chapter three

Right before I finished the last line, the door creaked again.

“ME,” Julia announced like a tiny judge delivering a verdict.

My voice cracked and died mid-note. The room went silent except for the last echo of the guitar string humming itself into nothing. I opened my eyes, half-expecting applause, half-expecting execution.

Julia stood there with her teddy tucked under one arm, head tilted, studying us like a scientist who’d just discovered a suspicious new species. Jacxs froze, his fingers still hovering over the strings, caught red-handed in the crime of existing.

“You stopped,” she said, mildly disappointed.

“Because you walked in,” I replied, pointing a drumstick at her. “Dramatic entrances have consequences.”

She considered that. Then she nodded, satisfied, and climbed onto the spare stool like she owned the place. “Continue. But quieter. Dad says the walls are vibrating and that’s ‘not how houses should feel.’”

Jacxs snorted before he could stop himself. He slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide, like he was waiting to be smote by an angry younger sibling god.

I laughed, still a little breathless, still feeling that weird buzzing in my chest. “See? Even the critics approve.”

He glanced at me, smiling softer now, less show-off, more real. “You’re… really good, you know that?”

I shrugged, suddenly very interested in adjusting my snare. “You’re not terrible yourself, guitar boy.”

“High praise,” he said solemnly.

Julia hopped down, marched up to him, and jabbed a finger into his chest. “You can play. You can stay. But if you make my sister cry—”

“I won’t,” he said quickly, hands up. “Scout’s honor. Even though I was never a scout.”

She narrowed her eyes, then nodded like a deal had been signed. Business concluded, she skipped out again, humming something wildly off-key.

The garage settled back into its familiar chaos—wires, wood, faint ringing ears. Jacxs leaned his guitar against the amp and sat beside me on the floor, close enough that I could feel the leftover energy buzzing off him.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I looked at my drum set. Looked at the door. Looked back at him.

“Yeah,” I said, grinning. “But next time, you’re singing too. Fair’s fair.”

The universe, clearly amused, let the silence agree.

He groaned like I’d just sentenced him to death. “Absolutely not.”

I tilted my head. “Coward.”

“Selective,” he corrected, tapping the guitar body. “I express myself through strings, not vocal cords. Those are private.”

I laughed and shoved his shoulder lightly with the back of my hand. “Funny how brave you were five minutes ago.”

“Adrenaline,” he said. “It lies.”

We sat there for a bit, the post-music silence doing that weird thing where it feels louder than the noise itself. My ears were still ringing, my hands still buzzing, like my body hadn’t gotten the memo that the performance was over.

From inside the house, Dad’s voice floated in. “Torrie! Snacks are here!”

Jacxs perked up instantly. “Your dad gives snacks?”

“Fruit and judgment,” I said. “Mostly fruit.”

We went inside and found my dad and Janet mid-conversation, already acting like they’d known each other for years. Julia was on the couch, feet kicking, absolutely demolishing a biscuit like it owed her money.

Janet smiled when she saw us. “You two sound like a concert back there.”

Dad nodded. “The garage may need therapy.”

Jacxs scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shy in a way he hadn’t been with a guitar in his hands. “Sorry, sir.”

Dad waved it off. “As long as nothing caught fire, we’re good.”

I caught Jacxs glancing at me, that same half-smile creeping back, the one that said yeah, we survived that. Something about it made my chest feel oddly warm, like I’d just unlocked a level in a game I didn’t know I was playing.

After snacks, after small talk, after Janet called him twice because “sunset means home,” Jacxs grabbed his guitar case and stood by the door.

“Tomorrow?” he asked again, quieter this time.

“Tomorrow,” I said.

He nodded, stepped out, then paused and looked back. “Hey, Torrie?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for… letting me play.”

I shrugged, but I was smiling. “Anytime.”

The door closed. The house felt different. Not quieter—just fuller, like something had shifted slightly to the left and decided to stay there.

Julia leaned over from the couch and whispered, loud enough to be illegal, “You like him.”

“I like music,” I said instantly.

She grinned, victorious. “Same thing.”

I rolled my eyes and headed back toward the garage, fingers already itching for drumsticks, my head buzzing with rhythms that hadn’t existed yesterday.

Some days start ordinary and end louder than they should.

This one felt like the beginning of something that was going to echo.

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