Page 31

The other man wipes his hands on a rag. “Or the starter solenoid.” He’s taller than me by a few inches, and his work shirt and jeans are covered in grease and oil stains. He looks at me and asks, “You’re the expert. What’s your professional opinion?”

“I, um…”

“Stop your teasing, Travis,” Mrs. Morgan says, slapping his arm. She rolls her eyes at me and says, “This joker here putting you on the spot is my husband. Travis, this is Kash Murray, our guest.”

Mr. Morgan smirks. “You mean, he’s not the lawn mower repairman?” He kisses the top of her head and turns his attention back to me. “Good to meet you,” he says with a nod. “I’d offer to shake your hand but…” He waves the dirty rag he’s holding.

“No worries,” I say.

“This is our neighbor, Jim Atchley.”

Jim and I shake hands.

“So you’re here for some studio time, huh?” Mr. Atchley asks, gesturing to my guitar case.

“Yep.” My hand clenches the handle. I hope to hell no one asks me how it’s going.

’Cause it’s not.

“Kash is here to record an album,” Mrs. Morgan says, like she’s proud of this fact.

“Demo,” I correct.

“I was just telling Kash that he can probably find Paisley over by the reindeer,” Mrs. Morgan adds.

“Is Paisley writing songs again?” Mr. Atchley asks, looking to Mr. Morgan for confirmation. He looks surprised, with his brows raised about as high as they can go. “I thought she’d stopped after…well…”

Both of Paisley’s parents shift, and I get the sense they’re uncomfortable.

“She just took a bit of a break is all,” Mrs. Morgan says. The reassuring smile she gives me is tight.

“Well, I’m glad to hear she’s back at it. That girl of yours has talent,” he says to her parents. “And you’re a lucky fellow to be working with her, that’s for sure,” he continues, patting me on the back.

It doesn’t seem like the best time to clarify that Paisley and I are definitely not working together. I’m set on doing this on my own. And after the attitude she gave me yesterday, it’s more than clear she isn’t keen to work with me, either.

Track 11

Things I Didn’t Know

Paisley

November 4

Against my better judgment, I unearth my phone from the sock drawer and plug it into a charger. I’ve been avoiding the internet for weeks, but now that the outside world seems to be colliding with my zone of safety at Hidden Acres, I want to know why.

I chew on the inside of my cheek as I wait for the phone to power up. I’m not sure I’m prepared for what I’ll find.

Unanswered calls.

Missed messages.

Tags to social media posts of more stupid videos Seth’s probably made.

It’s not easy for me to look up Six String Justice’s social media accounts. I know they’ve moved on from making fun of me, but the hurt is still there. Still, I’m driven by insatiable curiosity and an inexplicable urge to channel my Nancy Drew alter ego in The Clue at the Christmas Tree Farm.

The home screen lights up and I steel myself for what I’m about to do.

“Just get in, get the info, and get out,” I whisper to myself, like I’m planning an information heist. Except the clues I’m looking for should be hidden in plain sight, on what is essentially a giant electronic bulletin board.