Romeo

Keegan

Blue is scrambling up the tree like Romeo climbing the balcony for Juliet.

I can't decide if I'm impressed or just irritated at the interruption.

He sits on the branch that extends toward my window, placing his feet on the roof and positioning his guitar in his lap. Then he begins to sing.

It's ridiculous. But also, kind of hot.

Blue's voice is like his smile, deep and warm, with a gravelly hint of mischief in it.

I've never heard the song he's singing before, but it's a slow, poignant number that should make me tingle all over.

Instead, my eyes fill with tears.

Blue stops singing, raising an eyebrow in a sarcastic gesture I'm already familiar with.

"Not exactly the reaction I was going for," he says.

And that makes me cry even harder.

"I'm sorry," I blubber. "It's a beautiful song, and you sing it so well. It's just that..."

I wipe my nose on my arm and realize too late how disgusting that is.

"I'm feeling kind of overwhelmed right now," I add, fighting the urge to wipe my nose again as I wonder why I told him that.

And why I'm crying like a pathetic baby in front of this guy I barely know.

I was almost finished writing in my journal when Blue called up to me. As always when I write, the words coming out of the pen stirred up lots of memories and feelings.

I can never just write words without a bunch of emotions being attached; words are that powerful to me.

"You want to talk about it?" Blue asks gently.

Yes.

"No."

From his perch in the tree, he shoots me an amused look, and I wonder if I nodded just now when I declined his offer.

Do I look as confused as I feel?

Not for the first time, I'm blushing around Blue Daniels.

It's hard not to notice how good he looks in the moonlight. Or that he's only wearing boxers. It's hard to ignore the way my body is reacting to him.

"Jesus. H. Christ."

I didn't mean to say that out loud. It's something Virginia says all the time.

I take a breath and clear my throat, irritated to be imitating her. I seem to do it a lot even though I don't want to.

"Thank you, Blue," I say, hearing my grandmother's typically distant tone in the words. "I really appreciate your concern. But I'll work through it."

Blue says nothing, just looks down at his guitar, a slight smile on his face.

I hug my knees to my chest and swipe my fingers under my eyes.

"The song you were singing," I say after a moment, wanting to change the subject,

"I've never heard it before. Who sings it?"

Blue looks up. "Frasier Bryson."

He says like it's obvious.

"Who?"

He groans at my blank expression, then shakes his head, sighing.

"It kills me that people don't know who Bryson is. He's the head of Ikana's music department, and one of the most brilliant songwriters and folk singers we've ever had.

He never got the recognition he deserved in the seventies. I don't understand why."

"Oh." My voice sounds small and silly.

Should I have heard of Frasier Bryson? Does everybody else know who he is?

"He dropped out of the scene for a long time and became a bit of a hermit," Blue goes on. "Then, about twenty years ago, he decided he wanted to teach. He's the one who started the program here at Ikana."

He lets the guitar hang on his chest as he grips the branch above him and dangles his

feet.

"Bryson is the whole reason I'm here," he adds, plaintively.

I nod, giving him a sympathetic smile.

I've never heard of Frasier Bryson. But I know the college has a great music program that is hard to get into. About as hard as the journalism program.

We sit there for a few moments, saying nothing.

From down the street, the deep bass of someone's stereo booms into the night. I can hear people yelling.

The houses around us are probably all occupied by hard-partying college students.

I suddenly think about what Virginia would say if she saw where I'm living. If she saw this house that she's paying for.

The thought makes me smile, which then gives me a twinge of guilt that is followed by a good dollop of shame.

I mean, I look down on my grandmother, but I'm happy to take her money. Then I get a kick out of pissing her off by spending it in a way I know she'd hate.

What is wrong with me?

I take a deep breath, batting away the idea that maybe it's me who's the total shit in our family and not Virginia Cooke.

"So, Keegan," Blue says in a wheedling tone, mercifully interrupting my thoughts, "you going to invite me up? Or do I need to stay in this tree all night?"