Joy's Summer Love Playlist

by Piper Bee

I linger on Cale’s shock for a second longer than I should, then look back on the grey stretch of freeway.

  “Do me a favor, Cale Salad?”

  His mouth hangs open before he answers. “Are you serious? I thought we were gonna dash through TSA in a grand romantic gesture this whole damn time! You swindled me! I want drama, Joy!”

  I hand him my phone. “You’ll get drama. Route me to Alki Beach.”

  “Fine,” he says with mostly false resistance as he plucks my phone from my hand.

  The road noise and artificial clacking of my phone’s keyboard are all I hear for a minute. Google’s pleasant female voice starts us off.

  “I hope this mystery trip makes it up to me,” Cale says, settling my phone into the mount.

  My lungs fill with nervous air. “Forgive me?” I keep my eyes on the sun-baked road. “For still choosing him, even though he’s gone.”

  “Kid, there’s nothing to forgive.”

  ♫

  I didn’t expect my summer beach trip would involve Cale, my brother’s truck, or a beach so small it should really be called a “sliver of sand.” But here we are.

  Cale snagged the pin of the exact location from Robbie’s email. He also confirmed from various social media platforms that The Crux Constellation is indeed setting up a surprise concert and fans are freaking out.

  “What song are you gonna sing?” Cale pesters.

  I bite my lip. “I didn’t exactly pick one.”

  “Well, they know you’re coming, right?”

  I avoid eye contact.

  “GIRL.”

  “I’m taking a chance here, Cale. If it’s meant to be, then it’ll work out. Right?”

  “You really got no plan?” His high voice judges me.

  The exit becomes visible. HARBOR AVE SW.

  “My plan was to call you. And somehow I convinced you to jump into the car and we ended up at the top of the state. I achieved my goal. We’re good again, that’s all I wanted.”

  “Hey, my grand master plan to win your heart may have backfired, but we were always good, Joy.” His seriousness on the latter part cuts straight to my soul. I take in how he looks, as Cale as ever, but I find something deeper now.

  “I don’t deserve you.”

  “No one does, Almond Joy.” He folds his hands behind his head. “I am a generous gift.”

  I laugh. “I’m glad you recognize it.”

  The sun beats in through the gradient tint on the windshield as we spend the next few minutes slowing down on the residential streets. Modern beach houses and aged brick apartment complexes confuse the horizon before the water comes into view against coin-colored sand. My heart rate picks up the closer we get to the plaza.

  I once told my primary school friends I’d seen the Statue of Liberty because I’d witnessed the miniature version of her at Alki Beach. Calling this place “the beach” feels as lackluster as calling that tiny hunk of bronze “the Statue of Liberty.” I’d envisioned lying back on the massive, breezy oceanside of the Oregon Coast. But here, the wind comes off the water and people walk around in shorts and sunglasses, so it does the trick.

  I parallel park next to a seafood restaurant that advertises too many types of cuisines. When I cut the engine, it’s real. A few blocks up, I see bulky guys carrying speakers to the makeshift platform at the plaza.

  “You ready?” Cale asks. I don’t move, so he elbows me. “You ready? YOU READYYY?”

  I giggle, but I’m still terrified. “I don’t know,” I sigh.

  “Hey,” he says, “There’s not really such a thing as ‘ready.’”

  I meet the gleam in his brown eyes. It isn’t until this moment that I realize how bad it hurt not to have him around. I’d been uncertain of our friendship, but he never was. There may not be such a thing as “ready,” but there is definitely comfort in being supported.

  Cale pumps his fist. “Let’s do this, Becker!”

  A gust of violent wind whips my hair across my face when I get out of the car. I don’t know how I’m gonna keep it cool when I get on stage.

  If I get on stage. I have no idea how forgiving “Robbie Gonzalez the band manager” is.

  The Statue of Liberty Plaza is paved with rectangular stone and people are already seated on the grass and benches, even the stairs. The statue obstructs where people will crowd, but their fan base is loyal enough not to care.

  Cale flashes his white teeth at me as we walk. My gut does flips the closer we get. I recognize the band and their respectively distinct hairstyles. Krista with the magenta bob, Fiona with the emerald side-buzz, Geo with stick-straight blonde hair down to his hips, January with the bleached pixie cut, and Javed with absolutely normal, shaggy black hair.

  Even if I didn’t plan to come, I did my research.

  Robbie Gonzalez is the one guy I have not seen a picture of, but there’s a stocky man covered in tattoos who looks like the name might belong to him. The sides of his head are shaved with a dark plume of gel-covered hair on the top. Also a full beard. The hair might mean he belongs with the band. My hasty plan is to ask him if he knows who Robbie is, but he spots me and his eyes light up.

  “Joy Becker?” he almost yells.

  I step closer and raise my hand sheepishly. “That’s me. Sorry I never emailed back.”

  “And you brought your partner in crime, I see!” Robbie slaps Cale on the back and they both laugh, but Cale rolls his shoulder when Robbie isn’t looking.

  “I’m stoked you’re here! I just wish we’d set up for you. It’s been crazy all around today.” He has a genuine, friendly laugh that puts me at ease. “What do you say if we have to take ‘Back To You’ after our first fiver?”

  “Fiver?” I wish I knew the lingo and didn’t sound like a little kid.

  “Oh, yeah, it’s a five-minute break. Like forty-five minutes into the show the band will cool off.”

  Back To You. I know it. I’ve played it five hundred times.

  And specifically avoided it for the last week.

  “I can’t,” I say.

  Robbie’s positive energy dissipates. “Oh. Wow. I’m sorry, I thought you came because you were still interested. I should’ve asked.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I can hardly think straight today!”

  “No, I want to sing! I just… I don’t know if I can do that song. It’s too…”

  Robbie’s brow goes up waiting for me to finish. But it’s hard to say it.

  “Raw,” Cale finishes. He points to me and frowns. “Lost love. Too raw.”

  At least Cale’s bluntness has benefits.

  Robbie perks up the way someone does when they’re excited, but also feel they shouldn’t be. “Well, what song do you want to do? I can tell you if it’s in our set and send you on up. Just gotta warn the band.”

  “How about Cosmos?” I say. One of my favorites. Upbeat and well-practiced in the shower.

  “Yeah yeah yeah! I’ll let January know you’re taking that one over.” Robbie grins and shakes his head in disbelief. “This is gonna be good.”

  I hope he’s right.

  “He’s right,” Cale says like he’s reading my mind. “You’re gonna kill it!” He whips out his phone and taps the back of it. “And I’m gonna document.”

  “Okay, so I just have to enjoy the music and keep my nerves from causing me to implode.”

  Cale lands his wide palm on my shoulder and squeezes. “You got this!”

  Despite his encouragement, performance anxiety scratches at the edges of my soul and begs me to run.

  But I’m not a runner. Not anymore. I found the game I’m meant to play. If only I’d realized it sooner.

  An airplane cuts the sky overhead, a whooshing noise trailing behind it.

  Jin’s voice echoes in my mind. I really want to hear you sing again.

  As thrilled as I am to be on the ground, right where I am, I kinda wish I was singing up in the sky, somewhere over the Pacific Ocean. I wish I was with him.

  But I’m not.
>
  The true farewell show of The Crux Constellation is void of dancing lights or quality speakers. It’s no more than a fiery set of humans who meld with the energy inside each of their songs. January exudes sex appeal I’ll never match. She’s way more rough-edged than I am, too. But I’m not deaf; I know our voices are crazy close. Raspy in all the ways that count, powerhouse on cue, feminine and light when it works.

  I don’t know what Robbie sees in me. I’m nothing like their current frontwoman, but maybe that’s the point. My voice does justice to the songs and I’m still me. The girl at Americanafest wasn’t trying to be January Evans.

  Their heavy drums and stretched-out synths carry listeners to worlds where robots fall in love and waves crash against bleeding hearts. The drummer can also play the fiddle and the basswoman gets lost in her chords like she’s unafraid of drowning in the song.

  The people around me eat it all up. Cale has become a total fangirl, “woos” and all.

  Meanwhile my stomach turns into foam each time they end a song. The buzz of anticipation is like a drug that heals you and makes you sick. My limbs feel like they’ve fallen asleep.

  I sober up when Robbie shoves me toward the stage and says, “Okay, kid! Your time to shine!”

  My heels skid on the paved plaza ground. Deep breath. You can do this. You’ll never be ready.

  Like singing for Jin. I look at the water, imagining the sparkling waterfall. Remembering how the water reflected sunlight against his face.

  I slam my foot onto the platform and force myself up there.

  January talks into the mic, “Hey, we got a friend here today to sing for you CruxConvicts! She’s little, but she’s got one hell of a voice on her! Give it up for Joy!”

  Everyone cheers louder than they should for me. She pulls the mic from the stand and hands it over, mouthing “good luck.”

  I grab it, feeling like I’m suddenly drunk on something strong. The crowd’s bigger than I expected. Or the nerves are, I can’t tell.

  Cale lifts his phone up, undoubtedly recording.

  I lift the mic up, ready to say whatever I planned about the song Cosmos and what it means to me and that I sang it into a hairbrush like a proper dork.

  But I freeze. It’s not right.

  The last time I sang, Jin kissed me. I haven’t piped out a single note since then.

  I blink like mad, willing long-built tears to stay back.

  “Um,” I say into the mic, my breath reverberating in the speakers. “I can’t sing the song I came up here to sing. I’m kinda stuck on something else.”

  People grow quiet and I feel my honest self reaching through the cracks of what’s broken in me. I don’t care if it’s awkward. It’s real.

  I’m stuck on you, Joy.

  I meet eyes with January, and some of the people in the crowd. There’s a lot of raw expectation, but some of them have honest, supportive expressions. They don’t even know me.

  Well, one of them does. I’m glad he’s here.

  I step to the precise center of the platform. “I’m gonna sing a song you might know. Maybe it means something to you like it does to me. But it’s the only thing on my heart right now, so it’s all I have to give.”

  In my mind, instruments swell, but everyone else is baited on the silence before my voice flows into the mic. I close my eyes.

  And sing Rainbow Connection.

  I pay no mind to how I sound or how people react. I’m sitting on the rocky floor next to a pond, the hum of my voice floating into the sky with ethereal song. The lyrics mean something different now. They don’t tell of an unattainable dream swirling out of reach like a balloon.

  The Rainbow Connection is our journey to seeing true beauty. Or, that’s what it means to me.

  By the second verse, the pianist lifts notes into the song, the guitar strums beachy chords and the bassist carries depth under it. The song takes on new life and the crowd travels to another plane of appreciation. Songs are that way. Like a vehicle for your soul, taking you off the grid of reality for however long they last.

  I sing the bridge, reaching the moment where Jin stopped me. I let the word carry out too long, and the silence after, too. With my eyes closed, I can see his face like a vivid picture. The moment replays in my head.

  How did I get so entwined with Jin so quickly? How can my heart be threaded to him, stretched out over time and space and this moment of a song?

  I sing the words of the next verse, like I’m gently plucking flowers from the ground for a bouquet. And this is far more beautiful than the last time I sang it.

  Before, I couldn’t finish. I wasn’t finished. Jin interrupted my life and brought a halt to my heartache, like the apex of a hill, before rolling quickly down and crashing at the bottom. But I’ve completed the journey now. I climbed the mountain, and now I live at the end of the rainbow.

  I finish the song, with some Kermit fans who happened to join me, and something clicks.

  I am my fairytale dreams, my tumultuous past, and my uncertain future. My essence is a spectrum. Both real and ethereal, like a song can be.

  I’m beaming when I notice the cheers. But even bigger than that is my own sense of wholeness. The crazy part of finally feeling whole is that you don’t feel unbroken. You’re different, a new thing altogether. Changing back isn’t the right path to normal. It’s not even an option. Accepting is.

  I have no idea if I belong on this stage, but I know I belong somewhere. And I don’t have to try fitting into someone else’s life. I will find my game and I’ll play hard when I do.

  Cale whoops in decibels high above the rest of the crowd, bringing me somewhat to reality.

  Oh, God. I just threw professional musicians off their own concert to sing a kids song about rainbows.

  I shove the microphone back into January’s hand, garnering feedback on the speakers. At least she’s smiling at me right before she takes over again.

  Cale’s right at my side to help me off stage. “Joy Becker, you tantalizing muppet-lover!”

  I laugh at him but something catches my eye. Someone standing on the sand, not far off, staring me down.

  I meet a set of familiar, pear-colored eyes.

  Lena.

  TRACK 29 - HOMECOMING QUEEN

  STILL AUGUST 2ND

  That’s Lena.

  When she won the title of Homecoming Queen, Cale told me all about the girl with the shiny hair and big reputation. She was so glamorous and sparkly, I thought I could never make friends with a girl like that. Not again.

  Molly Hannigan was Junior Homecoming Queen at West Salem High. A partier, charismatic debate team president, the girl with a boyfriend in college, one of my friends. I figured Lena wouldn’t be any different. In some ways, I was right. They both did a pretty good job betraying my trust.

  But Molly never came back.

  “That’s Lena,” I say, staring at the girl on the beach. Strands of her silky black hair dance across her face and collar bone. “What’s she doing here?” My question comes out like a breath.

  “Okay, so, don’t freak out but I texted her,” Cale says, stringing the words together rapidly. “She came up today for U-Dub orientation. She… feels bad about everything. That’s what she told me, anyway.”

  She watches me, fiddling with her sweater, gazing off into the water for a few seconds before landing her eyes back on me.

  When I left Salem, I had no one. Every person I counted on turned out to be a fairweather friend. They chose Tyler’s side, believed lies about my family, ignored me crying in the bathroom stalls. I felt like I was floating above myself, forced to watch a tragic film that never relented. Molly, Amber, Gavin, Thea. Names I used to say daily. Faces that greeted me warmly in the morning. They became sideways glances and whispering heads.

  All I wanted was for one of them to talk to me. I thought at least Molly would.

  I learned a long time ago that loneliness isn’t worth protecting. Carson did that, with rage-covered shame. I reso
lved never to be the kind of person who made reconciliation impossible.

  None of my friends ever tried.

  Not until right now.

  “Joy? Are you mad?” Cale asks.

  I look up at him and shake my head. “No, I’m not mad at all.”

  And then I run to her.

  It takes me five seconds and I hear her start an apology, “I’m sorry about me and Car—“

  I crash into her and wrap my arms around her waist before she can finish.

  A second later, she hugs me back, laying her head on the top of mine.

  “I really suck,” she says. I distance myself and notice she’s crying.

  “No, you don’t suck. You did a sucky thing, but you don’t suck, Lena.”

  “God, Joy, do you have to be such a mom?” She taps the edge of her eye with her fingertip.

  Cale walks up to us and points at Lena. “Stop! Just stop! I’m a sympathetic crier!” I can’t tell if his throaty voice is real or genuine, but it’s welcome regardless.

  I turn back to Lena and she heaves a sigh. “I am sorry, Joy. I got jealous and tried to strangle control out of something I had no control over. Like my mom. Shit.” I note a few freckles on Lena’s glistening cheekbones. “I should’ve never met up with your brother. Or tried to keep Jin to myself. I knew he liked you and I just…” She sniffles.

  “You knew?”

  She nods hard. “Oh yeah. He had the hots for you, like, the first day you met.”

  I blush, recalling the on-the-floor moment we first saw each other. “Really? How do you know?”

  “He told me!” She laughs with a twinge of bitterness. “Jin’s basically halfway between a friend and a brother. He’s not shy with me.”

  “But you’re still in love with him.”

  “Yeah, well…” Lena looks off, her vision landing on the hazy blue hills in the distance. “I don’t know if those were my feelings or my mom’s visions of a perfect future projected onto me. She was the one always telling me my boyfriends were wrong for me, no matter what. She was right sometimes, but not always.”

  The air is fresh but heavy with humidity. The crowd cheers behind us, but it’s out of place with Lena’s turmoil. She’s felt a lot more loss than I ever realized.