by Kasie West
“Avery,” Brooks said. “Going from having never sung a solo for an audience before in your life to what you did out there just now is amazing.”
I sighed. “I might be happier if it was just about getting through it, but it’s about more than that.” I realized in that moment that even though I’d told Maricela and Tia I wanted to lose so it would all be over, I really didn’t. I wanted to get past today, and that thought scared me because I wasn’t sure we would.
The door opened and a girl walked in, looked between me and Brooks, and then shut herself in the farthest stall.
Brooks exited the bathroom fast. I washed my hands and followed him out.
“Let’s find a vending machine,” he said when I joined him. I was too tired to think of a better idea. We found one in a back hall and sat in that same hall with our purchases, our backs leaned against the wall, shoulders touching.
“It’s weird not to have to worry about getting caught together,” I said.
“Good weird?” he asked.
“Yes.” I felt my eyes getting heavy. My lack of sleep was catching up with me. “So good.”
“You should lie down,” he said. “We have time.”
“I’ll just rest my eyes for a bit.” I pulled my backpack close and used it as a pillow.
When I was nearly asleep, I felt a soft touch on my hair. “I don’t resent my dad.”
I was way too tired to try to read into what prompted him to say that, so I said, “That’s good.”
“Sometimes taking care of him can feel overwhelming but only because it’s completely one-sided. But even then, he’s my dad.”
What I said in the bathroom came back to me. I rolled onto my back and looked up at him. “I know, Brooks. I was just feeling stupid. It wasn’t about you, I promise.”
He smirked. “So next time you barf, you’ll let me hold your hair?”
“Let’s hope there isn’t a next time.”
* * *
“Avery, you’re cheating,” Brooks said, even-toned.
I’d slept for at least an hour and now we were sitting in a mostly empty hall off the holding room. His guitar case served as our table as we sat cross-legged on either side of it. Our vending machine wrappers littered the floor around us.
“I’m not.”
“You’re discarding your cards toward yourself so that you know what you’re going to put down. You have to do it facing away.”
“But then you’ll see what I’m putting down.”
“If we do it at the same time, the same way, it won’t matter. Haven’t you ever played slapjack before?”
“Yes, I’m the slapjack champion.”
“Now you know why. Because you cheat.”
I gave an overly dramatic gasp. “You’re just a sore loser.”
“I am the most un-sore loser I know. I am happy to lose.”
“Happy to lose?”
“Ask my brother. I let him win all the time.”
“If he knows you let him win, then you’re not really letting him win, are you?”
“Well, he doesn’t know. He’ll just tell you he wins, and you’ll realize it’s because I let him.”
“Is that what’s happening here?” I held up my fat stack of cards.
“No, you’re cheating.”
I laughed. “Fine, I will ask your brother when we are both back home.”
“Good, then you’ll know. I am the most gracious of game players.”
“So humble, Your Graciousness.”
He laughed, then slid the card in his hand forward. “Should we finish?”
I readied my card and as I put it down, I saw it was a queen going on top of his queen. Huh, he was right. I was seeing the match a second before him. I slapped my hand on top of the pair. His hand went on top of mine almost immediately.
“Do you really think this stack belongs to you?” he asked, not taking his hand off mine. There was a smile in his eyes.
“Yes, it belongs to me.” I let my eyes drop to our hands before they went back to his eyes. “Even though I may have cheated.”
He lifted his hand. “It’s probably good you gave yourself a head start because you are about to go down.”
A group at the end of the hall closer to the holding room got up in a rush. “It’s time!” one of them called back to us.
“I guess we’ll never know if you would’ve beat me or not,” I said.
“I think we both know.” He stood, gathered our trash, and discarded it in a nearby bin. Then he looked at me. There was a guarded anticipation in his eyes.
“You better keep that hope bottled up,” I whispered. “I can see it in there, wanting to come out.”
“I’m just nervous.”
I shook his shoulder. “Stop. That’s my job.”
As we walked, his guitar case between us, he said, “I’ve decided you’re not much better at pep talks than I am.”
“It’s too late for a pep talk. We no longer have any control.” I said that last part in a scary ghost voice.
“You’re a huge dork, Avery Young,” he said.
“I know.”
When we got to the holding room, there was a long line at the door where Clipboard Man had been before.
“What’s going on?” Brooks asked the guy at the back of the line.
“They’re taking groups of ten in and telling them their fate.”
“Good luck,” Brooks said.
“You too,” the guy said before he turned back around and started talking to his bandmates.
It seemed like it took forever before it was our turn. The spotlights had been turned off and the house lights turned on, so now I could clearly make out the five judges in the audience. Two women, probably in their late twenties or early thirties, and three men, at least that age but most likely older. They didn’t look like they’d just discovered the next big music sensation. They looked like they were ready to go home, have a drink, and go to bed.
It surprised me when Brooks reached over and grabbed my hand. He held on to it tight as we stood there with the other nine bands. I squeezed his hand without looking over at him.
“If we call your name, please step forward,” the dark-haired judge in the middle said. Then he started listing off names. Each name called added a new wave of tension across my shoulders.
Brooks’s grip on my hand became so tight it almost hurt. When the sixth name was announced and we weren’t one of them, he dropped my hand. I almost reached back out and grabbed it again when I realized what this must mean. I’d failed us. I was too awkward and inexperienced and not even close to a rock star.
“Front row,” the man said. “I’m sorry. You haven’t been chosen this year. Back row, report to the fairgrounds on August first at noon. Congratulations.”
There was a mixture of shouts of joy and moans of disappointment. I just stood there in shock, not quite understanding what just happened, until Brooks wrapped me up in a hug. “Avery! We did it!” he said against my neck. “We did it!”
I let out a happy squeal and wrapped my arms around him. He spun me around once, then set me down. His smile was bigger than I’d ever seen it.
“I’m so proud of you,” he said.
“Me too!” I said, because I really was. This made him laugh. If joy could be bottled, he would be producing an unlimited supply. I looked around and realized we were the last people on the stage. Everyone else had taken their celebrations or disappointments back out into the side room, leaving a quiet hush.
Brooks gathered up his guitar case from where he’d left it by the back wall and I walked over to the microphone that was still set up. Now that I could actually see the seats instead of just the spotlights, I pretended they were full. I looked over the crowd. I may have sung to five very important people today, but could I s
ing to hundreds…maybe thousands? A calming energy flowed through me and I smiled.
“The chemistry between you and your boyfriend was off the charts,” a voice below me said.
I jumped, then looked down to see one of the judges collecting papers off the end of the stage.
“Thank you…I mean…he’s not my boyfriend.” I looked over my shoulder to have a laugh with Brooks about the comment but he was gone.
“Well, whatever it was,” the judge said, “keep that up for the performance. It was electrifying to watch.”
“Thank you.” I gave a nod and backed away slowly, not wanting to trip over my too-big boots. She picked up the rest of the papers and walked up one of the aisles.
I turned and left as fast as I could manage out the door, where I found Brooks scanning the crowd of people.
“There you are,” he said.
I squatted down and unlaced the boots, sliding my feet free of them. “You know what I forgot?”
“What?”
“Makeup wipes. My parents can’t see me like this. You think we can stop at a grocery store on the way home?”
“No problem.”
“With your money?” I added, realizing I hadn’t brought any cash. “I can pay you back.”
“Considering the favor you just did for me, I’m pretty sure I owe you at least one makeup wipe.”
I nudged his shoulder with mine. “So generous.”
We exited the theater to the parking lot, where everyone was piling into cars. He stepped off the curb in front of me and then cut me off, offering his back. “Want a ride, shoeless?”
I didn’t need a ride. I could’ve just put on my other shoes, the ones now in my backpack, but remembering how good he’d smelled earlier when we hugged, I wasn’t about to turn him down. “Sure.”
“Okay, here, hold my guitar case in one hand and your boots in the other. Will that work?”
“I think so.” I transferred the boots I had been holding in two hands to one and then took his guitar case in the other.
He held his arms to the sides and squatted a little as if bracing himself for some strongman competition.
“You’re not about to drag an airplane,” I said.
“Jump already.”
And so I did. It was a bit awkward trying to position the things in my hands just right over his shoulders, but when he gripped my thighs and hiked me up, my cheek settling against his, I decided that this was the right choice.
Because I knew he couldn’t see me, I closed my eyes and breathed him in.
We pulled into the parking lot of a CVS and he turned off the ignition. “I’ll just run in,” he said, nodding toward my still-bare feet.
I’d deposited all my stuff in the trunk, so I said, “Thank you.”
“Is there a certain brand you like?”
“Neutrogena. It will be a blue package in the face care section.”
“A blue package? I think my mom might have those ones. Give me your phone number and I’ll text you a pic when I find them.”
I gave him my phone number and he entered it into his phone.
“I’ll be fast.”
It was seven o’clock. It would take an hour to get back to the camp. My parents’ spa day ended at eight. I’d barely make it.
Now that my brain wasn’t completely consumed with nerves, I saw that the notifications on my phone were nonexistent. In other words, nobody had texted or Snapped or DMed me in weeks. Nobody had even tagged me in a post. I didn’t want to be disappointed by this, but I was.
My phone buzzed in my hand and I nearly dropped it. A pic of Brooks’s face next to a pack of makeup wipes appeared on my screen. I smiled, then texted back a pic of me holding up my thumb.
I added his name and number to the contact info in my phone. Then I swiped over to each of my social media accounts, double-checking my notifications. Nothing. I pulled up Shay’s latest story, wondering if she’d said anything about our fight. But it was just pics out a car window—trees, a lake, a billboard. Her road trip with Trent, I realized.
Brooks opened the car door and I jumped in surprise.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“What? Yes. Fine.” I turned off the screen and put my phone down.
He tossed the makeup wipes onto my lap.
“Thanks.”
“Checking in with your friends?” he said, nodding toward my phone.
“Sort of. No, not really.”
He turned on the car and backed out of the spot. “Your boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Now that you’ve made it, you should tell your family and friends about the festival. They can buy tickets and come.”
I was super proud that I had helped us make it into the festival, but I didn’t think my parents would understand that it was an accomplishment. They’d only see it as a betrayal. I’d been lying to them. The thought of that made my stomach turn. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. “Why?”
“My parents hate music. They are actively working to have it banned from our town.”
“Really?”
“Did that even sound a little bit possible to you?”
He gave my shoulder a push and laughed. “Yes, obviously it did. So then what’s the real reason?”
“Because I’ve been lying, and not just a little bit.”
“True. But what about other friends? They wouldn’t drive up and watch you perform?”
I flipped the visor down to find the mirror. “Do you mind? Is this blocking your view?”
“It’s fine,” he said.
I clicked on the light. “I guess I’m not that close to a lot of people,” I said, freeing a makeup wipe and getting to work on my face.
“And your boyfriend?” That was the second time he’d asked about a boyfriend. “You and Clay aren’t—”
“Clay? No!” I turned to face him. “You thought Clay and I were together?”
“I know he likes you. I just wondered if you liked him back.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s obvious.”
“Well, I disagree. But we’re friends, sort of,” I said. “I barely know him. What about you? Are you inviting people up?”
“No.”
“You aren’t?”
“No, my mom works two jobs. And it would be impossible for my dad.”
“You should tell your mom, Brooks. Give her the opportunity to support you.”
“I told you, I’m not her favorite person right now.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged.
I took the bobby pins out of my hair and deposited them one by one into the cup holder in the console. “What about your girlfriend? Gwen? Will she come?”
“Gwen? Who’s— Oh! No, she’s my dad’s nurse.”
My shoulders fell with relief.
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Oh…” I undid the braid while trying to hide a smile that wanted to light up my face. “My sister will probably come. I need to tell her now that…this part is done.”
“And Mari, she wanted to come too.”
“That’s right. So see, we’ll have people there.”
I looked down at what I was wearing, knowing my dad would immediately find my outfit suspicious. It wasn’t my standard wardrobe. I buttoned up the flannel I wore, leaving the top two buttons undone, then pulled my arms inside of it and snaked my way out of the tank before pulling it out and over my head. I put my arms back in the flannel sleeves, buttoned another button, and threw the tank behind me onto the seat.
“That was impressive,” he said, pointing to my flannel.
“All girls have this skill—don’t be too imp
ressed.”
He was quiet for a little while and I clicked off the light I’d been using to take off my makeup and settled back against the seat. I watched the yellow lines on the road in front of us.
“I am impressed.”
I let out a sharp breath. “I guess you’re easily impressed, then.”
“No,” he said. “Not the tank top thing. Your performance. You did really good.”
“You already said that,” I said quietly.
“I can’t say it again?”
“It helped to look at you, made me forget what I was doing.” The second that came out of my mouth, my cheeks heated up. “I mean, it made me think we were back in the room at camp and I didn’t have to worry.”
“Good. I’m glad.” He stared straight ahead.
“Now we have to write a second song, right?” I asked.
“Yeah, you up for it?”
“For sure.” I watched mile markers and street signs rush by as we drove.
I turned a heating vent toward me. Brooks’s thumbs tapped a silent beat on the steering wheel. Why had our conversation suddenly dried up? We’d been spending so much time together and never had a problem talking.
Did it have something to do with the fact that I was hyperaware of every breath he was taking? Or every shift he made in his seat. He tucked his hair behind his ear, exposing his jaw, and I wanted to reach over and run a finger along it. I swallowed that desire and turned my attention out the side window.
“Are you still tired?” he asked after a while.
“Yes,” I answered, even though I wasn’t at all. I was wide awake, my senses on high alert.
“We’re almost there,” he said.
I checked my phone. Sure enough, the No service message was back in the corner. We’d made good time. It was ten minutes before eight. I would beat my parents.
The headlights shone on the Bear Meadow sign, and the sound of the turn signal cut through the silence. He turned into the camp and followed the road until he came to a sign that said Employee Lot and turned left. We’d driven this part of camp earlier, on our way out. It took us along the back side of the property. Away from the pools and tennis courts and to a dirt lot filled with a dozen or so dusty cars. He pulled next to a pickup truck and turned off his engine.
