Music Inn

Sundays were always the slowest days at the store. Today it was just me and Jesse working, and aside from a delivery of the latest issues of Kerrang!, Rolling Stone, Q, and Billboard, there was really nothing else to do. A few people came in every now and then, whether it was to inquire about a music instructor (we had names and addresses of a bunch of great instructors in our computer) or just browse for some CDs, but it wasn’t too exciting.

At the moment, Jesse was busy helping a couple girls pick out some guitars. “The steel-string is a really reliable guitar, I think you’ll like it,” he was saying enthusiastically. I smiled. Jesse rarely ever got excited, but when he did, it was always music related. The girls were listening, although not as attentively as I’m sure he would’ve liked, but Jesse plowed on anyway.

I leaned my elbows on the counter, sighing. “Third Planet” by Modest Mouse was playing throughout the store, a song a boy of about fifteen had requested the other day. I was jealous of Kiera, who didn’t have to work today. When I’d left this morning, she was watching TV and making pancakes, relaxing after our night out.

I could feel myself getting sleepier and sleepier, my eyes beginning to droop. Thank God Dan wasn’t here today. I sneakily checked my phone and groaned; it was barely noon. No way was I going to be able to go until closing.

A pair of fingers snapping in front of my face brought me back to the present. Jesse stood on the other side of the counter, grinning at me. “Look alive, Lex.”

“Oh, shut up,” I yawned. “What happened to those girls?”

His face darkened. “They weren’t interested. Not that big a deal, though. They obviously shouldn’t be playing the guitar in the first place.”

I snorted. “Yeah, okay. I’m gonna go get some coffee next door, d’you want anything?”

“Uh, yeah. Get me an espresso and an everything bagel with jalapeno cream cheese.” The coffee shop next door to us, The Grind, was famous for its unique bagels and cream cheeses. I loved the place, though; the fact that it was right next door was a major perk.

“That’s gross,” I commented, already halfway out the door. I went next door and was instantly greeted by the thick, pungent smell of coffee beans. I’d only been standing in line for a few minutes when a voice said, “Hey, Alexa!” I turned and saw Sam standing behind me.

“Oh, hi,” I said, smiling. “How’s it going?”

“Great, and you?”

“Good. I’m just picking up some coffee and bagels for me and Jesse.”

“Can you stay a while? I’ll buy you a mocha,” he offered, grinning. I felt myself blush a little bit as he raised an eyebrow, waiting for my answer.

“Uh, yeah. Okay.” So I went and find a table while Sam ordered our coffee and got Jesse’s bagel. I promised to pay him back, but he waved me off.

Not long after, he came back and slid across from me, handing me the paper bag that had Jesse’s stuff in it. Then, he handed me a cup and a slice of coffee cake. “What’s this?” I said, pointing to the cake.

He shrugged, starting on his own slice. “They looked good,” he said. I watched him take a sip of his coffee.

“What kind of coffee is that?”

“Black,” he answered.

“What?” I said incredulously. “You drink black coffee? You can’t be serious.”

“I can assure you I am,” he said, snorting. “Why is that such a felony? Everyone likes their coffee differently.”

“Coffee is only good when it’s so sweet it makes you cringe,” I said firmly.

“No, absolutely not,” Sam said, shaking his head. We went back and forth about it for a couple of minutes until he finally said, “We’ll just have to agree to disagree. Okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed, but as soon as he got up to go get some napkins, I dumped three sweeteners inside his coffee and stirred it around, because let’s face it, black coffee is disgusting. To my amusement, when Sam came back, he didn’t even seem to notice.

I didn’t feel like going back to the store just yet, so Sam and I sat there for a while, playing a game of 20 Questions, trying to come up with the most ridiculous answers we could think of. “What’s your favorite color?” I asked.

“Probably robin’s egg blue,” Sam answered primly. “What’s your last name?”

“Fogerty,” I replied, squeezing my lips together to keep from smiling. Sam laughed.

“Yeah, okay, but you’re John’s offspring right, because Tom was like, a douche,” he said earnestly, picking a crumb from his coffee cake and eating it. All I could do was gape at him because really, how often do you run into cute boys who like Creedence Clearwater Revival?

“You're into Creedence?” I asked.

“Duh,” Sam said. “I thought everybody was?” This then launched us into a discussion about how great the band was, which then melted into the topic of bands in general. I was delighted to discover that Sam and I had very similar music tastes.

“Okay,” Sam said. “On the count of three, say the best album Green Day put out. One . . . two . . . three . . .”

“Dookie,” we both said at the same time. We looked at each other for a minute before we grinned.

“Alexa Fogerty, I have a feeling we’re going to be pretty excellent friends,” he decided.

Now that we’d determined that, we started talking about his band. Apparently, they didn’t have a permanent living space; they usually ended up relocating every year or so. As soon as they graduated high school, they started working their way around the country, always following the same process: find a city or town with a decent music scene, rent a cheap apartment, and start trying to book gigs. They only had one car, so when they got jobs, they tried to make them fairly close to each other’s so transportation wasn’t a problem. Sam and Fletcher waited tables at a restaurant called The Lofthouse, Thomas was a cashier at Main Street Grocery, and Colton worked at the movie theater, Regal Cinemas. All of these places were in a plaza downtown, so it worked out. The jobs were fairly easy ones that didn’t require college diplomas or a lot of thinking, and it paid enough to keep the lights on and the water warm.

He didn’t talk about where he was originally from, or his family, or anything like that, so I didn’t either, and neither of us asked. I was a little jealous, to be honest, because his life was so different from mine. Mine wasn’t bad, not at all, but it was boring. I woke up and went to work and came home and occasionally went to school and occasionally went to shows and that was it. And yet here was Sam, roaming the country with his best friends, playing music to people who liked them, and actually, like, making it.

My phone started vibrating, cutting him off mid-sentence. It was Jesse. “Where the fuck have you been?” he said, his voice in a low whisper, and I knew he was probably in the back room. “I’ve been waiting for you for ages!”

I pulled my phone back from my ear and checked the time. Sam and I had been sitting here for about an hour now. “Oops,” I said, feeling only a little bit guilty. “Sorry. I’ll be right there.” I hung up before he could yell at me some more and turned back to Sam. “I completely forgot about Jesse,” I admitted. “I should probably get back to him.”

“Yeah, my lunch break is nearly over, too,” he said, grinning. We stood up and threw away our coffee cups and napkins, and I grabbed the bag with Jesse’s (now cold) coffee and bagel. He followed me outside back into the empty store, where Jesse was standing behind the counter grumpily.

“The line was long,” I offered, holding out the bag. Sam snorted behind me.

“I don’t even want to hear it,” Jesse said moodily, pulling out his coffee cup and going to the back room to heat it up in the microwave. “You’re lucky I don’t report you to Dan and have you fired.”

“Please,” I scoffed. “Like Dan would have me fired.”

Sam was looking around the store with a fond smile on his face. “Forgot how much I liked it here,” he said, bringing his gaze back to me again.

“If you like it so much you should buy something,” I teased.

“Fair enough,” Sam said. I watched him as he browsed, going up and down the CD aisles until he came back to the counter with an album that was by none other than Creedence Clearwater Revival: Green River. “Since that seems to be the theme here today.”

“This is by far their best album,” I decided.

He grinned. “I know.”

“Will that be it?” I said, ringing him up.

“Well . . .” he said, pretending to think. “There is one more thing I’d like.”

“Which is?”

“Your cell phone number.”

I tried to ignore the fireworks going off in my stomach and the marching band exploding in my brain. “Oh really?”

He nodded, grinning. “Of course, only if you want to give it to me.”

“Well, who else am I going to call when I need an emergency mocha?” I said, rolling my eyes but smiling. I grabbed a pen and wrote my number on his receipt before holding out my hand to him. When he didn’t move, I said, “You think you’re just gonna walk around with my number but I’m not gonna have yours? Get real.”

“Okay, okay, yes ma’am.” Sam reached forward and wrote his number on my hand, adding a little smiley face next to it. “Thank you very much.”

“Have a nice day. Thanks for the coffee.”

“Any time, Alexa Fogerty. Any time. Oh, and by the way,” he added, his voice low, “I know you put those sweeteners in my coffee.” I blushed again and he winked before calling, “See you later,” and walking out of the store.

♫ ♫ ♫

When I got home many hours later, Sam’s number still written on my hand (I didn’t want to wash it off, even though I’d already input it into my phone), Kiera was waiting for me, her arms folded.

“Jesse told me you were hanging out with that Sam boy today.”

“Oh hi Kiera, it’s great to see you too, my day was fine, thanks,” I said sarcastically, dropping my purse on the floor and kicking off my shoes. “What are you talking about? How did Jesse tell you that? I just saw him.”

“He called me, obviously,” Kiera said. “But that’s not the point. I thought we agreed not to date any musicians?”

“Okay, first of all, I never agreed to that,” I said, holding up a finger. “And second of all, I’m not even dating him? I ran into him at the coffee shop and he bought me a mocha. The end.”

“And you also stayed there for an hour, talking to him, and completely forgot about a) your job, and b) Jesse,” she pointed out.

“We’re friends, Ki,” I said firmly. “We’re friends and that’s it. I’m a big girl, I can look after myself, okay?”

“I just don’t want what happened to me senior year happen to you,” Kiera said, shaking her head. “Remember how much it hurt when Trace left me?”

“It only hurt a lot because he didn’t tell you,” I said. “I know when this band is leaving, I know what’s going on. Nothing’s happened yet, so let it go, all right?”

Kiera raised her eyebrows at me. “Fine,” she said at last. “We got some bills in the mail today. Our electricity bill is due tomorrow or else they’re shutting it off.”

I knew this was her way of offering peace, so I said, “Okay.” So we sat at our kitchen table and paid bills for about an hour, which was confusing and depressing. “Being an adult sucks,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes.

“Tell me about it,” Kiera agreed. We weren’t even really adults; we couldn’t even legally drink yet. And yet here we were, in a decent apartment with decent jobs, living with our best friend. We were making it okay.

At six thirty, we decided neither of us felt like cooking, so we got into our pajamas and ordered some Thai food, switching on Netflix and watching Empire Records, one of our favorite movies because it kind of reminded us of Music Inn, only much more exciting

“Now see, if we tried to pull that outfit off, we’d look ridiculous,” Kiera said, referring to Corey’s outfit, which we’d dubbed “sexy schoolgirl.”

“I dunno, maybe I could,” I shrugged.

“Yeah, you could be Corey.”

“You’re more of a Gina anyway,” I teased. “I’d kill to look like Liv Tyler though. Look at her.”

Around midnight, we retired to our separate rooms, and as I lay there alone in the dark, I finally allowed myself to think about the hour I’d spent with Sam. Had it been a date? I had no idea, but what I did know was that every time he’d smiled at me or laughed at something I’d said, my stomach had jumped in a way that didn’t feel good, but wasn’t exactly unpleasant, either.