I Love Him, I Love Him Not

by Ella Martin

Published by Clean Reads

www.cleanreads.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

I LOVE HIM, I LOVE HIM NOT

Copyright © 2015 E.M. Caines

ISBN 978-1-62135-451-2

Cover Art Designed by AM DESIGN STUDIO

To Quincie, for reasons

Chapter One

I heard the yelling before I reached the landing at the top of the stairs. The apartment was soundproof, and noise rarely escaped from it, so this must have been some argument.

“We’re in high school,” someone said.

“Yeah, and we sound like it.” That came from Zack, the lead singer of Ephemera and one of the most egotistical prats I’d ever met. And as my dad was a Class A dirtbag, that was saying something.

“We’re trying, okay?” Leave it to Jake to try reasoning with him. He was Ephemera’s drummer, an uber-talented musician in his own right, and the reason the band had such a cool rehearsal space. When his parents got him an acoustic drum kit, they put up soundproofing panels and extra insulation in the studio apartment above their garage to lessen the noise while he practiced.

It only served to muffle the conversation in the room, though. The guys were loud enough for me to hear almost everything, but I still put my ear to the door to listen more closely. I knew this wasn’t a new argument. Zack had been picking fights with everyone over most of winter break, and Jake had been the only one able to placate him. If I thought it was exhausting to watch, I could only guess how Jake felt.

“You mean you’re trying,” Zack said. “These guys don’t take it seriously.”

“This used to be fun,” said a sullen voice that sounded like it belonged to Keith, Ephemera’s bassist.

“Fun?” Zack bellowed. “Do you think John Lennon and Paul McCartney were just having fun?”

“Uh, yeah.” That was Keith again.

“We’re not the Beatles. We’re never going to be.” Jake sounded resigned when he spoke. I wondered how long this argument had been going on.

“Not with that kind of attitude, we won’t.” Zack snorted. “It’s like you guys don’t even want to try.”

“We are trying,” Jake repeated.

“Forget it, Jake,” said Keith. “Apparently, Zack thinks he’d be better off on his own without his house band.”

Zack swore and hurled some choice insults at him. I moved to the third step from the top and flattened myself against the wall. If Zack and Keith were at it again, one of them would be flying out the door in a matter of seconds.

Five. Four. Three. Two.

The door swung open with such force, it bounced off the wall. Zack stormed out, his gig bag strapped to his back, and he raced down the steps without looking back.

I waited a few seconds, half-expecting Keith or Jake to chase after him. When no one else emerged, I climbed the last few stairs and peered into the room. “Is it safe now?”

Keith turned to me, his face grim. Aside from Jake, Keith Truman was my favorite of all the guys in the band. He was an inch or two shorter than Jake’s six-foot-even height and had light brown, almost blond hair that was longer in front than in the back and on the sides. The easygoing grin he usually sported made it impossible to stay annoyed with him for long. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever seen him frowning like he was at that moment, but Zack was his best friend. This argument probably hurt him more than it affected anyone else.

“You missed all the fun, T,” Keith said. “A few seconds earlier and you could’ve witnessed our band implode.”

“I could hear you guys from outside.”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised.” He ran his fingers through his hair and paused with his hand on the back of his neck. “I should probably go talk to him before he leaves and things get really bad.” He passed me and left the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

Jake twirled a drumstick between his fingers for a few seconds before he shoved it into his back pocket and flashed me a sheepish smile. “Hey.” He shook his head to flip his hair out of his eyes. I returned his smile.

Jake DeSantos had amazing hair. It was longish and wavy and just this crazy, disheveled mop-top of a mess that he was never able to get under control. It kept falling into his eyes, which was a constant source of irritation for his mom. It was too long according to the Westgate Prep Appearance Guidelines, too, but he was so paranoid about his ears sticking out that he’d said he’d rather risk serving detention every day than cut it. Besides his trademark hair, he had these intense dark eyes and a lopsided smile that revealed a slight overbite and a chipped front tooth that had been there for as long as I could remember. Some girls at school thought he was cute, and I guess he was, in an abstract sort of way. I just saw him as Jake.

“That sounded intense.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed. “You have no idea.”

I set my backpack onto the tiny counter in the kitchenette and stepped into a hug. I buried my head into his shoulder as he squeezed me tight. Jake gave the best hugs. It was among the reasons he was one of my best friends.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said into my hair. “But I thought you and Bianca were doing stuff today.”

“Change of plans.” I pulled away. “She texted me earlier and said Tim was coming over, and I think Ally’s at her brother’s garage today or something.” I sat down on the love seat in the corner and kicked off my sneakers before I pulled up my knees and covered them with my oversized sweatshirt. I tried not to seem miffed about my best friend canceling our plans on the last day of winter break so she could hang out with her boyfriend, Tim, especially because it would’ve been totally heartless to pitch a fit since he was heading to Stanford in the fall. But it meant I had an afternoon with nothing to do, and I hated being alone.

I watched Jake reposition a couple of fallen music stands and scoop up some guitar picks from the floor. He righted an overturned bowl on the end table before dropping the picks into it.

“What was that all about?” I asked, referring to the argument I’d overheard.

He pushed a lock of dark hair out of his eyes and shrugged. “Just Zack,” he said. “Same old.”

I nodded. Zack Montgomery was super talented and could coax some amazing sounds from his guitar, and he knew it. As such, he also had a serious case of what Keith called LGS, or Lead Guitarist Syndrome. Keith and Jake were usually able to keep him in line, but this was the worst argument I’d seen in months.

“Zero to ten, how bad is it this time?” I said, patting the seat beside me.

“Bad. Like, twelve bad.” He pulled his drumsticks out from his back pocket before he sat down and stretched out his legs. “Remember that Battle of the Bands a couple of months ago?” I nodded, and he added, “Malcom Davies signed Frigid Kittens to his label.”

“The band that won?”

“Yeah.”

I frowned. After Ephemera lost that night, Jake had been sullen for days, but Zack’s reaction had been the worst, blaming his bandmates for their loss. News of the winners signing a record deal must have sent him over the edge.