“I don’t know,” I say.

“Well, we were there. And you were great.” Frankie smiles again. “So. Want to come out with us?” She raises one eyebrow. “I suppose you’d have to put a shirt on.”

I shift my weight so that a little more of my chest will be hidden behind the window frame, trying to look as casual as possible. Then I think about what she’s asking. Driving around town with Frankie’s friends, having to keep up the rock-star act all night. I can barely keep it up right now. I’d rather be alone with Yvonne and the music.

“I don’t think so,” I tell her. “I’m down for the night.”

Frankie doesn’t beg. She probably doesn’t know how. She just gives a little sigh. It’s as close as she ever gets to seeming disappointed. Her eyes flick to my bare chest, just for a second. I’m not sure if she’s pleased, or if she’s only less than disgusted, but she doesn’t look disappointed anymore.

“Okay,” she says. “Well—have a good night in there.”

“Have a good night out there.”

She hesitates for a second, like she’s waiting for me to say something else, or to change my mind and climb out the window after her. But my feet might as well be glued to the worn blue carpet.

Another beat, and Frankie is jumping down from the stump, running off toward the trees, disappearing. I hear more footsteps in the pine needles. More laughter.

Frankie’s laugh is like music.

It’s a cliché, but I mean it. Her laugh is sound perfectly arranged in time. It’s too perfect to be effortless, but it sounds effortless anyway.

Somewhere in the distance, there’s an engine, and then the woods fade to quiet again.

I shut the window.

I sit back down on the end of the bed. Goblin crawls across the blankets and flops down next to me with a little grunt, his curving spine pressed against my back. I haven’t even picked up Yvonne again when it hits me.

A chord. A line of melody. Another chord.

It comes like a punch, just like always. Air knocked out of my lungs; thoughts scattered. There’s nothing left but the spot where the fist struck.

I grab the notebook and pencil from the bedside table and get it all down as fast as I can.

What are you waiting for?

I know you’re listening

Why are you holding still

clenching that key in your hand

What are you hoping for?

All alone, one a.m.

Why are you here again

standing still until you can’t stand it anymore

And you’re not

the flying bullet

And you’re not

the speeding car

And you’re not

even the empty sky behind a falling star

What can you see?

The darkness closes

What does it mean

that every light is too light to hold you down

And you’re not

the buried bullet

And you’re not

the totaled car

And you’re not

even the empty sky where there was a falling star