Total pages in book: 198
Estimated words: 186242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 931(@200wpm)___ 745(@250wpm)___ 621(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 931(@200wpm)___ 745(@250wpm)___ 621(@300wpm)
But as I’d learned over the last two years, you could have a great voice, but if your music wasn’t good or catchy, that didn’t mean you would sell records.
He had and he hadn’t used me. I’d given him everything freely.
Amos’s voice rose just a little, his vibrato ringing through the air, and I shook my head as more goose bumps came up on my skin.
Turning my head just a little, I found Mr. Rhodes staring straight ahead, his jaw an absolute perfect line as he listened intently, a faint smile of pure pleasure lingering over his pink mouth.
His eyes happened to move and catch mine. “Wow,” I mouthed.
And this gruff, strict man kept that tiny smile on his face and said, “Wow,” back.
“Do you sing?” I asked before I could stop myself and remember he didn’t really want to talk to me.
“Not like that,” he actually answered, surprising me. “He gets it from his mom’s side.”
Another hint about his mom. I wanted to know. I wanted to know so bad.
But I wasn’t going to ask.
Then he spoke again and surprised me even more. “It’s the only time he comes out of his shell, and only around some people. It makes him happy.”
That was the longest sentence he’d ever shared with me, I was pretty sure, but I figured there was nothing a man could be prouder of than having a talented son.
Neither one of us said a word as the strums of the guitar changed and Amos’s voice disappeared as he played and we both kept on listening. It was between him noodling around, messing up and trying again, that I said, “If either of you ever need anything, let me know, okay? I’ll let you listen in peace now. I don’t want him to catch me and get upset.”
Mr. Rhodes glanced at me and nodded, not agreeing but not telling me to go to hell either. I picked my way back across the driveway to a familiar tune that I knew for a fact Nori had produced.
But all I could think about was that I hoped Mr. Rhodes took me up on my offer someday.
And that was probably the reason why I got caught.
Why Amos called out, “Aurora?”
And why I froze.
Busted again? “Hi, Amos,” I called out, cursing myself for getting sloppy.
There was a pause, then, “What are you doing?”
Did he have to sound so suspicious? And did I have to be such a bad liar? I knew what my best bet was: buttering him up. “Listening to the voice of an angel?”
My whole body tensed up in the silence. I was pretty sure I heard him set his guitar down and start walking over. Sure enough, his head peeked out from around the corner of the building.
I lifted my hand and hoped his dad had disappeared. “Hi.”
The kid looked at me and froze too. “What happened to your face?”
I kept forgetting I was scaring people. “Nothing bad, no one hurt me. I’m fine, and thank you for worrying.”
The same color eyes as his dad’s bounced around my face, and I wasn’t sure he heard me.
“I’m okay,” I tried to assure him. “Promise.”
That was good enough for him because his expression finally turned a little anxious. “Did it . . . bother you?”
I scrunched up my face and then winced. “Are you kidding me? No way.”
His dad was right; he didn’t believe it. I could feel his soul rolling its spiritual eyes.
“I’m serious. You’ve got such a great voice.”
He still wasn’t buying it.
I had to go at this at a different angle. “I recognized a couple of the songs you were playing, but there was one in the middle . . . what was it?”
That got his face to go red.
And my gut went off. “Was it yours? Did you come up with it?”
His face disappeared, and I moved over to look into the garage. Amos had only taken a couple steps back. His attention was focused on the floor.
“If you did, that’s amazing, Amos. I . . .” Shit. I hadn’t planned on saying it, but . . . I was here. “I . . . used to be a songwriter.”
He wouldn’t look at me.
Oh, man. I should have been sneakier. “Hey, I’m serious. I don’t like to hurt people’s feelings, but if I didn’t think you were good—your voice and that song you sang—I wouldn’t bring it up. It is really good. You’re really talented.”
Amos lifted the toe of one of his sneakers.
And I felt terrible. “I’m serious.” I cleared my throat. “I, uh, a few of my songs have been . . . on albums.”
The toe of his other sneaker went up.
“If you wanted . . . I could help you. Write, I mean. Give you advice. I’m not the best, but I’m not the worst. But I’ve got a good ear, and I usually know what works and what doesn’t.”