one. She says it would be too loud in our apartment, so I’m not sure how I’m going to practice everything you’re teaching me. I should’ve been practicing all weekend. I’m worried I’ll forget and have to relearn everything each week.”

“That’s okay,” said Ms. Chen. “There are so many ways for you to practice without a drum set. First of all, you have Rock Band. You can also use this.” Ms. Chen went over to a cabinet and pulled out a rubber pad. She placed it on my lap. “This is a practice pad. It’s quiet and will help you with the beat.”

Again with the beat. The beat. The beat. The beat. I just wanted to hit some drums.

Ms. Chen handed me some drumsticks. “Give it a shot.”

I tapped them on the pad. “Thrilling,” I said.

She smiled. “I know. It’s quiet. That’s kind of the point. But, really, all you need to practice finding the beat is yourself and this thing.” She lifted up her phone. “Put on a good song and some earbuds and take a walk. Walk to the beat, and turn the song down for a few seconds. Then turn it back up, and see if you’re still walking in time to the beat.”

I sighed. “Here I thought I’d just be hitting drums and making a lot of noise.”

“There’s so much more to drumming than brute force, Connor. Grip, control, speed, coordination—you don’t need a real drum set to practice all that. Speaking of which …” She pointed at my hands gripping the drumsticks. “We need to work on that grip a bit. You’re holding them like you’re about to hammer something.”

I thought of Liam. “Maybe I am.”

Ms. Chen seemed to hold back a smile. “I hope not,” she said. “Anyway, I’m going to give you a playlist of great songs to walk to. Songs all in four-four time. I’ll mark which ones use the money beat.”

“Where should I walk?”

“Anywhere you want.” She smiled. “The world is your own personal drum set.”

“I guess that’s good, since I can’t have my own real personal drum set.”

Ms. Chen sat across from me and scrolled on her phone for a few seconds. “I’m going to play something for you.” She placed the phone down on a nearby desk, and a song began to play. Ms. Chen clapped and stomped her feet along to the beat.

Stomp, stomp, clap.

Stomp, stomp, clap.

Stomp, stomp, clap.

“Have you heard this one?” she asked.

“Of course.” I clapped and stomped along with her. “‘We Will Rock You.’”

“Queen made the song as simple as possible so the crowd could participate.”

Stomp, stomp, clap.

Stomp, stomp, clap.

Eventually a really cool guitar riff started playing. “Don’t lose the beat,” Ms. Chen said.

Stomp, stomp, clap.

Stomp, stomp, clap.

“No matter what happens, keep the beat,” she said.

Stomp, stomp, clap.

The song eventually ended, and I frowned. “There weren’t even any drums in that song.”

“That’s right.”

“But that’s the most important thing,” I said.

She tilted her head. “No. What’s the most important thing, Connor?”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Ms. Chen was always nice to me, and the last thing I wanted to do was disrespect her.

She leaned in. “What’s the most important thing?”

I sighed. “The beat.”

CHAPTER 20

Mom was still at work when I got home, so I ate my usual after-school bowl of cereal, filled a water bottle, and stuck in my earbuds. Then I put on “Help!” by the Beatles.

I was already counting my steps as I walked down the stairway to the parking lot.

One, two, three, four.

I counted steps as I walked down the sidewalk.

One, two, three, four.

I counted and tapped my foot even as I stood at the crosswalk.

One, two, three, four.

I turned the music down periodically as I walked, trying to keep the beat with my steps. Every time I turned the music down, I kept it down longer and longer, making sure I was keeping time with the beat.

After a while, I realized it was starting to get dark. How long had I been walking? I looked at my phone and saw it was nearly 6:00 p.m. Mom must not have been home yet, because she definitely would’ve called me to see where I was.

Turning slowly in a circle, I didn’t recognize anything. I had no idea where I was, but I knew this was not a part of town that Mom would feel even remotely okay about. A gas station stood on the corner across from me, and a strip mall was behind it. I read the store names: SAL’S SMOKE SHOP, CHECK CASHING, HOBBYLAND, and then a sign that just read MUSIC.

Music? I hurried across the road as soon as the light turned and walked to the music store. I pulled on the handle of the glass door, but it was locked. A sign said they closed at 6:00 p.m. every day, so I’d just missed them. I pressed my forehead against the window and could barely make out guitars and violins lining the walls, keyboards on the floor, and a couple of drum sets in the corner.

I could come back tomorrow. I’d just walk over here again. I quickly mapped a route back home on my phone and … Six miles?

How had I walked six miles and not noticed? I didn’t even feel tired, but I knew Mom wouldn’t want me walking through the city at night, so I texted her.

Me: When will you be home?

Mom: Sorry, honey. Not for another hour at least. There’s soup in the fridge.

She would freak out if she knew I was out here after dark, and I’d never make it home before her. It would definitely take me more than an hour.

My mind ran down the list of people I could call to pick me up. It was a short list—a very short list. Really, there was only one name on it.

I took a deep breath and dialed my phone. Dad answered on the first ring, as though he’d already been waiting for my call. “Hey, Connor.”

“Hey, um … can you come pick me up?”

“Where? At home? Sure, why?” His answers were quick and overly excited.

“No, I’m not at home. I’m in the city.” Then I texted him my location and waited in front of the music store. Standing still and waiting for my dad without my earbuds blasting music in my ears (I had to keep alert for potential muggers) meant I couldn’t stop ticcing. I barked and shrugged my shoulders and blinked my eyes while people at the gas station nearby watched me with wary faces.

A woman came out of Hobbyland with a bag in her hands. She began walking down the sidewalk toward me, but when I barked, she quickly changed direction. I watched as she wandered way out into the parking lot, did a wide loop, and then back toward the stores where her car was parked. She’d really gone out of her way to avoid coming near me. Did she think I was some kind of murderer or something just because I barked? I’d seen people laugh at me in public a lot, but were some people actually scared of me? I winced at the thought.

I rolled my eyes and tapped my foot and barked and wished I could go back to finding the beat. I held my fingers to my wrist and tried to feel for my pulse. It was super fast. Like eighth notes.

Thump and thump and thump and thump and.

One and two and three and four and.

An old guy in dirty clothes ambled toward me.

Thump and thump and thump and thump and.

He opened his mouth to speak, and I could see most of his teeth were rotten. “How ya doin’?” he said.

Thump and thump and thump and thump and.

I shrugged and barked.

The old guy jumped back and scurried away. Great. Now I was scaring homeless people.

I wished Dad would get here. The thought startled me. It was the first time I’d wished to see my dad in a long time.

I’d wished to see him in seventh grade after he left.

When the girl I’d had a crush on laughed at me when I first started barking in class.

When my math teacher got frustrated with me for “disturbing” everyone.

When I could hear Mom crying in the next room every night for months.

When we’d sold our house and moved into a crappy little apartment.

The first night I’d slept in the crappy little apartment, crying and barking into my pillow. And a bunch of nights after that.

After a while, I’d stopped wishing to see him. Nothing good came of wishing for something that wouldn’t happen. But here I was, wishing to see him again. And here he was—actually showing up.

Dad drove the car right in front of me and rolled the window down. “How’d you get way over here?”

I pulled the door open. “I just went for a walk and lost track of time.”

“That’s a long walk.”

I slammed the door shut and buckled my seat belt. “It’s not that long.”

“I thought maybe you came over here to visit the music store you were standing in front of.”

“They were closed when I got here.”

“Oh … that’s too bad. Did you want to see something inside?”

I shrugged. “Maybe a drum set or something.”

We rode in silence for a minute, until he said, “Speaking of drums, how are the lessons going?”

“Fine.”

“How’s the Rock Band drum set working out?”

“Fine.”

“So you really like the drums, huh?”

“I wouldn’t be taking lessons if I didn’t.”

“What have you learned so far?”

I wished he would stop asking so many questions, but for some reason I found myself wanting to talk about the drums with him. “Mostly just about the beat. Ms. Chen taught me the money beat. She says keeping the beat is the most important part of playing the drums. That’s part of why I was out here. I was listening to music and …” I suddenly felt stupid about telling him that I was following the beat to songs while I walked.

He glanced at me while he drove. “And what?”

“I was just listening for the drumbeats.”

“The drums are cool,” he said. “I think girls like drummers.” He waggled his eyebrows at me.

Was this some weird attempt at trying to bond with me? No way was I going to talk about girls with him. Aven felt a million miles away, both physically and mentally. Amanda was just a friend. And Rory—I still hadn’t figured out the whole Rory thing.

“I’m not playing for girls. I’m playing for me. I think it actually is helping my tics.” Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. And then it was like the words became a tic and I couldn’t stop myself from saying them: “That should make you happy.”

Dad stopped at a red light. I could see the muscle in his jaw clench by the light of the streetlights and headlights all around us. Without looking at me, he said, “It makes me happy that you’re playing drums if they make you happy. I don’t really care about anything else.”

I turned away and looked out the window. “It doesn’t matter anyway, because my mom won’t let me get my own drum set.”

“Why not?”

“Because of noise. Our apartment walls are too thin. And because a drum set is too expensive, even though I offered to pay for it myself. I’m old enough to get a job now.”

“I can chip in.”

I thought about how he’d already bought me the Rock Band game, which I knew was expensive. Plus, he gave Mom child support for me. I didn’t want anything else. “I told you, I can’t have them anyway because of noise.”

Dad pulled into the parking lot of the apartment and stopped the car. “Well, maybe we can figure something out. Maybe we can keep a set at my place.”

“You live in an apartment, too.” I got out of the car and slammed the door. Peeking back in through the cracked window, I said, “But thanks anyway,” before walking away.

Positive: I wished to see my dad, and he showed up.

Negative: It was probably just a fluke, so I wouldn’t wish it again.

CHAPTER 21

“Do you want to come over?” I asked Rory, my heart thumping, while we sat on the bus together.

“Sure,” she said. “What do you want to do?”

“We can play Rock Band.”

“Cool.”

We were pretty quiet for the next few minutes while we waited for my stop. It was unusual for Rory to be so quiet, and I wondered if she was as nervous as I was. And why exactly were we nervous? I never felt nervous when I went to see Aven. Or when I went to Amanda’s house.

When we reached my stop, we gave each other awkward smiles and walked down the aisle together. Liam made kissing noises at us as we passed him, but we did a good job of ignoring him.

Still, even though I think I looked pretty calm on the outside, on the inside the pressure was building. Ms. Chen couldn’t be there whenever Liam made fun of me, and every time he laughed, barked, and now made kissing noises, the pressure got more intense.

“I wish it would cool down.” Rory wiped the sweat from her forehead as we walked up the steps to my apartment.

“It will soon.” My hands shook a little as I tried to get the key to turn in the lock. I let Rory into the apartment.

“Not soon enough,” she said. “One day I want to move away from here.”

I hated the thought of her moving away. “Where will you go?”

Rory got a far off look in her eyes. “Maybe Sedona. Or Jerome. A lot of artists live in Jerome. I could have my own little art gallery and a house on stilts.”

“Why would your house be on stilts?”

“All the houses in Jerome are on stilts because they’re all built on the steep side of a mountain.”

“I’ve never been to Jerome,” I said. It sounded kind of scary. I didn’t want to go into any building on stilts. What if it fell down?

“You mean you’ve lived in Arizona all your life and have never been to Jerome? We have to make a road trip.”

I jerked my head and barked. Even though Jerome sounded scary, the thought of a road trip with Rory might be worth taking the risk. “That would be fun.”

Rory stood in front of the closed front door and gazed around our apartment. “You guys need to decorate.”

I looked at the boxes and the blank walls. “Yeah,” I said. This was pretty much how our last apartment had looked the whole time we lived there. It hadn’t felt like I lived in a real home for a long time. Too long.

Rory followed me down the short hallway to my room and threw her backpack on my bed. She sat down on the bed while I turned on Rock Band. “How are things going with Ms. Chen?” she asked.

“Great.”

“And how are things going with your dad?”

I shrugged. “Okay.”

“He hasn’t given up yet?”

I sighed. “No.”

“Maybe he’s not going to.”

I handed her the drumsticks. “Just be quiet and play the drums.”

Rory grinned. “Bossy, bossy, bossy.”

I watched Rory while she played the drums. I couldn’t help but snicker. “You’re just as bad with the drums as you are with the violin.”

She jerked her head at me and glared. “Don’t insult my amazing drum playing.”

She had absolutely no rhythm whatsoever and hit the drums completely out of time with the music. How could her dad be a famous rock star when she could barely even tap a beat? “You have to listen for the beat,” I told her. I came up behind her and took her hands in mine, then I closed my eyes. Her hair smelled like flowers, but I tried to focus on the beat instead of that.

I tapped the drumsticks in time with the song, and after a while, I let go and let her continue on her own. “I’m totally doing it!” she declared.

I grinned and sat back down on the bed. “Yes, you totally are.”

When the song was over, she handed me the drumsticks. “Your turn.”

I played for a while, and Rory said, “Wow. You’re really good at that.”

“I’ve been practicing a lot. It’s all about the beat.”

“I can’t wait for the Pink Daylight concert,” she said. “They have a really good drummer, so you’ll love it.”

I stopped playing and turned to her. “What’s your plan exactly, by the way?”

“I’m going to get Ted’s attention. I’ll scream at him, and when he sees me, he’ll know I’m his daughter.”

“You think so, huh?”

“Totally.” Rory took the drumsticks from me to play the next round. “We look a lot alike. Don’t you think?”

I actually didn’t think they looked much alike at all. I’d found more pictures of Ted Caddel online, and I couldn’t see any resemblance.

“Plus, he’ll remember my mom, of course,” Rory went on, tapping the drumsticks out of time again. “She was his favorite girl, after all.”

I remembered the looks Amanda and Keanu had given each other when she’d talked about the concert and Ted Caddel in front of them. “Why doesn’t Amanda seem to want to come?” I asked.

Rory shrugged. “She doesn’t like me spending my money on her, but I do it all the time. I’d rather spend my money on my friends than on myself.”

“That’s nice.” I cleared my throat. “I already told my mom about the concert, and she’s fine with it. She thinks it will be good for me to see a real professional drummer in action.”

“Totally,” Rory said. Her turn on the game ended, and she threw the drumsticks down. Then she took her sketch pad out of her backpack. “I’ve had enough drumming. I’m going to draw you again.”

“Why don’t you draw both of us?” I tapped my foot on the floor. “Like, together?”

“I told you, I never draw myself,” said Rory.

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “I guess I don’t like to look at myself. To draw myself, I’d have to really study myself, and I don’t want to see all the ugly things.”

“What ugly things?”

Rory gave me an incredulous look. “You know the ugly things.”

“No, I don’t.” The more I saw Rory, the more I wanted to look at her face. I felt like I could study her face for hours and still find it interesting.

She touched a finger to the darker side of her face. “Hello! Like this.”

“I think it’s really unique,” I said. “You should draw yourself just as you are.”

Rory threw up her hands. “Fine. If you insist.”

Since I didn’t have a mirror in my room, we went into the living room and sat on the floor in front of a mirror Mom had lying against the wall along with a bunch of other pictures she still hadn’t found time to hang.

We sat in front of the mirror cross-legged, side by side, while Rory sketched, hiding the pad from me as well as she could. When she was done, she turned it toward me.

“I still look kind of angry,” I said, noting the furrowed brows and the grimace on my face.

“I draw what I see.”

It was amazing how Rory could capture me so well, but she hadn’t captured herself at all. It was like she couldn’t see herself as I saw her. And she’d completely left out her birthmark.

I reached for the pencil. “Can I just …?”

“Sure.” She handed me the pencil.

I carefully shaded one side of her face, looking up periodically to try to capture the wavy outline of her birthmark. Studying her face this closely, I noticed how her birthmark came down onto one side of her lips and even made half her lips slightly darker. When I was done, I turned the sketch pad around for her and said, “There. That looks more like you.”

Rory frowned. “Ugly,” she whispered.

“Not ugly at all,” I said. “And you know …” I took a deep breath and barked.

Rory stared at me with her huge brown eyes. “What?” She looked back down at the sketch. “What is it?”

And then I don’t know what happened. Maybe it was the birthmark, her two-toned face, her flowery-smelling hair slightly falling over one eye. Before I even had the chance to think it through, I leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. On her birthmark.

Her head shot up, her face full of surprise. “What was that?”

“I’m sorry!” I blurted. “It was like … It was like … I couldn’t stop myself!”

Rory raised an eyebrow. “Was it a tic?”

“Well … no. I mean, I’m sure I can stop myself. I don’t have to do it. I can hold it in. I mean, if you want me to. I won’t do it again. I’m sorry. I should have asked. I’m sorry.” I was rambling. What if she was angry? What if she didn’t want to see me ever again? Oh my gosh—why had I done that?

Rory’s smile grew larger. She leaned in and pecked me on the lips, quick and a little sloppy. She pulled back and smiled. “I guess I can hold that in, too. If you want me to.”

My heart beat so hard, I thought for sure she could feel it vibrating the floor where we sat. I was filled with a mixture of relief and nervousness and excitement and hope. “So … you’re not mad about it?”

She smiled and shook her head. “Are you mad about what I just did?”

I shook my head so hard, it felt like my brain rattled inside. “Then maybe …” I said. “Maybe, if you’re not mad about it. And I’m not mad about it. Then maybe … it’s okay?”

Rory leaned in and pressed her lips to mine again, longer and softer this time, and all that nervousness and anxiety seemed to melt away. She pulled back. “It’s okay with me,” she said.

And it was definitely okay with me.

CHAPTER 22

Mom poured herself a bowl of cereal in the kitchen. “I thought you could hang out with your dad since I have to work today.”

I popped a piece of bread into the toaster and pushed the lever down. “Maybe I can go to Stagecoach Pass.”

Mom sighed and turned to me. “Or maybe you can hang out with your dad. He said he wanted to take you to a music store to look at drum sets and then take you out for lunch afterward.”

I hated that the idea excited me so much. I almost smiled, but then my heart sank. “What’s the point of looking at drum sets if I can’t buy one?”

Mom shoveled a big spoonful of cereal into her mouth and chewed for a few seconds. “Maybe it will be interesting,” she said with her mouth full. “Informative. Educational.”

I turned back to the toaster and forced the lever up. The toast flew out, and I caught it before it could plummet to the floor. “Maybe it will just make me pine for something I can’t have.”

Mom picked up her mug of coffee and held it in both hands, a distant look in her eyes. “I know what that feels like.” She sipped her coffee.

I grinned while I buttered my toast. “What do you pine for, Mom?”

Mom set her coffee mug back down on the counter. She suddenly looked completely serious. “To go back to school,” she said softly.

I set down the butter knife. “What? What do you mean?”

“I want to go back to school to become a PA,” she said.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“A physician assistant,” she said. “It’s similar to being a doctor. I could do so much more for my patients if I was a PA.”

I leaned back against the counter and shifted from foot to foot, crossed my arms. “I didn’t know you wanted to do all that. You never mentioned it before.” But then again, I’d never asked. Had I?

She gave me a sad smile. “Well, what’s the point? When would I ever have the time? And PA school is incredibly expensive.” She took another sip of her coffee. “Just a pipe dream.”

All this time I’d been complaining about no one caring about what I wanted. But when had I ever asked Mom what she wanted? I walked to her and hugged her. “I wish I could make that happen for you,” I said.

She squeezed me to her. “Thank you.” Then she held me out and stared me in the eyes. “How about you do one thing for me that you can actually do?”

“What?”

“Spend the day with your dad, and try to make the best of it.”

Well, I couldn’t send Mom back to school, but maybe I could do this one thing for her. Just for today. “Fine. But only for you. Not for him.”

“Fine,” she mimicked me before smiling and giving me one more hug. “I’ll see you tonight.”

I shoved half my toast in my mouth. “See you tonight.”

She opened the front door. “Your dad will be here in about an hour. Please be ready.” Then she blew me a kiss before closing the door.

I spent the next hour sitting on the couch with my practice pad. I watched this video of a guy who showed you how to start with one hand on the practice pad, then add the second, then one foot, then the second foot. Coordinating four different things with four different limbs while trying to keep the beat was really challenging. It took all my focus, and after a little while, I heard a knock on the door. It was amazing how quickly time moved while I drummed.

Dad stood outside in jeans and a T-shirt. It was weird to see him so casual. I’d only seen him in his business suits over the past month. That made me briefly wonder if he was like Mom—pining for something he couldn’t have. Did he like this job where he had to wear business suits on one-hundred-degree days? What did he even do? I tried to remember, and I think it had something to do with marketing. Did he like marketing? I’d never heard him talk about it, so probably not.

He smiled. “You ready for our day out together?”

I was surprised at the lack of annoyance I felt. I was ready. And I was kind of even just a little bit excited. I couldn’t wait to look at all the different drum sets. But still, I shrugged and kept my face as expressionless as possible. “Sure.”

While we drove to the music store, Dad explained all the things he’d learned about how to select a good drum set. I still didn’t see the point since I couldn’t have one at the apartment.

My curiosity got the better of me, and I asked him, “Do you still do, like, marketing or whatever it was?”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Yeah … well …” He seemed taken by surprise at the sudden change of conversation. “I do marketing analytics.”

I stared at him. “What’s that?”

He laughed a little. “It’s almost too boring to explain.” His eyes darted from me to the road and back to me. “Do you really want to know?”

I shrugged. “I guess not really. Do you like it?” If it was too boring to even explain, then how boring must it be to do?

He let out a loud breath and said, “Actually, I hate it.” He laughed. “I positively hate it.”

“Then why do you do it?” I didn’t want to end up in a job I hated. That would be horrible.

He shrugged. “Well, when you have a family, you have to make money to support them, and trying to go into anything else at this stage of the game seems too risky. I can’t take any risks anymore. If it was just me … maybe.”

But it was just you for two years, I wanted to say. But I guess that wasn’t totally true. He’d always made the child support payments, so I guess I sort of understood what he was saying. Still …

“Maybe once you turn eighteen, I can think about something else.” He gripped the steering wheel, his face all pinched together. “But it will be even harder to start over then.” He relaxed his face and smiled at me. “No one wants to hire the old guy.”

Dad parked the car in the music store parking lot and turned to me. “Anyway, don’t feel bad for me,” he said. “I’m lucky to have a good job.”

I shrugged and walked behind him into the music store. Why did I feel bad for him? Why did I care all of a sudden? I pushed away the feelings.

A balding guy with white hair and a white beard was sitting behind the counter when we walked into the store. He stood up as soon as the bells on the door jingled. “Good morning,” he greeted us. “How can I help you?”

Dad put a hand on my shoulder. “This young man is very interested in seeing your drum sets.”

The guy rubbed his hands together and nodded. “Sounds great. I have a really nice set right here on the floor.” He motioned for us to follow him over to a drum set in a corner of the store. “I have another one on order, but it won’t be here for a week.” He pointed at the stool. “Go ahead and sit down.”

I sat behind the drums while the man explained what makes for a good hi-hat, why the foot pedal was better than your standard cheap one, and something about the crash cymbals. I barely listened to him as I tapped the drumsticks gently on the snare drum and pressed the foot pedal. I played the money beat, and while I played, I could imagine that this drum set was mine. I could personalize it however I wanted. Put stickers on it. Maybe a Pink Daylight sticker. Rory would like that. The thought of her and our kiss (well, kisses) almost made me fumble the drumsticks out of my hands. I set them down carefully on the snare drum.

“So what are you thinking …?”

“Connor,” I told the man.

“What do you think about the drum set, Connor?”

I looked up at Dad. “I like it a lot.”

“But it is the first one we’ve looked at,” Dad told the man. “You’ve given us a lot to talk about, and I think we’d like to check out the other one you have coming.”

“Should be here in about a week,” the man reiterated.

I shrugged and barked. “Right,” I said.

Dad shook the man’s hand and told him, “Thanks for your time. We’ll definitely be back.”

But it kind of made me mad. Because Dad was lying. We wouldn’t be back. We couldn’t buy a real drum set. I couldn’t have one in the apartment, and neither could Dad.

In the car on the way to the restaurant, I even said as much. “Why did you lie to him?”

Dad turned to me. “What do you mean?”

“You told him we’d definitely be back. We won’t be back. I can’t get a drum set.”

“You don’t know what might happen in the future,” he said.

“Are the apartments going to change their noise rules?”

Dad shrugged. “Probably not, but we’ll figure something out.”

I stared at him. What was there to figure out? Why was he doing this?

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably as he turned into the parking lot of a Mexican food restaurant.

“You know I like food other than Mexican, right?” I said.

He parked and turned to me. “Where else should we go? Chinese? Pizza?”

“I’ve never heard of Chinese pizza before,” I said, even though I knew what he meant. “Anyway, this is fine.” I got out of the car and slammed the door.

Dad managed to walk beside me as we entered the restaurant despite my best efforts to leave him behind. I didn’t know why I’d allowed myself to get excited in the first place. I’d known all along that I couldn’t get a drum set. And why had I been feeling bad for him and the job he hated? It was his choice to go into stupid marketing. His choice. No one else’s.

A woman dressed in all black led us to a table in a back corner of the restaurant. She returned a few seconds later with a couple glasses of water and set them on the table. “Would you like anything else to drink?”

Dad ordered an iced tea.

“Do you have sarsaparilla?” I asked the woman.

“We do,” she said. “In a bottle.”

I ordered that because it reminded me of Aven and Stagecoach Pass. Not many places served sarsaparilla, but Mexican food places were usually a good bet.

“Oh, that sounds great,” said Dad. “I’ll have one of those instead of the iced tea.”

The woman nodded and left the table while Dad opened his menu. “Let’s see. What looks good?” He glanced over his menu at me. “Chimichangas still your favorite?”

They were, but I shook my head and barked. I opened my own menu and mumbled, “I think I’ll just get some tacos.”

Dad folded his menu and set it on the table. “Tacos sound great.”

I threw my menu down and barked. “Are you going to copy everything I order?”

Dad grinned. “You just have such good taste.”

Being in a restaurant made me nervous, and I couldn’t help it. I jerked my head and drummed my fingers on the table to try to distract myself, but I barked again.

Dad stared at me. “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine.” I let out another bark. And then another. And another. I furiously drummed my fingers on the table and closed my eyes.

Find the beat. Just find the beat.

It wasn’t working, though. I jerked my head and barked and kept drumming my fingers. I opened my eyes and forgot about the beat entirely. Dishes clanked and people murmured and a phone rang somewhere. It was as frantic and chaotic as the scribbles inside me. And the pressure built while Dad watched me with eyebrows drawn together.

Dad glanced around the restaurant. “Where are our drinks?” he muttered.

It was as though he suddenly had tics. Every time I barked, he couldn’t stop his eyes from glancing around. He couldn’t stop his hands from rubbing his forehead. He couldn’t stop his teeth from biting his lip. I could see it in his face—everything I needed to know.

He was ashamed of me. Just as he’d always been. Just as he always would be.

And the more he glanced around and rubbed his forehead and bit his lip, the more I barked and shrugged and barked and shook my head and barked and barked and barked.

Dad looked around the restaurant, his face full of distress while the pressure built inside me. It built so much that my vision blurred and tears poured down my cheeks.

Dad gaped at me. “Connor, what is wrong? Please tell me.” He reached out to grab my drumming fingers, but I pulled them away so quickly that I knocked my water over, and it splashed all over the table and me.

Dad jumped to his feet. “Connor!”

The pressure built so much that I knew I was going to explode and make a way bigger mess than the water. I was the pressure cooker, and I was about to leave bits and pieces of myself all over this restaurant if I didn’t get out of here. Right now.

I pushed away from the table so hard, the chair clattered to the restaurant floor.

And then I was running through the restaurant, knocking over another chair at an empty table, leaving a trail of diners with shocked looks on their faces. Then I was slamming through the doors and out into the hot city. I ran across the parking lot, past his stupid black car, and down the sidewalk. My heart pounded in my ears, and my feet slammed the concrete, and cars rushed by, blasting my damp cheeks with hot wind, drying them in an instant.

Slap, slap, slap, slap.

My feet against the concrete. It was frantic and chaotic and furious, and there was absolutely no beat to be found in anything—not in my footsteps, not in the honking horns, not in the screech of tires.

“Connor, stop!”

Just stop it, Connor! Just stop!

“Connor, stop!” A voice breaking through. His voice. He was running behind me, but I wouldn’t stop.

Then a hand was grabbing my arm. His hand. “Connor, please! What is going on?”

I whirled around to face him. “Leave me alone!”

“Connor, please. What did I do? Tell me what I did.”

“You hate me!” I screamed at him. “That’s what you did! You hate me!”

His face somehow turned from bright pink to pale white as the blood drained out of it. “How could you ever think that?”

I tore my arm out of his grip as cars blew by us, one after the other. “Because you just showed me!” And then I was running again, and I heard no other footsteps behind me. No shouts. No hand grabbed my arm.

Positive: I got away from him.

Negative: He let me go.

I barricaded myself in my room the rest of the evening, but the moment Mom got home, she was pounding on my door. “Connor, open up,” she ordered.

“Leave me alone,” I said back through the door.

“You open this door right now, or you’re grounded for a month. And I mean really grounded—not this half-hearted grounding I’ve been doing.”

I thought of Rory and the Pink Daylight concert. I couldn’t get grounded, so I opened my door.

She stood on the other side, her face full of anger and worry and confusion. “What is going on? Your dad told me how you ran off at the restaurant. He’s absolutely sick with worry. I’ve never heard him so distraught in my life. What were you thinking?”

“You weren’t there, Mom!” I blurted. “Every time I ticced, he looked around the restaurant. He was embarrassed to be with me.”

Mom threw up her hands in exasperation. “Connor, he was just worried about you. You had a tic explosion in the restaurant and started crying, and he didn’t know what to do. He was looking around for the waitress because he wanted to cancel your orders and get you out of there since you were clearly upset about being in the restaurant. The only person he was thinking of was you!” She shouted that last word.

“Why do you believe everything he says?” I jerked my head. “How can you believe in him so much after everything he’s done?”

“Because people can change, Connor! And I want you to have a father.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want a father!” I slammed my door and threw myself on my bed, crying and barking into my pillow.

Because I did want a father. I just didn’t want one who would hurt me.

CHAPTER 23

I sat as quietly as possible on the bus Monday morning. It took every ounce of energy to not bark, my body so full of aching and burning that I felt like the bark would burst straight out of my chest if I didn’t let it out of my throat soon. The scribbles inside me zigzagged and swirled and made no sense at all.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I clenched my fists until my knuckles were pale white and pounded them on the seat.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

Just forget Dad.

Don’t bark. Don’t bark.

Just forget Dad.

Don’t bark. Don’t bark.

The bus screeched to a stop, destroying my focus. I let out a bark, and one echoed back to me. Liam.

Rory got on and scanned the seats for me. The moment she spotted me, her whole face lit up, and she bounded down the aisle. She sat down beside me and shoved her pink backpack beneath the seat in front of us. She turned to me, the lighter side of her face pink, her eyes shining. “Good morning,” she said.

“Hey.” I turned away from her and stared out the window, squeezing my eyes shut. Sweat dripped down my temples. My heart pounded. Couldn’t she see that I needed to focus and she was messing me up?

One, two, three, four.

Don’t bark. Don’t bark.

Rory fidgeted beside me, kicked her bag, and patted the seat, completely throwing off my beat. “I’ve been thinking about you,” she said. “I was thinking about … you know … what we did.”

I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I barked again. Another bark floated back to us. Rory ignored Liam, but how could I? Maybe Rory could keep ignoring him and pretending like he wasn’t torturing me, but how could I?

I tried to breathe in and out. In and out. Like Ms. Chen taught me.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

Rory put a hand on my arm. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine.” But I wasn’t fine at all. To say that my insides were a scribbled mess would be an understatement. There was no way to find anything inside the scribbles. Except anger. Pain. Aching. Burning.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

“Have … you been thinking about me?” Rory asked, her voice soft and tentative.

I shrugged. Shrugged. Shrugged. Shrugged.

One, two, three, four.

“Oh … Well … I was thinking,” she stuttered. “I was thinking maybe you could come over after school. Or I could come over. Maybe we could play Rock Band.”

“Can’t.”

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

“Well … why not?”

“Drum lesson.”

“Oh. Do you think I could stay and watch? We could ride the late bus together.” She nudged me. “Maybe I could pick up a few pointers. I could probably use them. Do you—”

“Stop asking so many questions!” I blurted. I turned away from her, my eyes squeezed shut, my feet bobbing, breathing in and out, in and out.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

Just forget Dad.

Don’t bark. Don’t bark.

Forget Rory.

Just please don’t bark.

By the time I finally opened my eyes again, we were at school, and Rory was gone. Rory was gone, and the scribbles inside me felt like they were about to burst out, and when they did, I doubted I would be able to find the words I’m sorry inside them.

“You’re awfully quiet today, Connor,” Ms. Chen said after school that day. It was the first time someone had spoken directly to me since the awful bus ride with Rory. I’d avoided my friends at lunchtime, falling back into my old habit of hiding in the library. I had done my best to be invisible the rest of the day, and it seemed to be working. Rory hadn’t even looked at me during music theory.

I may have been quiet on the outside, but on the inside I was screaming from the pressure.

The pressure from Dad.

The pressure from Mom.

The pressure from Liam.

The pressure from Rory.

It needed to come out. “I just really want to play the drums.”

“Then let’s get started.”

Ms. Chen played the bassline for “Another One Bites the Dust,” and I began hitting the drums. And I hit them. And hit them. Harder and harder and harder. I hit the snare drum so hard that sweat poured down my temples.

Ms. Chen’s voice seemed like it was coming from a hundred miles away. “Connor.” There was no more bassline. “Connor.” No more music. “Connor.” No more beat. The beat was gone as I hit the drums over and over and over.

Until—snap.

I held the drumstick up in front of my face. I had snapped it in half.

I looked at Ms. Chen’s worried face. “Connor,” she repeated.

I threw the broken stick on the floor and ran out of the room.

CHAPTER 24

Amanda managed to stop me after algebra the next day despite my best efforts to run out of there and head to the library for lunch. She jumped in front of me before I could get out the door. “What is going on with you?” she demanded.

“Nothing,” I muttered.

“Rory is so worried about you. She said you’re not acting at all like yourself.”

I looked down and shrugged. I’d been so quiet the past couple of days that it was becoming harder and harder to find the right words to communicate at all. I worried what might happen when I finally did open my mouth and let out some of the pressure. What if I hurt someone?

Amanda put a hand on my arm. “Hey, we’re all just worried about you. Has something bad happened?”

Just my whole life.

I shook my head. “I’m sorry I upset her,” I said quietly. And I really was sorry I’d hurt Rory on the bus—so sorry that I felt the need to stay away from her to keep from doing it again. But my staying away from her was hurting her, too. I couldn’t win.

Amanda pulled on my arm. “Come on. Let’s go to lunch together.”

I reluctantly followed Amanda to the cafeteria and sat down at a table with the three of them, but I avoided looking at Rory. I focused on keeping my mouth shut, except for the occasional bark that had to be let out.

“You’re quiet again,” Rory said.

I finally looked at her. “Compared to you, everyone’s quiet.” Why, why, why, of all the things I could’ve said to her, did I say that?

Rory stared at me, her smile totally gone now.

“That was harsh, Connor,” said Keanu.

“Maybe I just don’t feel like talking today,” I said. “Shouldn’t I have the choice to not talk?” I was so tired of people forcing me to do things. At the very least, I could control whether I spoke or not.

“Well, do you feel like coming to Organ Pipe Pizza after school?” asked Amanda. “We’re trying out a new show—Wicked. I’m going to be Glinda, Rory’s going to be Elphaba, and Keanu has to be the Wizard, of course.”

“Last I heard, the Wizard of Oz wasn’t a lizard,” I muttered. “Lizard Wizard.” I snorted.

The three of them stared at me. Why couldn’t I stop myself from saying mean things to them? This was why I needed to just not speak at all.

Keanu’s mouth dropped open. “Well, who pooped on your Pop-Tart this morning?”

Amanda put a hand on Keanu’s arm, then looked at me. “Why don’t you come see what we’ve put together? Give us some feedback.”

“I don’t need to see it to give you feedback,” I growled. And here I went—about to ruin the only friendships I had at this school and completely unable to stop myself. It was as though my meanness had suddenly become some awful, destructive tic—like the people who poke their own eyes and punch their own faces. “The show is embarrassing and dorky.”

Rory stared at me, her eyes filling with tears. Then she pushed away from the table so hard, Keanu’s juice box fell over and started dribbling. She snatched up her lunch and grabbed her backpack from the chair next to her. “That embarrassing place and that dorky show are important to us.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “And you’re not welcome anymore!” Then she stormed away.

Amanda was shaking her head and glaring at me while Keanu collected his lunch and wiped up the juice dribbles with a napkin. Then Amanda grabbed her own backpack and quietly left the table, Keanu following closely behind.

I watched them go and knew they wouldn’t come back.

Positive: At least I hadn’t poked my own eyes out.

Negative: I successfully poked out my heart.

Positive: Without a heart, no one could ever hurt me again.

And for once, I was able to end on the positive.

After lunch, I walked to class, my head down, doing my best not to look at anyone. Doing my best to be invisible, which has to be hardest for a person with Tourette’s.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

I let a bark escape. And then I heard someone bark back. I didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. Liam barked again.

I squeezed my arms tightly together, gritted my teeth, and focused all my energy on the ground. I tried to hear the beat in my head as I walked.

One, two, three, four.

Just ignore him.

One, two, three, four.

Just ignore him.

His footsteps thumped on the sidewalk behind me, throwing my beat off. When I lost the beat, the pressure built in my chest, and I barked.

Liam barked again.

Just like earlier with my friends, I couldn’t stop what I did next. This anger, this meanness, this rage was like the worst tic I’d ever had.

I jolted to a stop, causing him to stumble into me.

I turned and pushed him away.

Liam held his hands up in a Take it easy, man sort of way.

But I wasn’t about to take it easy. I was about to take it very hard.

With no other way to release the pressure building inside me, I pulled my fist back and slammed it into Liam’s face as hard as I could.

CHAPTER 25

Mom sat in the office with me, facing Principal Davis. I hadn’t met with her since right before school, when we had the meeting about my tics. She’d been very kind and happy then, but she didn’t look happy now. Mom didn’t look happy. I was sure I didn’t look happy either.

“Ms. Bradley,” Principal Davis said, her dark eyebrows drawn together. “We take violence at this school very seriously.”

“Of course you do,” Mom said quickly. “As you should.”

Mom turned to me, a look of utter and complete disappointment on her face. Not only did she have to come to school to have a meeting with the principal about how I’d punched Liam, but she’d had to leave work early.

Principal Davis tapped a pen on the desk, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “I could expel Connor for what he did today.”

Mom’s eyes widened in fear. “I understand,” she said softly. “I don’t want to make excuses for him, but he has been going through a really hard time. He had to move, leave his old friends, and we have some family stuff going on. Hard family stuff with his dad.”

Principal Davis nodded her head as Mom spoke, as though she was really listening to her. The deep crinkle between her eyes seemed to smooth out.

After Mom finished speaking, Principal Davis turned her attention to me. “Connor, I’d like to know what led to you punching Liam.”

I shrugged and barked and held my focus on the office carpet. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and I wiped them away.

“Connor,” Principal Davis said, her voice gentler this time. “What happened that led you to do this?”

I wiped my cheeks again and said softly, “He wouldn’t leave me alone. He’s always barking back at me and laughing.”

Mom reached out and grabbed one of my hands, squeezing it. Then she said to Principal Davis, “It’s hard to be the new kid at school, but it’s especially hard for a kid with tics.”

Principal Davis stood up from her desk and walked around, sitting on the edge of it in front of me. “Thank you for telling me that.”

I continued staring at the carpet. “I don’t want to be a tattletale.”

“You’re not being a tattletale,” she said. “You’re just being honest. I’m sorry Liam’s been treating you like that. I’ll be sure to talk to him about it. It’s really important to remember something in life, Connor.” She was quiet a long time until I finally looked up at her. Her face had softened, and her eyes were wide and caring. “You can’t control other people’s behavior.” She leaned in closer. “But you can still control your own.”

I brought my eyes back down to the carpet. “Unless it’s a tic.” I didn’t mean it to be sarcastic or anything like that. It was just the truth.

Principal Davis leaned back and crossed her arms. “Was punching Liam a tic?”

I shook my head.

“Then my point still stands.” She turned back to Mom. “I don’t think expulsion will be necessary, but I am going to have to suspend Connor for the rest of the week.”

Mom burst into tears. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said. I had never felt worse than I did about putting Mom through this. Like she didn’t have enough to deal with already.

Principal Davis put a hand on Mom’s shuddering shoulder. With her other hand, she grabbed a tissue from a box on her desk and handed it to Mom, who took it gratefully and cried into it.

With her hand still on Mom’s shoulder, Principal Davis said, “You two can always come in here to talk to me if you need to. I’m here to support the students, and I’m sorry Connor hasn’t been getting that support.”

I looked up at Principal Davis, and I could tell she meant what she said. “I have been getting support, though. From Ms. Chen. Even though I’m suspended, can I please still do my drum lessons with her?”

“They’ve been meeting twice a week after school,” Mom said, sniffling into the tissue. “Ms. Chen and the drums are so important to him. I can’t tell you all the good they’ve done for him.”

Principal Davis nodded and smiled. “Ms. Chen is a special teacher.”

But then I remembered what I’d done—hitting the drums so hard, I’d broken her drumstick. The way I’d just thrown it down and run out of the room. I wondered how much a drumstick cost. If it had been special to her. If she’d even want me to come back. “I don’t know if she wants me to keep doing lessons with her, though,” I said.

Principal Davis watched me closely, her smile fading. “Why’s that, Connor?”

“Because of what I’ve done,” I said, not going into specifics. They could take their pick.

Principal Davis walked back around her desk and picked up the phone, punching a few buttons and clearing her throat. “Hi, Ms. Chen,” she said. “How are you this afternoon? In the middle of class?” She listened and nodded. “I just have a quick question for you—do you still have time to do lessons with Connor Bradley after school this week? I understand you’ve been meeting with him twice a week.” She listened and nodded some more, keeping her eyes on me. “Yes, he’s gotten himself into a bit of trouble today. He won’t be at school this week, but if it’s okay with you, he can still come do his drum lessons at your usual time.” More listening, more nodding. “Thursday?”

Principal Davis put her hand over the mouthpiece and said to Mom, “That okay with you? A lesson on Thursday?”

Mom nodded, and Principal Davis said into the phone, “Sounds good to them. Thanks, Sue. Oh, I mean Ms. Chen.” She grinned and hung up the phone. “Looks like it’s all going to work out.”

Principal Davis stared at me, her face totally serious now. “But you have to promise me you’ll hit only drums from now on, Connor. Not people.”

I agreed.

CHAPTER 26

The next day, Mom got me up early even though I didn’t have to go to school. “Just because you’re suspended doesn’t mean this is a vacation.”

I turned onto my side, pulling the covers up over my head.

She tore them back down. “Up. Now. Today you’re going to finish unpacking your room and make it the cleanest it’s ever been. And I mean I better feel like I can eat off every surface. When you’re done with that, you can move on to the kitchen. Then you’re going to make us dinner. I have directions for meatballs on the counter.”

I threw the covers down and sat up. “Sheesh, Mom. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Yes. Never get suspended again.”

After she left, I took my time getting a bowl of cereal and then sat down in front of the living room TV, but it wouldn’t turn on when I tried to use the remote. I got up, looked around the back of the TV, and saw that it had been unplugged. Not only that, but there was duct tape wrapped tightly around the plug with writing on it that read I’ll know if you remove this tape.

I threw the plug on the carpet, flopped down on the couch, and barked. I guess that was one nice thing about not being at school—I could just let the barks out as much as I wanted. So I barked while washing my cereal dish. And I barked while unpacking the rest of my bedroom. And I barked while vacuuming.

Suddenly there was pounding on the front door—loud enough that I heard it over the whir of the vacuum cleaner. I turned the vacuum off and opened the door. A strange man stood there, and it was only then that I remembered Mom’s rule of never answering the door for strangers when she wasn’t home. Um, oops.

“Hi,” the man said. “I’m Tom, the manager here. Is your mom around?”

Well, that was a relief. At least he wasn’t here to rob us. Not that there would be much to rob. Also, would he have knocked? “She’s at work.”

He frowned at me. “And shouldn’t you be at school?”

I faked a little cough. “Not feeling well.”

“Well, can you pass a message on to her for me, please?”

“Sure,” I said.

“We’ve had this discussion a couple of times. I’ve told her she’s not allowed to have pets in this apartment. It’s an extra five-hundred-dollar deposit, plus an extra hundred dollars a month, and—”

I interrupted him. “We don’t have any pets.” I opened the door a bit wider so he could look inside. “See? No pets.”

He crossed his arms. “People have been complaining that they can hear a dog in here, and I just heard it myself. How do you explain that?”

My face heated to burning, my eyes stung, and my head shook from the pressure, which was building in every part of my body, especially my chest. I gritted my teeth. “She’s not lying. We don’t have any pets.”

“Then where’s the barking coming from?” He looked around me. “The TV’s not on.”

I suddenly wanted to slam the door in his face. It was none of his business what was inside our apartment. “We don’t have any pets,” I repeated, trying to keep from screaming it.

“If the complaints continue, I’m going to have to ask you two to leave,” he said.

“It’s me!” I shouted and barked. “It’s me!” I barked again. “I have Tourette syndrome!” I barked and barked and barked.

Manager Tom’s eyes widened, and he took a step back, away from me, like my barks had a force strong enough to move him. “That does sound like the bark I’ve been hearing.” He cleared his throat. “You’re going to have to keep it down, though.”

I barked. “You see”—bark!—“that’s the thing”— bark!—“about Tourette’s.” Bark! “I can’t control it.” Bark! Bark! Bark!

Manager Tom sighed in frustration. “This really should have been disclosed when she rented the apartment.”

I couldn’t continue this conversation. I was already in danger of going against my word to Principal Davis that I wouldn’t hit people. And if I hit Manager Tom, he’d for sure evict us. Maybe I’d even get arrested. Who knew what could happen.

Easing the door shut, I muttered, “I’ll let her know what you said.” I finished shutting it before Manager Tom could say anything more, and I could tell he wanted to since his mouth had dropped open.

I ran to my room and picked up my pad and drumsticks. I could do this. For Mom. I could stop barking.

One, two, three, four.

I hit the pad, tapping my feet and finding the beat.

One, two, three, four.

My eyes blurred.

One two, three, four.

My lips trembled.

One, two, three, four.

Tears streamed down my cheeks.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

All I need is …

All I need is …

… to hold on to …

… to hold on to …

… the beat I drum.

… the beat I drum.

… the beat I drum.

CHAPTER 27

Mom walked in the door and set her bag on the kitchen table. “I smell the meatballs,” she said to me in the kitchen where I was stirring noodles in a pot. “But it doesn’t look like you got everything else done.”

“I made garlic bread, too.” I slipped on an oven mitt and pulled a cookie sheet out of the oven. It was just white sandwich bread with butter and garlic salt on top, but it was the best I could do.

Mom smiled. “That’s a nice touch.” Then she spotted the bed pillow on the kitchen counter. She pointed at it. “What’s going on here? New cooking technique?”

I set the garlic bread on the stovetop and slapped the oven mitt on the counter. “I would’ve gotten more done, but I had to focus on not barking for most of the day.” With that, I picked up the pillow and barked into it. It was pretty effective at muffling the noise. “I promise I’ll get more done tomorrow now that I’ve figured out the pillow thing.”

Mom’s cheerful grin immediately faded. “Why are you doing that?”

I filled her in on the situation with the manager.

The color drained from her face. “Go to your room,” she said through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

“Don’t apologize,” she snapped. “Just … go to your room. Then we’ll have dinner. Just go.”

I did as ordered, but when I heard her voice, I cracked my door open to listen.

“… and he just informed me about what happened today. Have you ever heard of the federal Fair Housing Act? Because if you had, you’d know that what you threatened to do today is illegal.” She shouted the word illegal into the phone. “You’re not allowed to discriminate against us because of any physical or mental disability, and that includes my son’s Tourette’s. If you threaten to do it again, I’ll sue your butt off! I’m documenting all this as of today. Goodbye!”

She stopped talking, but I waited in my room, still listening. When I heard her sniffling, I came out and slowly made my way into the kitchen. She was leaning over the counter, her phone lying on it in front of her, her body heaving with sobs.

I came up behind her and put my arms around her. She put her hands over my hands.

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

She turned around and took me in her arms. “No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

We hugged each other for a long time in the kitchen. We may have had the Fair House Act, or whatever it was called, on our side.

But that didn’t mean the world was fair.

CHAPTER 28

The next day, Mom got me up early again. This time, I didn’t argue. I worked as fast as I could to get all my chores done so I’d have some extra time before my lesson with Ms. Chen. I wanted to walk to the music store. It was still pretty hot outside, so I packed my backpack with extra water and took every bit of money I had left from my birthday with me, popped in my earbuds, and made my way over there. Six miles was a long way to walk, but what else did I have to do?

I put “Under Pressure” by Queen on repeat and walked to the beat the whole time. I snapped my fingers to the snapping, and I clapped my hands to the clapping. I probably looked weird, walking down the sidewalk, snapping and clapping, but I didn’t care. I tried to lose myself in the beat until I finally reached the music store.

“Hey there,” said that same balding guy when I opened the front door. “Connor, right?”

“That’s right,” I said.

“What can I do for you today? I’m sorry I don’t have the new drum set just yet. Should be delivered on Monday.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “I actually need to buy some drumsticks.”

“Sure thing. What kind?”

“Whatever I can get for thirty dollars.”

The man smiled. “You can get some really nice ones for that price.”

I smiled back. “Good.”

There was no way Mom could take off work early again to drive me to my drum lesson with Ms. Chen, so Dad had to pick me up.

We drove quietly all the way to school. When we finally parked and I reached out for the handle, Dad grabbed my arm. “Connor … just hold on a second.”

I stopped and sat quietly.

“Connor …” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “I’m really trying here. But … I can’t repair our relationship all by myself.”

“You broke our relationship all by yourself,” I muttered.

Dad sat in his seat and nodded. “I’ve made a ton of mistakes. I can admit that. But I want to do better. Will you help me do better? Will you stop fighting me?”

I turned to him. “Why would you need my help?”

“Because a relationship is a two-way street, Connor. And I want a relationship with you. I’m not saying I’ll never mess up again. Clearly I did something at the restaurant that triggered you, and—”

I huffed. “That’s an understatement.”

He scowled. “I can’t be perfect. But I can try to be better all the time. Please. Just give me the chance to be better instead of looking for every little thing I might do wrong. I’m not doing that with you.”

“What?”

“Focusing on the negative things.”

“What negative things?”

Dad threw up his hands. “How about the way you treat me all the time? No matter how hard I try to be a better dad and get closer to you, you treat me like dirt.”

I grabbed the handle again before he could stop me and pushed the door open. “Like you should talk!” I jumped out of the car and slammed the door.

As I walked away from the car, I could hear Dad’s voice. He’d gotten out and was standing beside it. “What do I have to do, Connor?”

“There’s nothing you can do!” I called back and ran to the music room.

I stood outside the door a few minutes, wiping my cheeks and trying to calm down. I couldn’t let him back in. I wouldn’t let him back in. And it was infuriating that some stupid part of me really wanted to. A stupid part of me was starting to think maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time he wouldn’t hurt me. Maybe this time he would be the dad I always needed. But all the other parts of me wouldn’t be able to take it when it turned out to be a lie.

Suddenly the door swung open and almost hit me.

Ms. Chen looked down, her face full of surprise. “Connor, what are you doing out here?”

“Just … taking a minute.”

“Well, come inside.”

I walked into the cool music room and stood for a minute before reaching into my backpack. I pulled out the new drumsticks and handed them to her without saying anything.

Ms. Chen took the drumsticks from me and studied them. “What are these for?”

“To replace the one I broke.”

She turned the drumsticks over in her hands. “These are really nice drumsticks, Connor. Thank you for the gift.”

“You’re welcome.” My voice was so soft, I wasn’t sure if she even heard me.

“They’re way nicer than the one that broke.”

I noticed her choice of words—the one that broke. Not the one you broke.

“That was just a cheap drumstick for school use. I didn’t care at all that it got broken.”

I finally looked up at her. “You didn’t?”

“No, drumsticks break all the time. That’s why I get cheap ones for school. I was much more worried about what was going on with you that day. And clearly I was right to be worried. I heard about what happened.”

Of course she’d heard about it. My face heated with shame. Everyone in school probably knew about how I’d punched Liam. Amanda, Rory, Keanu, Ms. Chen, and all my other teachers. Would they think I was a bad kid now?

“I guess the pressure just got to be too much,” said Ms. Chen.

I swallowed. “I guess so,” I said hoarsely.

Ms. Chen set the new drumsticks down on her desk. She stepped closer to me and took my clenched hands in hers, prying my fingers open to loosen them up. “When that happens, Connor, it’s absolutely okay to break drumsticks.”

A tear slid down my cheek. “It is?”

“Of course it is. It’s always okay to break drumsticks.” She grinned. “Especially if it keeps you from breaking someone’s face.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “I was worried …” I said, and my voice caught. “I was worried you wouldn’t want to do drum lessons with me anymore.”

Ms. Chen tilted her head. “You just made a mistake, Connor. Everyone can make a mistake.”

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes lately.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ms. Chen sat down in a chair and folded her hands in her lap. “You want to talk about it?”

I sat down across from her. “It almost feels like meanness is becoming a tic for me. It isn’t just what happened with Liam. I’ve said mean things to my friends. Super-mean things. I’ve said mean things to my mom. I’ve been really mean to …” Dad.

“Are you sorry for what you’ve done?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to do better?”

“Yes, I don’t want to hurt people anymore.”

“Then I’m sure they’ll forgive you if you apologize,” Ms. Chen said. “When we make mistakes or say mean things, we need to own it. Say we’re sorry. Try to make things right.”

“Do you think …” I tapped my feet, stared at the floor, and let a bark loose. “Do you think a person can make too many mistakes to be forgiven?”

Ms. Chen was quiet a long time before I finally looked up at her. “I think that depends, Connor.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not they want to stop making those mistakes. On whether or not they’re really trying to change. I think if a person keeps hurting someone over and over and refuses to change, then sometimes we do have to protect ourselves and stay away from them. But I know you want to do better. I know you want to stop being mean to people.”

“How do you know that?”

She smiled. “Because you just told me, and I believe you. But actions do speak louder than words. Can you show the people you’ve hurt that you’re sorry and want to do better?”

“I think so.”

“Then I believe you definitely deserve another chance. With everyone.”

“Even with Liam?”

Ms. Chen tilted her head. “Maybe you should just keep your distance from Liam.”

I frowned and stared at the floor again. “If only he would let me.”

“Hey,” Ms. Chen said, and I looked back up at her. “I know how he’s been. I’ve seen him in class, so I can imagine how he behaves outside of class. I had to deal with kids like him when I was in school.”

“You did?”

“I did. I was bullied in school, too, you know.” Ms. Chen’s face darkened, like she was remembering some terrible memory. “It got really bad at times.”

“How did you handle it?”

Ms. Chen’s face cleared, and her eyes brightened again. She grabbed my hands in hers and leaned in, her mouth tilted up at one corner. “I broke a lot of drumsticks.”

CHAPTER 29

I’d been calling Aven for days, but she wouldn’t answer. I was beginning to worry about her, so I called the main Stagecoach Pass line and hit the menu button for the office. “Stagecoach Pass,” said Mr. Green.

“Hey, Mr. Green,” I said. “It’s Connor.”

“Connor!” he said. “So nice to hear from you. What’s up?”

“I’ve been trying to reach Aven, but she’s not answering her phone.”

He was quiet a little while. “Yeah … She cracked her screen and has been asking for a new phone, but I think it still works.”

“Is she around after school today?”

“Yeah, she should be home right after school. You want me to tell her you called?”

“Actually, I was thinking about stopping by and surprising her.” Mom had the day off, and it was really her idea. She needed to run a few errands on that side of town, and she thought it might be nice for me to see my best friend.

“That would be great,” said Mr. Green. “She has been in a bit of a funk. Not sure if she told you, but Spaghetti died.”

My stomach cramped up. “Oh no. Really?” We knew he was getting older and wouldn’t be around forever, but how could she not tell me? Was she mad at me for some reason? I really couldn’t take Aven being mad at me, too, right now. “When?”

“Just the day before yesterday, so that could be why she hasn’t been answering her phone. Please come by. I think seeing you will cheer her up.”

I hung up the phone and rubbed the back of my neck, which had gotten sore and stiff from shaking my head so much lately. Why should I feel nervous about seeing Aven of all people?

Why hadn’t she called me?

It was true—Aven had been in a serious funk for several weeks now and wouldn’t tell me why. The last time I saw her, she was even talking about wanting to be homeschooled and becoming a hermit. It was really unlike her to be so negative. I knew it was more than just Spaghetti. Zion seemed to know a lot more than I did, but every time I asked him, he just said, “Talk to her about it.”

But how could I talk to her about it when she wouldn’t even answer her phone?

Mom dropped me off at Stagecoach Pass and told me she’d be back in a few hours. I went straight to the apartment above the steakhouse and knocked on the door, but no one answered, so I went into the steakhouse and found Mr. Green in the office.

“Hey, Connor,” he said.

“Do you know where Aven is?” I asked.

“Isn’t she upstairs?”

I shook my head.

“Then I’m not sure. I didn’t even see her come home from school, but I’ve been wrapped up in paperwork all day.”

Stagecoach Pass was pretty big, but there was one place I figured she might be, especially if she was having a hard time. I left the steakhouse and walked the desert trail behind the amusement park until I came to a small hill. I could see her sitting at the top.

The moment she spotted me, she began wiping her cheeks on her shoulders. Without hands to wipe her tears away, it was a lot harder to hide them from me, though.

I made my way up the hill and sat down next to her quietly while she sniffled. Finally she said, “What are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to see you,” I said, shrugging. “You haven’t been answering your phone.”

“A lot’s been going on,” she said. “Spaghetti died.”

“I heard. I’m sorry.”

“And Henry’s in the hospital.”

“What?” Henry was the old guy who worked in the soda shop at Stagecoach Pass. His health had been getting worse all the time, but Aven’s family didn’t have the heart to let him go from his job since he’d worked there forever.

“Yeah, he had a stroke the day Spaghetti died. I found him after school, unconscious on the floor.”

“Oh my gosh. Is he okay?”

“They said he should recover, but he probably won’t be able to walk for a long time, if ever again.”

My heart sank. “So he won’t be able to work anymore?”

She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears.

“Is anything else wrong?”

Aven snorted. “Isn’t that enough?”

“It’s just … you’ve been weird since right after school started. Way before any of this happened.”

She looked away from me. “So much has changed this year,” she said. “You moved. I told you, I hate high school without you.”

“At least you have Zion,” I said. “I had to start from scratch.”

She turned to me. “So what’s going on with you anyway?”

I wanted to tell her I was suspended for punching a jerk at school. That I’d destroyed all my new friendships. That Mom seemed depressed about me and Dad. That Mom couldn’t go back to school like she wanted. That I’d been so awful to my dad that I was pretty sure I’d finally pushed him away for good, which I’d thought was what I wanted, but now I wasn’t so sure. But Aven had enough worries at the moment. How could I unload on her right now?

“Not much,” I said.

“Things still going well at school?”

“Yeah, things are fine.”

She stared at me. “Why do I feel like you’re hiding something?”

I grinned and leaned into her, bumping her. “Look who’s talking.”

She smiled and lay her head on my shoulder.

And then we were quiet for a long time while we sat on the hill together.

Positive: Aven and I were hiding together.

Negative: Aven and I were hiding.

CHAPTER 30

Mom was working that Sunday, and it was the last day before I had to go back to school. I got up early and worked all morning on finishing the last of the unpacking. I even hung some pictures on the walls. They were pretty crooked, but I figured it was the effort that counted.

When I walked down to the dumpster with the last of the boxes, I spotted dad’s car in the parking lot. Then I saw that he was still sitting in it. He held the steering wheel in his hands and pressed his head against it. I watched him for probably a full minute before he finally lifted his head and wiped his eyes.

I quickly tossed the boxes in the dumpster and then stood on the sidewalk as he got out of his car. He seemed surprised to find me standing there.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

His eyes were swollen. He looked tired. “I was hoping you would come somewhere with me today.”

“Where?”

“It’s … hard to explain. It would be easier to just take you there.”

I looked up at the apartment door, then back at him. I suddenly felt as tired as he looked. And I thought of Mom. “Okay,” I whispered, then barked and cleared my throat. “I just need to go change and lock up the apartment.” I was still in my pajamas.

Dad waited for me in his car while I quickly put on some shorts and a T-shirt. Then I went back downstairs and got into the car with him. He didn’t say a word as he pulled out of the parking lot and drove down the street. After about fifteen minutes of silence, he turned into the parking lot of some commercial complex and parked the car in front of an office with a sign on the door that read HEALING HEARTS THERAPY.

“What is this place?” I asked.

Dad turned off the car and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, not looking at me, like he was afraid to tell me. “It’s a counselor’s office.”

I squeezed my fist in my hand. I wanted to punch the dashboard. Wanted to hear the cracking sound as I broke his car and possibly my own knuckles. I gritted my teeth and stared straight ahead, hot tears burning in my eyes, which I blinked down my blazing cheeks. “I can’t believe you brought me here,” I said through my clenched teeth. “I can’t believe you’re taking me to a counselor as some kind of last-ditch effort to fix me. It’s because I punched Liam. Isn’t it? You don’t even know why I did it, and I doubt you care.”

I barked and shook my head and seriously considered opening the door and jumping out of the car and running away like I’d done at the restaurant. I mean, I wanted to. And if we hadn’t been so far from home, I would have.

Dad turned to me, his eyes wide and fearful. “Connor, no,” he said. “I didn’t bring us here for you. And I do know all about Liam and what happened. I wish you’d told me yourself, but I know why you punched him. Mom already explained the whole situation to me. That’s not why we’re here.”

I continued squeezing my fist and barked at the windshield, trembling with anger. “Then why are we here?”

Dad placed a hand over my clenched fist. “For me, Connor.”

I looked up at him. Is this some kind of trick? What is this?

Dad took another deep breath. “We’re here for me. Not for you.”

“Then why did you bring me here?” Another tear broke free and ran down my cheek.

Dad turned and sort of collapsed back in his seat, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I guess I thought … I thought maybe you might like to meet my counselor. I thought maybe … maybe we could talk with her together about our issues.”

“You mean my issues.”

Dad whipped back to face me. “No, I mean my issues. Okay? You don’t even have to speak while we’re in there. But it would mean everything to me if you would just go in with me. Just once. Please? I know you don’t owe me anything, and I don’t deserve anything. I’m asking for a favor.”

I took a deep breath and exited the car, slamming the door, then followed him into the building, my head down. I was expecting some sort of office, but it was just a small entry area with a little table for signing in.

A woman came out of a dimly lit room and said hello to Dad before immediately turning to me and putting her hand out. “You must be Connor,” she said. “I’m so happy to meet you. I’m Stephanie.”

I shook Stephanie’s hand, but I didn’t say anything. I still had my doubts about why Dad brought me here, and, I swore, the moment this supposed counselor started talking about ways to heal my Tourette’s, I was going to run out of here, middle of nowhere or not.

She motioned for us to follow her into the little back room, where there was a cushioned chair for her and a couch for us. She sat down, no clipboard or anything like I expected, and faced us. I moved away from Dad on the couch, as far as I could get.

She watched me do this and gave me a warm smile. “I feel like I know you already,” she said. “Your dad has talked about you so much.”

I stayed quiet, moving farther away from Dad so that my upper body was leaning on the armrest.

“Your dad’s been coming here to see me for about six months. He comes twice a week. So—let’s see—that’s about fifty hours we’ve spent together.” She laughed. “That’s a lot of time to get to know someone. Don’t you think, Connor?”

I just stared at her, fighting the bark in my throat. Finally, I let it out.

Stephanie tilted her head and again gave me that warm smile. “Did you know your dad has been coming to see me?”

I slowly shook my head because, no, I didn’t know. And I had to admit that I was surprised he’d been coming for so long. I’d have expected him to be the type to not come back after the first appointment. After all, that was his thing—to give up when things got hard. That’s what he’d done to me and Mom.

“I feel like I’ve really gotten to know your dad, Connor, after all the time we’ve spent together. He deeply cares about you.” At that, I rolled my eyes, but Stephanie just smiled understandingly. “At his very first appointment,” she continued, “I asked him why he was here—what he hoped to get out of counseling. Do you want to know what he told me?”

I bit my lip, again fighting the building bark in my throat. I nodded and finally let it out.

Stephanie looked at Dad. “Do you remember what you told me, Jeff?”

Dad nodded and sniffed. “Of course I do,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It’s my reason for coming to every appointment.”

“Then tell him,” she said. “Tell Connor why you’ve been coming here all this time.”

Dad wiped his eyes and sniffed again before turning to me. I shifted my body so I was still leaning away from him but could look at him.

“Connor,” he said, his voice shaking, “you didn’t know your grandpa. My dad. He died when you were just a toddler.”

I already knew all this. What did it have to do with anything? I took an impatient breath and looked at Stephanie. Her eyes were so encouraging and kind that I decided to continue listening.

“I never had a good relationship with him,” Dad said. “No.” He shook his head. “That’s not totally true. I had a terrible relationship with him. Nothing I ever did was good enough. If I made the baseball team, there was no congratulations. There was ‘Aren’t you a good-enough player to make pitcher instead of shortstop?’ If I got a B in a difficult class, it was ‘Why are you too stupid to get A’s?’ When I got my first high school job, it was ‘Just a dishwasher, huh?’ And when I got my first corporate job, it was ‘Just a programmer, huh?’ He’s part of why I kept moving into jobs I didn’t like. Not because I wanted to but because I thought I could eventually do something more prestigious. Make more money. Impress him. But I never could.”

Dad took a deep breath. “He never ever praised me. Not once. He criticized everything I did.” He wiped at his eyes and added, in a whisper, “Everything.”

Dad reached over and pulled a tissue from the box on the coffee table, as though he’d done this a hundred times before. “One of my biggest shames is that when he died … I didn’t even feel anything. I didn’t even cry. And I thought that was just another thing wrong with me—obviously I had no love if I didn’t feel sad about my own father dying. What kind of person was I? I was just as big of a loser as he’d always led me to believe.”

Dad may not have cried when his father died, but he was crying now. I tried to remember if I’d ever seen my dad cry before and couldn’t come up with a single time. Not even when he and Mom fought. Not even when he left. His tears seemed real now, and the sight of him crying like this made me sad and confused. I felt sorry for him, even though I didn’t want to.

Mom believed that he was truly changing. This counselor, Stephanie, seemed to believe that, too. And Ms. Chen had said she thought people who really want to change and do better deserved another chance.

“I think,” Dad continued, “part of the reason my dad died so young is because he didn’t care about himself. I think he hated himself. And it’s really hard to care about anything or anyone at all when you hate yourself. Maybe his parents made him feel that way. I don’t know. I barely knew my own grandparents.”

Then Dad turned so he was fully facing me. “I know I’ve always put a lot of pressure on you. And when you started having tics, I thought I could just make you stop by telling you to do better. To be better. To try harder. Just try harder. By criticizing you.”

He took a deep breath. “I was doing the same exact things to you that my dad had always done to me, the things that had hurt me so badly my whole life. Nothing I ever said to you had anything to do with you. It was me. It was all me. I felt like a failure for the millionth time in my life because I couldn’t help my son.” He fully broke down now, sobbing into the tissue. “I blamed myself. I hated myself. I remember …” Dad choked up. “I remember shouting at you to stop ticcing.”

My heart pounded, and my eyes heated.

Just stop it, Connor! Just stop!

Dad sniffed. “How horrible and stupid of me to think that you could. That this was something you could control. I’ll regret that forever. Saying those things. I wish I could take them back.”

Dad stopped speaking, crying softly to himself for so long that Stephanie looked at me and said, “Connor, have you ever acted out at someone you cared about? Maybe treated them badly, maybe said mean things to them, not because you were mad at them, but because you were mad at yourself? Because you felt bad about yourself?”

I thought of Aven and how I’d treated her once. I thought of Amanda and Rory and Keanu. I thought of things I’d said to Mom. And how I’d acted with Ms. Chen, who’d only been trying to help me.

My throat was dry and tight, the barking urge always there, now accompanied by a big lump I couldn’t seem to swallow down. I blinked at the tears in my eyes. “Yes,” I finally whispered.

Dad sniffled into his tissue. “I’m sorry I did that to you, Connor.”

Is that why I had pushed them all away at one time or another? Why I’d been so mean? Thinking of how I had treated Rory made my chest hurt worse than holding in any tic. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Had I treated her like that because I was punishing myself? Could Dad and I really be that much alike?

I wished more than anything that I could take back the things I’d said to Rory.

What if she never forgave me? What if I did it again? What if everyone I ever hurt pushed me away forever?

Dad looked at me with red, swollen eyes. “You’re the only son I’ve got, and I’m the only dad you’ve got. I’ll never be perfect. You’ll never be perfect. I can’t promise you that I won’t ever hurt you again. But I can promise you that I will try very hard not to. I can promise you that I love you, and I want you in my life. And I promise I will always be trying to do better and be better.”

Dad wiped his eyes. “Isn’t that worth something?” He reached out and grabbed my hand in his. “Isn’t that worth trying again?”

I couldn’t answer that question right then and there in front of Stephanie. But for the first time, I felt like I could almost understand my dad. I could put myself in his place. Because I felt desperate right now for forgiveness.

And what if I couldn’t be forgiven either?

CHAPTER 31

When Rory got on the bus the next morning, she took a seat as far away from me as possible. I didn’t blame her after the way I’d treated her.

I got up quickly and sat down next to her before the bus could start moving again. “Can I sit here?”

Rory stared out the window and shrugged. “Are you sure you want to be seen with such a dork?”

Her words were like a punch to my chest. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

She turned to me, her eyes glistening. “I thought you liked me.” She wiped her cheek. “But I was obviously completely wrong.”

I shook my head. “You weren’t wrong.”

She turned away from me. “Yeah, right.”

I sat there quietly a long time, searching for words while Rory sniffled next to me. “I am really sorry about everything. Nothing I said or did had anything to do with you. Or Amanda. Or Keanu. It wasn’t even about my dad like I’ve been telling myself all this time.”

“Then who was it about?” She sniffled and wiped her cheeks, still turned away from me.

“It was about … me. I’ve just … every time I have something good in my life, I mess it up. I almost wrecked my friendship with my best friend last year. I’ve almost wrecked my music lessons with Ms. Chen. I keep hurting my mom. I keep hurting myself.”

Rory finally turned to me, her normally bright brown eyes red and a little swollen. “Why do you do that?”

My cheeks heated, and my vision blurred. “I guess sometimes I hate myself.”

“Why would you hate yourself?”

“Because I’m not …” Perfect. Not even close. Ever since the trip to the counselor with Dad, I’d felt like I’d been close to fully understanding something—something I’d never wanted to understand. Or admit. Or face.

I was just like my dad.

I couldn’t be perfect. I couldn’t do things exactly right ever. So I pushed people away because I didn’t deserve them. Just like he’d pushed me and Mom away.

“I still like you,” I said, my voice quivering. “But I think … I think you’re too good for me. You’re all too good for me.”

Rory’s angry expression finally softened. “No one’s too good for anyone else, Connor. We’re all just people. We all make mistakes. We all have—”

“Ugly things,” I finished for her.

She smiled a little. “Yeah. Ugly things. But, you know. Maybe the ugly things are okay. Maybe the ugly things make us more interesting.”

“Sometimes the ugly things are really unique. And special.” I reached out and touched the birthmark on her face, barking and jerking my head as I did so. “And really kind of beautiful.”

Rory smiled and grabbed my hand. “Life without ugly things would be really boring.”

“Totally,” I agreed. “So … do you forgive me, then?”

Rory held my hand in both of hers. “Only if you go to Pink Daylight with me. I don’t want to go alone.”

I squeezed Rory’s hands in mine. “I don’t want you to go alone either.”

CHAPTER 32

The day of the Pink Daylight concert finally came. Rory got off the bus with me so Keanu’s older sister could just pick us both up from one spot. “I told my mom we’re all hanging out together until late,” she said as I put my key in the lock.

I stopped and turned to her. “Wait. You didn’t tell her about the concert?”

Rory’s smiled vanished for a moment before reappearing again. “Oh, yeah, of course.”

I didn’t believe her, and I wondered why she wouldn’t tell her mom about the concert. Maybe it was because her mom knew the truth, that Ted Caddel was really Rory’s dad? But I figured the odds of Rory getting to actually meet him were pretty low anyway.

I turned on Rock Band while Rory changed in the bathroom. When she came out, she was wearing a band T-shirt tucked into a short black skirt, black tights, and black boots. She’d curled her long brown hair so it waved over her shoulders, and her brown eyes were shining. “Do I look okay?” she asked. “This is the sort of thing a lot of girls wear to Pink Daylight concerts.”

“You look—” My voice caught. “You look nice.”

She beamed. “I’ve got to look my best to meet my dad.”

“I think you accomplished that.”

A few minutes later, Amanda and Keanu showed up, and we all piled into Keanu’s sister’s old Beetle.

Once Rory and I had made up, she talked to them for me. Helped smooth things over. And after I apologized to them for all the nasty things I’d said, they never brought it up again. They were real friends.

“Hey,” I said to Keanu’s big sister. “I’m Connor.”

When she didn’t respond, Keanu said, “Her name’s Thea. She’s too cool to talk to us.”

Thea rolled her eyes in the front seat. “I’m only doing this because Keanu swore to clean the kitchen for a month.”

Rory leaned forward and threw her arms around Keanu’s neck. “And that’s why you’re my bestest bestie ever,” she said.

Keanu got in the front with his sister, and the three of us squished in the back. Rory sat in the middle, so she and I were pressed together, which was okay. I texted Mom that Thea had picked us up and we were in the car on our way.

Keanu and Amanda were quiet, but Rory kept gabbing the whole way to the theater. “It’ll be crowded down on the floor,” she said. “So we’re going to have to push our way to the front. I also saw that they’ll be signing autographs afterward, so it might get pretty late before we can leave.” She looked at Thea in the rearview mirror. “I hope that’s okay, Thea.”

“Fine,” Thea said in that bored voice. “I charge another month of kitchen cleaning for every hour you go past midnight.”

Amanda shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and I noticed she was doing her neck tic a lot more than usual. I looked across Rory at her. “You okay?”

She forced a smile at me. “Of course.” But when she glanced at Keanu, who had turned in his seat and was also watching her, her smile fell.

Thea dropped us off on the curb a few blocks from the theater, and we walked the rest of the way. It was starting to cool off in the evening, and the air was actually really pleasant.

Rory bounced along the sidewalk. “I can’t wait to meet Ted!” she squealed. Amanda and Keanu almost had to run to keep up with her.

Amanda grabbed her hand and said, “Just don’t be disappointed if you can’t talk to him.”

Keanu grabbed her other hand. “I’m sure a lot of people will want to meet him, so it might not work out.”

Once we got through the doors at the theater, I texted Mom to let her know we were inside.

Mom: Enjoy your first real rock concert! Maybe you’ll meet the drummer!

Me: I doubt it, but thank you I’ll text you as soon as it’s over.

Mom: Love you. Have fun!

Me: Love you too!

We waded through the crowds, between the concession and merch lines. We found a security guard and asked him where to go in for the floor. He directed us through a big open doorway and then down an aisle and out onto the floor, which was gradually filling with people. Pink Daylight wasn’t nearly as popular as they’d been fifteen years ago, so it turns out they weren’t even the main band. They were headlining for another band called Sick in the Head.

I suddenly thought of Aven. She’d gone to her first punk concert with her new friend Trilby just last night, and she’d told me she had a blast. For some reason, I wasn’t feeling like we were about to have a blast. Every time I looked at Amanda’s and Keanu’s worried faces, which contrasted so much with Rory’s excited face, my stomach twisted up. Scribbles.

What if Rory really did get to talk to Ted Caddel? What if he was mean to her? What if he ignored her? What if he broke her heart?

Is that what Amanda and Keanu were so worried about?

Since Pink Daylight wasn’t the headlining band, we were able to get fairly close to the stage, right behind a row of security guards standing in front of it. A buzzing excitement filled the air as people pushed against us. The pressure in the room was building, and as the pressure of the room built and the people pressed harder into us, the pressure inside me built. I barked to let it out. And again. And again.

Amanda blinked at me. “You okay?”

I pursed my lips but had to bark again. “Are you okay?” I asked her.

She didn’t answer, but I noted the tiny little shake of her head as the lights dimmed and people screamed.

And then the drums started. They filled the theater, overtaking the screams and my mind so that all I could think about were the drums. Not Rory. Not Amanda. Not Keanu. Everything around me faded away as a spotlight shone down on the drummer.

I couldn’t find the beat in his drum solo, but I was blown away by his grooves. When the bass started up, I could find the beat. I focused on that instead of whatever was about to happen tonight.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

I listened for the grooves in between the beats and wished I could play so well. Maybe one day. It was possible, wasn’t it?

When Ted Caddel’s voice rang out through the theater, Rory screamed so loudly next to me that it snapped me out of whatever trance I’d been in. She was screaming, “Ted, you’re my dad! Ted, it’s me! Rory!”

Amanda stood there twisting her neck over and over, a horrified look on her face as she watched Rory whip her backpack around and pull out a folded-up posterboard. She unfolded it and held it up in arms stretched toward the theater ceiling. On it she’d written Ted, you’re my dad!

Amanda reached out and pulled on one of Rory’s arms. “Rory, no.”

But Rory’s eyes were starry and shining as she shook off Amanda and kept holding up the posterboard. And when Ted Caddel spotted her at the front of the crowd, he pointed at her and winked.

Rory screamed and jumped in a circle, the posterboard flying in the faces of the people around her. “Watch it!” one guy yelled at her.

Keanu grabbed the posterboard from her. “Put it away,” he ordered.

Rory did as she was told, probably because she knew Ted had seen both it and her in the audience. She positively glowed with excitement.

Pink Daylight only played for about forty-five minutes, and when they were done, Rory grabbed my arm. “Let’s go!” she said. “Everyone will be waiting for the next band, so we can get a good spot in the autograph line.”

We got in the already-long line and waited for Pink Daylight to come out.

“Rory,” Amanda said nervously to her, “just … this might not be the best time or place to do this.”

Rory gaped at Amanda. “When will I ever get another chance?”

“Your mom can—” Amanda began, but Rory cut her off.

“You know my mom will never do anything,” Rory snapped. “Stop trying to ruin what could very well be the best night of my life.”

“Or the worst,” Keanu muttered so lowly under his breath that Rory couldn’t hear it, but I did.

My heart pounded with anxiety. I leaned in and whispered to Keanu, “What do you mean?” I was starting to get the feeling that we were heading toward a disaster, but I couldn’t understand why.

Keanu looked from Rory to me and just shook his head. “Nothing.”

We stood there quietly for a long time until Pink Daylight came out and everyone screamed and clapped and whistled. Well, everyone except us. Even Rory looked deflated all of a sudden.

When we got to the front of the line, Rory reached into her backpack and held the CD insert and old concert ticket stub in trembling hands. She walked up and stood right in front of Ted Caddel. He gave her an expectant look, but Rory seemed to have lost the ability to speak.

Amanda held out a little pad and said, “Can I have your autograph?”

“Of course, honey,” said Ted. “What’s your name?”

Amanda rolled her neck and blinked her eyes. “Amanda.”

Ted signed the pad, and then he did the same for Keanu. I realized I hadn’t brought anything for him to sign, so I just kind of stood back and watched everything play out, the scribbles inside me growing messier and more chaotic by the second.

Rory finally found her voice. “Ted, you knew my mom. Her name is Leanna Price. Look.” She stuck out the concert ticket stub. “This is the concert she was at with you.” She held out the CD insert. “And you signed this for her. Don’t you remember?” She reached into her backpack and pulled out a photograph of her mom holding a baby Rory. “See? This is her.”

Ted gave her a sort of half grin. “I’ve done thousands of concerts, honey. Sorry I can’t remember everyone I meet.”

“But she was special to you,” said Rory.

Ted chuckled as he looked behind Rory to the next person in line. “All my fans are special to me.” He motioned the next people forward.

“But … but …” Rory said.

The people behind us sighed and gave Rory annoyed looks.

Amanda pulled on Rory’s arm. “We need to let the next people go, Rory.”

“But you loved her!” Rory called, her eyes filling with tears as she held up the photograph and Amanda kept pulling her away. Rory turned to Amanda. “Let me go!” she cried.

I noticed that Amanda had started crying, too, as she held up the paper Ted Caddel had just signed for Rory to see. “Look, Rory,” she said. “Just look.”

On the paper, Ted had written: To my favorite girl, Amanda. Love, Ted.

Rory slowly backed away from the paper, her eyes wide and shining, her mouth open, her head shaking.

Then she turned and ran through the crowd while we did our best to follow her.

CHAPTER 33

Thea dropped Rory off at her apartment first. We walked her inside and found her mom, Leanna, sitting on the couch, an anxious look on her face. She jumped to her feet as soon as the door opened.

“Where have you been?” she demanded.

Head down, Rory ran past her and into her room, slamming the door.

Leanna turned to us. “Where were you guys?”

Keanu shifted from foot to foot, and Amanda said, “I’m sorry, Leanna. We went to the Pink Daylight concert.”

Leanna’s face fell from red and angry to sad and defeated. She put her head in her hands and dropped back on the couch. “How could you guys take her there?”

Amanda and Keanu looked at each other. Amanda said, “We didn’t know what to do.”

“Why won’t she stop with this Ted Caddel thing?” Rory’s mom cried softly into her hands.

“We’re sorry,” Keanu whispered.

Leanna wiped her eyes and stood up. “Thanks for getting her home safe.” Then she hugged Amanda and Keanu, but when she got to me, she said, “And who are you?”

I shrugged, blinked, and barked. I was so confused about everything.

“Oh, Connor.” She smiled. “Rory’s told me about you.”

“She’s told me about you, too,” I said softly. “Besties.”

She turned back to Keanu and Amanda. “It’s late. You better get home.” She hugged them again and disappeared down the hall into Rory’s room.

“I don’t understand,” I said in the car on the way to my apartment. “I really thought Ted Caddel was Rory’s dad.”

Amanda stared at me. “Ted Caddel is not her dad. Rory just got this fantasy into her head over the past few years, and no one has been able to convince her otherwise. Connor, Rory’s dad lives in Canada with a whole new family.”

“He took off right after she was born,” said Keanu. “Dude’s a complete deadbeat. He has nothing to do with her.”

“But she told me her mom went to a Pink Daylight concert nine months before she was born, and—”

Keanu interrupted me. “We know all this, Connor. She’s told us everything. It’s called wishful thinking.”

“But it might be true, right?” I said. “How do you know it’s not true?”

“Because her mom told her so,” said Amanda. “She even did a DNA test with one of those online companies to show Rory that she’s not related to Ted Caddel or anyone in his family. Rory won’t believe it. She just—” Amanda’s eyes filled with tears, and she looked away. “She just can’t accept that the garbage human in Canada is her real dad.”

I looked from Amanda to Keanu and back again. “Why’d you let her go to the concert, then?”

“We don’t want to hurt her,” said Keanu. “So we stopped trying to convince her that Ted isn’t her real dad. We even went along with it for a little while. Then we just started ignoring it. We didn’t know what to do about the concert. We never thought she’d get close enough to him to talk to him.”

“You guys should’ve been doing the tough-love thing,” Thea said. I’d totally forgotten she was even in the car. “And tell her the truth. Look at the mess you made.”

Keanu gaped at her. “We didn’t make this mess. Why don’t you just do your job and drive? I paid for it, after all.”

The car stopped at my apartment, and I opened the door. Amanda reached out and grabbed my arm. “You’re not mad at us, are you, Connor? We love Rory. Sometimes it’s hard to know what to do when you love someone.”

I gave her a sad smile. “No, I’m not mad at you.” I got out of the car. “Hey, I’ll see you at school?”

Amanda nodded. “We’ll all eat lunch together.”

Mom was sitting on the couch when I opened the door. She immediately turned off the TV and stood up. “So, how was it?” she asked.

I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t know why, but my eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, honey.” Mom moved toward me and put her hands on my shoulders. “What happened? Are you okay? Did someone hurt you?”

I shook my head and began crying. Then sobbing. She took me in her arms and held me close. “I’m here,” she said. “I’m here.”

CHAPTER 34

I told Mom the story over breakfast the next morning. Her eyes were sad as she sipped her coffee and whispered, “Oh, Rory,” over and over again.

“I’m going to walk to her apartment,” I told Mom. “I need to see her. I need to know she’s okay.”

“I’ll drive you,” Mom said.

I shook my head. “Thank you, but I want to walk. I need to clear my head. Figure out what to say.”

So I slipped in my earbuds, put on “Help!” by the Beatles, and began walking to the beat. It took five songs to make it to Rory’s apartment: “Help!” “Under Pressure,” “Billie Jean,” “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” and “Everlong.”

I knocked on Rory’s apartment door. Her mom opened it a few seconds later. She looked surprised to see me. “Connor, what are you doing here so early?”

I fidgeted with my earbuds. “I couldn’t sleep very well. I couldn’t stop thinking about Rory. Can I talk to her?”

Leanna smiled tiredly. “Of course. I think seeing you might help.” She let me in and gently closed the door with a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry,” I told her. “I didn’t know. I really thought Ted Caddel might be her dad.”

Leanna leaned back against the door like she was exhausted and dropped her head. “Yes, Rory can be very convincing. She’s even convinced herself. I guess when you want to believe something badly enough, you can fool yourself.” Leanna gave me another tired smile. “Well, we had a long heart-to-heart last night, and I think she’s finally come to terms with everything.”

I squeezed the earbuds in my hands before slipping them into my pocket. “I guess that’s good.”

“I’m sure she’ll like to see you.” Leanna waved a limp hand in the direction of Rory’s room. “She should get up anyway. I don’t want her to sleep all day. That will probably just make her feel worse.”

I ambled down the carpeted hallway and gently knocked on Rory’s door. When no reply came, I opened it a crack. “Rory?” I said softly and then barked. Darn it.

I opened the door a little more and saw she was bundled up under her bedcovers and a pile of stuffed animals, the morning light mostly darkened by pink curtains she’d closed over her window. I stepped lightly across the carpeted floor and sat down on the edge of her bed. I let out another bark.

Rory finally turned over and pulled the covers down from her face, causing several stuffed animals to tumble to the floor. “Hey,” she said in a hoarse voice.

I put a hand on the lump of her bundled body. “Hey.”

She pushed the covers farther down and sat up. “What are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to …” Check on you. Make sure you’re okay. “See your face.”

She dropped her head, the frazzled long hair that she’d put so much time into styling last night falling over her forehead. “Why?”

I shrugged. “Because I missed it.”

She was quiet awhile, and then I spotted the tears falling down her two-toned cheeks. “I was wrong,” she said so softly I could barely hear it.

“It’s okay.” I grabbed her warm hand and squeezed it. “It’s okay to be wrong.”

She wiped her cheek with the hand I wasn’t squeezing and sniffled. “I really upset my mom.”

“She’s just worried about you.”

“I upset Amanda and Keanu.”

“They’re worried about you, too. They all love you and don’t want to see you hurt.”

She let go of my hand and pressed both hands to her temples, squeezing. “My head’s all messed up.”

I got off the bed and went to her desk. I picked up the sketch pad and noted it was turned to the portrait she’d drawn of the two of us together. I flipped to a blank page, grabbed a pencil from a little pencil holder, and sat back down on the bed with her. “I know what you need then.”

She looked up at me. “What? A head doctor.”

I scribbled a mess on the page. “Yep.” I held the page up for her. “Now tell me what you see.”

“I see the inside of my head.”

“What else?”

She studied the scribbles like she was really taking this seriously. She pressed a hand to her darkened cheek. “I see … my dad rushing out of the hospital the moment he took one look at my face.”

And there it was. There it was.

I set the sketch pad down. “Your dad didn’t love your mom. That had nothing to do with you.”

She looked up at me with wide eyes. “Ditto.”

My heart jumped in my chest. All this time, I’d been blaming myself for Dad leaving. My tics, my medical expenses, my issues. But there was also …

Mom’s long work hours.

The broken pipe that took months to repair.

The new car Dad bought without telling Mom.

There were a lot of things. Not just me. And none of those things would’ve mattered if Dad still loved Mom and she loved him back.

“The only difference,” Rory said, fresh tears forming in her brown eyes, “is your dad came back for you. Keeps coming back for you.”

I turned the sketch pad to a new blank page, and even though I had no sketching ability whatsoever, I did my best to draw her face. It was like a Picasso sort of thing—with one side of her face separated by a wavy line and shaded darker than the other. Then I drew long strands of dark hair over the lighter side of her face.

When I was done drawing her, I lifted the sketch pad to show her. “What do you see?”

She studied it for a second, and one side of her mouth turned up a tiny bit. “I think the person who drew this might … like me a little.”

I took a deep breath and barked. “Or a lot.”

“He kissed me once.”

“He’d like to do it again. If it’s still okay.”

“It’s still okay with me,” she whispered.

And it was definitely still okay with me.

CHAPTER 35

When I walked out of school the next week, I found Dad standing in front of the buses, waiting for me. It reminded me of that first day of school—when he’d wanted to drive me home and I’d fought him the whole way. I remembered how annoyed and angry I’d been at finding him out here that day. I didn’t feel so angry today at the sight of him. More like curious.

I walked toward him, and his face lit up as soon as he spotted me. I even smiled back a little. “What are you doing here?” I asked him.

He buttoned and unbuttoned his suit jacket like he was nervous. “Can I take you somewhere?” he asked.

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

My smiled faltered, and he quickly added, “A good one. A happy one. I think. We’re not going back to the counselor.”

“Oh …” I hesitated. “I wasn’t—”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I know that was a lot to take in.”

“It was,” I said. “But it’s okay. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. What you told me there. I’m glad you took me.”

Dad’s eyes widened. “You are?”

“Yeah, I think it was good.”

“You do?”

I smiled. “Yeah.”

“So you want to go check out the surprise then?”

I shifted my backpack over my shoulder and barked. Liam walked by me and glanced my way, but he didn’t bark back. He didn’t laugh. He just jerked his head away and ran up the bus steps, disappearing inside.

I followed Dad out to the parking lot, and we got in his car together. We drove for only a few minutes before he turned into a neighborhood. “Where are we going?” I asked.

His mouth formed a small, mischievous smile. “You’ll see in about … five … four … three … two … one.” He stopped his car in the driveway of a small house. Cactuses dotted the gravel front yard, and a big mesquite tree draped over the short driveway.

We both got out of the car and slammed the doors. I looked around. “Whose house is this?”

Dad slipped his car keys into his pocket. “It’s mine. I bought it.”

“You bought a house?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Does Mom know?”

“Oh, yeah. She helped me pick it out. I had very specific requirements.”

“Like what?”

He motioned with his head at the front door. “Come on in, and I’ll show you.”

I followed him through the entry into a small living room that hadn’t been decorated. “I haven’t had a chance to move all the furniture from my apartment yet,” he explained. “The movers will be bringing the rest of the stuff next week.”

We walked through the kitchen, then down a hallway and into an empty room. I turned in a circle. A window looked out onto the big mesquite tree out front. “What room is this?” I asked.

“It’s your room,” said Dad. “We’ll need to get a bed, of course, but you can decorate it any way you want.”

“My room?”

Dad still held his car keys, and he jangled them in his hands. “Yeah, so you can be comfortable when you come over. You need your own space, of course.”

“Oh,” I said softly, peeking into the closet. My own room? In a house? A real house? A permanent house? I swallowed a few times and blinked. “That’s nice.”

“There’s one more room I want to show you,” Dad said. “It’s the only room that has anything in it. It was the first room I focused on. The most important room in the house.”

I blinked again and turned to him. “What room is that? Your room?”

He motioned for me to follow him, and we walked across the hallway to another bedroom. My mouth dropped open the moment we stepped inside.

Every wall of the room had some kind of gray covering on it. And right in the center of the room stood a brand-new drum set—the one we’d tried out at the music store.

I walked to a wall and pressed my hand against it. It was squishy and sunk in slightly. “This is for me?” I asked.

“Who else would it be for?” said Dad. “Now you can play as much as you want. Couldn’t have done that in the apartment.”

“You moved here … just so I could have my own drum set?” I stared at the wall, continued pushing my hand into it. My throat was dry, and I swallowed.

“Well, I’d been thinking of buying a house for a little while already. It’s not a very big house, so the mortgage is actually cheaper than my rent. Plus there’s the tax deduction, and it’s nice to have a garage, with a black car and all, and I’m tired of listening to the neighbors upstairs. So … well … yeah, it’s for both of us.”

I turned my head to him. “How many bedrooms does this house have?”

“Just three. Two for you. One for me.”

“Oh …” I shuffled across the carpet and sat down at the drum set on the small black stool.

Dad smiled. “Try it out.”

I picked up the drumsticks he’d crossed neatly on the snare drum and gently tapped the hi-hat.

One and two and three and four and.

I stopped and set the drumsticks down. “Won’t the neighbors hear the noise still?”

Dad walked over to a wall and patted it. “See this foam stuff covering the walls? I had the room soundproofed. I mean, sort of. I’m sure a little sound will get out, but it should help a lot.”

I looked down at the drum set. “This must’ve been so expensive.”

Dad shrugged. “If it … If it …” His voice kept cracking, and he cleared his throat. “If it means you’ll spend more time here, then it was worth every penny.” He tossed his keys from one hand to the other before slipping them into his suit pocket. “And I’m hoping … Well, I don’t know if I should say anything. Maybe she’ll want to tell you herself.”

I looked up. “Who? Tell me what?”

“Your mom.” His face lit up. “She’s applying for PA school, and if she gets in, then she’ll be gone a lot, and you’ll need somewhere to stay so you’re not alone all the time.”

“Really?” I pictured Mom in the kitchen, her face sad, telling me she wished she could go to school but acting as though it was impossible. Me telling her I wished I could make that happen for her. “When did she decide to do this?”

“We’ve been talking, and I encouraged her to move ahead with it. I told her we’d all do what we had to do to make it happen.” His face grew worried. “I hope you’re okay with it.”

I remembered all those nights Mom had worked when we lived in Scottsdale. How exhausted she’d been. How it always felt like she was just surviving. How she’d sobbed because of the way the apartment manager had treated us. And how her face had looked so hopeful when she’d said she’d go back to school if she could.

“I’m more than okay with it,” I said. “Do you think she’ll get in?”

“I do,” he said. “She’s a wonderful nurse, and she’ll make an even better PA.”

Mom had said being a PA was like being a doctor. “Wow,” I whispered. “She’ll be like a doctor.”

Dad smiled. “Won’t that be awesome?”

I picked up the drumsticks again and gently tapped them on the snare drum. “So awesome,” I whispered. I looked back up at him. “I guess when she’s done, it will be your turn.”

Dad gave me a questioning look. “My turn for what?”

“To do something you want to do, too.”

Dad grinned. “Maybe I’ll have to learn the drums since we now own a set.”

I laughed at the thought of Dad playing drums in here, still wearing his business suit after work. “I can show you some things,” I said. “I could teach you.”

Dad moved closer so that he was standing over me. “You want to play me a song right now?”

“Sure …” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and turned on “Under Pressure.” “You know this one?”

Dad’s face lit up as soon as he heard the bassline. “Of course. You can play that?”

“Well, I can’t play all the grooves, but I can definitely play the beat.”

Then I played it for Dad, all the way through to the end, while he nodded his head to the beat.

When I was done, I told him, “You kept time with the beat. With your nodding, I mean. You probably would make a good drummer.”

“And you’re a great drummer,” he said. “I’m so impressed with all you’ve learned so quickly. You’re a natural.”

I smiled, and my face heated a little. “That’s what Ms. Chen says.”

“Well, it’s true. Looks like we have a musician in the family. Next thing you know, you’ll be up on a stage, rocking with a band.”

That made me think of Aven. How she’d played the guitar with her feet at Stagecoach Pass last year. And that made me think of Rory, Amanda, and Keanu and how they’d asked me to play with them at Organ Pipe Pizza. It made me think of a lot of things, including how Dad had never met a single one of them. I’d never introduced him to any of my friends.

“So your mom told me you wanted to go see a horse show this weekend,” he said. “She said it’s on the other side of town and that she can’t take you. I mean, I’m available. If you still want to go. I could take you.”

I carefully placed the drumsticks down on the snare drum and stood up. It was like he had been reading my mind. “I have this friend, Dad. Her name is Aven. She’s going to be in the horse show at Stagecoach Pass.”

“Oh,” he said. “I’ve never heard you mention her.”

“She’s important to me, so I think it would be nice …”

Dad’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. I didn’t know it was even possible for a person to look that hopeful.

I cleared my throat. “It would be nice for you to meet her. If you want to—”

“I want to,” Dad blurted out. “I definitely want to.”

“Great,” I said. “You’ll like her. I mean, everyone likes Aven.”

Dad squeezed his hands together. “I know I’ll like any friend of yours, Connor.”

CHAPTER 36

Dad showed up a full half hour early at the apartment on Saturday morning. I opened the door to find him standing there in casual jeans, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap. It was nice to see him out of his work suits. I couldn’t stop thinking about how much he probably disliked wearing them.

He smiled nervously, a paper grocery bag in his arms. “I hope this is okay attire for a horse show.”

“I think anything goes at Stagecoach Pass.” I motioned him in.

He walked to the kitchen and set the paper bag on the counter. He began pulling things out of it: packaged watermelon, a container of chocolate chip cookies, the kombucha Mom loves but never buys because it’s so expensive. “I got your mom some things I know she likes since she has to work all weekend. I thought you and I could eat out today.”

I stared at him while he put things away in cabinets and the fridge. I’d had this question building for a little while now but hadn’t been brave enough to ask it. I barked and shook my head. “Are you trying to get back together with her?”

Dad stopped, his hand midway into the fridge with the kombucha. He looked at me with wide eyes before placing the drink on a shelf and closing the door. He turned to me. “I’m just trying to be helpful,” he said. “Something I haven’t been in the past. I care about your mom a lot, but I promise I don’t have an agenda, Connor.” He smiled. “Your mom will always be important to me, because she gave me the greatest gift ever.”

I tilted my head and blinked my eyes. “What’s that?”

He put his hands on my shoulders. “You, of course.”

Dad and I walked across the dirt parking lot of Stagecoach Pass, past the covered wagon, and over the bridge. Dad gazed around while we walked. “This place is so cool. No wonder you spent so much time here last year.”

“I really spent time here because of Aven,” I said.

And as I said that, there she was, running and bouncing toward me. She must’ve been excited about the show. Or maybe it was just seeing me. Aven had a way of making you feel special—like you were the most important person in the world to her. It was a gift she had.

“Connor, Connor, Connor!” she called. “I got a new llama! And he only has three legs! And his name is Lasagna!”

Whatever had been haunting her since the school year started seemed to have finally gone away. Her eyes glowed again with the excitement and joy I’d always known, and I was so happy to see her back to her old self.

I barked. “Cool.”

Then she stopped and stared at Dad, and he stared right back.

I cleared my throat. “Aven, this is my dad.”

“Oh,” she said, a surprised look on her face.

Dad smiled. “Nice to meet you, Aven. Connor’s told me a lot about you.”

Aven looked at me, an eyebrow raised. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” I said. I’d only just told him all about her in the car on the way over here, but it was a long car ride, and there was a lot to tell about Aven.

She looked back at Dad. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Bradley. Connor’s told me a lot about you, too.”

Dad cringed. “I hope it’s not all been bad, even if I deserve it.”

Aven smiled. “It’s not all been bad.”

Aven and I walked together ahead of Dad, and she whispered to me, “What’s going on?”

I shrugged. “He found out about this, and he wanted to meet you, and he asked if he could take me, so I thought … What would Aven do?”

Aven grinned. “And what would Aven do?”

I nudged her with my shoulder. “Aven would give him another chance. Because Aven always believes the best about people.”

Aven had to take off to get ready for the show, so Dad and I made our way up into the rodeo stands, where I found Zion sitting with his family and Aven’s parents. “Hey, man!” Zion said, and we did our little secret handshake thing we’d made up to be silly.

I introduced Dad to everyone, and he laughed as he said he’d try to keep everyone’s names straight. It was kind of a lot of people to meet at the same time.

Once we were sitting, Dad leaned in and whispered, “You didn’t tell me Aven doesn’t have arms.”

I shrugged. “That just always seems like one of the least important things about her.”

“She’s really going to ride a horse?”

I smiled at him. “Oh yeah. Once Aven sets her mind to something, she does it. She plays the guitar, too.”

“With her feet?”

I remembered one of the first conversations I’d ever had with Aven and what she’d said to me that day. “No,” I said to Dad. “With her belly button.”

He laughed.

When Aven came out, Dad watched her with wide, awestruck eyes as she got on Chili, her horse. The rest of us just watched her. We all knew she would ride the horse. We knew she would trot. She would run.

Even though she’d recently injured herself trying to jump Chili, we all knew she would try again. And this time she would succeed.

When it was over, we all met up on the dusty rodeo grounds. People gathered around, wanting to ask Aven questions and see up close how her special stirrups worked. But she kept her eyes on me. Like she had something she was just dying to tell me.

Finally I asked her, “What?”

She leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Your turn.”

CHAPTER 37

Rory, Amanda, Keanu, and I sat on the couch in the dressing room together, going over the new show we were about to perform: Queen Extravaganza.

“Connor.” Keanu eyed me seriously. “The climax is the most important part of the show. Don’t you think it should be ‘We Will Rock You’ or ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’?”

“Keanu,” Amanda said, equally serious, “we’ve been over this. We’re starting with ‘We Will Rock You,’ then ‘Another One Bites the Dust,’ then ‘Bohemian Rhapsody,’ then ‘Under Pressure’ for the climax.”

“But that’s not even Queen’s most famous song.”

“Yeah, but it’s Connor’s favorite, and this is his first show,” said Rory, placing an arm around me and kissing me on the cheek. This was becoming kind of a regular thing for us.

Amanda smiled, and Keanu rolled his eyes. Amanda seemed to get a kick out of me and Rory being a sort of couple (or whatever we were—I didn’t feel the need to put a label on it), but Keanu couldn’t have cared less.

Amanda, Rory, and Keanu put on their animal costume heads while I continued looking at the sheet music for the songs we were about to perform. Aven and Zion were out there in the dining room, eating pizza and waiting for the show to start. Mom was out there. Ms. Chen was out there, and I wanted to make her proud.

“You better hurry up!” Rory called to me as the three of them got ready to run out of the dressing room. When they opened the door, I looked up and saw Dad standing outside it, his hand raised like he’d been about to knock.

I was startled to see him and realized at the same time that the three of them had never met Dad before. I stood up and walked to the doorway. “You’re here?” I said.

He smiled. “I’m here.”

“I thought you had a business trip.”

“The Las Vegas Digital Marketing Conference will be there again next year,” he said. “You only get to perform in public for the first time once.”

Rory cleared her throat. “Connor?”

“Sorry, you guys,” I said. “This is my dad. Dad, these are my friends Rory, Amanda, and Keanu.”

I could tell Dad did his best not to blink at Keanu’s name, and it made me laugh. They all shook hands, and then my three friends ran off, Rory reminding me yet again to hurry up.

Dad walked into the dressing room with me while I gathered my sheet music. “I’m … I’m glad you came.” I faced him, the sheet music gripped in my hands. “You just keep showing up, don’t you?”

He smiled. “And I’m not going to stop showing up.”

I bit my lip and shrugged, gripping the sheet music in my hands. “You promise?” I whispered.

He took me in his arms and hugged me. “I promise.”

My eyes heated, and that lump formed in my throat. I released one of my hands from the sheet music squished between us and put it around him. When he felt it, he squeezed me tighter.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered into his chest.

He finally released me. “Sorry? For what?”

I swallowed. “I’m sorry your dad was so hard on you.”

“Well,” he said, “we can break that cycle. Right?”

Then he pulled away from me and nodded his head. “You’d better hurry like your friend said. Don’t want to be late to your own show.” He turned to leave the dressing room.

“Hey, Dad,” I said before he disappeared outside.

He stopped in the doorway and stared at me with questioning eyes.

I made the choice right then and there. I had to dig deep. It wasn’t easy. These would be the hardest three words I’d ever said in my life. I opened my mouth and shut it. Opened it again and shut it. I’d already made the decision in my heart, but I knew I needed to say the words out loud. Needed to make sure it was clear. For Dad. And for me.

“I forgive you.”

It was as though there had been a physical force behind the words, a kind of special power, that hit my dad and nearly knocked him over. He put his hand against the frame of the doorway and leaned to the side. He lowered his head and breathed out the words “Thank you” before turning and walking away.

CHAPTER 38

I came out just in time to catch Rory totally attacking Aven. Rory had her arms gripped around Aven’s torso and was sort of swinging her from side to side and shouting, “Aven! I can’t believe I finally get to meet you!” Rory’s javelina headpiece was all lopsided so that the snout was coming out of her hair.

I almost laughed at the expression on Aven’s face. It must’ve been strange to meet another person as enthusiastic as she was. Aven’s surprised look transformed into a smile, and she said to Rory, “How’d you know it was me?”

Rory pulled away and patted her head. “Your awesome red hair!”

Aven turned to me and opened her mouth to say something, but Rory couldn’t be contained. “Okay!” she nearly shouted. “So! You, me, Amanda, this weekend, Amanda’s house, facials, pedicures, scary movie, watermelon popcorn. I won’t take no for an answer.”

Aven stared at Rory, a dazed look on her face. “Watermelon popcorn?”

“What?” Rory cried. “You’ve never had it?”

Aven’s eyes darted to me and back to Rory. “Has anyone had it?”

“You’ll love it,” Rory said before hugging Aven one more time. “All right, see you soon!” Rory skipped away, her javelina headpiece bobbing on her head.

Aven laughed as Rory disappeared behind a curtain near the main stage. Then she turned to me. “Oh, I like her.”

“I thought you would,” I said.

“Who is she?” Aven laughed.

I laughed, too. “Rory.”

Aven eyed me a long time. “I think you like her, too.”

“I do.” I glanced at the stage again. “But we can talk about that later.”

“Yeah, we will,” said Aven in her bossy tone.

I ran to the stage and took my seat behind the drum set as Amanda’s mom came out and greeted everyone. “We’re doing a special show tonight,” she said. “For the first time, we’ll be performing Queen Extravaganza. Thank you, everyone, for coming.” Amanda’s mom took her place below the stage at the organ on the spinning platform.

The audience clapped, and the lights dimmed. The chandeliers flashed, and the disco balls glittered. And I started the show.

Stomp, stomp, clap.

Stomp, stomp, clap.

The audience didn’t miss a beat as they quickly joined the stomping and clapping. Once the building was nearly vibrating, I started hitting the drums in time to the beat, and the center of the stage opened. The spinning stage rose up, Amanda’s mom sitting at the giant organ.

“We Will Rock You” boomed through Organ Pipe Pizza.

Stomp, stomp, clap.

Stomp, stomp, clap.

Aven’s and Zion’s eyes were so wide with surprise, I could see the whites of them even in the dimmed houselights. When Aven raised her legs to clap with her feet, she and Zion burst out laughing. Mom and Dad were laughing, too, while they stomped and clapped.

Ms. Chen was the only one not stomping and clapping and laughing. She had her hands on her cheeks, her eyes wide and shining and full of pride as she watched me. This was really because of her—all she’d done for me. Ms. Chen was the best teacher I’d ever had. Maybe the most important teacher I’d ever had. She never gave up on me. Didn’t throw me away when I made mistakes. She’d believed that I had music in me and had helped me find it.

We played several more Queen songs before Amanda’s mom broke away from the organ and stepped on the stage. “We’re going to take a quick break, folks. But don’t leave. We still have one more song before the night ends, so stay tuned.”

I rushed to the dressing room and grabbed a large bag, slinging it over my shoulder. If I was going to do this, I would do this very last song all the way. And I mean, all the way.

Then I ran out to the audience and stopped by the table where Mom, Dad, and Ms. Chen sat together. Ms. Chen stood up and said, “I’m so ridiculously proud, Connor.” Then she gave me a hug, shaking me from side to side and making me laugh, kind of like what Rory had done to Aven earlier. “Just so stinking proud.”

“You did this,” I told her.

She shook her head and pulled away. “No, Connor. You did this. You get all the credit.”

Mom put a hand on my shoulder, and I turned to her. “That was amazing, honey,” she said. “I don’t remember when I’ve had such a fun time.”

“It was wonderful, Connor,” said Dad. “Hey, maybe you could teach me some Queen songs on the drums when we get home.”

When we get home.

I nodded and swallowed. “Sure,” I said. “When we get home.”

I waved to the three of them and made my way over to the table where Aven and Zion sat together. I flopped down next to them, throwing the big bag on the floor next to us. I was exhausted from playing the drums and everything else. It was a pretty emotional night. But I still had one song left.

Aven seemed speechless for once, but Zion just grinned. “That was so cool, man! I love that you’re playing the drums.”

I grinned at them. “I told you I was more of a drum guy.”

Zion got up from the table. “I’ve been holding it this whole time ’cause I couldn’t stand to miss anything, but now I really gotta go.”

Aven and I giggled as we watched Zion run out of the dining room. Then Aven turned back to me. Her smile fell, and she looked serious now. “You hid this from me,” she said.

I reached out a hand and pushed her shoulder a little. “I wanted to surprise you.”

She tilted her head, still serious. “Between your dad, your new group of friends—who are super cool by the way, but that’s beside the point—and now this drum thing … You’ve hidden a lot of things from me these past few months.”

I stared back at her. “I could say the same to you.”

We sat there a long time, just staring at each other, like we were trying to root out the secrets in each other’s eyes.

Finally, Aven smiled. “No more hiding, then?”

The lights began dimming again as Zion ran back and plopped down at the table. “What did I miss?” he asked.

Aven and I smiled at each other, and I told her, “No more hiding, Aven.” Then I reached into the large bag and pulled out the coyote headpiece, placing it over my head. “I guess unless it’s under a coyote costume.”

Aven and Zion laughed, and Zion put his hands over his face like he couldn’t bear to see me in the coyote headpiece. “Oh, man! I didn’t think you’d do it! Aren’t you scared everyone will be watching you?”

I stood up from the table. “Life’s too short to worry about that.”

“That’s right,” said Aven.

I walked up the stairs to the main stage and sat behind the drum set. I looked out into the audience.

Positive: Mom and Dad, sitting together and getting along. Aven and Zion here together.

I looked around the stage as the others took their places.

Positive: Amanda, Rory, Keanu. New friends. Weird friends. The best kind of friends.

My heart thumped in anticipation as I picked up my drumsticks.

Positive: The drums.

Positive: Ms. Chen.

Positive: Organ Pipe Pizza.

Positive: I’m not perfect.

Positive: No one is perfect.

Positive: It’s great that none of us are perfect, because perfection is boring.

The bassline started.

One, two, three, four.

Everyone has …

One, two, three, four.

… their own drumbeat.

One, two, three, four.

Have to find it.

One, two, three, four.

Have to feel it.

One, two, three, four.

The beat I drum.

RESOURCES

Dear Reader,

I’m so excited to share Connor Bradley’s story with you. Connor has been a special character to me ever since I first thought of him on a difficult day in 2014. My oldest daughter was eleven years old at the time, and she couldn’t stop twisting her neck and shrugging her shoulders. Even as she cried in pain, she would do the thing that was hurting her. I was rubbing magnesium cream into the back of her neck, hoping it might relax her sore, aching muscles, when I first thought of Connor—a character I hoped would shine a light on the realities, rather than the usual stereotypes, of living with Tourette syndrome. I hoped, through Connor, people would come to better understand the physical pain, fear, and embarrassment that comes with having tics.

With as many as one in five children developing tics at some point in their lives, it’s important that we have honest and open conversations about tic disorders. Books can help lead into those vital conversations. Books can help bring understanding and comfort to the children who feel scared, confused, and alone in their struggles.

If you or a child in your life is struggling, I encourage you to reach out to a trusted adult or family member. You can also check out the National Center for PTSD, the National Institute of Mental Health, or the Child Mind Institute for additional resources.

As a child of divorce, I can also relate, as so many children can, to Connor’s feelings of abandonment, to his fear of rebuilding a relationship with a parent who has scarred him. But I also know the freedom that can be found in forgiveness. In finding the friends who love you, flaws and all. And most especially, in finding yourself. Happy reading!

Love,

Dusti Bowling

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to everyone at Union Square Kids who worked on this book, especially my editor, Ardyce Alspach. Thank you as well to Tracey Keevan, Lisa Forde, Renee Yewdaev, Grace House, Amelia Mack, and Christine Heun. And thank you to Melissa Farris for designing a gorgeous cover.

As always, I’m grateful to my literary agent, Shannon Hassan. I’m also grateful for my best writing friends, Lorri Phillips, Stephanie Elliot, and Kelly deVos. Thank you as well to Lindsay Currie and Lynne Kelly for reading this book in advance and saying such wonderful things about it.

Thank you to my husband, Zach Bowling, for reading everything I write and almost always raving about it (and for sometimes giving me the critical feedback I need). Your support and encouragement have kept me motivated all these years. I love you.

I wouldn’t have this incredible job without my readers, so thank you, thank you, thank you! And thank you to the booksellers, educators, and reviewers who have supported me and my books since Insignificant Events in the Life of a Cactus released in 2017. Many children read my books because of your recommendations.

Most of all, thank you to God for instilling a love of stories in my heart from a young age, for sending me down this amazing path, and for leaving us with these words: “Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.” That is the true heart of this story.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dusti Bowling is the award-winning, bestselling author of Insignificant Events in the Life of a Cactus, Momentous Events in the Life of a Cactus, 24 Hours in Nowhere, The Canyon’s Edge, Across the Desert, Dust, and the Aven Green chapter book series. Dusti’s books have won the Reading the West Award, the Sakura Medal, a Golden Kite Honor, and the William Allen White Children’s Book Award, and they have been nominated for more than fifty state awards. Her books are Junior Library Guild Gold Standard Selections and have been named best books of the year by the Chicago Public Library, Kirkus Reviews, Bank Street College of Education, A Mighty Girl, Shelf Awareness, and many more. She currently lives in Arizona with her husband, three daughters, and a bunch of farm animals. You can find her online at dustibowling.com.