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The bus had been moving for almost two hours, and Rosie had learned that she hated trying to write music while traveling.
It wasn't the noise. She could work around noise. Years of practicing the cello had taught her how to concentrate through almost anything, including her parents talking downstairs, the television playing in the next room and, once, an entire group of people having a very loud conversation outside the practice room she'd been assigned for a recital. The problem was that the road never stopped moving beneath her. The bus swayed just enough to make her handwriting uneven, and every time she thought she had finally settled on a melody, somebody up front wouldlaugh or Cliff would start drumming against something that absolutely did not need to become an instrument.
She had written the same four measures three times, and each version had somehow looked worse then the last.
Across the aisle, Desi was asleep.
Rosie glanced at him again before she could stop herself. He had been awake when they'd first gotten on the bus, mostly because Sage had spent the first twenty minutes complaining about something involving the schedule and Desi had answered nearly every concern with some variation of, "It'll work out." Eventually, Sage had gone to sit with Fletch toward the front, leaving her brother by himself. Desi had put his headphones on, stared out the window for maybe ten minutes and then apparently decided that being awake was too much effort.
Rosie didn't understand how he could do that.
There was too much happening. They were on tour with Connect 3. There were performances coming up, a whole bunch of challenges she still didn't know about and an entire future waiting for her at the end of all this thatshe wasn't sure how to think about yet. Every day she spent making music that wasn't strictly classical made it a little harder to imagine returning home and fitting back into the version of her life that had already been planned for her.
Desi, meanwhile, was asleep with his head against the window.
Rosie stared at her notebook and crossed out another line.
"You're gonna run out of paper."
She jumped so badly that her pencil slipped from her hand. Before it could hit the floor, Desi caught it.
For a second, Rosie just stared at him.
He looked much too awake for someone who had apparently been asleep five seconds ago.
"Sorry," he said, handing the pencil back. "Didn't mean to scare you."
"You were sleeping."
"Yeah."
"How are you awake now?"
He shrugged. "Heard you fighting with your notebook."
"I wasn't fighting with it."
Desi glanced down at the page, where almost every line had been crossed out. "My bad."
Rosie quickly shut the notebook before he could look any closer. "You should go back to sleep."
"Probably.” He didn't move.
She waited a few seconds, assuming he would eventually close his eyes again. When he didn't, she looked over at him.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Then why are you looking at me?"
Desi seemed to think about it. "I wasn't, really."
Rosie narrowed her eyes.
He smiled a little. "Okay. Maybe a little."
She turned back toward the window. "You're weird."
"Thanks."
She opened her notebook again, though she was suddenly much more aware that he was awake. Desi leaned his head back against the seat, and for a while neither of them said anything. Rosie tried to focus on what she'd been writing, but the same four measures were still sitting there, stubbornly refusing to become anything she actually liked.
Eventually, she put the pencil down.
Desi glanced over.
"Taking a break?"
"I'm thinking."
"That sounds serious."
Rosie looked at him. "Don’t you have anything to work on?
He stretched his arms over his head. "Probably."
She gave him a look.
Desi smiled. "What?"
"You have a performance coming up."
"I know."
"And you haven't prepared anything?"
"I didn't say that."
"You said you probably have something to work on."
"Yeah, but that's different."
Rosie waited for him to explain.
Desi looked back at her, clearly realizing she was still waiting. "I have stuff. I just don't feel like doing it right now."
She blinked.
"Oh."
"What?"
"I thought you were going to say something more explain.
He laughed softly. "Why?"
"I don't know. You made it sound like there was some huge difference."
"There is. One is having work to do, and the other is actually doing it."
Rosie stared at him for a moment before a laugh slipped out.
Desi smiled, looking almost pleased with himself, but he didn't say anything about it.
Rosie looked down at her notebook again, still smiling faintly.
A few seconds later, Desi nodded toward it. "You stuck?"
"A little."
"Play it for me."
She immediately shook her head. "No."
"Okay."
Rosie looked over, surprised.
Desi shrugged. "You don't have to."
That was it. No teasing, no arguing, no attempt to convince her otherwise. He leaned his head back again and closed his eyes, like he'd already forgotten he asked.
Rosie stared at him for a second.
"That's all you're going to say?"
One of his eyes opened. "You said no."
"I know."
"So... no?"
She pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. "You're impossible."
"That's a little harsh for someone who won’t play their melody for me."
Rosie looked down at her cello case.
Desi followed her eyes but didn't say anything else.
She hesitated, her fingers resting on the edge of the case. "Don't say anything."
"I wasn't planning to."
"I'm telling you in advance."
"Got it."
Rosie pulled the case closer and opened it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Desi sit up slightly. He tried to make it look casual, but she noticed anyway. For someone who acted like almost nothing bothered him, he always seemed to pay attention when people played.
She settled the cello into place and adjusted her grip on the bow.
"This isn't finished."<
"Okay."
"And it might not be good."
Desi looked at her. "You want me to lie if I hate it?"
Rosie frowned. "No."
"Then just play."
There was something almost reassuring about the way he said it. He didn't promise her it would be good or tell her not to worry. He just waited.
So Rosie started playing.
The first few notes came out exactly as she'd expected them to. They were technically fine. More than fine, probably. Every phrase landed neatly where it belonged, each transition smooth and controlled, but almost immediately she could hear what was bothering her. It way sounded too careful. Like something she had practiced rather than something she had made. She knew she sounded good but she wanted to be more than that.
She stopped halfway through.
Desi didn't say anything.
Rosie looked over at him. "Well?"
He had his eyes closed.
"Well what?”
"Did you like it?"
He opened one eye. "Yeah."
She waited.
Desi waited too.
Rosie sighed. "That's it?"
"What else do you want me to say?"
"Something helpful."
He sat up a little straighter. "Okay. I liked it."
"Desi."
"What? That's honest."
She shook her head and lowered the bow.
"Wait."
Rosie looked over.
Desi nodded toward the cello. "Play that part again.”
"Why?"
"I don't know. I liked where it was going.”
She studied him for a moment. "You were listening?"
"Obviously."
"Your eyes were closed."
"That doesn't mean my ears were."
Rosie looked like she wanted to argue, but instead she lifted the bow again.
This time, when she reached the place where she'd stopped before, she kept going. She wasn't sure what changed exactly. Maybe it was because she had already made the mistake of stopping once, or maybe it was because Desi wasn't sitting there waiting for her to prove that the song was good. Either way, the next few notes came more easily. The melody loosened. It wandered somewhere she hadn't originally planned to take it, and for once she didn't immediately pull it back.
When she finally stopped, the bus had gone quiet around them.
Desi nodded once.
"That part."
Rosie looked at him. "What about it?"
"That was better."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "I don't know."
"Desi."
He smiled. "It just was."
She stared at him.
Then, despite herself, she looked back down at the cello.
Because she knew what he meant.
The second part had been less perfect, but somehow more hers. She hadn't been thinking about whether each note was technically correct or whether somebody would approve of the direction it was going. She had just played until it sounded like something she wanted to hear.
"You could try explaining things," Rosie said.
"I know."
"It would make your life easier."
"My life's already pretty easy."
Rosie laughed under her breath.
Desi smiled at the sound of it, his expression softer this time. "There you go."
She glanced up. "What?"
"Nothing."
"That sounded suspicious."
"It wasn't."
Rosie narrowed her eyes, but Desi only leaned back against the seat again.
For the next few minutes, she played around with the melody while he listened. He didn't interrupt her or tell her what to change. Sometimes, when she stopped and asked what he thought, he gave her an answer. Sometimes the answer was genuinely useful, and sometimes it was something like, "The other one felt more like you."
"What does that even mean?" Rosie asked after the third time.
Desi looked over. "You know what it means."
"No, I don't."
He smiled. "Sure."
Rosie gave him a look and went back to playing.
The annoying thing was that he was right more often than she wanted to admit. Not because he knew more about classical music than she did or because he could explain exactly why something worked. He couldn't. Desi didn't seem particularly interested in explaining music at all. He just listened to it and somehow knew when something sounded forced.
Rosie had spent years being told exactly how to improve. Practice longer. Fix that note. Change your posture. Follow the music.
Desi's entire system of feedback appeared to be that something either felt right or it didn't.
At first, she thought that was ridiculous.
The longer she sat beside him, though, the more she wondered if maybe it wasn't.
"Do you ever get nervous?" she asked.
Desi turned toward her. "About what?"
"Performing."
"Sometimes."
Rosie waited for more.
He didn't give it to her.
"That's all?"
"Yeah."
"You don't get nervous about people not liking what you do?"
Desi thought about it for a second. "I guess. But I can't really do anything about that."
Rosie looked at him.
He shrugged. "I mean, if I like it and they don't, that sucks. If I don't like it and they do, that'd be worse."
She was quiet.
Desi glanced over. "What?”
"Nothing. I just didn't expect you to have an actual answer."
He laughed. "Wow."
"I'm sorry."
"No, you're not."
Rosie smiled slightly. "No."
He looked at her for a moment, and something about his expression made her glance away again.
To distract hersel, she asked, "Does Sage get nervous?"
Desi immediately laughed.
"All the time."
"She doesn't seem like it."
"That's because she gets stressed instead."
Rosie laughed.
"Don't tell her I said that."
"Why?"
"Because she's my sister, and I have to see her every day."
Rosie glanced toward the front of the bus, where Sage and Fletch were sitting together. "You're on a bus with her right now."
"Exactly. Nowhere to run."
That made her laugh harder, and Desi smiled like that had been enough of a reason to say it.
Rosie slowly became aware of how much time had passed. Her notebook was open again, this time with a clean page filled with notes she actually wanted to keep. The song wasn't finished, but it was beginning to sound like it belonged to her instead of the person she thought she was supposed to be.
Beside her, Desi hadn't touched his own notebook once.
"You should probably work on your song now," she said.
He looked offended. "Why?"
"Because I've been working on mine.”
"That sounds like a you problem."
Rosie stared at him.
Desi smiled. "Kidding."
"You're not."
"No, but I could be."
She shook her head.
After a second, he reached into the pocket of his seat and pulled out his notebook. Rosie looked over automatically, and he noticed.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Then why are you looking?"
"I wasn't."
Desi's smile grew.
Rosie looked away. "Don't."
"I'm not saying anything.”
"Good."
He opened the notebook and stared at the page for about five seconds before letting his head fall back against the seat.
Rosie looked over. "Seriously?"
"I said I'd work on it. I didn't say I'dhave ideas."
She laughed.
"Maybe I should give you feedback."
Desi turned toward her. "Please don't."
"I could help."
"That sounds threatening."
Rosie smiled and went back to her notebook.
For a little while, they worked quietly beside each other. Or, at least, Rosie worked. Desi occasionally wrote something down, crossed it out and then spent several minutes staring out the window as if the song might appear somewhere along the highway.
It should have distracted her.
Instead, she found herself writing more easily than she had all afternoon.
When she finally paused, Desi had his eyes closed again.
"You going back to sleep?" she asked.
"Maybe."
"Good."
"Wow."
Rosie looked down at her page, smiling to herself.
A few seconds passed before Desi spoke again, his eyes still closed. "Wake me up if you finish something."
She looked over. "Why?"
"So I can hear it."
The answer was simple, but Rosie hesitated anyway.
"Okay.”
Desi's mouth lifted slightly, like he was smiling without really meaning to.
Rosie looked back down at her music.
A few minutes later, she glanced over again, expecting to find him asleep. Instead, Desi was looking at her.
He didn't seem embarrassed to be caught. For just a second, he held her gaze with a quiet, almost fond smile, then looked away and rested his head against the window.
Rosie stared at her notebook again, though it took her a little longer than usual to remember what she had been trying to write.