A Million Miles Away by Lara Avery Page A

Michelle would have asked for something more sweet and serious, something with a hard-to-pronounce name from a high shelf in the bowels of the record store. There were always people with guitars outside that record shop, at the corner of 9th and Massachusetts. Michelle would make the Maxfields stop on the sidewalk to hear them play, running through songs like a catalogue until she found one that the musicians knew, listening to them until the song was all the way through. Then she’d clap no matter how bad it was, like she was at a concert, and ask their parents for a dollar to toss in the case. Kelsey could have listened, too, but she always moved as far away down the sidewalk as she could, never appreciating the effort.
    Kelsey tried to tell Michelle that the kids would just go back to their dorm and use the cash for beer money, but she never cared.
    Kelsey always thought she just liked the attention. But as Peter played, she was starting to get how electric it was to hear someone play an instrument right in front of you.
    Peter played snippets of “Hound Dog” and “Jailhouse Rock.” He lowered his voice and drawled from the back of his throat in his best Elvis impression. He had to stop when they were both laughing.
    Kelsey thought of Michelle, and remembered to clap.
    Once they were quiet, Kelsey heard the rumble of a truck, then yelling. It sounded as if two men were getting into a heated argument.
    “How are things over there?” she asked, tentative.
    Peter scrunched up his face. “I don’t want to take your time with all that. Okay?”
    “Of course,” Kelsey said.
    “Tell me about home. What did you do last night?” He set aside his guitar and leaned close to the screen. “By the way, I told my sister about us. She wants to know why she can’t find you on Facebook.”
    “Because…” Kelsey licked her lips, buying time. “Because I deleted it. You inspired me, I guess.”
    Peter held up his hands. “What can I say? It’s just a waste of time.”
    “Yeah, it really is. And homework,” Kelsey said, in answer to his question. “That’s what I did last night.”
    “What about the night before?”
    “Homework,” she said, smiling. “And we ate at Dad’s restaurant.”
    “Night before?”
    “I went to a party.” Kelsey swallowed, aware she was answering as herself. She didn’t know if this was right or wrong. But Michelle went to parties, too.
    “Oh, yeah? Was it fun?”
    A loud boom sounded in the distance. Peter twitched slightly and clutched something in his lap. His gun. He turned his head, listening. They waited.
    “A muffler,” he finally said. “So was it fun?”
    Kelsey resisted the urge to cry out. Her hands were shaking again. “I left early.”
    Peter was taking deep breaths. He nodded, egging her on.
    She put on a smile. “I took a walk.”
    “Then what?” They were both listening for another boom, Kelsey knew it. But they were pushing each other forward, lifting each other up.
    She relaxed her voice. “It was freezing. The game was still going on, so the streets were pretty empty. I visited Ian at La Prima Tazza. We talked about Warhol.”
    Peter flashed a smile, raising his eyebrows. “Your favorite subject.”
    Kelsey had looked through Michelle’s Andy Warhol book, but she still didn’t understand why the multicolored prints had anything to do with her. One of them was a still from a film of a girl eating a hamburger. That was it. She shrugged. “What can I say?”
    “Speaking of, did you see that sculpture I told you about? The one in the middle of the Flint Hills?”
    “Remind me,” Kelsey said, and his eyes started to look more alive.
    “It’s just a steel circle. Painted red. But it acts like a picture frame for the landscape, right? No matter how close to it you are, or how far away, the portion of the Flint Hills that you focus on is determined by the circle.”
    “What if you decide to look outside the circle?” Kelsey asked.
    “Then you’re still