Sorry sorry sorry for taking so long.

Chapter 4

I led her to my car, moving the CDs on her seat. She reached for the busted seatbelt. I pulled out the small hammer and reached for her seatbelt. She looked a bit scared. I could only imagine what she was thinking. Then it hit me—a huge, strong guy next to her holding a hammer. I hurried to reassure her—"It's the only way it works."

I hammered in the belt. She looked amazed and doubtful, and she asked about getting out. This was one of the few things in life that is harder to get into than out of.

As I pulled out of the parking lot, I turned on the music. The crickets of the song started. Mayan spiritual chants.

Of course she asked about them.

"Mayan spiritual chants. They're passed down, like oral traditions."

"Oh," she said. "Where did you get this?"

I could barely hear her; the chanting was so loud, so I turned it down. "The library at the university. I checked it out of their sound-and-culture collection."

"Ah." She glanced at the CDs in the backseat. There were hundreds. "So you must really like music."

"Don't you?"

"Sure. I mean, everyone does, right?"

"No."

"No?"

I shook my head. "Some people think they like music, but they have no idea what it's really all about. They're kidding themselves. Then there are people who feel strongly about music, but just aren't listening to the right stuff. They're misguided. Then there are people like me."

Was I telling her too much? Would she think I was really weird? Or too intense?

She broke through my thoughts. "People like you," she repeated. "What kind of people are those?" Huh. Maybe she was actually interested.

Encouraged, I said, "The kind who live for music and are constantly seeking it out, anywhere they can. Who can't imagine a life without it. They're enlightened."

"Ah." It seemed to actually make sense to her.

"I mean, when you really think about it, music is the great uniter. An incredible force. Something that people who differ on everything and anything else can have in common. Plus there's the fact that music is a total constant. That's why we have such a strong visceral connection to it, you know? Because a song can take you back instantly to a moment, a place, or even a person. No matter what else changed in you or the world, that one song stays the same, just like that moment. Which is pretty amazing, when you think about it."

I've always found that so cool. And she understood. I have no idea why, but suddenly, I was amazingly, surprisingly happy that she understood.

"What I mean to say is yes, I like music."

"Got it."

I pulled into the middle school parking lot. I didn't really want her to meet my sister. Yeah, I love Mallory, but she irritates me beyond belief. "And now, I'll apologize in advance."

"Apologize for what?"

"My sister," I said, stopping. Mallory appeared outside Annabel's window. I braced myself. She shrieked. Of course.

"OMG! Its you!" Who else would it be? I always pick her up. Unless she was talking about Annabel. "Owen, OMG! You didn't tell me you were friends with Annabel Greene!" She was now in the backseat. But how did she know Annabel? And her shrieking was giving me a headache.

"Mallory, take it down a notch."

Annabel turned around, about to say something, but Mallory beat her to it. "This is unbelievable. I mean, its you!"

"Hi." Annabel looked as confused as me.

"Hi! OMG, I love your work. I really do." Understanding flashed across Annabel's face.

I was still as confused as ever. "Work?"

"Owen, come on," Mallory sighed, as if I was totally out of it to not know about Annabel's 'work'. "She's a Lakeview Model, hello? And she's done a lot of local ads. And that commercial, you know the one I love, with the girl in the cheerleading uniform?"

"No." Annabel's a model? I mean, she is incredibly beautiful (did I just think that?), but a model?

"That's her! I can't believe this! I can't wait to tell Shelly and Courtney, OMG!" She grabbed her phone. "Oh! Maybe you can say hello to them, that would be so cool, and—"

This was ridiculous. "Mallory."

"Just a sec, I just want to—"
"Mallory." She was not going to bug Annabel with her friends.

"Hold on, Owen, okay?"

Um, not okay. I took her phone. She argued more, and then gave up.

A second later, she perked back up as Annabel looked back at her. "Is that a Lanoler sweater?"

A what?

"A what?" said Annabel. Well, at least I wasn't the only one who was lost.

"This. It's gorgeous. Is it a Lanoler?" Mallory said, petting it. Petting it?! My sister was bizarre.

"You know, I'm not—" Annabel was cut off again as Mallory looked at the tag of the sweater.

"It is! I knew it! OMG, I want a Lanoler sweater so bad, I have forever—"

I had to cut in. "Mallory, don't be a label whore."

"Owen! R and R!"

Great. She had to bring Anger Management into this. I hated doing this. "What I meant to say, Mallory, is that your focus on labels and material goods troubles me."

"Thank you. And I understand and appreciate your concern." Sure she did. "But, as you know, fashion is my life."

Annabel was confused about what had just ahppened. "R and R?"

Mallory cut in again. "Rephrase and Redirect. Its part of his Anger Management. If he says something inflammatory, you can tell him that it hurts your feelings, and he has to say it another way."

"Thank you, Mallory."

"Your welcome." She smiled at Annabel, and bounced again.

Silence for a moment.