If I Tell Read Online Free PDF Page B

of humor drove Grandma crazy. A tear formed in the corner of my eye, and I let it plop down my cheek without stopping to wipe it away.
    Someone cleared his throat.
    Embarrassed, I dropped my fingers from the strings and looked up. I’d almost forgotten I wasn’t alone in the privacy of my room. Not wanting to go home after my shift, I’d walked to the park behind Grinds and propped myself up on top of a picnic bench. This time of the year, the park was abandoned, so I’d laid my guitar case out beside me and gotten lost in my own music.
    Jackson took a step forward and, with a serious expression, reached into his back pocket and threw a bill inside my case. It was a twenty.
    A tiny smile replaced the ache in my heart. “I’m not busking,” I told him. “I don’t want money.”
    “I honestly felt like I should pay for that. You’re really good.”
    I was trying to think of a response when his cell started ringing from his jacket pocket. He lifted his finger to tell me to hang on and then started digging around. “Just a sec.”
    He pulled out his phone.
    “Hello?” he said. He paused and turned away from me. “Yeah. I already told you. I’ll get you your stuff.”
    I stared at his back, noticing the nice round shape of his butt in his jeans, but I shook my head. Was he doing a drug deal right in front of me? I didn’t know whether to laugh or get up and stomp away. I decided it wasn’t my business and tried not to eavesdrop on the rest of the conversation. A gust of wind had started to chill me, so I tucked my hands under my butt to warm my fingers.
    “Sorry,” he said after he’d hung up. “Unpleasant business.”
    I shrugged, trying to pretend I didn’t know what he was up to. I pulled my guitar strap over my head and off my shoulder, then reached inside my guitar case and took out his twenty.
    “I wish I could sing like you,” he said.
    I held out the money to him. “I’m not that good.”
    He pulled his hands back to avoid the bill. “Uh. Yeah, you are.”
    “I’m not taking your money.” I frowned. “Seriously.”
    “I like to support the arts,” he said.
    I tried to shove the money at him, but he backed away, laughing.
    “I’m not the arts. I play for me. I don’t want money for my music.” I waved the money at him, wanting to get it out of my hand.
    “Everyone wants money. It’s called dough because we all ‘knead’ it.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down.
    I frowned at the cash in my fingers, holding it like it was tainting my fingers. “Are you making fun of me?”
    “Whoa. Definitely not fun making. If it fouls your mood that much, give me the money back. I just wanted you to know I admired your skills.” He held out his hand.
    I thrust the twenty inside his hand. “I don’t want your money.”
    “All the better for me. I like free stuff,” he said cheerfully. He folded the twenty and tucked it in his back pocket.
    “Hey, what’s the difference between a guitar and a fish?” he asked.
    My eyebrows pressed together with my frown.
    “You can tune a guitar but you can’t tuna fish.” He grinned, and his smile was so ridiculous but infectious that the tight ball inside me relaxed a little. “Come on, Jaz. Don’t tell me I can’t even make you smile at a joke that bad. ”
    I shook my head and stared at him for a minute, trying to figure him out. He stared back. “You’re not like other boys in Tadita,” I told him. The wind gusted again and whipped his hair around. I zipped my jacket all the way up under my chin, wishing I’d brought a scarf.
    “And for that observation, I’m sure they would thank you,” he said.
    I smiled, and he pointed at my mouth and grinned. “Look! You smiled.”
    “I’m sorry,” I said.
    “About what?”
    “For being a B. I know you were just fooling around. It’s not you. It’s just that I’ve had kind of a bad day.” I turned to my guitar and lifted it, placing it gently back in its case and closing the case.
    “You