Listen Up

By Abbie Crank

At sixteen, Keres is ready to pursue her musical dreams and leave the past behind. Her social life has become a lot more complicated ever since she and her bestie Ethan split. He's rich, popular...and totally disinterested in reconciling with Keres. That suits her just fin

• Language: English
• Publisher: Monarch Educational Services, L.L.C.
• Release date: May 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9781957656410

Abbie Crank

Abbie Crank writes coming-of-age stories with a dash of humor and a lot of heart. She graduated from Liberty University with her paralegal degree in 2019 and worked at a radio station, bank, and stock transfer company before finally landing on full-time content writer. Born and raised in Eastern Kentucky, it's no wonder Abbie loves writing about small towns. On the rare occasions she's not working on her next novel, she enjoys gaming, drinking coffee like a Gilmore, and spending time with family and friends. Find her on Instagram @abbie_crank or visit her website abbiecrank.com.

Book preview

One

Shivers ran down my arms as I sang harmony to one of my favorite Augusta and the Midnight Firemen songs. Augusta Watson, you beautiful, lyrical genius . If I had even a tenth of her talent, I wouldn’t need to worry about my future.

A weird thud interrupted my jam session, and I turned my music down. My engine whined and sputtered. Definitely not normal car behavior.

I rolled to a stop on the side of the road as the engine sputtered again and died. Plenty of gas. Temperature normal. And that was the extent of my car knowledge. I tried to start it again. Click. Click.

That didn’t sound good.

As I pulled up my mobile web browser, the screen went black. Augusta’s voice was cut off mid-song as an empty battery symbol flashed. I’d forgotten to charge my phone before I went to sleep, but I thought it had enough battery to last through the morning.

No phone. No car. No music.

I wasn’t sure which part of this scenario scared me most.

Just when I was about to go into full-on nuclear meltdown mode, somebody rapped on the window.

Startled, I jerked my head up and locked eyes with the last person in the world I wanted to find me in this predicament.

Ethan Santos.

My mom had been the cleaning lady for Ethan’s family when I was young, so I’d known him practically my entire life. Back then, we had been close—more like brother and sister than friends. Our friendship fell apart when Ethan became a conceited jerk who didn’t want to associate with anyone outside his rich, country club friends.

He motioned for me to roll down my window and lowered his Ray-Bans. Usually, his dark eyes were impossible to read, but today they sparkled with amusement. He was taking some kind of sadistic pleasure in this, I was sure. I pointed at the hood to indicate—hello—my car was dead, hoping he’d leave me alone. Instead, he opened the passenger’s side door and plopped down in the seat.

Well, well, well, he said. Looks like Keres got herself in a little trouble.

It’s fine. Nothing I can’t handle.

Are you sure? Because I could help.

I looked him over. He wore tailored chinos and a pink button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His dark hair looked effortlessly thick and wavy, but I knew it wasn’t naturally that voluminous.

You’d risk getting oil on your boat shoes? Maybe I misjudged you.

Actually, I was going to call a towing service.

Like I can’t do that myself.

Then why aren’t you doing it? His eyes dipped to my phone, almost a challenge. Like he somehow knew it was dead.

I don’t like making calls in front of people. I waved my hand toward the door. That’s your cue to leave.

All right, but you know where to find me if you change your mind. Maybe if you grovel a little, I might even be nice and pay for the towing service. He pushed his glasses into place and swaggered away like the cocky jerk he was.

I gritted my teeth, torn between pride and desperation. Thankfully, my pride was stronger. Letting Ethan be my knight in designer armor would only fan the flames of his ego. I’d make it to school in one piece…hopefully.

My songwriting notebook lay on the dashboard. At least Ethan hadn’t noticed it. Augusta Watson had once said she channeled her emotions into her songs. Maybe I could get a song out of this experience.

Few things were more embarrassing than handing a teacher a tardy slip, especially when she was already in the middle of her lesson. I made the walk of shame to her desk. Mrs. Steinbeck took the yellow paper without comment, and I hurried to my seat, grateful she hadn’t demanded an explanation.

My best friend Veda raised her eyebrows and mouthed, Why are you late?

I shook my head to let her know I’d tell her later. Whispering in biology was a big no-no, and I’d already reached my embarrassment quota for today.

What happened, Ker-bear? Veda asked when we met in the hallway after class. You didn’t answer any of my texts.

Oh, let’s see. My car broke down, and I forgot to charge my phone, so I couldn’t call for help. But have no fear—Ethan Santos swooped in to save the day.

Did you let him rescue you?

And let him hold that over my head for the next six months? Yeah, no.

Her mouth twisted in distaste. I can’t believe you used to be friends with that jerk.

Things were different when we were kids. He wasn’t an awful person back then. Lyrics flitted through my head. You were an angel, but you traded your wings for horns. Living proof devils are made, not born.

I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth. That’s it!

What? Did you realize something about Ethan?

Kind of.

I glanced around at all the other people around me. My song notebook was buried in the depths of my backpack, and I didn’t feel like fishing it out. Why did the inspiration fairy always visit me at the most inconvenient times?

By the way, how’d you get to school without a car? Veda asked, adjusting her leopard beret. Her whole outfit was exactly like her personality—bright and bold. I was pretty sure my Beatles tee and black leggings reflected my personality, too.

Some nice old guy stopped and jump-started my car for me. He told me my alternator went kaput.

Sounds expensive.

I sighed. I know.

At least you already have money set aside for music camp. Only ninety-five more days, Veda sang out. I can’t wait to record our songs in an actual studio. I’ll probably do ‘Count Me Out.’ Well, if I don’t write something better by July.

It’s only April. I’m sure you’ll write your next five masterpieces before then. Sometimes, I couldn’t help but compare myself to Veda. Not only was she amazingly talented, but she wasn’t afraid to put her work out there. She gained a bunch of followers on social media after one of her songs went viral. If I shared my music online, I’d probably break out in hives.

It’s going to be so much fun. Me and my bestie, recording music and living our best musical life. Veda practically skipped alongside me. The girl was an Energizer bunny.

Don’t forget Josh.

Did I just hear my name? Josh asked as he joined us. He draped his arm over Veda’s shoulder, and she gave him one of her amazing bear hugs. They were such a pretty couple—Josh with his thick blond hair and amazing smile, Veda with her purple ombré curls and smooth brown skin. Seriously, she never, ever had pimples.

I had to remind your girlfriend that you’re coming to music camp with us because she forgot about you, I said.

Oh, I see how it is.

Best friends come before boyfriends. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.

In that case, I’ll leave you two alone. He turned to walk away when Veda grabbed the back of his shirt.

Don’t be a brat. You know you’re my person.

He smirked and leaned down to kiss her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

A good ten seconds later, I sighed.

Okay, you guys, show some respect for the single people.

You could always find somebody to make out with, Ker-bear. Veda poked my side and wiggled her eyebrows.

Where? In case you haven’t noticed, most of the guys at school don’t know I exist.

I do, Josh said.

You’re dating my best friend, so you don’t count.

I could always set you up with somebody. I know a lot of eligible bachelors. Veda tapped her chin. Let’s see. There’s Stephen Summers, Donovan Carpenter, Nathan Britton⁠—

V, stop. I was kidding. I made peace with my singleness long ago.

I worry about you sometimes. I don’t want you to be forever alone. You won’t even talk to boys.

I talk to Josh all the time.

He’s my boyfriend. He doesn’t count.

Wow, thanks. Really feeling the love today, ladies, Josh said dryly.

Seriously though, Ker-bear, she said, slipping her hand into mine. You’ve got to start putting yourself out there more.

Between Veda and my mom, I must have heard this speech at least a million times. I had been a pretty friendly kid, but the older I got, the more cynical I became, like I suspected everyone around me had ulterior motives. Maybe it was Ethan’s fault. Maybe his transformation from sweetheart to jerk made me expect the worst from people.

It’s time. Your days of being a single girl are numbered, Veda said.

I pushed a strand of my bobbed hair into place. But I haven’t met anyone who meets my standards.

There has to be at least one guy in the entire state of Ohio you can date. Besides, standards are overrated. If you keep trying to find a guy who meets all your standards perfectly, you’ll be single forever.

Josh frowned. What’s that supposed to mean?

Nothing. You’re obviously the only exception to that rule, Joshy.

She winked at me, and I coughed into my elbow to hide a laugh.

How about this? If I find a guy that meets at least three of my standards, I promise I’ll ask him out.

Wait, what are your standards, though?

He has to be sweet, witty, and love music more than life.

Veda pretended to write this down on an invisible notepad. "Okay. But I will hold you accountable."

Deep down inside of me, a little seed of worry blossomed. What if I did meet some guy that met all my standards? How would I ask him out? Then again, I might not have to worry. Sweet, witty, music-loving guys were practically an endangered species.

Two

My car sputtered ominously the whole way home from school. I pulled into the driveway and kissed the steering wheel. What a trooper.

I entered the house through the garage and dropped my bag on the kitchen table. Is anybody home?

In here, Kerosene, my brother called from the living room.

Owen sat on the couch, thumbs flying across his game controller. Everyone always commented on how much I looked like my brother. We both had untamable jet-black hair and pale, freckled skin. Despite having the same blue-gray eyes and dimples, we couldn’t have been more different.

What are you playing? I asked.

Super Smash Brothers. My brother hunched forward, tracing the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

This isn’t one of those games that makes you scream at the TV, is it?

Only sometimes. He slammed his hand down on the pillow. Did you see that? That was lag. This guy isn’t even any good.

Are you Mario or Kirby?

Kirby. He grumbled something under his breath. Seriously? I hate this so much.

Then why do you play it?

Because it’s my favorite game.

I shook my head. I understood my brother’s relationship with video games about as much as he understood my relationship with music. Which was to say—not at all.

As Owen continued raging at the screen, I went to my room and pulled up my playlist collection on my laptop. Crafting the perfect playlist was an artform, and I considered myself an expert in the field. I had a playlist for every mood, including my current one. Sunny with a Chance of I Hate You, Ethan Santos.

Anger stirred inside me, like some hulking red monster. There was a story behind that playlist. Every detail from the event that inspired it was still burned in my memory.

It was the summer before eighth grade. Every June, the Santos family threw an extravagant lawn party. It involved the wealthiest people in Honeysett eating tiny sandwiches and playing croquet in outfits so flashy they hurt my eyes. Mom agreed to help in the kitchen for extra money, and I tagged along, mostly because I wanted to hang out with Ethan.

I texted him to meet me at our usual spot—the fake rock next to the indoor pool. I sat on top of the rock with my feet dangling in the water, earbuds in, a song by ODETTE playing on full blast. Before I discovered Augusta and the Midnight Firemen freshman year, ODETTE was my go-to artist.

Someone pulled out my earbud. I hope you know those things make you serial killer bait.

I whirled to face Ethan. How do you know I’m actually listening to something?

Because music is your obsession. It’s a sickness, really. He sat down and nudged his leg against mine. When are you going to drop your album?

Unless I can actually finish more than two songs, never.

You need to get on it. I’d kill to have your talent.

You’ve never heard any of my stuff.

Sometimes, you can tell when someone’s destined for greatness.

My cheeks warmed, and I stared out the window at all the people dotting the lawn. I’m surprised you’re not outside mingling.

He shrugged. They can survive without me for a few minutes. Besides, I’d much rather hang out with you.

I held out one of my earbuds. Here. I need to share my latest obsession.

Are you going to force me to listen to your obscure hipster artists again?

Don’t pretend you don’t like them.

I tolerate them. Big difference. His eyes glimmered with their usual hint of mischief. I was pretty sure he more than tolerated my favorite artists. Ever since I introduced him to the magical world of indie pop, he’d practically begged me for more song recommendations.

I handed him my phone, and he scrolled through my many playlists.

I’m not sure if I’m impressed or concerned by the fact that you have over two hundred playlists.

I have a lot of different moods. And way too much free time.

He stopped scrolling when he got to the Ws. ‘What Falling in Love Feels Like’?

Not to brag on myself, but that’s a good one.

He pressed Play, and an artist named Rosella Thorton begged her lover to marry her in the moonlight. I swayed a little, losing myself in the melody.

Ethan cleared his throat. So, does this mean that you’ve been in love?

Maybe. Or something close to it.

He met my stare. Do I know the guy?

You might be familiar.

Well, we do know a lot of the same people. Maybe you could give me a hint?

I leaned a little closer. I might be able to do that.

A loud burst of music interrupted my memory. My finger rested on the spacebar, the culprit responsible for starting my playlist. Good. That wasn’t exactly a part of my past I wanted to revisit.

An hour and a half later, my dad called me down to dinner. A pizza box sat on the kitchen counter, so I grabbed a slice and sat at the table.

How was everyone’s day? Mom asked after we said grace.

Fine. I made an A on that one project I was worried about, Owen said. He was enrolled at the University of Cincinnati, where he was studying to be an architect. He’d already promised to design my first mansion after I got famous.

Mom turned to me. What about you, Keres? Did anything special happen?

Depends on your definition of special. My car broke down on the way to school, and some guy had to help me get it started again.

She lowered her brows. What? Why didn’t you call us?

My phone died. I could’ve borrowed Ethan’s, but he’s actually the worst, so…

Ethan was there? And he didn’t help you?

He offered to call a towing service, but I told him I had it under control. Besides, I’m pretty sure there would’ve been strings attached to his offer.

I never liked that kid, Owen said. He was always cocky.

Not when we were friends. A tingly feeling of déjà vu swept over me, and I hopped up. My song!

Keres? What are you doing? We’re not done discussing your car, Mom called after me.

It’ll only take a second. Promise.

I dug my notebook out of my bag. What were those lyrics I’d thought up earlier? Something something, horns for wings, something something, devil.

I tapped my forehead with my pen like I could jar something loose from my brain. It must’ve worked because my song took shape.

You were an angel, but you traded your wings for horns. Living proof devils are made, not born.

I tried to think of follow-up lyrics, but the inspiration fairy was having none of it. She was probably punishing me for not responding when she sprinkled her magic dust over my thoughts earlier. I’d have to find inspiration elsewhere.

Like Ethan’s social media.

Just typing his name in the search bar tied a knot in my gut. My fingers trembled as I pulled up his account and scrolled through his feed. There were pictures of him swimming with dolphins in Florida. Of him lounging on the deck of his family’s yacht. Of him sitting around a bonfire with his friends on the Fourth of July. He looked so happy. Like he’d found his people, his place in the world.

You may be a devil, but I find it hard to say. If I’m better off without you or die a little more each day. Ethan and Keres were the best of friends. Never thought forever would come to an end.

I closed my notebook with a sigh. Sometimes, my