Free Secret for a Song by S. K. Falls Page A

we
breathed. The black asphalt of the lot glittered with ice under the
streetlights.
    “Pretty,”
I said.
    Drew
laughed, looking around the parking lot. It was hemmed in on all sides by condos,
ugly cream-colored budget things. “If you say so.”
    His
apartment was only a few steps from the parking space, with narrow windows that
looked out onto the sidewalk. He had a doormat shaped like a guitar. I wondered
if he’d picked it out himself, browsing the aisles at some department store
patiently until he found just the right one.
    “First
floor. I lucked out; I started renting this place before my diagnosis.” He slid
his key into the lock and cocked his head at me. “Do you do that yet? Divide
your time before diagnosis and after?”
    I
didn’t really remember a time before I was sick, so I shook my head.
    “You
will. It happens without a conscious decision. Weird how stuff works out that
way. It usually annoys me when people make stupid assumptions about sick
people. You know, that we all, like, have this innate sense of wonder at life
now and stuff like that. But some things really do happen across the board.”
    We
walked in then, and I was struck by how nice it smelled. I’d never been to a
guy’s apartment before. All the boys—all three of them—I’d been with in high
school had lived at home with their moms and dads. We’d groped around in dank
basements or on floral couches after their parents were asleep.
    This
was a much more pleasant experience than I’d expected. I always imagined that a
guy’s place would smell like socks and old food, but Drew’s place smelled like
clean laundry and cookies. It wasn’t dirty, but it wasn’t OCD-clean either. It
looked homey and lived-in, and that was it.
    “I
like it,” I pronounced, and then immediately felt like an ass. That wasn’t
presumptuous at all.
    But
Drew just laughed. “I’m glad. Sit.” He gestured at a puffy black leather couch.
“Would you like something to drink or eat?”
    “Do
you have Dr. Pepper?”
    He
did that nose crinkly thing I was starting to really like. “No. I didn’t know
people actually drank that stuff.”
    “Water
would be great then.”
    He
disappeared into the kitchen. I slipped off my jacket before looking around his
living room. There was the requisite thirty-inch flat screen TV and Xbox
controller. His walls were bare except for where they were obscured by bookcases.
When I looked closely, I realized only one shelf actually held books. The
others were filled with CDs.
    “I
enjoy music.”
    I
turned and took the glass of water from him. “Thanks. And yeah, I noticed.”
    “Most
of these were gifts from friends or CDs from other bands I’ve met playing
around the east coast. What kind of music do you like?”
    We
were standing close, our arms almost touching as we examined the contents of his
bookcases. I could feel my skin tingle in anticipation, as if it wanted to
reach out and bridge the gap. My eyes lingered again on the sheer height
difference between us. I was five-foot-six—quite solidly average for a girl. Even
though Drew was slightly stooped and leaning on his cane, I barely came to his
shoulder. 
    “Any
kind,” I said. The truth was I hadn’t listened to music in a long time. I liked
to read instead, medical books. And I couldn’t read when there was noise.
    “Come
on. You have to have a preference.” He turned to face me, his hoodie unzipped
and hanging off of him like loose skin.
    I
shrugged, my face heating up. I hated being put on the spot. “Um, Carly Rae Jepsen?”
    I
realized the moment after I said it that the only reason I’d named her was
because we’d just heard her song play in the bar. Also, it occurred to me that
that wasn’t the coolest music I could’ve picked.
    Drew’s
face sort of sagged, his mouth falling open. “Seriously? That’s not music.”
    “Hmm.
That sounds a little judgey,” I replied, taking a sip of water.
    He
raised his free hand, surrendering. “Okay,