A Million Miles Away by Lara Avery

classes, planning what to say.
    She arrived home from dance practice to a house full of random mourners, trying to lose Gillian and Ingrid at her front door. They stood in the entryway with their backpacks, looking over Kelsey’s shoulder.
    “You don’t want to see this,” she told them, gesturing to the circle.
    “Is this the group you were telling us about?” Gillian asked. Her mouth turned down, and she shrugged. “I guess they gotta do what they gotta do.”
    “It’s nice they have snacks, too,” Ingrid offered.
    This month’s mantra, as they heard thrumming from the living room, was WE MUST EMBRACE PAIN AND USE IT AS FUEL FOR OUR JOURNEY. This month’s group leader was a woman named Patti who had lost her son to cancer. This month’s refreshments were ginger ale and banana bread.
    The way Patti passed out cups of sodas to the support group reminded Kelsey of a Catholic mass she once saw. All the talk of the soul and the spirit, each person bowing their head in thanks as they received their bread, including her parents.
    Finally, as the group started their personal testimonies, her friends left.
    She headed upstairs and moved Michelle’s laptop to her room.
    Now Kelsey was doing a handstand against her bedroom door. She could see herself in the reflection of the deck doors, belly exposed under black leggings, hair touching the floor. She hadn’t straightened her hair that day, or put on mascara. Her door was painted a light pink, her walls turquoise, the lamps on either side of her bed funneling light into orange-tinted triangles. It was supposed to be tropical, her room, but from that angle, it looked like a retro vision of a spacecraft.
    When the beeping rang out from Michelle’s computer, Kelsey went upright, letting the blood rush from her face back down to her body. Peter. Kelsey moved with the laptop to a less conspicuous location, ran her fingers through her wavy hair, and pressed ANSWER . Her hands were shaking.
    Peter’s cheeks were tinted bronze and his hair was lighter. The dark circles were still visible under his big blue eyes.
    “I got your letter,” Kelsey said before he could speak.
    His eyes opened wider, hopeful. “Did you write me back?”
    She nodded in response.
    He was smiling, and he looked natural, sitting in his uniform. Well, maybe not natural. As his smile faded, his eyes darted to either side of him, tense.
    Kelsey took a closer look at the scene behind his shoulder, trying to determine if he was in the same place. “So, are you still in the—” she began.
    “Guess what? My parents sent me a gift,” he continued.
    “What?”
    Kelsey watched him reach down to pull out an acoustic guitar with a black body and a blue patterned strap.
    “Nice,” she said quietly. She knew nothing about guitars, but anyone could see it was a beautiful instrument. When Peter knocked on it, the sound was full of layers.
    “I’ve been working on some Cicadas covers.”
    “Oh, yeah?” Kelsey tried to lift her voice with recognition.
    He strummed a few chords, looking at her. “‘The Sworn Secret,’” he said. “The English version, not the Portuguese.”
    Kelsey nodded in encouragement.
    And then he sang slow, tripping over the syllables as he found the chords. “Things I never told you / Listen and believe / They said it was never gonna work out / As long as we don’t tell them, just you and me.”
    His voice was shaky but clear, and in tune with the guitar. He wasn’t afraid to hold the notes.
    When he was done, Kelsey gave an awkward thumbs-up. She found her mouth had gotten stuck in a dumb smile, so she tried to reel it in a little, putting her face in her sleeve.
    “Thank you. I’ve had plenty of time to practice,” Peter said. “So, any requests?”
    “Uh—” Kelsey’s mouth went dry. She was hitting nothing but blanks. Something old. Something classic. “Uh. Elvis?”
    Peter looked puzzled, but pleased. “Elvis? Really?”
    Kelsey shrugged. “Sure!” Maybe