“What’s the deal?” Cruz asks, reading over my shoulder.

“I don’t know.”

The bell rings and I head for the hall to speed-dial Lex.

She picks up on the first ring. “You have to get over to Abel’s house now.” I hear knocking in the background. “Open the door, Abel!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I came to talk to him this morning, and he wouldn’t answer the door. I knew he was home because I saw him in the window. His mom is out of town, but I still have a key from this summer, so I let myself in. He’s locked in his room, and there’s all this banging.”

“What kind of banging?”

“How am I supposed to know if I can’t get in there?” She’s borderline hysterical. “Can you just take a cab and get over here?”

“Okay. I’ll be there soon.”

I hang up and Cruz holds out her hand. “Well, what’s the deal?”

“Something is wrong with Abel, and I have to get to his house.”

“Ava can drive us.” Cruz pulls out her cell and starts texting. “You already tempted fate once.”

“There’s no time.” I hold out my hand and Cruz gives me the keys.

It takes us fifteen minutes to get to Abel’s house.

Lex meets us at the door and she gives me a strange look when she sees Cruz. “He’s still upstairs. Come on.”

The second-floor hallway usually looks like a gigantic issue of Rolling Stone magazine—complete with framed gold records and photographs of Abel’s dad with other rock legends. Today there is nothing on the walls except nails.

“Do you think we need to take the door off the hinges?” I ask.

Cruz bends down in front of the door. “Or we can use a credit card, but I can’t do it with one hand.”

Lex hands me her platinum card.

“Now what?” I ask Cruz.

“Run the card down between the door and the jamb. When you feel the card hit something solid, jiggle the knob until you can slide the card in front of it. Then open the door.”

“Okay.” It’s a lot easier than it sounds. On the second try, I feel a piece of metal inside the door move. I turn the knob, and the door swings open.

Lex gasps.

“Holy shit.” Cruz stares, wide-eyed.

I’ve probably been in Abel’s room fifty times, and it never looked like a self-storage unit before. Boxes are stacked against the walls, from floor to ceiling—some labeled with a year or the name of an album. Other boxes overflow with clothes and leather jackets, concert photos and memorabilia. Framed albums, most likely the ones that used to be in the hallway, are stacked against the wall. But the guitars are the craziest part. Guitar hooks cover an entire wall, and more than a dozen acoustic and electric guitars hang from the hooks by the necks.

“It looks like we’re in the basement of the Tommy Ryder Museum,” Cruz whispers.

Abel is sitting in the middle of his bed, surrounded by stacks of paper and photos.

Lex runs over and wraps her arms around him. “You scared the shit out of me. Why did you lock yourself in here? And what is all this stuff?”

“I’m trying to keep my mom out.” His green eyes dart to the door, and Cruz closes it.

“Your mom is out of town,” Lex reminds him.

“She’s probably auctioning more of my dad’s stuff. I had to buy most of this back.” He waves his arm around the room.

Used scratch-off lottery tickets litter the floor. I pick up a long strip. “Is that why you were buying these?”

“My mom was selling everything—photos and tour jackets, the notebooks he wrote his songs in. Most of the time I had to pay twice as much to buy them back.” Abel looks lost. “That’s why I was gambling. I needed more money. I still remember the morning I found out he OD’d. My mom didn’t even tell me herself. Dad’s manager did the honors. For weeks I saw photos of my father in newspapers and tabloids—lying on the bed in a fancy hotel, with pill bottles scattered around him.” Abel closes his eyes. “His guitars and notebooks, his songs … That’s all I have left of him.”

Lex presses her forehead against his. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “That my mom was selling everything my dad ever touched, like a pill-popping pawnbroker? I’m not all that proud. She even tried to sell this.” Abel holds up a framed sheet of paper, his hand shaking. “It’s the first song my dad ever wrote. It’s never been recorded. And she was going to sell it.”

Abel holds out the frame like he wants me to take it. I do. On the sheet of loose-leaf paper, song lyrics are written down the center in black ink.

“The Lovely Reckless”

Sleepwalking through life, damaged and scarred

Wishing and searching for the one thing I can’t name

Ugly and destructive, a vessel for the pain

Punishing myself for things I can’t remember Paying for ones I can’t forget

They find you in the darkness

And lead you back to the light

The lovely reckless souls that hear your battle cry

So beautiful and broken

Making wrong turn back to right

The world stops trying to destroy you

With weapons forged from tears gathered from your mistakes

Mending, stitching, sparing a heart that always aches

Forgiving myself for things I can’t remember Owning the ones I can’t forget

They find you in the darkness

And lead you back to the light

The lovely reckless souls that hear your battle cry

So beautiful and broken

Making wrong turn back to right

I wrap my arms around my friend. “It’s going to be okay, Abel.” I’m not sure how many times I repeat the words, but I don’t stop until I start to believe them.

CHAPTER 38

SILENT ECHOES

Marco doesn’t show up at school the next day, and I can’t stop worrying. Even Cruz doesn’t know where to find him.

Halfway through English, I get a text from him.

call me. i need to talk to u.

I can’t call him back without making things harder for both of us. At least I know he’s okay.

Abel and Lex are both out today, too. He stayed home to sort things out, and Lex is helping him until she has to get ready for the gala at the country club tonight. Unfortunately, I promised to go, too. Then I made the mistake of mentioning it to Miss Lorraine. She insisted on giving me the afternoon off so I won’t be late.