We Are Inevitable by Gayle Forman (read aloud txt) 📕

I don’t want her to be. I’ve learned inevitable only ever bites you in the ass.

“Can I have your keys?” I ask Chad. “I’ll wait in the truck.”

“Why?”

“I really don’t wanna be here. I mean, I’m happy to get you in and all but I’d rather not watch the show.”

Chad stares at me. “What’s your problem, dawg?”

“Nothing! I told you, music isn’t my thing.”

“How do you know something’s not your thing if you’ve never experienced it?”

“I have experienced music.”

“But not this music.”

“I haven’t experienced waterboarding, either, but I can confidently say that I wouldn’t enjoy it.”

Chad sulks. “I wouldn’t have asked you to come just for the ride. I thought you wanted to hear the band.”

“I didn’t. I don’t. I just did it as a favor to you.”

“Next time, spare me your pity.”

“Can I have the keys? I’ll keep my phone on if you need anything.”

Just as Chad reaches for his keys, though, the lights dim and the crowd surges forward.

“Too late now,” Chad says. “You’re gonna get anvilled whether you want to or not.”

I spend most of the band’s short, loud set trying to get away from the giant speaker, which is throbbing in time with my blooming headache. But there’s a scrum of fans swirling around and every time I step away from the Chad Buffer Zone, I am attacked by elbows and feet, assaulted by shrieking. After a while, I surrender to it, slumping, fingers in my ears, looking at everything but the girl on the stage who I cannot stop looking at.

The set finally ends. “Can we go now?” I ask Chad as the band leaves the stage.

“You really hate joy, don’t you?” Chad says.

“I told you I don’t like music.”

“Fine. Let’s go say hi to the band.”

“Can’t we just leave?”

“You gonna carry me up the stairs?” Chad asks. “We need Hannah’s help. And besides, I wanna say thanks.”

We push though the throngs, Chad jubilantly calling, “Cripple coming through,” which parts the crowds nearly as effectively as Hannah did.

In the greenroom, Chad introduces me to the rest of the band—Libby on drums, Claudia on bass, and Jax on lead guitar. I think those are their names. My ears are ringing for real now and I can’t hear.

I look around for Hannah. When I don’t see her, I’m relieved.

And disappointed.

“You rocked so hard tonight,” Chad gushes to Jax. “Legit fuego. Thought you were gonna blast me outa my seat.”

“Thanks,” Jax says. “I could see you from the stage.”

“Who wants a beer?” Claudia asks, pulling cans off a six-pack.

I shake my head. “Not for me.”

“I’ll take his,” Chad jokes, reaching for mine.

“You said we’re leaving.”

“Chill, dawg. It will take me precisely five minutes to suck down two beers.” Chad grins at the band. “Don’t mind him. He hates music.”

“I do not!”

“Who hates music?”

And already, I know her voice.

“Aaron does!” Chad crows.

I swivel around to find Hannah Crew. She holds a club soda out to Jax and gives me an amused smirk.

“I never said I hated music,” I explain.

“Dawg, you compared listening to the band to waterboarding!”

Hannah’s left eyebrow arches. A tiny scar runs down the center of it. “Never heard that one before.”

“I was being hyperbolic,” I explain.

“Hyperbolic?” Hannah asks.

“He likes big words. He’s book smart like that,” Chad explains. “His family even owns a bookstore.”

“Really?” Libby asks. “Which one?”

“Bluebird Books,” I say.

“That used bookstore?” Libby asks, saying the name of our town.

“That’s the one,” I say.

“So . . .” Hannah drawls. “Owning a bookstore equals hating music?”

“I don’t hate music!”

“Puh-leeze,” Chad says. “An hour ago, he was begging to leave. And he still can’t wait to get out of here.” He turns to me, knocking his temple with his knuckles. “We haven’t even tried to sell your records.”

“You’re selling records?” Claudia leans forward, suddenly interested.

I shoot a death glare at Chad. “I told you I’m not selling records.”

“So you didn’t have a crate of vinyl at the Outhouse the other night?” Chad asks me.

“I did, but . . .” I trail off.

“So let me get this straight,” Hannah says, crushing her soda can in her tiny hands. “You’re selling records and you’ve been to two of our shows in the past week but you hate music?”

I glare at Chad.

“Aww, cut him a break,” Chad says. “He’s cool and he knows everything about books. Like for instance, did you know Gone Girl was a book before it was a movie?”

“Everyone knows that,” Libby says.

“Oh,” Chad says, blushing.

“If it makes you feel better,” Jax says, “I didn’t know Clueless was based on Emma until like last year.”

“Well, Aaron probably did. He knows all that stuff and more. He’s read everything.”

“Everything?” Hannah picks up The Magician’s Nephew. “Have you read this?”

After I read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe in third grade, I devoured the rest of the series in a ferocious gulp. When I got to the last page of The Last Battle, I picked up The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and started again. I used to reread the entire series every year, starting on my birthday, like a pilgrimage back to myself. Mom used to call Narnia my first love.

What I think: Yes, Hannah Crew, I have read The Magician’s Nephew. And the fact that you’re reading it means something. Even if I don’t want it to.

What I say: “Never heard of it.”

A Wrinkle in Time

Ira wakes up the next day with a head cold. He blames it on the change in the weather, but I expect the combo of our disastrous trip to Coleman’s and the ramp-building misadventure had something to do with it. He’s flushed, and shivering under the Pendleton blanket.

I touch his forehead; it’s clammy and warm. “You have a fever.”

“I’m fine,” he insists.

“Let me take your temperature.” I head back into the apartment and root around for the first-aid kit, but all I find is a cluster of Band-Aids so old the glue no longer sticks.

“I’m going to the store,” I call. “We