“Easton...”
“Yeah, okay.” I sigh, and then I just say it, the awful truth. The thoughts that so far I’ve only shared with Beck. “It’s just frustrating, you know? We’ve been giving everything we have for years, and still, nothing seems to be right. I want to write new songs because apparently our old ones aren’t good enough, but my head is totally empty. Sometimes I wonder if the whole thing is worth it.”
“It is,” she says without a second’s hesitation. “You’re good, and the songs are amazing. Dad believed in you.” Her voice cracks asshe mentions her dad, and it breaks my heart a little. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have wanted to take you on tour with him.”
“Are you sure?”
She clears her throat, and I want to see her right now, because I have to know if she’s okay. She doesn’t sound like it. “Yes, I’m totally sure. He would have never done something like that just because I told him I liked you.”
“That would have been okay too,” I say softly. It’s stupid and it doesn’t make sense, but it’s totally true, unfortunately.
“That’s sweet, but it’s also total nonsense. It wouldn’t have been okay. But you guys are really good, I’m not just saying that. Have a little faith. You’re going to make it, I can tell.”
“You believe in us?”
“Of course. Otherwise I wouldn’t have offered to help you.”
“That’s true too.” I stare at the ceiling, just like the day before yesterday, and I suddenly wish she was lying right next to me and not a few miles away in her bed in the dorm.
“I have a feeling that the only thing missing is the right song. The one that changes everything. Huge cliché, right?”
“Kind of.” I can hear her smiling. “But yeah. Maybe you just need that one song.”
“But no pressure, right?” I laugh.
“You don’t have to write it alone.”
“I know. Beck is a songwriter too.”
“But you want to be the one to write it, don’t you?”
I sigh. She’s seen right through me, which shouldn’t surprise me at this point. “Yeah, I do.”
“You’re going to do it,” she says decisively. Just like that.
“Will you help me?”
“Maybe. I’m not very good at it.”
I don’t like how she keeps saying she’s not good enough. Dancing, piano, writing songs. I’m pretty sure she could do all those things very well if she only believed in herself.
“Says who?”
“Me.”
“I call bullshit.”
“It’s not! I just can’t.”
“Wanna bet?”
“I’d win that one.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” I say.
“I am.”
“Why can’t you believe in yourself, Birdy?” My hand wants to reach for her, but she’s too far away. I can’t touch her or wrap my fingers around hers, even though it’s the only thing I want right now.