“Paisley, keep walking,” Lacey ordered and nudged me in my back. “Don’t let him know you care.”
I cut across the dance floor, making a beeline for the stage. He was just a flirt. A big ol’ flirt. Probably using me like Waylon said, flirting with me to stay in the band. I actually thought, I mean, I was sure he liked me.
Paradise waltzed by, his cheek pressed against her ear. I swear he was whispering. I stopped as they passed, or tried to stop. My boots slipped on the slick floor. Wham. I busted it. Falling hard with one leg out and the other bent. An L—as in loser.
I scrambled to my feet as quickly as I went down, dusted off my jeans.
Lacey tidied up my bangs with her fingers. “No one saw a thing. Forget it.”
When I finally reached the stage, I felt Lacey drift from my side. She’d found Levi and they were locked in a cleavage-crushing embrace. I turned to the one thing I could count on. The drums. I brushed my hand along a cymbal. A slight ting rang out, a whimper. I forced myself to turn my back on the dance floor. I refused to watch them. I inventoried the drums: a full kit—the basic four piece with a kick and cymbals, positioned on an old rug for stability. I’d get out of it what I expected. The throne was just a simple stool. A simple stool with my caja sitting on the top. I set the little drum to the side. “Not playing it,” I swore.
Paradise had separated himself from dancing long enough to pay attention to the reason he was in the dance hall in the first place. He prepped his accordion, but Paradise had not separated himself from the Best Piece in Town girl. She hovered beside him on the stage with us, with the band.
“Paisley.” Paradise finally noticed I was in the building. He grabbed her hand. They stood in front of the drums. I pretended to tighten the snare. “You know Estella, right? From the rodeo?”
“Not formally.” If my eyes could’ve shot venom, he’d have been in a world of hurt. “Nice to meet you.” I should’ve stopped there, but oh, well. “Lots of chairs around the dance floor to sit on. Not so much room on the stage.”
Her eyelashes fluttered like the wings of a monarch butterfly. Estella, the Best Piece in Town girl, kissed Paradise on the cheek and took a long-legged stride off the stage.
“Relax, Paisley.” Paradise acted as if he held us all in the palm of his hand. “Put it all out there. You’ve got this.” The boy was clueless.
“Can’t hear you.” Paradiddle paradiddle paraparadiddle. I shook my head, closed my eyes, hoping that when they reopened he’d be gone.
He wasn’t. Paradise took his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair. His accordion hung loosely on one shoulder. I watched the rise and fall of his chest with every breath he took.
I warmed up until Waylon circled his finger in the air for us to sound check.
“On four, Paisley.” Waylon pointed at me to hit it.
We started playing. It was my worst nightmare. We sounded like a group of grade-schoolers tuning instruments—not a band that had practiced for months. No one was together.
Waylon waved his arms. I thought for a minute he might just take flight. “Do it again.” His face, even his ears were red.
I pounded us in on four. BAMBAMBAMBAM.
Paradise tapped the toe of his boot, concentrating on it, shaking his head as if the beats were all wrong. Levi moved closer to me, trying to lock in his bass. They were off. We sounded like a junkyard band. I added a three-stroke roll … because I felt like it.
Cal quit playing.
Waylon put his hands on his hips, sucking in deep breaths. “Paisley, you’re rushing it.”
I clinched my sticks in my hand and yelled at him, “Keep up, Waylon!”
The crowd, the folks in the cantina, shifted in their chairs. Their silence sent an awkward vibe onto the stage.
Paradise stared at the ceiling rafters. “Time is your job.”
“Yes, I know that. But I set the pace, remember?” I stood to my feet, sweat beading around my forehead. He must’ve conveniently forgotten about the whole Paisley-you’re-the-heartbeat-of-the-band nonsense. I couldn’t have cared less about the staring crowd.
Cal slumped over a speaker.
Levi said, “You’re not setting the same pace we practiced.”
“Maybe so.” I was burning hot. “But it’s the only pace I’ve got right now.”
Waylon sat on a stool then stood back up. Sat down and stood up. Sat down, stood up three, maybe four times. Paradise turned to Estella. More head shaking.
Of all the whack-ass times to try and get my attention, Lacey pointed at Paradise—gesturing with her hands—some kind of incoherent sign language I’d never figure out. But apparently she and Levi were on the same page.
“Paisley.” Levi blocked my view. He leaned across the drums and whispered, “She’s his sister.”
My blood pressure plunged.
THUMP
Thump
thump.
I was an idiot.
And the crowd did matter.
“Oh God,” I squeaked. “Please don’t move an inch.”
Levi hid me behind his thick frame. I had no idea what to do next. Suddenly, the little drum stool felt like a pedestal. I’d just put it all out there all right, my whole jealous fit for everyone to see.
But I hadn’t just embarrassed myself. We were onstage in a honky-tonk with a gathering group of regulars and a few invited guests.
Waylon stomped around Levi. Cal and Paradise flanked him. I was surrounded.
Waylon flicked the pick on his thumb as if he were trying to spark a flame from a cigarette lighter. “Paisley.” He sounded out of gas, desperate. “We’ve been friends a long time. I, I always thought I could count on you. But now.” He stopped flicking. He glanced at Paradise, then drew a bead on me. “What do you want, Paisley? ’Cause if it’s not the band … I mean, what do you really want?”
The band stood in front of me with their dreams on the line. Cal’s hands squeezed around the neck of his guitar. His homemade dagger tattoo carved onto his thumb pointed at me. Paradise clutched his accordion to his chest, waiting to hear my answer. No point now in trying to hide that I might have feelings for him. I wouldn’t be able to dodge that anymore. Furthermore, they all knew. Even if they didn’t, they suspected.
The chatter around the dance floor grew louder as the dinner crowd moved from the taco bar into the cantina. They wouldn’t sit idle for long and wait on us to get our act together. Soon they’d start dropping quarters in the jukebox. We’d be done before we ever got going.
I picked up my sticks, ripe to count us in. The dream to be a drummer had never changed for me. It just wasn’t the only desire anymore, and I was tired of tucking my dreams and feelings away. I’d had enough of that. Enough of holding my feelings in my heart. L. V. always said if you keep doin’ what you’re doin’, you’ll get more of what you’ve got. Time to change the results.
Paradise watched me roll the sticks between my fingers. He seemed to figure out what I wanted too. He lifted the cross on his necklace to his lips and kissed it. He turned around, going for his spot behind the center microphone.
I kicked the bass drum then hit the snare—bass-snare, bass-snare—mimicking the natural swing of his backside. Paradise glanced back at me and cocked a grin.
I set the pace, the pace we practiced. “I want it all, Waylon.” The other boys backed away from the drums. Cal swung his guitar around, dipped his shoulder, then leaned back and flared up an ear-scorching intro.
I wanted it all.
21
ALONE IN A CROWDED BAR
A few of what I surmised were cantina regulars spun around the dance floor as we transitioned, like a steady rolling locomotive, from one song to the next. My drumsticks tumbled over the toms, pinged the hi-hat and crash. The vibration from the bass drum shimmied through my body. And since, other than Lacey, I had no one to share in the moment, I drummed for regulars and the band, loving the fact that a beat I drove moved people to get up and dance.
&nbs
p; Looking out into the dark bar, I saw Lacey’s face glowing in the red neon of the Bud Light sign when Levi went to work on his bass. She came for him. She’d probably heard enough of my banging around the house. Everyone around her went nuts as Levi flipped his baseball cap backward, then dropped the bass tone to a grooving boogie-woogie. The entire Tucker gang had showed up in full force. They were loud and proud.
Cal had his own following. Five of his skateboard buds huddled near a corner table just off the stage. One dude played air guitar right along with Cal. I bet the regulars wondered what the emo kids were doing in a honky-tonk.
Estella clapped her hands over her head as her grandfather, the accordion king, sat beside her, his chest swelling with pride as Paradise sang lead.
Even some of the Sliders showed up, although Waylon’s dad stood at the back watching every move with his owl eyes. We were, after all, a Slider band. But he’d have to work hard to nitpick. Waylon had been right about playing like we practiced, and no one lacked focus about what we were doing—especially Waylon. He couldn’t have sounded better and his fingers singed his guitar strings and danced up the frets. Even Paradise’s grandfather shifted his gaze for a brief moment to take in Waylon’s gift.
We closed out a song. Levi kept the beat going while I rested my sticks and positioned the caja. Rub and stroke, rub and stroke. It was Paradise’s turn. When he drew out the bellows on his accordion, folks began to whoop and holler. With his body swaying and his head rocking, Paradise squeezed out a little spice to complement the country-rock groove. The dancing couples pushed out of a two-step and pulled into a hip-grinding Latin swing. Some bands might have a fiddle or maybe even a harmonica, but the Waylon Slider Band rocked the accordion. And the accordion worked like gravy on biscuits.
Waylon’s father gestured an approving nod from the back of the room, and I thought Waylon would levitate. The family pride in the room was wall busting.
A bead of sweat trickled down my back as I put the caja down and returned to my drumsticks. I bowled a fifteen-stroke roll across the drumheads, barely holding the sticks as they bounced in my hand. I tossed one stick, catching it in midair as it somersaulted over my head. Never. Missed. A. Beat.
I checked to make sure Lacey saw it. Her eyes were locked on Levi.
Among the crowd and the guitars and the accordion and the dancers, I had never felt so alone.
I wanted my dad to hear me play, watch every stick spinning, bass kick, and roll. I wanted to see him circle his finger in the air like he does when his young pitchers nail their first curveball. “That’s it,” he’d say. “Bring that every time.” I wanted to look out and see L. V. leaning against the bar, telling everyone his niece was the drummer. And I wanted my mother there—complaining about Waylon and how this was all beneath her. But I wanted her there. If for no other reason than to show her that I could do this. Forever, it seemed, all I ever wanted was to play drums. That wasn’t enough anymore. Now I wanted to play drums for somebody. And somebody included my family. Without them, drumming felt as hollow as a blown bottle rocket. Nothing left after the big boom except a sour, burning smell lingering in the air.
I closed my eyes, feeling the ricochet of each beat. My arms never tired. My hands never cramped. The drumbeats circled above me, around me like machine-gun fire, like I was down in some foxhole, all the action taking place above.
Then it was over.
And when it’s over, it’s really over. Nothing left but me and the sticks.
The voices and clapping drew closer to the stage. Cal’s friends swarmed him. I tried to ignore the whoops of happy Tuckers as I sat behind my drums like a kid in a playpen.
Finally, Lacey made her way to me. Watching her glide toward me with a smile as bright as a summer afternoon lifted my spirits.
Then she tossed her keys over the drums to me. “We’re all going to hang out by Moon Lake.” She glanced back at Levi. The smile was all his. “Oh, and park my car on the back side of the Tucker Barn then just walk down. You’ll see everyone.”
Lacey left the cantina with Levi and the rest of the band. The jukebox kicked on. Couples glided across the dance floor. The neon Bud Light sign above the bar blinked on and off and on and off like a no-vacancy marquee at a cheap, roadside motel. I was the last one to leave the stage. Not that anyone noticed. Not that anyone cared.
22
ASSUMPTIONS
Moon Lake wasn’t really a lake at all. It was a crescent-shaped slough carved into the wooded bottom of the Tuckers’ land. From tip end to tip end, Moon Lake stretched across the Jessup and Prosper county borders. And on cold, clear spring nights when the dark water soaked up the real moonlight, the old slough looked as if a sliver of the moon had come to rest on earth.
I hid Lacey’s car on the back side of the barn and walked toward the hillside where everyone had gathered. I set out, trying to step around the pillowy patches of wildflowers. Not sure what I’d find at the campfire on the hill.
An unnatural light cut into the pasture, blinding me in the moment. The light dimmed and Paradise eased beside me, the hard top off his Bronco. He stopped.
“Thanks.” I rubbed my eyes. “Now I know how deer feel.”
Paradise opened his passenger door. “Get in before someone runs you over.”
I stepped in, moving a brown paper bag on the seat.
“Careful with that,” he said. “Don’t open it. Had to pick up a few things on my way out here.”
“What is it?” I started to unroll the top of the sack despite his demand. “Beer? Cigarettes?”
He shook his head like I offended him, twisted his hand around the steering wheel. “So that’s what you assume, what you expect from me?”
I said nothing and started to open the sack.
Paradise hit the brakes, reached his hand across, smashed the sack closed. “It’s weed.” His hat shaded his face from the moonlight, but I could see his eyes focus on my ring. “And condoms. Stuff you don’t need to be around.”
I let go of the sack. “Nice.” Mother’s rant about bands and pot smokers clanged in my head. “Remind me to wear a hazmat suit the next time you give me a ride.”
“Your face is red, Paisley.” He shifted the Bronco into reverse and backed between the other trucks up to the campfire. “What will they all think?”
I couldn’t have cared less what everyone thought. I did, however, care that he seemed to plan on drugs and sex as part of the post-gig after-party. Furthermore, I had to tell Waylon. The band couldn’t afford to let Paradise loose in Austin. I hopped out of the Bronco. Lacey and I were leaving whether she wanted to or not.
In the campfire light, Cal and some of his friends huddled in a small circle despite the fact that lawn chairs sat empty around the fire. I was sure I saw the hot end of a cigarette glow. Levi made use of at least one chair, and he held Lacey in his lap—both of them cozied up under a blanket.
Paradise dropped the tailgate on the Bronco and opened the sack.
“You bring something for me too?” Levi’s hands were hid under the blanket. All that talk about how he didn’t want to let Dad down was just crap.
“Lacey.” I almost panicked. “I, we need to go.”
“Paisley.” Paradise reached into the sack. He pulled out a box of chocolate bars, a bag of marshmallows, and some graham crackers. He pitched the marshmallows at me. “You gonna help?”
Lacey leaned back on Levi’s chest. She eyeballed my hand squeezing the bag of marshmallows. “Relax, sis. I texted Mother. She’s not looking for us until after midnight.” Lacey nodded at Waylon, who sat on the tailgate of his truck fingering his six-string. “And no one here bites.”
“Don’t tell her that.” Paradise pressed his thumbs along the bent corners of a metal coat hanger, straightening it into a skewer.
Lacey giggled. Waylon strummed louder.
I split the top of the marshmallow bag and laid it on his tailgate next to the chocolate bars. Paradise stood by the fire, carefully searing th
e end of the hanger until all the plastic coating was gone and it was safe to melt the marshmallows.
The night air chilled me to the bone. I rubbed the tops of my arms to warm them and moved closer to the flames. The fire popped and spit bits of neon orange sparks into the dark night.
I probably needed to apologize for assuming the worst in him.
“S’mores?” I asked him, watching the flames dance around the logs.
“Who said the sack was empty?”
He’d tricked me once but not again. “If you think I’m going to double-check, you’re wrong.”
Paradise held the hanger, cooling it until he could pinch the red-hot tip between his forefingers. He grabbed a marshmallow and stuffed it on the end. “Hold this in the fire.” He kept his hand on mine and moved behind me, reaching around my ribs, gently clutching me to him.
I took a deep breath and my heart skipped like a rock on a pond.
“Hey, Waylon,” Paradise called out. I felt his breath move through my hair like a warm whisper. “What’s that song? Something about the Texas moon?”
Waylon strummed a few chords on his guitar.
“How does it go?” Paradise hummed some until Waylon piped in a few words.
Levi and Lacey quit talking.
Cal peeked around the fire, watching and listening.
Waylon sang in as natural a voice as he spoke. No gooselike nasal honk. No wheezy breathing. Paradise had gotten him to sing without Waylon ever thinking about it. And it wasn’t half bad. Kind of twangy, but honest and authentic sounding. We’d all assumed Waylon couldn’t sing, but he could. He just needed for someone to believe in him and Paradise did.
Waylon continued to play his guitar and sing in the cold night. I pulled the skewer from the fire. The marshmallow smoked some, but the outside was a dark honey color. Paradise squeezed it and a square of chocolate between two graham crackers.
Paradise Page 11
