We Are Inevitable Gayle Forman (simple ebook reader TXT) 📖

out of our way to go to a quieter border crossing where Chad swears he will be able to drive through without even stopping. He apparently comes up to Canada all the time for cheaper prescription meds and has some kind of special pass. “At Peace Arch they sometimes stop you, but at this crossing, you basically roll right through.”

I get out of the cab and climb into the bed of the truck. Chad instructs me to pull the cover over me.

“You okay?” he calls.

“I think I’m gonna puke.”

“Well, do it quietly.”

“What if we get caught?”

“They never stopped me before.”

“You never went across with me before. I have bad luck.”

“Son, there’s no such thing as bad luck. And before you argue with me, remember a para just said that.”

“It’s different with me.”

“So do you wanna bail?”

There’s part of me that does want to turn around. The doomsday worrywart that is always searching the sky for flaming asteroids. That part of me knows that if I get caught, it’ll mean arrests and lawyers and more agita for Ira and spending more money we don’t have.

But I am so tired of that part of me. I want to eat long odds for breakfast too. I want to be more like Chad. And I really want to see Hannah.

“Fuck it,” I say. “Let’s break some laws.”

“Aaron Stein, OG for love.” Chad laughs. “If we ever start a band, can we call it that?”

The doomsday worrywart recognizes that us starting a band is about as likely as me and Hannah getting together. Or me getting over the border successfully. But for now, I’ve banished that motherfucker. And so I tell Chad, “You bet your ass we can.”

The moment I become an international felon is so unremarkable I barely register it. I feel the truck slow, then accelerate. Then a few minutes later Chad hits the horn, beep, bippety beep-beep. We didn’t come up with a code but I know what this means. A few miles later, he pulls over at a Tim Hortons and I hop out.

Because we had to detour so far to the other border crossing, it’s nearly ten when we get to the club. Chad’s worried we’ve missed the set but I don’t care about hearing Hannah so long as I get to see Hannah. The friendly bouncer tells us they’re up next, before checking our IDs and telling Chad about the access ramp.

“Wow,” I say after we’re let in. “Bouncers are so much nicer in Canada.”

“Everything’s nicer in Canada.”

I get Chad situated next to the stage and head off to buy him one of the two beers he has promised to limit himself to, plotting how I’m going to find Hannah. I’m trying to get the bartender’s attention when there’s a touch on my wrist. I swivel around, unable to hide my smile.

“You’re here?” Hannah looks surprised.

“Why? You think a thing like a border would keep me away?”

“Not the border, but your deep hatred of music . . .” she teases. “I’m glad you came. When you didn’t show up at Bogart’s, I sort of figured you weren’t into it.”

“I did show up. We weren’t on the list.”

“I left two tickets for you at the box office myself.”

“Are you serious? The box office sent us to the stage door and the bouncer was such a prick. He said we weren’t on the list and refused to check with you. And then it was sold out so we couldn’t buy tickets. And I would’ve called you but I don’t have your number.”

“We should probably remedy that.” She grins, whipping out her phone.

“We should.” I grin back.

After we exchange digits, she flags the bartender and orders a bunch of beers and two club sodas. “One for you too?” She holds up a bunch of raffle-type tickets. “On the house.”

“I have to make a confession. I don’t actually like club soda.”

Hannah laughs. “You should’ve told me.” The nice Canadian bartender clears his throat, waiting. “How about a ginger beer?” Hannah asks me. “It’s nonalcoholic.”

“Sure.”

“And a ginger beer,” she tells the bartender. The bartender gets to work and Hannah turns back to me. “I’m glad about the bouncer. I mean, not glad, but happy that’s the reason you didn’t come.” She nibbles on her thumbnail.

“We tried. I swear we tried. I tried so hard I almost got my ass kicked by the bouncer on your behalf. And he was big. Like refrigerator big. It would’ve hurt.”

“I’m flattered.”

“You should be. And Chad lectured him on toxic masculinity.”

“I’d have loved to see that.” The bartender returns with the tray and Hannah hands over the drink tickets and a Canadian ten-dollar bill for a tip. “I gotta go. But come backstage after the show. I have something for you.”

“Really? What?”

“I’ll show you after the set. So no rushing off.”

“I committed an international felony to see you tonight. I’m not going anywhere.”

I return to Chad, who’s now deep in conversation with two Canadian superfans.

“I was just telling them how we know the band,” Chad brags.

“You’re so lucky!” Canadian Fan One replies. And for that minute I do feel that way. Me, Aaron Stein. Lucky. Who’da thunk it?

“We’re huge fans,” Chad says. “Snuck him over the border without a passport and everything.”

“Wow,” the fans enthuse.

“I just saw Hannah at the bar.” I can’t stop grinning. “She wants us to come backstage after.”

“That’s my boy,” Chad says. “OG for love.”

“OG for Love: Is that your band?” one of the fans asks politely.

Chad and I just crack up.

Officially speaking, this is my fourth Beethoven’s Anvil show—but it’s only the second time I’ve actually seen them play. And it’s the first time since I started to get to know Hannah.

Maybe that’s why I notice things. Like how the band comes on stage, one member at a time: first Claudia, then Libby, then Jax, the pitch amping up as each one picks up their instrument, culminating in this wave of energy that erupts the minute Hannah bounces onto the stage,