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Track 9

I Wish I Could Forget You (Like You’ve Forgotten Me)

Paisley

November 3

The oil-clumped kitty litter and glass ping against the sides of the trashcan as I dump it inside. It’s never fun to clean up after a customer, but at least I can be grateful it wasn’t vomit. I spend some time reorganizing the stockroom, hoping by the time I’m finished, that group of older ladies will have left.

It’s always disconcerting when a stranger seems to recognize me. Pretending I don’t see or hear them is one thing, but not letting it get to me is another thing entirely. It’s hard to brush it aside when it feels like every move I make is being judged, like I’m performing some gymnastic routine at a competition and not going about a random day in my life.

See how she sweeps the kitty litter with her broom? Seven points for execution, but only five for effort.

“Hey, Paiz,” Mom calls through the curtain. “I could use your help out here.”

“One sec.” I sigh and adjust a box of tissue paper so that it’s aligned with the box beneath it. Lately, my life feels askew like that box was. Will I ever be able to straighten it out and get back on track?

It’ll take more than a nudge to get me centered again, that’s for sure.

I brush my sweaty palms over my jeans, hoping that the women are gone.

Luck is not on my side.

They’re still in the shop, but it gets worse. Standing in the corner, by a display of wooden nutcrackers, is my worst nightmare.

Kash Murray.

Okay, technically being onstage performing is my worst nightmare.

But Kash Murray, or any of the members of Six String Justice, comes in at a close second. What the hell is he doing here?

I stare at all six feet and one inch of him, dumbfounded. The one and only other time I saw Kash Murray in person was after my set, when I listened to the band make fun of me and then watched helplessly as they defaced my lyric book. I’ve spent half a year playing back the entire fiasco in my mind, from my disastrous solo act to the backstage aftermath. I realize I can’t blame Six String Justice for what happened that day—not entirely—but I can’t ever forgive them for their crude comments, what they did to my notebook, or for the cruel social media snipes their official account posted about me.

Another one of their diss posts comes to mind.

6StringJustice:

Everyone in the audience who had to sit through the act before our set last night should get a refund. Or earplugs.

I freeze, wondering if maybe I can disappear back behind the curtain and hide out in the storeroom until he leaves. But of course Mom spots me first.

She gently tugs on my arm to get my attention. “Can you work the gift-wrap station, please?”

“Yeah, sure,” I say. Too late for a disappearing act now.

I glance back over at Kash Murray.

What is he doing here?

Maybe this is some PR stunt? Is he here to blow up my spot? I wouldn’t be surprised if Six String Justice planned some stupid scheme for cheap likes and views. They’re the kind of guys who would do anything to get ahead. I glance around for hidden cameras, but nothing seems staged, and I don’t see any other members of the band.

Hmm.

Maybe he has a doppelgänger?

He glances up at me, and though I quickly avert my gaze, there’s no mistaking that it really is Kash Murray. I’ll never forget those eyes.

The last time I saw him, he was wearing a cowboy hat that shaded most of his face. In the bright store lighting, his dark hair has light brown highlights. His nose is straight and his jaw has just enough definition to keep it soft instead of chiseled. His lips curl into a smile, and I hate how he doesn’t look anything like the jerk I know he is.