No Place Like Home
Page 14
“Stay out of this,” I snap.
“He’s right,” Dad says. He doesn’t even take his eyes off the TV, and I can’t believe he’s abandoning me instead of being my ally. “That’s too dangerous. And besides, you know how excited Mom is for us to spend family time together.”
“This is so unfair. It’s Heart Grenade’s big night. We worked so hard to win the Battle of the Bands at the mall, and now I can’t claim our prize.”
“We’ve been over this already, Carmen. You made a commitment to be in your cousin’s wedding,” Mom says. She’s finally hung up the phone, probably so she can direct all her attention toward continuing to ruin my night.
“But that was before we won.” I try to reason with her. “When am I ever going to be on TV again?”
“You’ll survive,” Mom says.
But I’m really not sure I will. Our local station is broadcasting Heart Grenade’s concert to everyone during the evening news, and I won’t be a part of it.
“You don’t understand. Anyone could be watching. I’m pretty sure Taylor Swift got discovered in a similar way.”
“And I also bet that she went to all her family weddings,” Mom says. She touches up her bright red lipstick in the mirror and doesn’t seem to care at all that my life is ending. “It’s good to spend time as a family.”
“Well, you got your wish,” I say.
“How about you try to have fun? You might even find that being at this wedding isn’t so awful, mi pajarita.”
She tries to pull me into a hug that I most definitely do not want.
I wiggle out of it and back away. “Fun? You don’t understand anything! When I have daughters, I’m always going to listen to them and make sure I support everything they want to do.”
I huff and puff all the way to the bathroom to make sure everyone knows how mad I am. I slam the door and sit on the edge of the bathtub.
This is a million times more horrible than I’d imagined. I pull out my cell phone and send a text to Tess.
Help! Emergency! Come save me STAT!!! This is a tragedy! I need to be with all of you!
I wait for her to reply and wish that she really could come to save me. But when you’re stuck an entire state away in a hotel room, that’s pretty much impossible.
Someone bangs on the door.
“Time’s up, Mrs. Claus. I need to get in there,” Alex yells.
I turn on the water in the tub full blast to drown him out, scroll through my Instagram feed, and torture myself with picture after picture of everyone getting ready for the dance. I burst out laughing at a picture from earlier in the afternoon of my classmate (and Tess’s mortal enemy) Mariah with a green face mask on and the caption, Do you all like my makeup for the dance? Perfect, right?! I scroll through and pause on a cartoon one of my classmates drew of Heart Grenade’s logo. Can’t wait to hear my favorite band live is written on the bottom.
“My life is over!” I wail.
“Carmen, open up right now! This isn’t funny,” Lucas whines. “I drank two cans of soda and need to use the bathroom.”
“Should’ve thought about that before you made fun of my dress.”
I hear Dad yell something with my name in it, so I know it’s only a matter of time before he comes over and tells me to open the door.
I grab for my phone as it lights up, telling me I have a text.
Except it isn’t from Tess.
It’s from Genevieve.
THE Genevieve, who is taking my place tonight as lead singer.
A.k.a. . . . the last person in the world I want to hear from.
Hope the wedding is fun. Wish you were here!
I feel a little better. At least the band is thinking of me.
I’m about to respond when another message from her pops up on the screen.
Any last-minute advice?
Seriously? She’s asking me for advice? That’s like kicking someone when they’re down.
I don’t want to give her advice; I want to be up there onstage. I fight back tears while Lucas continues to pound on the door and Alex sings Christmas carols. And his song choice couldn’t be better, because it’s going to be a “Silent Night” for me as the lead singer of Heart Grenade.
GENEVIEVE { 6:31 P.M. }
IT’S MY FIRST NIGHT AS the Lead Singer of Heart Grenade. And if I have anything to say about it, it’ll also be my last.
I’ve always loved to sing. I still love to sing. The thing is, I only love to perform if I’m in the background or part of a group, where my voice can blend with everyone else’s. When I sing at church or in select choir at school, it’s impossible to pick individual voices apart, so I’m able to squash down the panic that tries to claw its way up from my stomach every time I step onto a stage. But just the thought of being pinned alone in a bright white spotlight like a spider trapped under a plastic cup is enough to make me feel sick.
Why does Carmen’s cousin have to get married today of all days? And what was I thinking when I told the band I’d fill in as lead singer? I should’ve told them I wasn’t ready for this. But none of the Heart Grenade girls know me very well yet—I only joined the band last month, after they kicked out their last backup singer for skipping too many rehearsals—and I was afraid they’d drop me, too, if I said no. Then again, they’ll probably throw me out anyway if I mess up tonight for them.
I figure maybe I’ll feel more confident if I at least look like the lead singer I’m supposed to be, so I change into the outfit my best friend, Sydney, helped me pick out. Shimmery silver tank top. Leopard-print skirt with tulle underneath, a hand-me-down from my cousin. Lime green jacket. Glittery black tights. I top it all off with my lucky green Chuck Taylor high-tops.
I am a rock star, I think to myself. But when I look in the mirror, I can’t totally tell whether this look says rock star or victim of a fabric store explosion. Syd will be able to help when she gets here. She’s really into fashion blogs all of a sudden.
There’s a knock on my bedroom door. “Gen?” Papa calls. “You dressed?”
“Yeah.” My dads come in, and I spin around to show off my outfit. “Too much?”
“Definitely not. You look great,” Dad says. Then again, I’m not positive he’s the best judge. His shirt is such a vivid shade of orange that it almost hurts to look at it, and he’s not even dressed up for a special occasion. All he’s doing tonight is watching TV with Papa.
A little shiver of fear zings up my spine when I remember that one of the things they’ll be watching is me. They wanted to come to school and see my performance live, but I told them it would be much cooler to see me on TV. Really, it’s mostly because I don’t want to see their faces fall if I completely freeze up.
“Want me to do a zigzag braid for you?” Papa asks, and I nod. He’s amazingly good with hair for someone who shaves his head. Sydney always tries to do cool stuff with my mass of wild curls, but she can never wrestle them into submission the way Papa can. Syd’s hair is the complete opposite of mine: blond and soft and stick straight.
I sit down on the floor, and Papa perches behind me on the bed and starts braiding. The movement of his fingers against my head is soothing. “How’re you feeling about tonight?” he asks.
I’ve never told Dad and Papa how scared performing makes me—I don’t want them to know I’m not brave like they are. They’re in this amazing gay men’s chorus, and both of them sing lead all the time. Neither of them has any idea I was offered a solo in this spring’s choir concert and turned it down because I was terrified. They think I auditioned for Heart Grenade because I wanted to try singing a different kind of music, not because I thought it might help me get comfortable singing in smaller groups.
So I try to shove all my panic to the very bottom of my stomach before I shrug and say, “I feel okay, I guess.”
Dad must hear the tiny shake in my voice, because he reaches over and rubs my shoulder. “You’re going to be wonderful. I’m so excited for you.”
“Carme
n did a great job at the Battle of the Bands, but I think you have a better voice,” Papa says. “I heard you practicing in the shower yesterday, and you sounded spectacular.”
I know he’s trying to boost my confidence, and I love him for it. But the thing is, it doesn’t really matter which of us sounds better. Carmen can handle the pressure of being a lead singer, and I can’t.
“Thanks,” I say anyway. I’m glad I’m facing away from him so I don’t have to force a smile.
About the Author
Dee Romito is a former elementary teacher and the author of The BFF Bucket List and coauthor of Best. Night. Ever. Always a traveler at heart, she saved her pennies to see Big Ben in London, hit the road to attend the Atlanta Olympics, and now plans trips to magical kingdoms and faraway places with her family. But while she loves to find new adventures, she fully agrees with Dorothy that there’s no place like home. You can visit her website at DeeRomito.com.
IF YOU LIKED NO PLACE LIKE HOME, THEN YOU’LL LOVE BEST. NIGHT. EVER.
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Aladdin M!X
SIMON & SCHUSTER, NEW YORK
Also by Dee Romito
The BFF Bucket List
Best. Night. Ever.
with coauthors
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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First Aladdin M!X paperback edition September 2017
Text copyright © 2017 by Dee Romito
Cover illustration copyright © 2017 by Annabelle Metayer
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Cover designed by Jessica Handelman
Interior designed by Tom Daly
The text of this book was set in Excelsior LT Std.
Library of Congress Control Number 2017932243
ISBN 978-1-4814-9109-9 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4814-9108-2 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-4814-9110-5 (eBook)