by Kellen Hertz
As soon as we got inside, Zane headed to the business center and Logan said he had to make a call and peeled off before anyone could say anything.
Dad and I headed back to our room. As we waited in the elevator, I leaned against him. I wished I could tell him about my argument with Logan during the show, but I didn’t want to say or do anything that might jeopardize whatever chance we had left to record an album. And if I was being honest, I really didn’t feel like talking to anyone right now, even Dad.
I think he sensed that, because he didn’t ask me any questions. When we got to our hotel room, he opened it with the sliding key, then turned to me.
“I’m gonna go do a little exploring,” he said. “You seem like you need some time alone.”
“Yeah,” I admitted, thankful that he knew me so well.
Dad nodded. “I know touring can be hard, Tenney,” he said carefully. “It’s okay if you’re not having fun all the time. It’s still going to make you a better performer. You just have to get through the tough times.”
I nodded. I knew he was right, but that didn’t make me feel any better.
After Dad left, I shut the door and I set my guitar on the bed, lying down beside it. I still felt a jumble of emotions: sad and angry, ashamed and lonely, and most of all homesick.
I glanced at the hotel window. Snowflakes hit the glass and melted into droplets of water, like miniature tears. The few cars in the parking lot were coated in dirty-looking frost, and the sky was heavy with gloomy gray clouds. The one dash of color was a red Christmas ribbon that someone had tied in a bow to a streetlight. As I watched the ribbon’s loose ends flutter in the wind, the holiday song I’d been working on floated back into my mind.
I sat up, feeling a pulse of inspiration. I grabbed my songwriting journal and a pen from my backpack and took out my guitar, and curled up in a comfy soft chair by the window. I looked out at the wintry view and played my new melody, thinking about the day. My belly burned as I remembered how upset I’d gotten at Logan for his mistakes during the concert, and how smug he’d been at dinner.
He didn’t seem bothered at all by the glitches that had nearly ruined our first three shows. But when we were offstage he seemed angry, as if everything I said or did was spoiling our tour. As if I was a nuisance. As if he would rather be touring without me.
I set my guitar on the floor and grabbed my journal. Ideas and images started exploding in my brain, describing all the things I’d been feeling since we started the tour. I wrote about everything: about my loneliness, and the cold of winter; about missing home and my family; and about the red ribbon on the streetlamp. I had so many thoughts, I felt like I couldn’t write them down fast enough. Within minutes, I had nearly two pages of lyric ideas.
I took a deep breath. The air felt electric in my lungs, and I wanted to keep going.
I hauled my guitar back onto my lap and played what I had of my song’s structure, looking at my idea brainstorm. As I did, lyrics started flowing.
Sometimes when I write a song, I end up having to twist and change words far away from my original idea to make it work musically. Not this time. The deeper I got into the song, the more quickly the music and lyrics seemed to fall into a seamless whole. It wasn’t the fun, silly tune I’d imagined writing when I first thought about creating a holiday song, but somehow it was better. It was a song that made my homesickness and anger seem real and valid, and working on it had made me feel like I was closer to home.
I managed to get to the end of the song and play it through a few times before the room door clicked open and Dad poked his head in.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“Okay,” I replied, stretching out my fingers.
When Dad slipped inside, I saw he was carrying a pair of paper drink cups. He set them on the hotel desk and fished a little paper bag out of his jacket.
“I got us hot chocolates and a cookie for dessert,” he said, handing me a cup.
I took a sip of chocolate and pulled the cookie out of the bag, a fat little snowman gleaming with sugar. His jaunty smile made me laugh.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said.
He kissed my head and hung an arm around me in a hug. “You seem to be feeling a little better,” he said.
“I am,” I said, taking another sip. And as warmth seeped through me, I realized I really meant it.
I awoke the next morning to Dad gently sweeping the hair from my face. It was pitch-black and chilly, and it still felt like the middle of the night.
I peeked one eye open and looked at the clock. “Six thirty?” I asked. “Too early.”
“Come on, kiddo. Rise and shine,” Dad said softly, flipping on the lamp next to my bed. “Let’s get moving. We’ve got a big day ahead. You’ll have plenty of time to sleep in your own bed when we get home tonight.”
Home tonight! The best two words I’d heard all week. I jumped out of bed and showered and dressed quickly, trying to ignore the damp draft seeping through the hotel windows. It was only slightly warmer in the lobby when we brought down our suitcases to check out. Outside, the sky was a bitter gray swirl, and the wind was sharp, but we didn’t let it slow us down. We grabbed doughnuts at a coffee shop and by seven thirty, we were heading south on I-81.
“Last day of the tour!” Zane announced with a grin. “How’s everybody feeling?”
I peered at Logan. He was staring down at his phone as usual.
“Good,” I replied, speaking for both of us. “I’m great actually.”
Logan avoided my gaze. “How far is it to Sevierville?” he asked.
“A little under ninety miles,” Zane said. “But y’all don’t go on until ten thirty. We should be there way before sound check.” He glanced at me in the rearview mirror and gave me a wink.
“Then once it’s done, we pack up and get all the way back to Thompson’s Station for the seven o’clock show,” Dad said.
“And then we head home,” I finished, my voice lilting up in enthusiasm.
“Yup,” Zane confirmed. “If we do this right, we’ll be back in Nashville by ten o’clock this evening, just in time for Christmas.”
I nodded. Tonight, I would get to kiss my mom good night, and sleep in my own bed with Waylon at my feet, and wake up for Christmas with my family. The idea made me so happy, I gave myself a little hug.
“Y’all just need to play two phenomenal shows first,” Zane said with a smile.
“Easy as pie,” Dad echoed.
I felt like a bubble had just popped. I’d been so immersed in my daydream of being home, I’d stopped thinking about how important these last two shows were. If Logan and I fell apart onstage, there was no way Zane would think we were ready to record an album.
Both shows have to be fantastic, I thought, glancing at Logan. He was slouched in the seat beside me, wearing headphones and a glum expression. Although part of me was still frustrated over our argument yesterday, I knew that I had to break the ice between us before we started our next show or else our performance would be doomed.
Impulsively, I tapped Logan on the shoulder.
“Yeah?” he said curtly, looking at me.
“These shows are going to be fun,” I told him as persuasively as I could muster. “Let’s make them count.”
He blinked, and I pasted on a wide smile, trying to convince him—and myself—that I wanted to mend fences.
“Uh-huh,” Logan grunted, like he was agreeing to take out the garbage, and turned to the window.
I stared at my feet, a lump of angry hurt rising in my throat. I’d tried to be nice and once again, Logan had brushed me off. It took every ounce of my being not to say something sharp to him in that moment, but I held off. The last thing we needed was for Dad and Zane to see us fighting any more than we already were.
I rested my forehead against the window’s cool glass, trying to calm down. Forget Logan, I told myself. I’ll just have to do everything I can to make our next two shows great.
The sky look
ed like a stormy sea the whole way to Sevierville, a pretty pint-sized town near the edges of the Smoky Mountains where Dolly Parton grew up. I’d never been there, but as we drove up the main street, it felt cozy and familiar. Clusters of shoppers passed in and out of festively decorated storefronts. Thousands of twinkle lights lined every eave and window. The lights hung in wide looped garlands across the intersections and wrapped around the trees along the road. It felt like the town was glowing with joy under the dark winter clouds.
“Wow,” I breathed. “What is this?”
“Winterfest,” Dad said. “Sevierville does this every year for the holidays.”
“So cool,” Logan said wonderingly.
In that moment, his gaze caught mine. To my surprise, Logan didn’t scowl or turn away. He just looked sad, and that made me sad. I wanted to talk to him, but not in front of Dad and Zane.
When we pulled up to Sevier Middle School, the parking lot was nearly full. Groups of kids and parents were making their way inside.
“There’s your audience,” Zane said, grinning over his shoulder at me and Logan.
We parked behind the school auditorium. A round man in a Santa hat met us outside and introduced himself as the concert organizer. He grabbed a walkie-talkie from his belt and called out a few stagehands to help unload our gear, and then escorted us inside. As Dad and Zane set up our instruments, Logan and I followed the man in the Santa hat through cement hallways to a classroom, where he left us to warm up. But when the door closed, Logan turned to me with the same sad expression he’d had in the van.
“What is going on with you?” he asked quietly.
“With me?!” I said, surprised. “You’re the one acting like you don’t want to be here.”
Logan clenched his jaw, but he didn’t deny it. “Maybe if you weren’t acting so crazy, I would—”
“How am I acting crazy?” I interrupted, outrage turning my voice into a squeak.
“Yesterday you yelled at me during a show to get it together,” he said, “and now you’re acting like that never happened.”
“I was trying to be nice to you because I don’t want you to fall apart onstage again!” Logan winced, but I kept going. “We have to be awesome! We can’t bomb another show or else Zane will—” I hesitated.
“Or else Zane will what?” Logan said, looking confused.
I took a deep breath. “I overheard Zane and Dad talking about us,” I explained. “They’ve been noticing that we’re not getting along. And Zane basically said if the rest of our tour performances weren’t great, then we probably weren’t ready to cut an album.”
Alarm sparked in Logan’s eyes. “He said that?” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’ve been trying to,” I countered. “But you always had your headphones on, or were staring at your phone like the last thing you wanted to do was talk to me. I didn’t want to give you one more reason to be in a bad mood.”
“So instead you kept crucial information about our musical future to yourself,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.
As soon as Logan said it, I realized how wrong I’d been. Of course I should have told him. Logan had worked just as hard for our musical success as I had. It was silly to think he would somehow care any less about it.
But before I could say anything else, Dad knocked on the door and poked his head in.
“Showtime!” Dad said.
I darted a glance at Logan. He looked miserable, but grabbed his drumsticks and jumped up.
We didn’t say anything to each other as we followed my dad down the hall and up a short flight of stairs to the stage. The thin curtain was closed, but through it, I could hear the excited babble of kids’ voices.
Logan slipped behind his kit, pulling his drumsticks out of his back pocket, while I slung on my guitar and moved to my double microphone stand. We each did our own quiet adjustments, getting ready to play, until light clapping from the audience got my attention. On the other side of the curtain, the concert organizer began speaking.
“Welcome, everyone!” he said. “Thank you! We’re delighted that you’re here to celebrate the joy of the season through music with us today.”
As he continued, I glanced over my shoulder at Logan. He was sitting ramrod straight behind his kit, drumsticks poised to play. He refused to look at me.
I took a big breath, preparing myself. Maybe I should just perform as if Logan isn’t here, I thought to myself. But I knew I couldn’t make it through a show like that. We were a team. There was no way we would be great without each other. But right now, I felt like a mountain stood between us.
Deep in my heart, I knew that this show was going to be a disaster—and there was nothing I could do about it.
The curtain opened, revealing a school gymnasium filled with junior high schoolers sitting in long rows that stretched nearly to the back of the room, where some adults stood. When they saw us, a cheer rippled through the room.
Zane and Dad stood next to the stage, whooping and whistling along with the crowd. I smiled, but my stomach churned. I hated the thought of disappointing our fans—and proving to Zane that Logan and I weren’t ready to make an album after all.
Nervously, I counted us off. “Five, six, seven, eight …”
We dove into a bright, twangy version of “Joy to the World.” Our intro started out strong, my guitar strumming perfectly in sync with Logan’s driving tempo. I sang the first few lines before Logan started in on the harmony, our voices joining together perfectly. I kept waiting for Logan’s rhythm to speed up, or for our vocals to go off-key. But as we reached the end of the first chorus, I could hardly believe my ears—we sounded better than ever. Soon people were tapping their feet and clapping along. When we ended the song, the audience erupted in applause.
I smiled and looked back at Logan. He was grinning at the crowd. When our eyes met, he gave me a look that said, “Let’s keep going.”
From there we jumped right into our next song, and then the next. We kept up a brisk pace, never pausing too long between numbers. By the time Logan stood up from his drum kit a few songs later, most of the audience was on their feet.
“Thank you,” I told them as Logan swiped his guitar from its stand and moved to a microphone downstage, checking his tunings.
I stepped back, inhaling deeply. As I did, Logan threw me a nod, letting me know he was ready.
“You may not know that Logan’s so talented, he plays drums and guitar,” I told the audience.
“And Tenney’s so talented, she plays guitar and banjo and writes most of our songs,” Logan added.
I felt my cheeks go pink. “This one’s called ‘Reach the Sky,’” I said. The crowd jumped to their feet and cheered, and I nearly fell over in surprise.
Logan leaned over. “I guess they know this one,” he whispered as our chords weaved together to form the intricate beginning of the song.
I started singing the first verse, and was surprised to hear several audience members singing along. By the time Logan and I started harmonizing on the chorus, more voices had joined in.
Suddenly, a memory flashed in my mind: watching Belle’s concert and wondering whether my music would ever connect with an audience the way hers did.
I looked out at the crowd, watching them sing my lyrics, feeling every word: “Gonna be myself, nobody else. Gonna reach the sky if I only try.” Hearing them sing sent my heart soaring.
I floated through the next hour, posing for photos, signing EPs, and talking until my throat went dry. More than one person asked when we were going to record our first “real” album, which was totally exhilarating. By the time Zane came up and told us we needed to go, I realized I was exhausted.
As we made our way through the hallways back toward the parking lot, Dad told us he had good news. “We sold out of EPs!” he said, his eyes sparkling.
Logan’s jaw dropped open. “That’s impossible!” he said.
“Nope, that’s Tenney and Logan!” Zane
said, clapping his hands on both our shoulders with an exhilarated whoop. “One hundred fifty copies, my friends! You two are on! Your! Way!”
When we reached the parking lot, I noticed that the clouds had gotten darker, and that the wind had started gusting. My breath froze in the air as we made our way to the van. It felt like my cheeks were being blasted by icy crystals.
Once we were inside and shut the doors against the cold, Logan and I looked at each other. We had just played the show of our lives, but we both knew that we still had unsettled business between us. We didn’t really have time to dwell on that, though. We still had one more show to play today, and I didn’t want to ruin the optimism I knew we were both feeling right now. As I settled back into my seat and stared out the front windshield, I felt like I could do anything.
Zane pulled onto a country road, heading east toward Thompson’s Station. “Storm’s coming up faster than I thought,” he murmured, squinting at the sky.
Dad gave a grim nod.
I pressed my forehead to the window. Although it was still afternoon, the sky was dark with muddy storm clouds, the sky bruised dark blue around it.
After a few minutes on the two-lane road, it started sleeting, slushy drops that hit the van’s windows in bursts. A strong gale pummeled the van, and I gasped.
“You okay, Tenney?” Dad said.
I nodded, forcing myself to be calm.
“Don’t worry,” Dad said reassuringly.
I looked out the windshield. Ahead of us, the road stretched like a narrow gray river without end. We pushed onward. After about twenty minutes, the sleet thickened into snow. The wind was louder now, and I could hear the low rumble of thunder in the distance.
“The drive might take longer than we thought,” Zane said, not taking his eyes off the road.
“That’s okay. Safety first,” Dad said, sounding tense.
After another fifteen minutes, it was snowing so hard that we slowed to a crawl. The road grew slushier and visibility got even worse. That’s when the van started making noises. Well, one noise, really: a wheezing sound that started as we climbed uphill, like the van was protesting having to move.
