Page 8 of The Way the Heart Breaks: Jade’s Story

I turn the radio up; my parents know I fall asleep with it on, so it won’t raise suspicions.

“Coming in this week, climbing fast up the charts…” I press my finger down, ready. “…on Casey’s Top —”

This time, I don’t. Click. Record. Play. And I catch it right at the start.

I catch the tail end of his voice and the very start of the beat. Close enough. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to record.

Fast Car spills out of the speaker. I grin a little, even though no one’s here to see it.

The song runs, and I let it. No talking over it, no stopping halfway. I tap my fingers against my knee, keeping time.

When it fades, I hit stop too fast again, cutting off the last second.

“Whatever,” I whisper.

The DJ jumps back in immediately, voice loud and obnoxious. I don’t even hesitate this time.

Click. Play and record.

I wait until the sound shifts again, then stop, rewind just a little, and hover.

“—and this one’s been holding strong⁠—”

Click. Play and record as the opening guitar hits clean.

Love Will Save the Day.

“Mom’s,” I say under my breath, scribbling it down on the scrap paper beside me so I don’t forget the order.

I let it run longer than I need to. It’s catchy. Upbeat. Not something Jason would ever pick.

Speaking of⁠—

I stop the tape and rewind just enough to cut off Casey’s voice again, chewing on the inside of my cheek while I wait.

The guitar this time is louder. Dirtier. Pour Some Sugar on Me.

I roll my eyes, even though I’m smiling. “Of course you would,” I mutter, picturing Jason leaning in the doorway, happy with the fact I don’t like it.

I don’t cut this one early. I let it play just long enough to feel like I’m committing to it, then stop.

My finger hovers over the buttons for a second longer.

Ryan’s and Dad’s will be coming soon.

Once the mission is completed, I grab the pen and add the last line, pressing harder than I need to:

A Groovy Kind of Love. Love Will Save the Day. Pour Some Sugar on Me. Fallen Angel. Rag Doll. I stare at it for a second, then snap the pen shut.

Perfect. Or close enough.

I ease my bedroom door open just enough to slip through, catching the latch before it clicks. The hallway is dim, lit only by the soft yellow glow from the nightlight at the far end, the one Mom insists on keeping even though no one needs it anymore.

The house feels different at night. Smaller. Quieter. Like it’s asleep too. I pause, listening.

From their room, the low hum of the box fan is the only sound in the house.

Good.