BooksBarbecue
Back When You Wish Save as PDF
Chapters (28)
  1. Cover Page
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Acknowledgments
  5. Chapter 1
  6. Chapter 2
  7. Chapter 3
  8. Chapter 4
  9. Chapter 5
  10. Chapter 6
  11. Chapter 7
  12. Chapter 8
  13. Chapter 9
  14. Chapter 10
  15. Chapter 11
  16. Chapter 12
  17. Chapter 13
  18. Chapter 14
  19. Chapter 15
  20. Chapter 16
  21. Chapter 17
  22. Chapter 18
  23. Chapter 19
  24. Chapter 20
  25. Chapter 21
  26. Epilogue
  27. About the Author
  28. Copyright Page

“They were all out of the purple ones,” I say. Then it hits me—I’m actually making small talk with a guy. My nerves kick in.

“I should go,” I say, shuffling my feet.

Nick takes a few steps closer to me until we’re just inches apart. He looks down at me, and my heart beats wildly. He’s close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss.

Instead, he holds the door open. “Well, drive safe.”

“You too,” I say, walking out before it hits me that he’s not driving anywhere. “Arghhh!” I say, tapping my head against the steering wheel. I shake off my embarrassment and pull out of the lot.

I have got to put Nick out of my mind. After all, tomorrow is the day my dad should be back. And really, who cares about some random restaurant guy when I’m about to piece back together a whole part of my family that I thought was lost to me forever?

Chapter 13

You know I want you, but I
don’t know how
To get through, to show you now.
When you touch me, I lose my mind.
Hello, boy,
Do we have to say goodbye?

—“I WANT YOU,” STAR BECK
ALBUM: STAR LIGHT

image
Chapter 13

It’s ten a.m. on the dot as I get out of my car in the Mecham’s Music parking lot. My heart is pounding so hard that I’m worrying again about the possibility of a heart attack. But I can only think about one thing: I’m about to see my dad.

I stride inside, trying to pump myself full of confidence. The first person I see is Zach, the salesguy from the other day, who rolls his eyes at me and says somewhat sourly, “Ah, you again. Mr. Mecham’s in the guitar room, since you want to see him so much.”

Too excited to even thank him, I nod quickly and walk across the store to the guitar room, resisting the urge to run. I recognize the back of my father’s head as soon as I round the corner.

His thick brown hair has grayed and thinned over the years, and his once-straight posture is no longer quite as erect, but there’s no doubt about it.

It’s my dad. My father.

He’s dressed in a green shirt and khakis with brown shoes, and his shoulders are just slightly rounded. He’s hunched over a guitar and seems deep in thought.

I walk up behind him. “Hi,” I say in a voice that doesn’t sound like my own.