“My name’s Trevor,” he said with a gruff, then shuffled down the street.
I turned the name around in my head, loving the edge it had to it. Maybe one day, when I made it big, I’d change my name to something like that—something better than Bobby Shaw.
While mom slept on the palette of pillows in the studio, I committed our new lyrics to the sheet music from this morning. Placing the notes in their rightful places was so satisfying. When I finished it, I held the pages and smiled at the rightness of the arrangement. A song was born!
Well … almost. We still needed a chorus to bring it all together. I was tempted to spit something out on the page, right then and there—maybe I could fit in something about floating chairs and anything is possible. But after messing around with several different options, I put my pen down. This song would not be finished today. Mom and I had loads of time to work on it. For now, I’d have to be content with what we had on the page.
And what we had on the page was ahh-mazing—to use one of Flynn’s favorite terms.
I looked up to see Carlos, still dressed in his baseball uniform, sitting on the floor in front of the large flat screen watching another baseball movie. This time, it was The Sandlot—one of his new favorites. It made me briefly think of Flynn—the nineties seriously were making a comeback in my life. I wondered what other gifts from that time period would land on my doorstep.
The smell of pasta sauce wafted into the living room from the kitchen, where Dad was attempting to start dinner without Mom. His cooking skills weren’t as good as my mom’s, but he was learning under her tutelage. Ever the teacher, she guided him as she did all her students—with patience and perseverance.
“Ouch,” my dad hissed from the stove, licking his finger like he’d just burned himself. “Don’t worry. I’m okay.”
I unfurled myself from my perch on the couch, prepared to lend him a hand, but my mom slid open the back door, her hair in a flurry from sleeping on the pillows in the studio. She rubbed her neck like she’d slept on it the wrong way.
“That might hurt in the morning,” she said, coming over to give me a kiss on my forehead. “But I needed that. Thanks for letting me sleep.”
Leaning against the kitchen island, she checked in on my dad to see if he needed help. But he gave her a thumbs-up. “This is going to be a five-star dinner. I just know it! A delizioso date night meal, right under our roof.”
“I’ll go change.” She looked at her watch and tucked her curls behind her ear. “We’ll leave here right after the kids finish dinner, okay? And, Carlos?”
“Huh?” he answered without turning away from the TV.
“Don’t sit so close to the TV.” She wagged her finger. “It’s not good for your eyes.”
The stairs creaked as she scampered up to her room to get ready for her night out with Dad. I settled back into the couch, watching the movie along with Carlos, who occasionally mumbled under his breath that he was going to be the next Great Bambino. The movie was halfway over when my mom reappeared in black jeans and a maroon blouse under her black leather jacket. She looked stunning.
“Wow, Mom.” I sat up from the couch. “I thought you were lending that jacket to Tía.”
“I wanted to wear it one last night before I parted with it. It’s fun, right?” She gave a turn from side to side, modeling all angles for me. Then her nose perked up. Something was burning in the kitchen. She dashed over to my dad’s side. “Did you stir it? You don’t want to let the bottom burn.”
I set the place mats around the table, one for each of us—Mom, Dad, me, and Carlos. Then I remembered my impromptu invite for Flynn. My head snapped in the direction of the kitchen, where my parents stood shoulder to shoulder over the stove.
“Can Flynn come over for dinner tonight?”
“Sure,” Dad said absentmindedly as he shook a bottle of spices over the pot.
“If her mom says it’s okay,” Mom said as her hand shot out and stopped my dad’s arm from shaking more of the spices in. He had a habit of being heavy-handed with ingredients. Mom brought out the finesse in his inner chef.
She brought the finesse out in us all.
I snagged another place mat from the cabinet in the kitchen island and scooted an extra chair over to the table.
“Carlos, come help me set the table,” I yelled into the living room, where he’d inched closer to the TV when he thought no one was watching.
“Five more minutes,” he mumbled over his shoulder, transfixed by the images on the screen.
“Mami,” I turned to her for help, but her attention was pointed elsewhere. Her eyes were on my dad, who was wafting the fumes of pasta sauce toward his nostrils.
“¿Y ahora?” He dipped a wooden spoon into the saucepan and scooped up a mound of steaming red sauce.
Mom gave an indulgent smile and rested her hand gently over his. She poured some of the sauce out, leaving only a mouthful, over which she gently blew. After a few seconds, she took a tentative taste.
“I could watch you do that all day.” My dad’s eyes were wide—full of wonder at my mom.
Ugh, gross, they’re so embarrassing.
“There are children present!” I rolled my eyes from the table. I was so not in the mood to watch my parents’ PDA.
“Yeah, get a room!” Carlos squealed from across the room.
“Hey, don’t you see how much I love your mother. Come here, mi amor.” He snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her in for a featherlight peck on the lips.
I wanted to roll my eyes, but I couldn’t. They were super cute. I could only hope to have the same thing with someone when I grew up. I thought briefly about Nick. I had a serious crush on him, but my fantasies never reached further than holding hands and walking to class together. Was he really a dream come true?
I don’t know. Maybe that guy was still out there for me.
Besides, Nick seemed more interested in Carrie than anyone else. And Carrie … well, she didn’t seem to want anything to do with me anymore. I needed to stop checking my phone for a response from her because clearly she wasn’t going to text or call me back. And as much as that fact pained me—and believe me, it did—I couldn’t make anyone like me. I couldn’t make her be my friend.
Maybe it was time to let both Carrie and Nick go. I’d leave the door open, but they couldn’t steal my smile anymore. Not on a day like this—a day that was quickly becoming the best day ever.
My best friend had found me the perfect quinceañera dress, I wrote new lyrics with my mom, and I even hung a chair from the ceiling of the studio.
Honestly, I couldn’t see how it could get any better than this.
“A good sauce takes patience, my love. But yes, this is ready to go.” Mom rubbed her hands together. “Now, time for the pasta. Julie, would you—”
The front door flung open, and Flynn panted on the threshold like she’d run all the way from her house. I’d left the door unlocked, figuring she would do the same thing I always did when I went to her house—just let herself in. But I didn’t expect her to make such a dramatic entrance.
But I should have known. There was never a dull moment with Flynn.
I stumbled into the Molinas’ foyer and shut the door with a bang, a bit harder than I’d meant to. With my back flush against the door, my chest rising and falling in quick pants, I gripped my chest to slow my heart rate.
“Um … hey?” Julie tilted her head to the side, an invitation for me to tell her why I was out of breath.
“Oh, thank goodness.” I looked over to the table, freshly set without the food on it. They hadn’t started dinner without me. Julie raised an eyebrow.
I raised one back. Can’t a girl wanna eat?
“Okay, fine. I narrowly escaped one of my mom’s homemade mayo facials. I didn’t want a redo of last time. You know, when it got stuck in my hair and caused me to break out into a million zits?” I shivered as I remembered the sound of cracked eggs and the emulsion blender. “My mom’s theory: It was just t
he facial doing its job, lifting the toxins out of my skin. But my theory is: I don’t wanna go down that road again. So, I ran, okay?”
Sometimes, you just gotta nope out.
Again, I had nothing but love for my parents, but when they missed the mark, they really missed the mark. Of course, Julie found it amusing. She was doubled over laughing, no doubt imagining my face coated in my mother’s gooey concoction. I’d love to see her dodging poultices and meatless meat loaves on a regular basis.
She wouldn’t last a day.
I shoved off the Molinas’ door and bumped Julie out of the way with my hip as I made my way to the kitchen. Mr. Molina was literally watching the pot of hot water boil. He still had a lot to learn about cooking—least of which the first rule of not watching a pot boil. Julie’s mom still had a lot of work cut out for her.
Poking my head between Julie’s parents, I breathed in the scent of the simmering meat sauce. It smelled divine. This—this was what I’d been waiting for all afternoon while I’d been lumbering through my world history homework on a Saturday.
That’s what I get for writing Double Trouble songs during the week, I guess.
Julie’s dad cleared his throat, and I looked up at him.
“Don’t mind me,” I said breathlessly, pushing my musings aside. I sidestepped out of the way. “Smells delicious, though.”
“You’ll love my boiled salt water.” Mr. Molina brought his fingers to his lips and gave them a dramatic chef’s kiss. “Magnifico.”
“I see I’m not the only one with weird parents,” I said under my breath once I was by my best friend’s side on the other side of the kitchen island. Mrs. Molina heard it and ruffled Julie’s hair on her way to the kitchen counter.
“You gotta love them, though.” Julie smiled as she watched her parents interact over the stove. They were still playful, sneaking kisses and swatting away silly jokes like they’d never grown out of their honeymoon phase. I loved seeing them together. Carlos made fake gagging noises, but I could tell he loved watching his parents in love, too.
“Yeah, they’re pretty great,” I said under my breath as I watched them.
“Here is the main event.” Mrs. Molina carried a large bowl of pasta to the kitchen table, then doubled back to the stove for the sauce. Carefully, she poured the sauce over the noodles, then mixed it together with a pronged spaghetti spoon. Steam escaped the bowl, and I shamelessly leaned into the fumes.
“It’s so beautiful, I could cry.” My stomach grumbled in agreement.
“Dinner is served,” Mr. Molina said, slinging his dishcloth over his shoulder.
After we said grace, everyone plunged their forks into the large bowl, instead of waiting for it to be passed around the table. This was being served family style, in every sense of the word. When I’d piled enough on my plate, I shoveled a couple bites into my mouth, feeling warmth wash over me. I was nearly finished with my serving when I noticed Julie’s mom looked kinda dressed up.
“You look very fancy, Mrs. Molina,” I said before shoving a heaping forkful in my mouth.
“That’s because they have date night tonight.” Julie rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“My parents do that, too! Are you guys going to an astrology seminar or a mixer at the science museum?” Carlos arched his eyebrow, gawking at me like I’d suggested something outlandish. I laughed into my cup of water. “What? That’s what my parents consider romance.”
“Everyone has their song to sing,” Mrs. Molina said, putting her napkin up to hide her giggle. She and my mom had been friends as long as Julie and I had—since we were six. But they still had their differences, and my mom’s love of the astral plane was one of them.
“We’re going to the Dog Gone Lounge.” Mr. Molina grinned at his wife from across the table.
“You’re going to a concert?” I asked, remembering that my parents had gone to a show at that venue before. Well, it wasn’t really a show—more like a slam poetry night with a lot of spoken word performances.
“Not exactly.” Mrs. Molina bobbed her head from side to side, looking down at her plate. She took another bite of her food.
“Well, that’s what you’re going to get at the Dog Gone, unless …” My head snapped up. “Unless you’re going to sing.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. My mom doesn’t sing onstage anymore.” Julie threw a piece of bread across the table at me, which earned a stern look from her dad and an awesome from Carlos. Her mom remained silent, biting her lips between her teeth. She had not contradicted me, and Julie had noticed. Her jawed dropped. “Wait. What?”
“It’s nothing really.” Mrs. Molina looked up from her plate, her eyebrows upturned. “It’s just an open mic night.”
“How often do you do stuff like this?” Julie asked, leaning forward.
“Sometimes I try out new material there.” Mrs. Molina shrugged like this wasn’t a big deal. But it totally was—she was getting back onstage again.
I didn’t know what happened in the past and neither did Julie, but Mrs. Molina gave up on trying to be a performing musician. She became a music theory teacher and a piano tutor instead, but it was nice to see she’d never really given up on her dream.
We’ve all got a second act inside of us, right?
“You two should debut your new song there!” I swished my finger between Julie and her mom.
“Um, that’s impossible, because it’s not finished.” Julie pursed her lips. “Remember, I told you it still needs a chorus.”
“Okay, then what about ‘Fueling the Fires’?” I suggested, throwing out another possibility. “That one’s finished, and you know it’s fire.”
Mrs. Molina tilted her head and looked out the window, considering it. She squinted her eyes at Julie, a small smile creeping across her lips. “¿Sabes qué? That’s actually not a bad idea. I thought we might perform it at your quinceañera, but it’s begging to be sung sooner. And like I told you earlier—it’s Hollywood club ready.” She raised her eyebrows expectantly. “What do you say?”
“I, uh …” Julie huffed as she tried to find the words. She loved singing with her mom, but she found it harder to sing in front of a bunch of people—especially if she was singing her own lyrics. She was a perfectionist and was never quite ready to let go of her songs by making them public. Julie scrunched up her face. “Won’t we be crashing your date night?”
“Not at all.” Julie’s dad shook his head, winking at his wife across the table. “Think of it as a special guest appearance.”
“What do you think, Angel Face?” Mrs. Molina asked.
Julie looked around the table, then at me as I bounced in my seat. Say yes, I wanted to say. But Julie had to make this decision on her own.
She nodded slowly, then faster as she made up her mind. “Yes. Let’s do this!”
“All right, it’s a party!” Carlos jumped up from his seat. Mrs. Molina put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down.
“Not so fast.” She cupped his cheek and looked across the table at her husband. “We’ll need to see if Victoria can babysit tonight.”
“And I need to change,” Julie said, looking down at her giant dinosaur claw slippers. She scurried across the room, sliding on the polished wood floors while she ran up the stairs two at a time, leaving her nearly empty plate of pasta behind.
I pulled out my phone to text my parents about the last-minute change in plans. My dad would probably be disappointed—he’d wanted to watch a documentary about dolphins over a bowl of kale chips and warm cups of green tea, which under normal circumstances would have been fun. I loved hanging out with my parents … most of the time.
But Julie was about to sing onstage with her mom at the Dog Gone Lounge! I wouldn’t miss that for anything.
“Does anyone know where my keys are?” Mr. Molina patted his pockets, looking around him for the one item he always lost.
“Check under the mail,” Julie’s mom said, looking completely unfazed. She popped the coll
ar of her leather jacket, looking ready to fuel the fires of fierceness onstage. As soon as Julie came down, it was on.
This was gonna be one heck of a show.
Last night, we were packed shoulder to shoulder in the Palace Theatre, watching the Foo Fighters rock out into the wee hours of the morning. Now we were at the Orpheum Theater, preparing for our own show. In the course of one day, we’d gone from being spectators of a show to being the show. I trembled with anticipation.
It couldn’t get better than this.
Well—it could. I rubbed my throat, feeling the scratchiness brought on by this afternoon’s exertions. I wished I’d heeded Alex’s advice and not spent so much of my vocal cords on our street performance. Now I worried I wouldn’t have my full voice by the time the curtains opened. And we still had sound check before then. Ever the practical voice of the group, Alex had been right yet again.
I’d never tell him I said that, though.
“Excuse me?” I crossed the darkened theater, waving at a waitress wiping down tables. I pointed to the bar behind me. “Do you think I could get some hot tea? My throat is killing me.”
“Oh, I’m not allowed behind the bar.” She smiled awkwardly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I’m not a bartender. You have to be twenty-one to do that, and I’m not quite that old yet.”
I knew those rules were strict from my time working at the diner. When I needed to restock glasses, I handed them to an older employee over the counter, making sure not to put a toe behind the line. Otherwise, they could lose their business license.
“I totally understand. Thanks anyway.” I ran my fingers through my hair and headed backstage, trying to clear my throat by coughing through the ache.
“Wait,” the girl said from across the room. “I have an idea.”
Leaning over the counter, she flipped a switch to turn on the hot water heater. She placed a mug beneath the faucet, then stretched her arm even farther to grab a tea bag from the tin on the other side. Her ribs strained against the chipped wood counter. She pulled back with a breathy groan just as the tin toppled to the ground with a clank.
Whatever Happens Page 9
