by Piper Bee
It’s significant how different her reaction to Cale’s wink is. Cale’s just goofy and genuine, giving the wink like it’s a gift of comedy. Carson only winks when he thinks he’ll get something.
Notable difference.
Cale starts up his crap car, grinning at me with his thick lips while it rumbles.
“And we are off, milady!” He puts the car in gear and the jolt forward sends my heart racing.
But it’s not just the fact that I’m startled. I’m bubbling like a can of shaken up soda, ready to burst.
♫
I was not expecting Garth of all people to pick such a cool place for karaoke. I mean, cracked wood bar with old-school stereo karaoke machines, sure, but this… it’s modern, angsty, and refined. Really, the opposite of Garth. But I gotta be honest, that country boy is a lot more than he looks. He’s a baritone with a taste for jazz and Selena Gomez, wrapped in a plaid button-down and blue jeans.
The Boxal has anime graffiti on the walls, ultra-sleek purple velvet furniture, and a chandelier made of silver tubes. And that’s just the entry.
Cale grabs Garth on the back of his thick neck and shakes him like a maraca. “Ooooh! This place is BANGIN’, G!”
I can’t help but notice Cale’s Nikes glow purple in the blacklight as he bounces between everyone like a pinball lighting up a machine. I tend to trail behind because, despite having impressed this group with my voice this past year, I only connected with one. The one who shook me out of my shell the first day of glee and continued chip away at what was left the rest of the year.
Cale hangs back and sticks to my side. Almost literally.
He elbows me over and over. “You ready? You ready? YOU READYYY?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and scream, “I’M READY!” My giggle dwindling, I add, “Thanks for picking me up.”
A black-clad staff member with a myriad of carnival-themed tattoos ushers the front of our eight-person group down the hall, so we follow.
Cale shrugs. “I aim to please, Almond Joy. I aim to please.”
“I owe you.”
In response, he rushes ahead and turns to face me, walking backward. “Careful, Becker. You say that, you might just have to make good on it.” He cocks his head and swivels around.
As he jogs ahead, I’m really, really curious if he means something by that.
Our private party room boasts a slick tangerine couch that curves in a U-shape around a giant screen flipping through ads. Cale weaves through the others and immediately grabs the tablet, fiddling with the karaoke program. On the table is a mirrored tray covered in sodas with various fruits decorating the glasses.
I’m eyeing the one with the watermelon wedge.
“Ooooh!” Cale laughs like a maniac with his face lit up by the tablet. “They got it! Semi-finals showstopper!”
Okay, now I’m excited. We killed it with that number last April.
Everyone squeezes themselves between the couch and the table to find a spot. Cale jumps over the back of the couch and plops right next to me.
“Duet?” he says, holding out a mic to me.
“DO IT!” Emma shouts, sort of echoing the word. She’s our blonde, bubbly cheerleader. Not, like, an actual cheerleader, but the one who is pumping everyone up. Second only to Cale.
I grin, holding eye contact with Cale as I snatch the mic from him.
Cale starts “Somebody to Love” by Queen with his lone voice, and everyone else joins right after with the choir vocals as the karaoke machine pumps out the piano.
And Garth comes in with his deep command of the word “love.”
Then it’s me. I stand up where I am and grip the mic as my singing voice vibrates into the limited airspace, behaving beautifully through each up-and-down note. Then Cale stands up and takes the other part, rivaling Freddie Mercury with his smooth delivery. The rest of the group hits each verse with their choral expertise, sounding like an energetic church choir.
Pulling this song out is even better without judges or Mr. Allen Jr. constantly tweaking our form. It’s fun and vibrant, like the room widens when we come into the song together. Me and Cale harmonize like it’s instinct, and Cale’s expressions as he sings are over-the-top and authentic at once.
I get this sense of belonging when I cry out to the sky with my voice. I honestly don’t feel separate from the song, the message, or the emotion of it. When I sing, it’s in my veins. My hips and head and arms respond in rhythm. Everyone else claps or stomps to the beat, all moving as one.
We might’ve lost semi-finals, but being in-sync like this is its own victory.
Emma takes the final high note, channeling power like Aretha Franklin. Cale yelps when she hits it just right.
We’re all a bit out of breath when it’s over and the high lingers for a few seconds. I love this part, floating atop the finish as if it’s still going. The camaraderie of crushing a performance is kinda unrivaled. I reach for the watermelon drink, giddy and so glad I came.
But what sucks about highs like this: they end.
I notice my phone buzzing on the table with my mom’s picture. It turns a fraction with each vibration.
If Mom’s calling me now, it can’t be good.
♫
Mom’s voice is always frantic. Always. But I can’t tell if it’s normal frantic or seriously-wrong frantic. I step outside into the neon pink twilight to find out which.
Seriously-wrong frantic, for sure.
Carson threw out his shoulder.
I lean against the uneven bricks on the wall of The Boxal. Of course he would injure himself when I wasn’t there. Maybe even because I wasn’t there.
I should’ve gone to the game.
Every self-deprecating thought I’m thinking about myself is echoed by Mom’s cracked voice on the other end of the phone. It’s like throwing hot sand that gets blown back into your face. I’m a terrible sister. I shouldn’t have skipped the second tournament game. Baseball is his career, singing is my hobby. Carson really needs my support.
“The medic said his season is most likely over!” she yells at me. She’s definitely been sobbing.
“Mom…”
“What’s he going to do now?” she questions, though it’s less a question for me than for the universe.
Will he have another outburst? And at who? That’s my question. Last time it was the mayor’s kid.
The swell of the karaoke joint’s music flows out when the door opens. Someone just walked out, but I don’t bother to see who it was. I’m swimming in a thousand what-ifs. No. More like drowning.
“You ok, Joy?” It’s Cale. I suddenly realize I’m crying.
Ugh. How embarrassing.
I pull the phone away from my ear and muffle Mom’s cries on my shoulder. “My brother got hurt during his game.”
“That sucks,” he says. I just nod, afraid I’ll cry more and turn into my mother if I keep talking.
Cale offers to give me a ride back home on the spot.
I plop my sad self into Cale’s car. My gaze lands on the tape deck and I wonder for a second how many of those I’ve seen in real life. The old-school green numbers show the time. 8:09. I was out for a hair more than an hour.
Once we’re on the road, Cale turns up the staticky radio and ukulele strums blare. He belts out the song, which is particularly ridiculous because it’s Sabrina Carpenter’s high and sweet voice singing about being a stupid girl in love. Singing about crying ironically pulls me out of my wallowing.
I’m actually shocked at how well Cale makes the song his own. He gets the high note like it’s nothing. This song is definitely going on my summer playlist.
I’m in better spirits when the next track hits the speakers. I get a thrill of recognition.
“I love The Crux Constellation! I can’t believe they’re on the radio!”
They balance the synth, beat, and acoustic guitar so harmoniously. The singer croons about love as far off as another galaxy.
“Whoa, she sounds
just like you,” Cale says.
“Really?”
“Yeah, it’s crazy close!”
I pay closer attention. He has a point. It’s hard to unhear.
The incandescent street lights flicker on. Once the song is over, I’m hoping Carson’s season actually is over.
“Sorry about your brother,” Cale says, almost like he’s reading my mind.
“It’s okay.” I backtrack. “I mean, it’s not, but if he can’t play, that actually means my summer frees up. I’m so used to his games that I didn’t even make plans. Well, that and I don’t have a car so...” I trail off.
“Speaking of that, I got an idea to run past ya.” There’s a sly smile on his plump lips.
“Go on.”
“Ok, so you know Lena?” he starts. My eyes narrow.
“She was at my house, Cale. She’s literally my only other friend.”
He nods knowingly. Like a mental duh!
“Well, I don’t think she really knows me,” he says. He bites his thick lower lip.
I blink. Not Cale, too. Poor guy.
He stutters a bit. “I-I, just, I don’t think she thinks of me romantically.”
“Yeah, I got that. You know there’s a support group, right?”
Cale throws his head back in a single laugh and then snaps back to the point. “Seriously, though. I’m hoping to maybe persuade her with a crazy plan. And it involves you, Almond Joy.”
I point at myself and mouth “me?” He nods profusely.
“So if I wanna hang out with Lena… the best way is through you, right?”
“Right…”
“But if I hang around too much, she’ll be kinda weirded out. So I thought you and me could pretend to date for part of the summer…”
I laugh like he’s joking. He is joking, right?
“Why would that work on her?” I finally ask.
“You kidding? Lena’s jealous of you, Becker!”
Of me? This petite, freckled, wears-her-brother’s-old-clothes girl makes Lena jealous?
“No, she’s not,” I say with resolve.
“She definitely is. You’re smart and got wicked pipes, girl!”
“But Lena—”
“Yes, she’s fine as hell! She knows it. Obviously I know it. But you’ve got the girl next door thing working for you.”
“Really? Is that why you picked me to be your fake girlfriend?”
Cale laughs generously. “I’m just sayin’... maybe she’ll look my way if she can’t have me. Don’t underestimate the power of being off-limits.” He flashes me a grin.
I nod, but only because I’m following. Not agreeing.
“So? It’s good?” he asks, excitement registering on his shiny cheeks. My nodding abruptly changes to shaking my head.
“No.” He silently pleads, I hesitate, and he’s not looking at the road and I’m getting nervous and OKAY, I amend it! “I mean! I don’t know! I’d have to think about it.”
He grips the steering wheel, tensing his shoulders, then sighs. “What if I sweeten the deal?”
I size him up. “How so?”
“If you agree, you can be the proud new owner of this here vehicle.” He gestures to the inside of his car. “I’m getting a Hyundai, manufactured this century, as a graduation gift, so gotta do something with the beater.” He winks at me.
Despite that the night has turned to black, I know my wide eyes light up the interior of this piece of junk.
A piece of junk that could be mine.
TRACK 02 - THE MIDDLE
JUNE 10TH
Graduation. The first day of the summer in between high school and college. Stepping out on the courtyard to meet my family after the ceremony, I squeeze my diploma.
Sweet, seedless summer, here I come!
I should think it’s a shame that Carson can’t play the season. I should. But my fantasies about what this summer is going to be like flood my brain. Lena’s poolside, soaking up the direct sun with a sparkling strawberry lemonade and chill house playing. Binge-watching Netflix well into the A.M. Staying past dark at the state fair. Hitting outdoor concerts in the middle of the day. Day trips to the beach for a picnic. Never once worrying that watermelon juice or barbecue sauce won’t come out of the lucky baseball tee, because my brother won’t make me wear it.
At the moment, though, I still need him to drive me everywhere. So, in that way, I’m not free. But, there is Cale’s little deal. I haven’t accepted it yet because…
Fake boyfriend? I’ve never even had a real one. Does that make it better or worse?
It’s not like I wasn’t going to invite Cale to hang out with me and Lena, but I see his point about freaking her out. His plan is convoluted, but no other guy has tried it on her, so who’s to say it wouldn’t actually work?
And I’m getting sick of Carson bargaining rides for my small amount of freedom. He can never just drop me off or pick me up because he’s a good brother. Also, since he threw out his shoulder, he took a job doing administrative and odd jobs at a Victoria Lake Resort, taking his sweet, sputtering truck with him.
When it comes to me, Carson always wins.
I scan the sea of navy robes and caps for my brother’s capless curly halo. It’s weird to think we were switched last year when he graduated.
It’s a bobbing, apparently-recently-cut-his-hair head that I see first.
“Almond Joy!” Cale chants through the crowd. He scratches his neck with his cap in hand.
“Cale Salad!” I say.
His abrupt clap startles me. His face is all business. “Snag a seat next to me on the party bus. We gotta talk.”
“Sure thing!” I say, despite my nervousness. He doesn’t seem to notice. He’s off greeting some of his many friends with high-beam energy.
I know I need a car. And a summer with a fake boyfriend who also happens to be a good friend should not be a bad trade-off.
But my insides twist around. I’m really not the best liar. Mostly because I don’t want to lie.
Lena’s visible through the crowd, all legs even in flappy navy graduation robes. I suddenly recall we were supposed to sit together on the party bus. I’d feel guilty if I didn’t know without a doubt that there’d be twelve cheerleaders in line to take my spot.
Where is Carson? Crowds are a bit disorienting for me, even in the open-air courtyard. Unless I’m performing for them, I’m not really a crowd-person. Usually it’s the other way around, but I embrace it.
A body barrels into me and nearly knocks me down, carrying the scent of rose-and-sugar perfume. Lena.
I’m immediately at ease. I remember when she was voted homecoming queen, I thought we’d never be friends. But I tutored her when we did physics homework, and later she told me that it was nice to have a friend who didn’t think she would stay dumb. I didn’t know what she meant until I witnessed her reputation for myself.
“I’m so glad that stupid ceremony is over! I thought people exaggerated when they said you could die of boredom.” Her overly-disgusted face makes me grin. She’s extra bouncy for a person in five-inch heels who hates dull social rituals. Her manicured hands grip my shoulders and square me to her.
“Five-thousand names,” she says. “Five. Thousand.”
“More like five hundred. Which really isn’t that many,” I tell her, and she raises a perfectly preened eyebrow at me. “But it felt like an eternity,” I add.
“At least we have Grad Night!”
My heart leaps a bit even thinking about getting on the party bus and finding my seat next to Cale.
Am I really going to say “fake yes” to fake dating?
Lena’s olive skin looks airbrushed. Her raven hair catches the wind perfectly, like a shampoo ad.
Then there’s me, still pale after an hour of tanning, and covered in freckles, like a grainy image in comparison to Lena. No matter how many amazing photographers capture sad, freckled subjects, I’ll never feel glamorous.
Cale’s comment about me having a
“girl next door” thing wasn’t unwelcome, though. Still, it’s easy to see why he’d go for Lena. I’m thinking he might need all the help he can get.
“Oh, by the way, any word on dog-sitting?” she says. I forgot they leave for Italy in a few days.
“Still no car,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “That’s so unfair! Diamond loves you. I don’t want to take him to the kennel. Can’t you borrow Carson’s truck?”
Speaking of Carson…
“She’s here!” I hear him say. He and my parents have finally located me. Carson’s field tan stands out in the harsh sun and navy-clad figures. My brother is the kind of handsome that makes him stand out like he’s an actor slipping through curtains. Of course, I can only see my big brother.
“Congrats, you two!” he says with that charming grin that never works on Lena.
“Yeah, thanks. Why can’t Joy have your truck?” She says it flat and like it’s all one word.
I know he’s catching ears with that charismatic laugh of his. Once people get a look at him, they’re stuck like flies in honey.
“I need it for my job at Victoria Lake and all my physical therapy sessions. She’s outta luck.”
Ah, yes. Victoria Lake Resort. The big, fancy natural recreation community with giant grounds that attracts enthusiasts of Pacific Northwest nature. Willow Haven, my current unremarkable town, is only about an hour southeast, but technically that’s from the resort entrance. It’s enough to justify Carson staying on resort grounds while he tackles odd jobs and heals his shoulder.
He tries that cocked-head grin on Lena and she rolls her eyes.
Lena turns to me. “I’ll be on bus four. Later!”
I wave as she walks back into the crowd.
I spot Mom’s salon highlights and Dad’s coke-bottle glasses. Mom hugs me. Her small-boned German arms have a lot of strength in them when I make her proud. Hugs like these are only offered on holidays or when we accomplish the Saturday cleaning.
“I’m so proud of you,” she says. “It’s too bad you weren’t valedictorian, though.”
