Free Will's Story by Jaye Robin Brown

still need to do is tell Amber Vaughn how I feel.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
    I was ready
    Time to go
    One phone call
    One swift blow
    I never worked up the nerve to call Amber on Saturday. I worked nonstop on her songs, but somehow actually reaching out, now that I could without guilt, scared the shit out of me. Now here it is Sunday afternoon, and I’m still staring at my phone like it’s a two-headed rattlesnake. Come on, Will. You got this.
    I hit her number. It rings a couple of times, and then she answers. Her voice is bright and breathless.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œHey, Amber.” Then I think about how she must think we left things on Friday night. “Sorry our practice got cut short Friday.”
    â€œIt’s okay. I understand.”
    â€œCan we try again? Tomorrow after chorus? I’ve been working on ‘Ave Maria.’”
    There’s a pause. “Are you sure you want to?”
    Does she want to? “I told you I’d help.”
    â€œI know. I just don’t want your girlfriend pissed off at you. Not that I’m a threat or anything, but—”
    I’ve got to stop her. Let her know. “Not So Plain and Small.”
    â€œYeah?”
    I clear my throat. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks.”
    â€œIt doesn’t?”
    â€œNo.” There. I’ve done it. A huge weight lifts from my shoulders.
    But she keeps talking like she didn’t hear me. “Hey,” Amber says. “Would you help me with an errand after school, before practice?”
    I’m not sure she understands what I just told her. I did tell her, didn’t I?
    â€œSure, what do you need?”
    â€œI’ve got to go by the pawnshop to pay for a guitar.”
    â€œA guitar?” Why are we talking about guitars and not the fact that I broke up with my girlfriend? “Is it for you?”
    She’s super-quiet for a long time. Then she says, “It’s for Sean. I took up a collection and we got him a Gibson. Sean’s really good. We should all play together sometime.”
    And there is the mic drop. I am speechless. I waited too long.
    â€œWill?”
    I must make some guttural sound.
    â€œIs that okay?”
    â€œOh, yeah sure.” Fuck, fuck, fuckity motherfuck, fuck. “Um, listen. I’ve got to run. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
    When I hit the off button, I stare at the phone.
    Then I throw it against my wall.
    Later in the afternoon, Devon comes and finds me out back where I’m sulking with a Ron Rash book in the tree platform Dad built for us. We’d laughed at the time, because we were already in high school, but his fulfilling his boyhood dream for us actually turned out to be a good thing. It’s both me and my brother’s favorite thinking spot.
    â€œHere.” Devon hands me a Gatorade and a warm pumpkin muffin. “Dad got all domestic this afternoon. Told me to bring you one.”
    â€œThanks, man.”
    Devon settles back against a post. “Whatcha reading?”
    I hold up the book. “Some dude. Teaches down at Western Carolina. Short stories. They’re pretty good.”
    Devon nods.
    â€œHow’s it going with Skype boy?”
    It’s like my brother’s internal lightbulb switches on. “He’s great.”
    â€œHuh,” I say.
    â€œWhat? Don’t tease. I really like him. He’s cool. You’ll like him, too. He skis and sails and is really into archaeology.”
    â€œWhat about music?”
    â€œEnough.”
    I eat the muffin and we settle into brother quiet. Off in the distance a woodpecker hammers a dead tree. Eventually, Devon speaks again. “Found your phone. I was sort of curious why it was on the floor with a cracked screen, so I did some snooping.”
    I put the book down.
    â€œI thought I was going to find Amber Rose’s number as the last dialed and that y’all had gotten into it again. Was sort of surprised to see