Harley

I swear, when she touched my arm, looking up at me with those wide, pleading, beautiful green eyes, I lost all sense of reason.

Which is why I'm locked in a closet with a music manager, looking at him in the dark.

"What is it?" I say, turning on my phone flashlight. It lights up the dark space with a faint white glow, making Luca seem more pale than normal. The smell of what I think is a bucket of garbage floats in the small space and I try hard not to gag.

"First off, why are we in a closet?" Luca's calm exterior begins to break, and I see him panic a little bit.

"Mr. Dupont, I'm sure you've realized that this isn't a fancy bar in Los Angeles. There aren't any separate rooms for smoking and cocktails here." I say, trying not to laugh as his brown eyes widen in the dark. He can't be much older than Autumn's sister, and yet he's as fidgety as a five-year-old.

"But a closet? Is this really-"

"There's a family room down the hall. We can talk there." Luca shoots me a glare, then stands, brushing off his suit with as much dignity as he can muster, and walks out of the closet, towards the family area. I laugh, following him.

Why families would bring their children to a bar is beyond me, but I follow him anyway. Sure enough, the family room is empty, and Luca and I take a seat at the front of the room.

"What is this about?" I ask him, and he pulls out a folded slip of paper from the massive pockets in his jacket. Handing it to me, he begins to look around the room. "She won't be joining us today," I say, and take the paper.

Unfolding it, I have to squint to read the tiny letters.

If you're reading this, you are one of one hundred people to be selected for the Songbird Music Contest, which means you're the best of the best when it comes to the teenage music scene.

Teenagers often find it hard to break out into the music world, but here, we believe we can help you with that. If you win, not only will you get recognition from several prestigious judges, but you'll get a contract with Amelie Jenkins' record label, and you'll get to open for our mystery judge on their world tour this summer.

By now, you've probably received a visit from one of our twenty representatives, showing you this exciting offer. You have exactly one week to make your decision. The competition will begin at the Boheme Theatre on October third. We want to see you there.

When you arrive, Amelie will explain the rules and procedures in order for this to go off smoothly.

We hope to see you there.

Sincerely, the office of Amelie Jenkins.

I fold the paper back up again and place it in my back pocket. Luca watches me, but I make my face as blank and unreadable as possible. He's right.

The little paper in my pocket could lead to all of my dreams coming true. For Adrian. It still sounds like a hoax, but I'm five seconds away from accepting his offer.

Then, I think of Autumn. She's talented, perhaps too talented to be stuck in Gullwitch Cove forever. She deserves this more than I do. I just have to find a way to convince her.

"I should try to convince Autumn," I say to Luca, motioning for him to hand over the second paper. He does and I put it in my pocket along with the other one, "Will you be in town all week?"

"I'm staying at a motel in Eastport," Luca replies, brown eyes expressionless.

"Give me a week. I'll try to talk her into coming, and if I don't by the time the week is done, you'll leave without us. Both of us. Got it?" I stand, not waiting for him to respond.

"Goodnight... Harley." I hear him call behind me, and the slightest smirk curls on my lips.

I rev up the engine on my motorcycle, speeding faster and faster, nearly running into several cars. Jayden had already driven Autumn and Faye back to her house, and I have to get there. I really need to talk to her.

I turn past my street, only a few blocks away. The night air whips my clothes as I speed faster, almost flying. When I first got this from my uncle for my seventeenth birthday, I wanted nothing to do with it. It was junky, tired, and practically on its last legs. Then, I walked into a garage by accident one day and made friends with the owner. He fixed it up for cheaper than it should've been, and I've been riding it ever since.

I pull up outside of Autumn's and shut off the ignition. Walking up her stairs, I knock on her front door, and she opens it, Faye peering from the couch behind her.

"Harley?" She asks, pulling her cardigan closer to her.

"Autumn, I talked to the guy. He wanted you to read this." I fish the paper out of my pocket and hand it to her. She pushes her red hair behind her ear, and bites her top lip, looking at it.

I wish she'd stop doing that. Every time she bites that top lip, I surprisingly resist the urge to pull her close and kiss the living daylights out of her.

It's a good thing I have self-control.

"I don't know," She hands the paper back to me, and walks further into her house, sitting on the floor, "I want to do this, but..."

"But?" I move over toward where she is, sitting across from her.

"Los Angeles used to be my home. I had lived in Beverly Hills, but I spent all my time in LA, and I just don't know if I'm ready to go back there. Too many bad memories." She shudders, and if Faye weren't sitting on the couch, eavesdropping, I would wrap my arms around her.

"It's a good opportunity though. Not just for the music part, but for you to face your demons. Look, Autumn," I say, leaning towards her, "I know more than anybody what it's like to have bad memories. I have more than most people. But, don't let that stop you from following what you want. You're going to have to go back to LA someday, so why not now? Why wait?"

"Harley," she sighs, top lip starting to bleed, "I don't know. I just don't know."

"Just think about it. I told Luca to give us a week, and we won't go if you don't want to."

"Harley, if you want to do this, then do it." She looks at me, eyes stern.

"We do it together or not at all. Besides, you'd be the only one I know and I don't want to be a loner." I smile at her, reassuringly, and she manages a weak smile back. Waving goodbye, I get up to go, but she stops me.

"Stay," she calls.

I freeze, my blood turning to ice. Stay.

I turn back around, looking down at her. She looks pitiful and sad, cardigan wrapped around her shoulders. Yet, her eyes are plain fire, daring me to challenge her.

I do, even though I don't want to.

"I should really-"

"Fine. Go," she motions to the door, "I'll let you know when I've made a decision."

I turn around and walk out the door, not looking back once.

"You know what sucks, Harley?" Adrian whispers in my ear. I jolt awake, eyes burning, hair wet.

"Adrian, why are you-"

"Being murdered by your best friend!" Adrian screams, and I flinch, breathing heavily.

"Adrian, I didn't mean to-"

"What didn't you mean to do, Harley?" Adrian walks out from behind me, finally revealing his face to me. He looks just as he did in life, hair perfectly combed, in the ripped jeans and Aerosmith t-shirt that he died in. The only thing that's different is his eyes. They're a foggy blue tinged with red, not the clear, sky-blue of his usual eyes.

"What didn't you mean to do?" He asks again, taking a step closer. "Did you not mean to be driving even though you were underage? Did you not mean to hit that-"

"Stop!" I cover my ears and scream but nothing comes out.

"You see Harley," Adrian leans down close to me, eyes right in my face, "I will never leave you. For the rest of your miserable life, you'll want to know what could've happened if you hadn't killed me. And I'll be right beside you, always and forever."

"Why?"

"Because," he leans even closer, eyes boring right into mine, "I'm a monster. You were the one who created me. Now, you have to live with me."

I sit up, sweating again. I look over towards the clock, running a casual hand through my hair. 5:24.

That's a new record.

The sun is not quite over the center of town, flashing pinks and blues across the square. I rub my eyes and stand, walking over to the window. I see a crack in my windowpane, and my eyes widen.

Broken glass. That was all I want to remember from that day.

My brother Dev and I hide in my room upstairs, listening to Mom and Dad scream at each other for the fourth time this week. Something breaks downstairs, and Dev whimpers, sliding closer toward me.

"Harley, I'm scared." Dev was only eight at the time, too young to understand why Mommy and Daddy were fighting with one another. He was a happy kid, with chubby cheeks and dimples to prove it.

"They'll stop soon, Dev. They always do."

They didn't stop. The cops showed up at our house to arrest our dad and to take my bruised, tired mother to the police station. She hadn't wanted to go. I remembered her protesting as they took her away, not wanting to leave us.

When I walked downstairs, there was cracked and broken glass everywhere. I remember my hands reaching down to pick up the picture of our family, small hands getting cut on the pieces of a broken frame.

I walk away from the window, rubbing my eyes again. I flop down on my bed, staring up at my ceiling.

Dev was nine when they took him to an orphanage. They sent me to live with my uncle Jack instead, saying, "He would only take one of you." I sometimes wonder why it had to be me. I was older and could handle myself more than fragile Dev, who cried every time Mom and Dad fought, who laughed and smiled every time he was with his friends.

I had no tears and no friends.

Dev was all alone in the orphanage in New Orleans for four years. When I tried to look for him earlier last year, the matron told me that he'd been adopted.

I don't know where he is, how he is, or even if he's still alive.

Perhaps I never will.