Chapter 16
Hunter hadn’t been kidding when he said the owner of the property for Sol Jam had a lot of space. In Arlington, our houses were practically on top of each other, but out here in the country—which sounded funny, since it was only about forty or so miles away—it was easy to forget the gridlock, the hurried anxiety, and the apathy of a major metropolitan area. The address our GPS directed us toward was down a gravel road, way in the back of a street that had me wondering if a wayward cow might appear any minute.
“Is this the same state we came from?” Tilly wondered out loud.
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
The bumping and jostling finally gave way to a huge mansion sitting atop green grass that seemed to go on forever. I had no idea that much space still existed on private property this close to the city. It was, though, the ideal place for a group of rock-star hopefuls to spend a warm summer evening banging on drums and wailing on a guitar without causing law enforcement to show up.
Tilly parked the car in the circular driveway behind Abby’s brother’s Camaro, and I was almost blinded by the sunlight glinting off its chrome bumper. Satchel over my shoulder, loaded with laptop, camera, and business swag, I headed for the backyard with Tilly trailing behind me, both of us gaping at the oversized wedding cake of a house. We stopped in our tracks when we saw the setup.
I’d been expecting the bands to perform on a patio, with the audience on blankets and maybe a few lawn chairs, but there was an honest-to-goodness stage on the property. Someone handy with a hammer had made a large platform raised several feet off the ground, with scaffolding around the edges, speakers hanging strategically. What looked like a string of twinkle lights had been wrapped around the metal frame, which I bet would look quite festive once the sun went down. Two guys—a little older than me, maybe seniors or college students—were plugging in all sorts of complicated-looking electrical cords and arranging instruments and stands on the stage.
Out in the yard, edged with dense trees, blankets and large pillows all the colors of the rainbow had been strewn about. They looked almost as comfortable as the Schmidts’ couch. A wooden gazebo, also draped with lights, sat at the far end of the yard, and a fire pit flanked with benches was off to the side.
“I think I’m just going to park myself here all night,” I said to Tilly, pointing to an enormous burgundy pillow resting on a navy blanket.
She poked me in the shoulder. “Don’t you have work to do?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I guess Abby would be mad if I ditched her to lie around.” Like she’d heard her name, Abby emerged from a sliding glass door right behind the stage.
“Hey! You made it!” She gave us a big wave and propped her sunglasses up on her head.
“Hey, Abby. This is my stepsister, Tilly. Tilly, this is Abby, my partner in plant removal.”
Abby’s dark brown eyebrows shot up. I hadn’t prepped her for Tilly; I thought the element of surprise might be more fun. “Right. Tilly. Good to meet you.” They shook hands, and Tilly smiled warmly. Abby relaxed. “So, the other bands are trickling in, and there are some guys in the basement warming up. Hunter’s in there with them.”
“What about Kyle and Paolo? And the one who was on vacation?” I looked around the yard, but no one else appeared.
“Paolo is on his way. Kyle and Shay have some school photo thing, they’ll be here later.”
“Are they McIntosh students? Senior pictures started today,” Tilly said.
“Yeah, do you know them?” Abby ran a hand through her curls.
“No, I don’t think so. None of those names sound familiar. I don’t really get out of my ballet bubble very often, though. If they’re in the music program, we wouldn’t have crossed paths often.”
“Ballet bubble? You do have a sense of humor!” I bumped Tilly with my shoulder, and she bumped me back.
“I’m trying it on for size.”
Abby, Tilly, and I sat down in the middle row of blankets to stake our claim, falling into comfortable small talk. I was thankful for Abby’s ability to charm anyone, though Tilly held her own. Other music-lovers of all ages started showing up with picnic baskets and lawn chairs, spreading out in front of the stage to wait for the entertainment to begin.
I kept checking my phone, hoping for a text from Ashlyn, but nothing came. I convinced myself that she was still coming and that perhaps Blue Valley didn’t allow cell phones, or maybe her dad had confiscated it when she’d gotten in trouble. When a decent-sized crowd had gathered and multiple members of other bands had made their rounds of the stage, Hunter finally emerged from the house and made a beeline for us.
He plopped down so close to Abby, their hips touched. I saw her instantly melt in his direction, and resisted calling them out. I knew I shouldn’t laugh; they were cute in all of their awkward flirtishness.
“Are you nervous?” Abby looked at Hunter like no one else was around.
“Yeah, definitely. Last year we did this on a whim, but now we have legit fans. People are coming specifically to hear us. That’s a lot of pressure.” He ran his hands through his blond hair several times like he didn’t know what else to do with them. His foot jittered under his crossed legs. I hoped Abby would give him a hug soon.
She did the next best thing—distraction. Abby held up her reporter’s notebook next to her face and grinned. “So is there anything else I should know about this concert? You know, for the article and all.”
I rolled my eyes in Tilly’s direction, the ghost of a smile appearing on her lips.
“Owen, who owns the house, is this hilarious, former-hippie type. Except he’s loaded, hence the house and property. His son’s band, which started Sol Jam, is on after us. I just talked to Owen inside, actually. He’s going to come out and give a speech.” Hunter shook his head. “He’s a wacky dude, for sure.”
He adjusted his position to a crouch, knees jutting out like a frog’s. “I need to get back, actually. The other guys should be here soon, and we’ll need to warm up a little. We’re doing something new tonight for the first time.”
I saluted him. “Good luck and Godspeed, my friend.”
Tilly just smiled.
Abby grabbed Hunter’s hand and squeezed. “You’ll be fantastic. How could you not?” He winked at her and jogged back into the house.
“That’s it? No good luck kiss?” I mock-shoved her.
“Seriously? Do you think I should have? He wouldn’t have run away screaming?”
“Abby, I think Hunter would appreciate anything you offer him, be it a kiss or a grand gesture. That boy is smitten.”
Her cheeks colored, and she smiled shyly to herself. “Maybe you’re right.”
I shook my head and just laughed at her. Moments later, as Hunter predicted, a rather round man with a long gray beard stepped onto the stage and started tapping the mic. He wore an obnoxious Hawaiian shirt, long board shorts, white athletic socks, and black Velcro sandals.
“Is this thing on? Testing, testing.” Feedback screeched and crackled; I covered my ears until he backed up. The man took the mic out of the stand and smiled. “Great. Hi, everyone. In case you’re new here, I’m Owen. I live there.” He pointed to the house, and I couldn’t help but giggle. He welcomed us to the concert and thanked us for supporting young artists. “We’ve been doing this thing here for several years now, and I’m so proud of how it’s gotten bigger and better each summer. Some people ask me how I justify spending so much on this concert and keeping it free. I like to say I charge a finder’s fee when any of these talented groups of kids signs a recording contract.” He chuckled, and the audience erupted in laughter.
“You think I’m kidding. With the groups we have here tonight, I just might not be far off from that goal.” He winked, and encouraged us to roast the marshmallows and hot dogs he’d provided over by the fire pit.
“We’re totally doing that,” I said, rubbing my tummy. Owen waved at the crowd one more time and ush
ered five terrified-looking kids on stage.
The first three bands were decent, but nothing special or memorable. There were a million bands and singers just like them on the radio, pumping out millions-earning singles and then fading away. I was glad my friends had an original sound.
I turned backward and scanned the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ashlyn’s face, but all I saw was a sea of strangers—happy strangers, but no Ash. My good mood diminished a little bit.
“Are you ready?” Abby grabbed my arm and shook when it was time for the Frisson to play.
“Ab, calm yourself. It’s not the sixties, and they’re not the Beatles.”
“Oh, I’ve always been more of a Stones girl.”
I laughed. “Maybe Hunter will do some Jagger swagger.”
As if I’d called to him, Hunter took the stage. Any signs of nerves from earlier had fled, and in place of the anxious boy was a confident young man, ready to command the microphone. He’d slicked his floppy hair into a faux hawk and changed into a plain black T-shirt and jeans. He was barefoot, which I thought was a bold move on the wooden stage, but if he wasn’t afraid of splinters, more power to him. To his right, Kyle stood, surly as always, hand on his bass, scowling at the crowd.
Tilly leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I recognize the bass player. I think he used to go out with one of the dancers in my program.”
“Really? He seems like he doesn’t really like people,” I whispered back, and then smiled to myself. Whispering with Tilly was nice.
Paolo and his drum kit were elevated on a smaller platform at the back of the stage. He was the antithesis of Kyle, a big goofy grin on his face, wavy golden-brown hair sweeping his brows. I turned my eyes to the elusive fourth member, seated at the upright piano someone had wheeled out on stage, and sucked in a sharp breath. This time, I grabbed Abby’s arm.
“Ab, that’s Shay?”
She looked at me like I’d lost my marbles. “Yes,” she said slowly. “Why? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I kind of did. Do you remember that conversation we had about missed opportunities way back at the beginning of summer?”
“Sure.”
“That’s him. Shay is the guy from the showcase.”
“No way! He’s your hot guy? Small world.”
I didn’t know whether to sit up straighter and hope he noticed me, shrink back and hide under a pillow, or jump up and down and wave my arms, yelling “Hey, remember me?” I did none of the above, but sat there frozen in place, waiting for the music to start.
“Hey, everyone, how are you feeling tonight? We are, proudly, the Frisson.” Hunter’s stance at the microphone was natural, like he was born to be on stage. I looked over at Abby, her eyes focused on him and his on her. The crowd, a veritable ocean of people, clapped and whooped. They clearly had some fans. “Thank you so much for coming. We appreciate the support and love seeing so many familiar faces. We’re going to start with one of our favorites.”
Paolo clacked his drum sticks together loudly and Shay started tapping out the opening notes of what I quickly recognized as Where’s Summer B? by Ben Folds Five. A quirky classic and the perfect opening number, it got all four guys singing and oo-oo-ooing into their mics. The crowd immediately responded by singing along with them, and before I knew it, the laid-back concert had turned into an enthusiastic party. Hunter took the microphone out of its stand and marched back and forth as the guys behind him swayed and tapped their toes while singing. Paolo and Kyle were into it, but Shay was mesmerizing. He was so happy, dancing at his piano and making overexaggerated faces while he played; the stage was his element, and during the complicated piano solo, the audience responded with clapping and hollering. In some ways, his bouncy, joyful performance was more captivating than Hunter’s strutting. I couldn’t look anywhere else but at him.
When the song ended, I clapped wildly, cheering as loudly as I could. I felt a smattering of privilege that I knew these guys, and was proud to be taking part in working to get them some more recognition. I hoped the article Abby would write would be successful. How could it not be?
“I’m going to go up closer to take some pictures. Tatum, take notes.” Abby hopped up and dusted off her shorts.
“Me too, if you don’t mind. Their drummer’s cute.” Tilly stood up, while Abby and I exchanged a look asking Who is this girl? Abby shrugged.
“Sure, you can help.” They strolled off together toward the stage, leaving me to lounge on the pillows with my notebook and pen.
As the next song began, something folksy I didn’t recognize, I felt a light tap on my shoulder that jolted me back to the blanket and out of the world happening on stage. I snapped my head around, mostly out of surprise but a little bit from annoyance that my happy escape was being interrupted, and saw Ashlyn kneeling behind me.
She was a slightly faded version of herself. A little less blonde, no makeup, and her blue eyes, sans the mischievous sparkle I was used to, didn’t quite meet mine. When she withdrew her arm, I noticed her hand was shaking. “Hey.” Ash was many things, but timid wasn’t one of them. Was she afraid to talk to me?
“Hey, Ash. I wasn’t sure you were still coming.” I resisted checking my watch for the time.
“Yeah, we had some car trouble. I wanted to be here for the opener, but it didn’t happen.” She didn’t look at me when she spoke, like she was nervous about what I might say or do. The friendly tone of our last email exchange seemed a thing of the past now that we were finally face to face after two months apart.
Knowing she wouldn’t have said she missed me if she hadn’t meant it, I held out an olive branch. “Well, better late than never.” I thought about hugging her, but it seemed too soon, and judging by how she was acting, I was scared she might stiffen from my touch.
Thankfully, Ash brightened, but she kept her lashes trained to the blanket. At another deafening uproar from the crowd, I glanced back at the stage, where the boys were playing the last lingering strains of their song. None of the earlier bands had gotten so much praise. My heart swelled a little for them.
“So how’s school? Were you taking summer classes?” I figured this was a safe topic. Maybe she’d let her cocoon of what looked like embarrassment open a little.
Ash lifted her head and finally looked at me. “Yeah, but nothing too serious. An SAT prep class and an art history elective. We took a lot of trips into DC to the galleries.” It didn’t escape me that she’d have to drive right by Arlington on her way into the city. Did she think about me as she passed?
“I’m sure your dad must be thrilled you’ve had a productive summer.” I didn’t try to hide my sarcasm, hoping it would make Ashlyn laugh.
Her head went back down. “Yeah, he’s not really thrilled about much these days.”
I smiled wryly. “Neither are my parents. I feel your pain.”
“What do they have to be upset about?”
“Oh, you know, my criminal record. My cavorting with miscreants. The storm cloud of disappointment that lives over our house because of me. Basically, my typical Wednesday. It’s better than it was at the beginning of the summer, though, and my dad will be home soon. I’m trying to be the bigger person, actually. Not be such a brat.”
Ash’s cheeks flamed, and I wondered if I shouldn’t have been so brutally honest. She started picking at her cuticles, a sure sign of distress. She took a long, deep breath and fisted her hands in her lap. “But you didn’t do anything wrong.”
All the air left my lungs. For what felt like an eternity, I’d wanted her to say that. Wanted her to believe it. I knew it was true, but hearing it from her lips felt like vindication. At least partly. I took a breath, as long as she had. “I’m glad you said that. I needed to hear it.”
She smiled sadly. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”
“Better late than never,” I said for the second time that night.
“So it’s been awful?” Her voice was tiny, full of regret.
; “Yep. Pretty much. I’ve spent most of the summer afraid you hated me. My dad left the country for an assignment after telling me I’ve disappointed him. Belén put me on her version of house arrest. I’m only here tonight because of Blanche and Tilly.” I smiled. “Tilly and I are becoming friendly, if you can believe that. She’s up there.” I pointed to her crouched down by the stage.
Tears pooled in the corner of Ash’s eyes. “I’m so, so sorry, Tate. I didn’t know. I promise I didn’t know. I was so embarrassed, and I just reacted. It was easier for me to direct that anger at you than myself, unfortunately, and you didn’t deserve it. I’m sorry I was so awful to you. I’ve really missed you,” she whispered as the tears came streaming down. This time, without thinking, I scooted over and put my arm around her and held her tightly. She put her forehead down on my shoulder and sobbed quietly as the Frisson played the pop cover I’d heard at band practice. It felt odd to be comforting a crying Ash during such an upbeat song.
“It’s okay. I forgive you. I missed you too. I know you didn’t know what he was going to do.” She sniffled into my shoulder. “I know this has been a bad summer—for you too, obviously.”
She lifted her head. “You have no idea. My parents have all but disowned me. And the girls at school are so mean and snobby. I don’t know how I’m going to survive a full school year.”
“Maybe you can make your case again to your dad?” When I thought about Mr. Zanotti’s choice to send Ash away, I knew I’d been the lucky one between the two of us. But I also knew that if I could be swayed to change my mind about Belén, he could certainly forgive his daughter.
She shrugged sadly. “Maybe.”
“Either way, let’s make a deal. Next time you feel a magnetic pull toward a guy that gives me the creeps, you’ll listen when I tell you he’s bad news. Okay?”
She smiled. “I think I can do that.”
“And if we get into another fight or disagreement, about anything at all, we don’t let months go by before we talk it out. And also, let’s not get the courts involved.”
It Started with Goodbye Page 17
