The Final Piece by Maggi Myers Read Free Book Online Page B

stops strumming and kicks my foot. “Kiss hater,” he laughs, “have any requests?”
    I shake my head and wait for him to start again. This time he chooses an upbeat song, laced with a little reggae.
    “I like this,” I encourage as I subconsciously begin swaying to the rhythm. He starts singing about how short life is and how we shouldn’t hesitate to grab it before it goes by. Slick move, tricking me with a carefree island beat that carries hidden philosophical words.
    “I’m yours-ah,” he exaggerates the last line and chord. His enthusiasm is charming my suspicious nature into submission. As if he can sense a shift in my demeanor, he starts to play one of my favorite songs.   
    Brown noser.
    I lean back on my elbows and close my eyes as the sound of the notes moving across the fret board flow through me. Tommy starts to sing the first verse and I join him on harmony during the chorus. We drift along, singing in sync together like we have a hundred times before. I open my eyes when the song ends and find Tommy’s eyes swimming with unspoken emotion. “You sound just like your mama.”
    The praise makes my heart full. “I do? Thanks, Tommy!” No one has ever said that I remind them of Mom in any way. Mostly I hear about how I’m not like her at all.
    “You are more alike than you know, baby girl.” He chuckles.
    When I sit up and brush the sand from my elbows, I see Ryan sitting across the fire, watching us. I hold my breath, waiting for him to start making fun of me. One side of his mouth tilts into a lopsided grin that starts my heart tripping again.
    “Pretty.” He says.
    My mouth drops open in cartoonish fashion at that one word. Tommy’s barking laughter reverberates in my ears and my entire body turns beet red.
    “Your voice, Beth!” Ryan stammers, glancing back and forth between Tommy’s amused face and my shocked one.
    “I know what you meant,” I lie. For a moment, I had been soaring at the thought of him calling me pretty. I stand and brush the rest of the sand off me, not wanting to stick around for round two of Awkward Conversations With Beth and Ryan .
    “No! I mean, you are pretty and all,” he is stuttering now. “I just meant...I mean, you have a great voice but...you’re fourteen!” He’s rambling, which has Tommy howling. This only sends Ryan deeper into his despair when he blurts out, “Knock it off, Tommy! It’s not like that, I am not a pedophile!”
    There it is. I can never get too comfortable without something dredging it back to the surface. I picture a neon pink sign flashing bright cursive letters above my head, “Pedophile Plaything.” My subconscious is cruel enough, but Ryan’s words sting like I have been slapped. My eyes blur with my hurt. It is a direct contradiction to the practiced smile I have cemented on my face. Before the tears can spill over, I spin on my heel to scurry out of there.
    Within a few quick steps, warm hands grip my shoulders and spin me around. Tommy squeezes me against his chest whispering into my hair so no one else can hear, “He doesn’t know, Beth. He has no idea. He just thinks you’re embarrassed because he said you’re pretty. Shoot, he can hardly see past his own verbal diarrhea. He’s squirming over there.” Tommy’s words rumble deep in his chest, against my ear.
    “It doesn’t matter,” I whisper back. Who cares whether he’s figured it out or not, it doesn’t change what I am or what’s been done.
    “It does matter because it is your story to tell to whomever, whenever you want to tell it.”
    Tommy’s words are reassuring, but I still want to find a big hole to climb inside. I let go of him and peek around his back at Ryan. He is sitting with his arms draped across his bent knees. He is shaking his head at the sand, and I wonder if he is replaying the scene in his head, like I am. He lifts his hand to run his fingers through his hair while he scans the beach. 
    “It’s better if I just scoot. Pops and