Tenney Shares the Stage

by Kellen Hertz

  “Hey,” he said with a cheery wave.

  I waited for him to say something about the lyrics I’d sent, but instead he turned to Mason and started talking about amplifiers.

  Dad poked his head around a rack of guitar strings by the door as we walked in. “Well, if it isn’t Double Trouble!” he said. “What do you think of that band name, Tenney?”

  “Daaad …” I said, turning pink.

  Dad waggled his eyebrows. “You don’t like it? How about the Dangerous Duo? Or Partners in Crime? Twice as Nice? I could go on for days …”

  “Please don’t,” Mason said playfully before heading to the storeroom to do his homework.

  Dad chuckled. He turned back to me and Logan. “So! Where are you two thinking you want to work?”

  “Um, maybe not the stage,” I said, glancing over at the low platform where we rehearsed last time. “Can we use the listening room?”

  “Sure thing,” Dad said. I nodded, relieved. Working on this song with Logan was going to be tricky enough with the new lyrics I’d written. I didn’t want to do it in front of Dad and Mason.

  Logan chose a guitar from the instrument wall and we made our way through the store to the listening room in back. It’s a small room, but it has high ceilings and the acoustics are good. Logan and I squeezed inside. Without saying a word, we both began warming up, sending quick, silvery notes through the air.

  “We should start with the new song,” I said over the sound.

  Logan nodded, strumming a dramatic riff. “I revised your lyrics,” he said nonchalantly.

  I stopped playing my scales, caught off guard. “Oh?”

  “Well, not every line,” Logan corrected. He let out another ripple of notes with a flourish. “Just the second verse. And I changed a couple of lines in the third verse.”

  I nodded, but I felt a twinge of worry. We were co-writing the song, so I couldn’t complain about Logan adding his own lyrics. Still, I was nervous about what he’d added.

  I think Logan could tell. “Let’s play the song through together,” he suggested. “Then you can hear it. You sing the first verse, and I’ll sing the second.”

  I nodded. We counted off and launched into the song’s intro. The shimmery sound of Logan’s guitar melted into the deeper, woodsier twang of mine as we overlapped. Then I started singing.

  I don’t like the way you shrug

  like you’ve got nothin’ else to say

  And I don’t like the way you always

  want to do it your way

  I watched Logan carefully as I sang. He didn’t seem upset. I continued the second half of the verse.

  You turn around and do

  exactly what I ask you not to

  And I can feel you criticizing

  every move I make

  And it seems like I’m the only one

  that’s trying here

  Logan still didn’t seem upset, even during the part when I said he wasn’t really trying. I felt relieved and confused all at once. As we moved into the second verse, I loosened my pick hand and strummed softly, letting Logan take the lead as we reached his verse.

  I don’t like the way you think

  that you know all there is to know

  I don’t like the way you think

  you’re better all on your own

  I gasped, immediately recognizing what Logan had done: He had written lyrics about me. I gave him a pointed stare, but if he noticed, he didn’t show it. He just kept singing.

  I turn around and do

  exactly what I need to do

  ’Cause you’re always moving

  just a little bit too slow

  And it seems like I’m the only one

  that’s trying here

  Yep, Logan’s lyrics were clearly about all the things I did that annoyed him. Hurt feelings formed a lump in my throat. My face got hot, but I tried to ignore it, focusing on my guitar. My pride felt bruised, but the songwriting part of my brain had to admit that Logan’s verse was clever and honest. Logan had revised my lyrics and added his voice to the song. Now we both got to say how we feel, I thought.

  I joined him on the chorus, my voice growing stronger as he added his harmony.

  You’ve got the nerve

  to act like I’m the one

  who makes this hard

  It makes me hurt

  to think that we might

  mess this up

  And I’m done letting you

  I can’t get through to you

  There were two measures at the end of the chorus that we’d added as an instrumental transition—but to my surprise, Logan sang two new lines instead.

  Let’s meet this head-on

  I’ll let you get on my last nerve

  A slow smile curled onto my face. Logan stopped playing, and so did I.

  “What do you think?” he said, and leaned forward, his eyes flickering with something like nervousness.

  “It’s really good,” I replied honestly. “I can’t believe you came up with such a great verse!” The moment the words came out, I realized how rude I sounded. “I’m sorry, that came out all wrong,” I said.

  “It’s okay. I knew what you meant,” Logan said carefully. “When I first heard your lyrics, I was sort of annoyed. But they also inspired me. I just had to make sure I got my point of view in there, too.”

  “Oh, you did!” I joked. We both laughed.

  “What’s important is that we’re both being honest,” I said.

  “Right,” Logan agreed, his smile fading. He stared down at his guitar uncomfortably. “Listen, I know I’ve been in kind of a bad mood lately,” he said, looking up at me. “I’m sorry. I have a lot of stuff going on.”

  “Okay,” I said, surprised. It sounded like he was trying to open up. I was about to ask him what kind of “stuff” he was talking about, but then I thought maybe he didn’t want to talk about it. So I stayed quiet and waited for Logan to speak again.

  He twisted his guitar pegs, and for a moment, he looked sort of upset. “I just have a lot on my plate with my family right now,” he said finally.

  “Like what?” I ventured, but Logan shook his head, hard.

  “It’s not important,” he said, an edge creeping into his voice. He paused and took a deep breath. “My mom just needs me to take care of my little brother, Jude, more often lately. Like, every day.”

  “Okay,” I said, but concern was rising up inside me. “Does that mean you can’t rehearse as much?”

  “No, it’s fine. I can handle it,” he said. He leaned forward, his eyes worried. “Do me a favor?” he asked. “Don’t mention this to Zane or Portia. I want them to be focused on my music, not worried about whether I’m committed to our band.”

  “Um …” I said uncertainly. Logan’s request made me uncomfortable. I didn’t like the idea of keeping secrets from Zane and Portia. And if Logan couldn’t handle it, what would that mean for the future of Tenney & Logan?

  “Don’t worry,” Logan said as if he were reading my mind. “Music is the best thing in my life, and I won’t let anything keep me from playing. I can handle it, just … promise me you won’t tell Zane and Portia.”

  I opened my mouth, but I didn’t know what to say. I wanted him to be able to trust me—no, I wanted us to be able to trust each other. So I pushed aside my worry and said, “I promise I won’t say anything.”

  “Thanks,” Logan replied, sounding relieved. “So, um, should we take it again from the top?”

  I nodded, and we started over. When we got to the bridge, Logan riffed on the melody a bit, his fingers flying up and down his frets. I couldn’t help but be impressed. He’s just as good at guitar as he is on drums, I thought. It gave me an idea.

  “When we perform this for Zane, maybe we should both play guitar and sing,” I suggested. “You know, keep alternating who sings each verse, like we’re doing. We could even go back and forth on a third verse.”

  “That would be cool,” Logan said. “We
could use an electronic drumbeat for percussion.”

  “Exactly,” I agreed. And then I got the best idea of my life.

  “Hey!” I said. “What if we rewrote the lyrics in the last chorus to be about the things that work when we play music together?”

  Excitement flashed in Logan’s eyes. “That’s an awesome idea!” he said.

  We both started talking at once. I grabbed my songwriting journal and started writing down our ideas as they came to us. Sometimes we interrupted and talked over each other—at one point I had to yell over Logan so he’d hear me—but I never felt hurt or angry, just excited. Between writing down ideas for new lyrics, a thought flashed through my brain: We’re really working together. We’re a team.

  It took a good while, but Logan and I finally worked out a new third verse and final chorus that we liked. We sang it together, wailing in harmony. Then we ran through the whole song over and over, working out the kinks. By the end of our fourth time through, Logan’s whole face was a smile.

  “That was great!” he said.

  “I know!” I replied. My cheeks ached from grinning. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun working on a song.

  Logan’s phone beeped, and he checked it. I looked at the clock over his head. It was five thirty. We’d been working for over two hours. Time had raced by.

  “Sorry, Tenney, but I’ve gotta go,” he said, looking disappointed.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I think we’re done for the day anyway.”

  We grabbed our instruments and left the listening room. When we reached the front of the store, we saw that Dad was talking to Ellie Cale, Zane’s niece. Ellie works for Zane as a talent scout at Mockingbird Records. We had met when she overheard me playing one of my songs at Dad’s store and invited me to play at a showcase at the Bluebird Cafe.

  Spotting me and Logan, she smiled warmly. “Hey, you two,” she said.

  “Ellie just came by with some news,” Dad said.

  “Yes! I was in the neighborhood, and Zane asked me to stop by to see if you guys were here,” Ellie said. “He wanted you to know that you’ve been requested for a very cool gig coming up at Riff’s.”

  “No way!” Logan said. Riff’s was a private club downtown where a lot of big-deal musicians hung out after they played other shows.

  “Yep,” Ellie said. “And that’s not even the best part. You’d be opening for Belle Starr.”

  My heart skipped at least two beats. “Are you serious?” I squeaked in excitement. Belle Starr’s hit songs were all over the radio. Last month, I’d met her in person when Logan and I played at her mansion for the City Music Festival. Still, even the suggestion that a star like her would want us to open for her seemed unreal.

  But Ellie looked totally serious. “Belle’s taking a break from her world tour and returning to Nashville in a couple of weeks,” Ellie said. “While she’s home, she wants to do a private show at Riff’s, just for family and friends, to try out some new material. Her label called and said she specifically requested you guys as her opening act.”

  “Wow,” Dad said. “Guess she liked what she heard when you performed last month.”

  Logan and I nodded, dazed.

  “This is a huge opportunity, obviously,” said Ellie. “Y’all need to get ready for it. Uncle Zane’s going to talk about what this all means when he joins your songwriting session at Portia’s house on Sunday.”

  I leaned against the wall, my head spinning. Belle Starr wants us to open for her! Playing at her house for the City Music Festival had been cool, but if Logan and I got to open for a star like Belle, there was no question that Nashville’s entire music community would know who we were by the time it was over.

  Dad started peppering Ellie with questions about the gig.

  Logan leaned over and whispered to me, “This is all super cool, but I really have to go, Tenney.” Before I could say anything, he’d put on his backpack and was heading toward the door.

  “I’ll be right back,” I told Dad and Ellie, and I hustled to the front door.

  “Wait! Logan!” I said, ducking out of the shop and racing after him.

  He looked up from unlocking his bike. “Yeah?” Logan said.

  My cheeks turned bright red. Suddenly, I felt melodramatic for running after him, but there was something I needed to say.

  “Portia was right,” I blurted out awkwardly. “We do make each other better.”

  “I agree,” Logan said, rolling his bike out of the rack. “We’re a good team.”

  “I can’t wait to play our song for Zane and Portia,” I said.

  “Me, too,” he said, flashing a grin. “See you on Sunday, partner.”

  The next day, the song Logan and I had written was stuck on repeat in my brain. I found myself humming it during my morning shower, in the middle of my math homework, and as I rode my bike to Jaya’s house for our Saturday-night sleepover. That happens whenever I fall in love with a song, but the fact that Logan and I had worked so hard on this one made me love it even more.

  When I told Jaya and Holliday about our chance to open for Belle Starr, they squealed so loudly that Jaya’s mom came upstairs and asked if everything was all right. We said yes, and after she walked off, Jaya whispered to me, “I’m so proud of you!”

  I couldn’t stop smiling, and inside my head the song I’d written with Logan grew louder. I heard both our voices singing. It made me feel like we were a real band, and I couldn’t wait to play it for Zane tomorrow.

  Mom picked me up the next morning before Jaya and Holliday had even finished their breakfasts. “Good luck,” they told me, mouths full of pancake.

  I knew Zane would be there promptly at ten o’clock, so Mom dropped me off a little early to give me time to warm up. I hustled up to the front door of Portia’s lavender cottage with my guitar case.

  Portia opened the door just after my knock. “Hey there,” she said, sweeping loose strands of silver hair off her face. “You ready to play some music?”

  I nodded. As I followed her inside, excitement about playing the song again put a spring in my step.

  “Zane and Logan aren’t here yet,” Portia said as we entered the sitting room. “So you can just relax.”

  I set my case down by the sofa and sat. While Portia got me some water, I took out my guitar and started tuning it, looking out the window at the overgrown front yard. I expected to see Logan roll up on his orange-and-silver bike any moment, sandy hair matted under his helmet. But there was no sign of him.

  He didn’t show up when I was tuning, or playing scales, or running through the song on my own for practice. He didn’t show up when Zane arrived, or while Zane and Portia chitchatted, or when I tried to check the time on my phone without looking too obvious about it.

  “Where is that boy?” Portia said, when we’d been waiting fifteen minutes. She pressed her lips into a disapproving line.

  “Let’s give him a call,” Zane said. He slid out his phone and tried Logan’s cell, but there was no answer. No one picked up when he called Logan’s house, either.

  “I hope everything’s okay,” I said, frowning. “Maybe there’s some emergency.”

  “Let’s hope not,” Zane said.

  “Tenney, do you want to play the new song on your own?” Portia asked.

  I shook my head. “It’s a duet,” I said. I needed Logan to sing with me for the song to make sense. But even more than that, I was proud of what Logan and I had written together—it wouldn’t feel right to play it on my own.

  Another twenty minutes passed. Zane still got no answer from Logan’s cell and home numbers. And Logan never responded to the where are you?!!!?!?!? text that I sent.

  “He was late to our last writing session, too,” Portia murmured to Zane, her forehead creased with concern.

  Zane frowned. “That’s not good,” he said.

  “He wasn’t late to our rehearsals at Dad’s store,” I chimed in, suddenly feeling protective of Logan.

/>   “I’m glad to hear that, but when it comes to your songwriting sessions, Logan needs to act like a professional all the time,” Zane said sternly.

  “Tenney, do you have any idea where he might be?” Portia asked.

  I hesitated, remembering what Logan had said about having to babysit his brother more. Part of me wanted to tell Zane and Portia what Logan had told me … but he’d made me promise not to mention it.

  If I tell them, he’ll never trust me again, I thought. Instead, I told Zane and Portia that Logan and I had worked through our song and we both liked it. “Logan was really proud of what we did. He said he couldn’t wait to share it with you.”

  The more I tried to defend him, the more confused I became about Logan’s absence. We were really starting to click musically, I thought. I can’t believe he would flake out on rehearsal.

  Eventually, Zane told me to go home. I packed up my guitar and went to the front door. When I looked back and saw the grim looks on Portia’s and Zane’s faces, though, I had to say something.

  “I don’t think Logan would miss rehearsal on purpose,” I said.

  “Okay,” Zane said.

  I opened my mouth, but couldn’t find the words to express what I was thinking. I was surprised by how passionately I wanted to defend Logan. A few weeks ago, I would have been happy to never see the kid again. But after writing our song together, I finally felt like Logan and I were on the same team.

  I left Portia’s and started walking over to Dad’s music store, my stomach twisted with worry. When I entered the shop, Dad was behind the cash register and Mason was organizing packs of guitar strings.

  “You’re back early, honey,” Dad said, surprise crinkling his forehead. I checked the clock: It wasn’t even noon, and I was supposed to be with Portia and Zane until one.

  I paced the store restlessly as I told Dad and Mason what had happened.

  “Logan knew how important today was,” I finished. “This was the first song we really created as a team. He knew I couldn’t play it for Zane without him, and he knew Zane and Portia had high expectations. I don’t understand why he didn’t let me know he couldn’t make it.”