Read Never Say Never for Free Online

mine. A feeling
– strange, indescribable, overwhelming – passed over me like a tidal wave, and
I pulled back...
                “Luc...”
my voice was full of warning.
                He
stopped. He hesitated, as if making a decision. “Don't worry, Neve. I'm not
trying to freak you out or pull a Geoff or anything. But...you're my friend,
Neve. I care about you. We're friends, right?”
                “Of
course!”
                “And...uh...I'd
never do anything to get in the way of that. Or hurt you. You know that,
right?”
                “I
know...”
                But
deep down, I felt that something had passed between us. My cheeks were bright
red. “We should go back inside, Luc. Before your sisters make Kyle and Steve do
all the dishes.”
                “Of
course,” said Luc, forcing a smile. The moonlight hit him as he walked and I
involuntarily gasped. For a moment, I forgot that it was Luc standing before me
– instead there was just a gorgeous man with dark Italian eyes and caramel-colored
hair that made my heart involuntarily race.
                I
shook my head and tried to ignore it. What was going on with me today? First
Kyle – then Luc? Was there something about going off to college that had sent
all our collective hormones into a tizzy?
                Come
on, girl, I told myself. The band comes first.
                But
as I walked back into Luc's living room, I felt a strange sense of foreboding.
Something had changed – something deep down within all of us. The more serious
the band was getting, the closer we got to making it, the more we had to grow
up. We all knew each other since middle school, but now we weren’t prepubescent
awkward kids anymore.
                Things
weren't going to be the same anymore.

 
    Chapter 4
     
     
                I 'd decided to fulfill my necessary Sociology
credit at USC by signing up for a Music-In-Society class – the somewhat
transgressive-sounding “Starting a Riot: Music, Sexuality, and Gender in the
Late Twentieth Century.” I'd been somewhat embarrassed about signing up,
despite my genuine interest in the topic – I was painfully conscious that it might
look like I was striving for an easy A off my dad's stories – but I hadn't been
able to resist the promise of studying my dad's punk lyrics alongside the
poetry of the beat generation and the Stonewall riots. I tried to dress down
for the class as much as possible – hiding my customary glam-inspired studs and
black stiletto boots under an enormous USC sweatshirt in the hopes that nobody
in the class would recognize me – at least not at first. The last thing I
wanted was to be “Keith Knight's daughter” here in the classroom. I remembered
what I'd said to my mother. I wanted to do this on my own – to forge my own
path. And if that meant taking out my ear studs and cutting back on the purple
mascara – well, I'd just have to sacrifice my glam aesthetic to the higher
calling of knowledge. The class was taught by Professor Edmund Poe, an
ethnomusicographer better known for his studies of Georgian polyphonic chant in
the South Caucasus than for his experience in the punk music scene. But rumor
had it that Professor Poe was going to be team-teaching the class with an
English TA with some experience in the contemporary music industry.
                “My
dear ladies and gentlemen,” Professor Poe stood up at the podium, standing on
his tiptoes so that his bushy white hair could just barely be seen behind it.
He couldn't have looked less like a rock star. With his wavy, tangled white
hair, his enormous owlish glasses, and his stained tweed suit, he looked more
like a professor of Medieval History than someone conversant with the lyrics of
the Clash. “It gives me great pleasure to be standing in front of all of you as
we prepare to embark upon this journey