by Kellen Hertz
He hung up and turned back to me, his mouth clamped into a worried line.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” he said abruptly, pushing his hood off his head. “Jude keeps saying he wants me to come home.”
I couldn’t really tell if Logan was sad or angry. It seemed like he was both, which made it tough to figure out what to say. I started to speak, but Logan pocketed his phone and pushed past me.
Irritation jolted through me, and I struggled to keep my temper in check. Logan was clearly stressed out about something, I thought, but telling him that we might have blown our chance to record an album wasn’t going to make him feel any better. I decided not to tell Logan what I’d overheard … at least not right now.
I followed Logan back to the lobby. As we all rolled our suitcases to the elevators together, Dad and Zane studied our faces. I looked over at Logan, who just looked bored. I gave them my biggest smile, hoping to convince them that everything was fine—even though everything was definitely not fine.
Once we were in the room, I put on my pajamas while Dad found a movie on TV. As we watched, I had to stop myself from turning to him to talk about what I’d heard. But I didn’t want him to think I’d been eavesdropping on him and Zane on purpose. When the credits finally started rolling, I turned off the light by my bed and tried to fall asleep.
It didn’t work. I couldn’t stop mulling over what Zane had said. The thought that Logan and I might never get to record the songs we’d worked so hard to create really upset me. I exhaled, turning over for the millionth time.
“Everything okay, sweetheart?” Dad said from his bed.
I hesitated. I wanted to talk to Dad, but I knew that it wouldn’t do any good. After all, Zane was the one I needed to convince that Logan and I were ready to make a record. So I just said, “I’m having trouble winding down.”
“Well, tomorrow’s a big show,” Dad said. “Just try and clear your mind.”
He switched off his light, and I nestled into my pillow, turning over. But as I stared into the blackness, my mind was far from clear.
We have three shows left, I reasoned to myself. Logan and I need to be great at all of them. Starting tomorrow, we need to prove ourselves to Zane all over again.
My head ached when I woke up the next morning, as if worrying had kept my forehead scrunched up all night. I slung my legs off the bed and sat up. The room was chilly. I moved to a window covered in thick patches of starry frost, and pressed my nose against a clear spot. In the parking lot outside, people fought the wind as they tramped to their cars, their breath hanging in frozen clouds around them.
Once I’d showered and dressed, Dad and I met Logan and Zane at the hotel restaurant downstairs for breakfast.
“Today should be a nice break for you two. You don’t play until one o’clock this afternoon, which leaves some time for you to relax,” Zane said as we finished up our pancakes and bacon.
I glanced at the clock on my phone. It wasn’t even ten o’clock.
“What should we do until the show?” I asked.
Zane handed the server his credit card and checked his phone. “Up to you,” he said. “I need to work for a little bit after this. I’m still double-checking details for tomorrow.”
“Maybe we can walk around and go check out Kingsport,” I suggested to Dad and Logan.
Logan looked at me in disbelief. “Are you kidding? It’s T-minus freezing out there.”
“So?” I said, a little defiantly. “It could still be fun.”
After breakfast, Dad and I headed for the hotel’s sliding front entrance. The moment we stepped outside, however, bitter, thrashing wind beat us back into the lobby, teeth chattering. So much for exploring Kingsport, I thought in frustration.
Dad shrugged. “Why don’t you and Logan work on a new song?” he asked.
“Good idea,” I said. Or maybe this would be a good time to talk to Logan about what Zane told Dad, I thought.
I found Logan settled in a lobby chair, headphones on. I sat down in the chair next to his.
“Hey,” I said.
He didn’t respond so I poked him in the arm. He looked up and pulled out an earbud.
“I have to tell you something,” I whispered.
“What?” he said, his voice sharp. “I’m busy.”
I felt like steam was about to shoot out my ears. But then I spotted Dad rifling through a stack of magazines across the lobby, and took a deep, calming breath. The last thing Logan and I needed was for Dad to witness another argument before our next show.
Logan waved his hand in front of me. “Earth to Tenney,” he said impatiently. “Were you going to tell me something or not?”
“Never mind,” I said. I stood up and left him alone.
For the next hour, I tried to entertain myself. I wandered around the hotel taking a video, and sent it to Jaya, Holliday, and my family so they could see what I was up to. I played games on my phone and listened to music, but even after listening to a whole album of Patsy Cline B-sides, I still had time to kill. I never realized going on tour involved so much waiting, I thought. In my imagination, I’d pictured myself exploring cool places, taking photos, eating new foods. But so far, I hadn’t had a chance to do too much of that.
Bored out of my mind, I finally went back to our hotel room.
“Hey there,” Dad said, looking up from his laptop as I came in. “Did you and Logan manage to write your next big hit?”
I smiled, but changed the subject.
“What are you doing?” I asked, walking over.
“I was just checking out how many views your ‘Reach the Sky’ videos have gotten,” he said, standing up to stretch. “This one’s gotten nearly forty thousand now.”
“Really?” I said, peering over his shoulder at the computer screen.
“Zane put a link underneath it to your tour website,” Dad said, pointing it out. “And the views have actually picked up since the tour started, which is good. I bet we’re going to see quite a crowd at today’s show. It was definitely the right call to do a tour now.”
Except now you and Zane aren’t sure that we’re ready to cut an album, I thought silently. A big crowd at today’s show would be great, but it also meant more pressure on me and Logan. We had to be incredible. I stood up, feeling my stomach tighten in a nervous knot.
“You okay?” Dad asked, cocking a curious eyebrow at me.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I said, as confidently as I could. The last thing I needed was Dad telling Zane that I was anxious. That could be just another mark against me. “I should get ready.”
I changed into my show outfit, put on simple stage makeup and pulled my hair into a thick French side braid. By the time I put on the guitar-pick necklace that Aubrey had made for me, it was time to get going.
“How long do we have for sound check?” I asked as Zane turned onto the highway.
“Ten or fifteen minutes,” Zane replied.
“Any way we can get longer?” I asked.
“Why would we need any longer?” Logan asked me, frowning. “We’ve been rehearsing for weeks—our set is tight.”
“I just feel like we could use a little extra time to warm up today,” I said, as evenly as I could. “It couldn’t hurt.”
Logan shook his head. “Don’t overthink it,” he said. “We just need to get through the set.”
I stared at him in disbelief. Ugh! Every ounce of me wanted to shake Logan and lecture him about how crucial this show was, but I couldn’t do that in front of Dad and Zane.
We turned onto a wide, tree-lined street. As the van slowed down, I looked out my window. The view made me gasp in surprise. A crowd of preteens bundled in hats and coats against the cold waited to get inside. There must have been around fifty of them trailing from the auditorium’s front doors down the steps to the white marquee sign out front. A cluster of girls took a photo of themselves next to the sign that announced TODAY @ 1:00 P.M.: TENNEY & LOGAN HOLIDAY CONCERT!
“Whoa,” Logan said, leaning over my shoulder to see through the window. “Are they waiting for us?”
“Yes, sir,” Zane said with a lopsided grin. “You see? Word’s getting out about you two.”
Zane pulled around to the rear of the building, so that we could enter out of sight from the audience. We’d barely parked when a pair of auditorium technicians swarmed us and started unloading gear from the back of the van. I caught a glimpse of satisfaction on Logan’s face. Finally, he was getting the crew he had been hoping for.
Maybe that will cheer him up, I thought.
Inside, the auditorium stage manager showed us to the dressing rooms, where we left our guitars. As soon as we got settled, we tuned our instruments and hit the stage for sound check. The stage was huge, nearly as wide as the Ryman Auditorium’s. Zane was already onstage when we arrived, setting up Logan’s drum kit.
Sound check felt like it passed in a heartbeat. Logan and I didn’t talk much to each other; we were both focused on our instruments. Finally, Dad and Zane went offstage, leaving us alone.
I stepped over to my double microphone. Although I couldn’t see the audience because the curtain was closed, I could hear a hubbub of voices on the other side. My stomach clenched with a sudden burst of nerves.
“How many people are out there?” I asked the stage manager.
“Last time I checked, they’d sold nearly three hundred tickets,” he replied.
An icy, electric thrill charged through me. It was the biggest audience we had played for yet—by a long shot. This could be our first great concert on tour! I realized.
I glanced at Logan. He was sitting motionless behind his kit, sticks in hand, but his expression looked like he was a million miles away. It made me nervous.
“Hey,” I said softly. His eyes met mine.
In that moment, I had another urge to tell him what I had overheard, that Zane was losing faith in us, that this show, more than any other one we’d ever played together, had to be amazing if we wanted to ensure that we still had a shot at making a record. But I was too scared to say all that so close to going on.
Instead I just blurted, “This show’s really important.”
Logan gave me a squinty, confused look. “Every show is important,” he told me.
“Yeah, but this show—” I started. But just then, the audience grew quiet as a voice boomed over the intercom.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, all the way from Music City, USA, Tenney and Logan!”
The audience cheered, and my heart started beating double time.
The stage manager signaled that the curtain was going up and the work lights above us turned off. In the dark, my whole body felt electrified. Then the stage lights came up, fast and bright. I wobbled and caught my microphone stand with one hand, steadying myself, as Logan launched into our first song, an energetic rock version of “Deck the Halls.”
We were strong and quick for the first four measures. Then Logan’s drumming got messy. His tempo kept shifting. At first he was too fast, but when I shot him a look he overcorrected and got too slow before we finally fell back in sync. We finished the song okay and the audience clapped enthusiastically, but the smile on my face felt glued on. Underneath, I was anxious.
By now my eyes had adjusted, and I could see there was a good-sized audience in the cavernous room. Along with a few adults, most of the crowd were kids roughly the same age as me and Logan.
“Thank you so much,” I told them. “We’re thrilled to be here.”
I paused, waiting for Logan to kick into our next song, but he didn’t.
I glanced over. Behind his drums, Logan was looking at me expectantly, as if I was supposed to do something. I raised my eyebrows and he snapped to it, starting in on the rhythmic intro to “Carolina Highway.”
A few measures in, Logan fell off-tempo again. He missed a cue on his verse solo, came in late, and messed up the lyrics.
When the song was over, I turned to Logan. “What is going on?” I hissed at him under my breath as the crowd cheered. “You’re falling apart!”
Logan sneered. “I made one mistake,” he said, bristling. “You’re overreacting.”
“You made three mistakes, and I’m not overreacting!” I snapped.
Logan rolled his eyes, and peppery anger flared in my chest. I took a deep breath and resisted the urge to yell at Logan in front of the entire audience.
“Just … get it together,” I told him as politely as I could. The applause died down, and I turned back to the audience with a smile. I realized I was clenching my guitar in an iron grip. I forced open my fingers and stretched them, trying to breathe calmly.
The rest of the show went by in a blur. Logan stopped having tempo problems, so we sounded better. Still, after our argument it was hard for me to enjoy playing. Even though we sounded great, we could hardly look each other in the eye. Much to my relief, the audience seemed to be enjoying the music. Their applause grew louder after each song.
When it was time to perform “Cold Creek Christmas,” Logan grabbed his guitar off its stand by the drum kit and moved to a microphone beside me. We stood side by side and played the song from start to finish perfectly, our guitars and voices blending into one shimmering sound. We sounded beautiful, but all I felt was lonely.
We played a brisk, upbeat rendition of “Reach the Sky” to end our set. As we finished the song, the crowd let out a roar of approval.
“Thank you!” I said, beaming at the crowd as Logan came up to join me. The applause continued after we took our bows.
“Maybe we should play an encore,” I murmured. There was no reply. “Logan?” I said, but when I turned in his direction, he was already making his way offstage.
We spent nearly an hour after the Kingsport Auditorium show talking to audience members in the lobby. It was a whirlwind of selfies and hugs and autographing EPs. The whole thing felt like an incredible dream where I was everyone’s favorite person … well, everyone except Logan Everett’s. We pretty much ignored each other through the whole thing, even when we had to pose for pictures together.
The Hayden sisters and their mom had made it to the show, and ended up staying the entire time, talking nonstop about the concert. It turned out Zane had gotten them seats in the third row.
“It was awesome!” Corinne said, wrapping her arms around me in a bone-crushing hug.
“It was,” echoed Emily as we gave them all hugs. “Thank you both again so much.”
As they left, I waited for Logan to scowl at me or say something rude, but he just walked away. Clearly, he was still mad about our argument onstage. I tried not to let it get under my skin, but I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t like I had done anything wrong, but Logan was treating me like I was the one who almost ruined our show!
Once the van was loaded, we headed to a pizzeria for an early dinner and discussed the show. Well, Dad and Zane discussed it. Logan and I mainly glowered at our food and avoided eye contact with each other.
“According to my tally, we sold fifty-two EPs and just under three hundred tickets,” Dad said, consulting his phone. “And we’ve sold a total of ninety-four EPs so far.” Zane let out a low whistle.
“Not too shabby,” he said, winking at me and Logan. “Of course, what really counts is how you guys felt about the show.”
Logan said nothing.
“I thought it went okay,” I managed.
Zane’s eyebrows shot up. “Only okay?” he said. “That’s a shame. I thought y’all had a rocky start, but you finished strongly. In my opinion, you both played with a lot of fire.”
“Great,” I said, feeling slightly relieved. Although I’d sensed that the audience had enjoyed the show, for me it was a blur of emotion. The only thing I remembered clearly was the expression on Logan’s face when I’d told him he was falling apart.
I darted a glance at Logan. To my surprise, he was looking at me.
“I guess I wasn’t so terrible after all,�
� he muttered under his breath.
Frustration turned my cheeks hot. The last thing I needed was for Logan to tell Zane and Dad about our argument onstage. In their eyes, that would just be more evidence that we weren’t ready to cut a record. But I couldn’t say any of that out loud, so instead I shoved a breadstick in my mouth and stared at my plate.
Zane and Dad didn’t seem to hear Logan’s comment.
“We’ve got an hour before it gets dark,” Zane said, checking his watch. “Anyone feel like being a tourist?”
“I’m up for it,” Dad said amiably. “Tenney, what do you think?”
This morning I’d have given away my lucky guitar pick to have the chance to explore a new town. But right now, I just wanted to be alone. I shook my head.
Dad gave me a curious look. “All right then. How about you, Logan?”
Logan stared at his shoes. “No, thanks,” he said. “I’m actually kind of tired.”
“I’m not surprised after that great concert you two put on this afternoon,” Zane said. “Maybe it’s better that you two rest up. We have a big day tomorrow!”
We all nodded. Tomorrow was the last and busiest day of our tour. We were playing a show in the morning in Sevierville, then driving two hundred miles across the state to play an evening show in Thompson’s Station, a pocket-sized town outside Nashville, before driving home. Every minute was going to be jam-packed.
As we put on our coats and scarves, my phone vibrated with a new text, and I pulled it out.
Mom had sent me a photo. It showed Waylon in his doggy reindeer antlers and red Rudolph nose, his tongue lolling in a doggy smile as he posed with Mason and Aubrey at the Howl-iday Ramble. They all looked so happy, as if they didn’t miss me at all.
Sadness cut through me. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve and instead of enjoying my favorite time of the year with my family, I was going to be playing two more shows with sour, unfocused Logan. For the first time since we’d left Nashville, I really wished I wasn’t on tour anymore. I just wanted to get our last two shows over with and go home.
It was snowing by the time we left the restaurant, tiny flakes that melted before they hit the ground. Logan glanced at me a couple of times as we walked through the cold, but he didn’t say anything, so neither did I.
