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“So, Derek, what’s your favorite tree?” Kennedy asked, wondering if she was secretly masochistic. Why else would she have agreed to be in a band with Derek and Sebastian?
Derek had been panting after her all year, and Sebastian’s crush was so pathetically obvious even kindergarteners teased him about it. Granted, the kindergartener in question was her little brother and his friends, but her point stood. The only person who didn’t know was the object of said crush: Derek.
“Is that some kind of environmentalist thing?” Derek asked. “A maple, maybe? I’ve never really thought–”
“Just curious,” Kennedy cut him off. “Because Sebastian’s here is the pine.”
“Kennedy,” Sebastian groaned.
Derek frowned. “What’s wrong with a pine? They’re evergreen, right? That means they’re, like, dependable and shit. When you’re stuck in winter, all you want is a bit of green, right? And they’ve got that. Plus,” he added, clearly warming to his subject. “They’re Christmas trees, right? They’re, like, all the good things.”
“You think so?” Sebastian asked. Kennedy had no idea how Derek didn’t notice the absolute garden of roses blooming in Sebastian’s cheeks.
“Uh, yeah. Better than maples, anyway,” Derek answered, scratching at his neck.
“No, maples are good, too,” Sebastian replied. “They give us maple syrup after all, yeah?”
“You want to tap his tree, Seb?” Kennedy asked. She was impressed by how much deeper red Sebastian could blush, and surprised to see a distinct shade of coral in Derek’s ears. Maybe Sebastian’s crush wasn’t so hopeless after all.
Derek coughed. “Um, maybe we could write a song about it? Like, Evergreen, ever waiting, full of presents, all for me…” He trailed off, his gaze caught in Sebastian’s like they were Dean and Cas from Supernatural. Kennedy had not signed up to be Sam.
“Are you going to unwrap his presents here, Derek? Or are we going to get back to rehearsal?”
“Kennedy!” Derek and Sebastian shouted in a single outraged voice, both redder a tomato.
“Shall I count us in?” she asked, smiling poison-sweet.
“Uh, right.” The boys both moved to their mics and fingered their guitars.
“We should write it, though,” Kennedy said, before beginning the count. “Every band needs at least one love song.” Then, without a pause, she clapped her drumsticks together. “One, two, three, four!”