Free A Love Story Starring My Dead Best Friend by Emily Horner Page A

me.
    The guy with the guitar case—who no longer had his guitar case—followed after me. “See, yeah, that was kind of traumatic, right?”
    “I didn’t really see—”
    “So, we’re on tour, and at least we have enough money for a hotel room now. One hotel room. Doesn’t allow for much privacy, but his girlfriend drove all the way up from Ohio to see us play, and—these things happen. Oh—I got you a T-shirt . . .”
    “Thanks. Can you let me in so I can change?”
    He fumbled at his pockets. “No way. I must’ve left the key . . .” He slumped down against the wall. “I’d bang at the door, but it wouldn’t do any good.”
    I took the shirt he was holding and started to mop off my hair. Pointedly looking—at the wall, at the floor, definitely not at me in my really unfortunate wet T-shirt. “You change, I’ll go get some sodas. Very far off down the hall.”
    It was deserted in the hallway, at three in the morning. I turned toward the wall and quickly switched my rain-soaked shirt for the almost dry one, and even though my legs were still wet it felt like crawling under warm sheets on a cold day. The shirt was black and red and much too big for me. It said NUCLEAR SUMMER on it in careful type.
    He came back bearing two bottles of soda in one hand and held out his other. “Kris Stott. Nuclear Summer, on bass. You haven’t heard of us.”
    “You’re right. Cassandra Meyer, on bike.”
    “Should I ask?”
    “Nah. But—thanks for getting me out of the rain.”
    “Thought it would make a good story. Which is the best revenge for getting kicked out of my room. And it’s not so often that girls in need of rescuing come around.”
    “What makes you think I need rescuing?”
    He shrugged in an elaborate way that suggested he wanted to get out of that particular minefield as quickly as possible.
    “Everything I really need is in a waterproof bag, and some changes of clothes too. A little water’s not going to kill me. But it sucks, so thanks.”
    “Do you have anybody you could call?”
    I looked down. “I don’t need to call anybody.”
    “If you were on your bike in that storm, something bad could’ve gone down.”
    “If I had to . . .” I sighed. “If I had to, I could work something out. But it’s far already.” And I couldn’t even conceive of admitting defeat. Of coming back with my tail between my legs, asking for help. Because it had only been four days, and everything was going just fine.
    I grinned. “Besides, it’s more interesting if I have to get myself out of the situations I get myself into.”
    “And I guess being outside in the rain is interesting?”
    “That’s not the word I’d use,” I said. “But this part is.”
    “Glad to be of some entertainment value, then.”
    We both turned quiet, sitting in the hallway beside each other with knees and elbows touching. I felt like I could fall asleep right there—with the rainfall against the windows, and the sound of branches whipping themselves in the wind. The air was humid and sticky with a tang of air conditioner, and I nursed little sips of my soda, which was intensely sweet, delicious even though I was still half shivering with cold.
    “Normally I’m not allowed to drink soda.”
    “Are you allowed to run away from home?”
    “Not normally. But this is an exception.”
    Kris looked over at me like there was something I was supposed to do, or say, and I didn’t know what it was. “You really don’t want to go into details, do you?”
    “It’s not some horrible family situation or anything. It’s just life. I’m dealing.”
    “By yourself, though.”
    “There are worse things.”
    He moved from his place next to me with his back against the wall, out into the hallway at an angle across from me, and reached over to brush the water from my hair, his hand nearly skimming my cheek. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. All day long I’d been thinking about Julia, and Ollie, and what it had been like