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Chapter 5

 It was a while before Cliff calmed down. I could tell he was trying desperately not to show his emotions in front of me, because every so often he would let out a strangled noise from somewhere in the back of his throat, like he was literally choking back his tears. It really hurt me to see this, and I couldn't understand why; obviously it would bother me to see anyone cry, but seeing Cliff cry, especially in spite of himself, was like having a knife driven through my heart. It was a dull, aching urge to do something about it- but I couldn't. After all, I've only known Cliff for a day. And I'm in his garage with him.

"Cliff," I finally say, checking my phone for the time- four. I need to get home in time for Cliff to be back by his curfew. Luckily, I don't live far.

"W-what?" he stutters, snuffling loudly and looking me in the eyes, and I can tell he is trying hard not to break down again, but his lower lip is beginning to wobble.

"Cliff, I need to go home," I say, but before he can get up off the floor, I continue talking. "Before I go... Cliff, why in the world are you crying?" I think for a second that he is going to start bawling again, but instead his face goes hard and serious, though there are still tears in his eyes.

"That song... is the last song my mother ever wrote." There is a quiet moment before he finishes, "It was on my nightstand when I woke up and was told she was dead."

"Oh, Cliff," I say with a swoon, launching myself onto him, wrapping him in possibly the tightest hug I've ever given. He doesn't say anything, only gets up after a moment, peeling me off of him. "Let's get you home." The drive home is mostly quiet, except for the Givers CD Cliff selects to play. The air is getting cooler, so I don't roll down the window, only curl up in the roomy passenger seat that I can barely fill up. Cliff has finally regained control of his emotions, and so he stares at the road listlessly, barely blinking. I'm about to get up the nerve to say something when a loud, obnoxious ringing fills the air. Cliff shuffles with his jeans pocket until he pulls out a grey flip phone, opening it and raising it to his ear.

"Yeah?" he says tersely. His eyes go wide after a moment, and I begin to get worried. After what seems like forever, he simply says, "Bye," and hangs up, tossing the phone onto the dashboard. It makes a loud CLINK as it hits the windshield and then slides to a stop.

"What?" I ask, flipping auburn curls from my eyes.

"Raina, do you have anything going on at eight tonight?"

"No?" I say, but it comes out like a question.

"Good, because you're my band's new lead singer." I have the good intention of throwing up right about then, because the thought of singing in front of anyone but Cliff makes me nauseous.

"Excuse me?" I say, but Cliff slams on the breaks, so it ends up more like a squeal.

"Stop light," he breathes, and I notice we're hanging out into traffic, and a stream of cars are weaving around us; a lot are honking and a few are flipping us the bird.

"You are out of your mind," I finish as we resume motion again, and I'm not sure if it's my tendency for car sickness or the mental image of being in front of a crowd of people that's making me feel sick.

"No, I'm not," Cliff responds, straitening his beanie with one hand. "Stupid----" he adds a string of curses, "bailed out at the last second. This is our first real gig, downtown and everything, and the---" he stops again to string together more profanity that don't really even fit together, and I feel my face getting red, "got scared." I don't know if I can bring myself to remind him I'm scared, too, but it doesn't matter because we're pulling into my driveway. I feel my stomach flip when I see our red Sedan parked just in front of us. Dad is home. I have no idea how I'll explain this. Yeah, Dad, that friend I told you I was with? Well he's a guy a year older than me that I met at the hospital, and I just spent two hours in a basement with him. Now don't worry, I know it may sound suspicious...