A delivery truck reverses into a loading dock nearby, beep-beeping the whole time. A pack of yelling kids chase each other over the grass in front of the stage. Their moms gab on a bench. Not exactly the treed setting and attentive audience we hope to have at Tall Grass.
“One sec?” I call to Ingrid and grab one of the bottles of water she brought for us. “I’m a little thirsty.”
“You okay?” Jess asks.
I recap the water, avoiding her eyes. “Yep. Let’s go.”
We try “I’ve Got This Friend” again. Harper’s got the melody, of course. I’m having trouble hearing her well enough to know if my harmonies are in key. But every time I inch closer to her, she inches closer to the front of the stage. Jess, used to singing over her own guitar playing, seems unworried.
Ingrid waves her hands. “Harper and Nat, back up so you’re still close to Jess. Stay under the roofline. When you’re too far forward, your voices diffuse into the air.”
Harper takes three giant steps back. “Stop crowding me, Nat. My arms move when I sing. I don’t want to bash you.”
“It’s not punk music, Harper,” Jess says. “You don’t have to thrash around. Nat needs to be close to hear you.”
A piercing whistle shocks us all into silence. Even the running kids stop in their tracks. Ingrid removes her fingers from her mouth. “You’re wasting time, girls. From the top again.”
Jess counts us in. I can hear Harper better, but I feel stiff standing still, trying not to crowd her. Looking across to Jess, her face serene as she plays and sings, I feel a stab of jealousy. Has Darrell been telling her what a superior musician she is compared to Harper and me? Has Gabe watched her sing and told her how pretty her lips are?
“I can’t hear you again, Nat.” Ingrid’s voice jolts. She’s stepped onstage without me noticing. “Your breathing is too shallow. That’s bad enough indoors, but outdoors you’re sunk.”
“Right. I know.”
Ingrid tucks in between Harper and me and puts her hands on my back and stomach. Not this again. “Start at the chorus. All of you. Nat, get that breath of yours to move my hands, the way I showed you in our first session.”
A little girl has wandered over to the band-shell. She stares up at me, sucking thoughtfully on her juice-box straw.
I take a deep breath. We start the chorus. Ingrid’s hands feel heavy. I work to move them. I mess up a word and Harper stink-eyes me over Ingrid’s head. I wish more than anything that Ingrid would take her hands away. I breathe. The little girl pops the straw out of her mouth and tries to sing along. My voice cracks.
“Passaggio!” Ingrid says.
I breathe. We move into the next verse. Two trucks rumble by, one honking. Jess leans in closer with her guitar, bobs her head as if to say, “You’re off the beat.” I breathe. Ingrid takes her hands away but comes around in front and stares at me, her pale eyebrows furrowed. The little girl yells, “I can’t see.” My voice cracks again.
“Stop.” Ingrid puts her hands on her head, smushing down her spikes.
“Well, that sucked,” Harper says not so quietly.
“You’re pushing,” Ingrid says. “You’re going to hurt your voice if you keep that up.”
“Sorry. There’s too much going on.” My throat feels scratchy.
The little girl’s mom takes her hand, saying, “Leave the singers alone, Maya.”
“They’re not singers,” Maya corrects her. She has no problem projecting. “They’re only pretending.”
She’s right. At least about me.
“There’ll be a lot going on at the festival too.” Ingrid studies me. She’s the doctor, I’m the problem patient. “Have you been to Tall Grass?”
“Oh, please,” Jess mumbles.
I swear I can feel Harper’s smugness wafting off her like a smell. Anger spills over inside me. “No, I have not been to Tall Grass. Or any outdoor music festival. I have not taken singing lessons all my life. I don’t play an instrument. I can barely sight-read music. I’m a school choir dropout, an amateur. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be at the Tall Grass festival.”
Ingrid’s expression hasn’t changed. “You’re not helping your voice with an outburst like that.”
“I quit,” I say. “I quit Honeycomb.” I run off the stage and keep running. Someone calls my name, but I can’t tell if it’s Harper or Jess. Not that either of them needs me.
Fifteen
An hour later, I’m all cried out. I lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I quit Honeycomb repeats in my head. Beside me, my phone is quiet. I had half expected a frantic Come back text from Harper. Nothing.
There’s a knock at my door.
“I told you, Mom.” My voice rasps. I clear my throat. “It was just a lousy rehearsal. I’m fine.”
I haven’t told her yet that I’ve quit the group. She’ll probably be relieved.
My door opens.
I drop my arm over my eyes. “Mom, I said—”
“You’re right. It was a lousy rehearsal,” Jess says.
I move my arm. “Go away.”
She leans against the doorframe. “I thought I was the expert at walking away from stuff I hate, but you showed me. Impressive.”
“Did you come here to gloat?”
“No.” She closes the door behind her. “I came to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” I say, though the pile of tissues beside the bed probably gives me away. I sit up. “You can still gloat. Because you were right. This whole Tall Grass contest was a stupid idea. Especially for me. Today’s rehearsal proved it.” Something catches in my chest. I grit my teeth, hold back the tears. “But you knew all along. Sorry I dragged you through all this.”
Jess sits on the bed. “You dragged me through to being a better musician.”
“Great. You can go off and be a better musician without me.”
“To perform with only Harper? As if that would work.” Jess smiles at me.
Looking at her, so straightforward, so steady, I can see exactly why Gabe would fall for her.
“Or with Gabe.”
“Gabe?”
“Don’t play dumb.” My heart races. “Harper told me she saw you and Gabe coming out of Darrell’s today. Together. She figures that’s why you missed our session with Ingrid and didn’t tell me. I figure that’s why you’ve barely talked to me lately. Because you’re seeing Gabe.”
Jess tilts her head. “Seeing Gabe? Like, going out with him?”
I almost yell, “Yes, like going out with him.”
“Argh. Harper and her drama.” She gets off the bed. “What sort of a friend does she think I am?”
“I don’t know. The sort who doesn’t tell me things.”
Jess holds her hands out as if to steady herself. “There was nothing to tell. I’m not seeing Gabe. We both wanted help, and Darrell squeezed me in to some of Gabe’s lessons. Gabe was nice enough to let that happen. One of those times was when Honeycomb was supposed to meet with Ingrid. I had to choose. I chose Darrell. Good thing, ’cause I’m much better at the songs, thanks to him.”
“Why didn’t you tell me all that?”
Jess deflates. “It sounds stupid now.”
I wait, arms crossed.
“I was embarrassed.” Jess slides down to the floor, her back against the bed. “I’ve never been embarrassed about music before, but that session with Ingrid—the breathing, the emotions, the solar plexus stuff—it felt too…messy. Not musical. It scared me.”
“I’ve never seen you scared.”
She pushes back her hair. “Well, that’s what it looks like. Not pretty.”
I remember how powerful our voices sounded, how the song made sense to me. “I loved that exercise,” I admit.
Jess rests her head back onto the bed. “I could tell. You and Harper. That bugged me. How could you two get something so easily and I couldn’t? I knew I needed Darrell’s help after that session, when you blew up at me. I thought, If Nat’s mad, I nee
d to do something.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I say. “I’ve quit. You can quit. Harper can do what she wants. We don’t have to deal with her or Ingrid.”
“Or Honeycomb?”
I nod.
“After all the work we’ve done?”
I say what Harper said in our first meeting at Darrell’s. “Just because you worked hard on something doesn’t mean it’s the right thing to do.”
Jess gets up and sits on the bed. “Remember in March, in my bedroom? You told me you wanted to try to be a real musician.”
“I was deluded.”
“You weren’t. Because now you are a real musician. Over the past couple of months, you’ve become one.” Jess smiles, waiting for a response.
“Not today I wasn’t.”
She waves that off. “Every musician has bad rehearsals sometimes. It’s part of the process. The way Grandma Barb said arguments are part of the process.”
“We perfected that part of the process.”
“It’s Harper’s specialty.”
“You’re pretty good at it too.”
Jess opens her mouth, fake-shocked.
I can’t help smiling.
“The trio only survived all those arguments because of you. You’re what held us together.” She nudges my foot with hers.
“That’s me being nice. That’s not me being musical.”
“Now look who’s arguing. Being able to keep things together—people, music—that takes a stronger sense of harmony than Harper or I will ever have.”
Could that be true?
“Plus you’re an awesome singer.” Jess is matter-of-fact. “Face it. You’re a musician. Honeycomb can’t exist without you. You aren’t allowed to quit. I don’t think you want to.”
“You’d actually still work with Harper?”
“I will if you will.”
The words spark a memory of Jess and me saying that to each other when we were little and getting up the nerve to join the school choir.
Before I can answer Jess, my phone buzzes. I pick it up. “Ha. Guess who.” I say to her.
“Tell her the good news.”
“I haven’t said yes yet.”
Jess gives me a friendly push. “Just answer the phone.”
“Hey, Harper—”
“Thanks for killing the trio.” Her voice is thick.
“No, everything’s okay. Jess is here. I changed my mind about Honeycomb,” I say.
“Too late,” Harper says. “I looked at the Tall Grass website. Honeycomb’s not on the Young Performers list anymore. You wrecked everything.”
My heart drops.
Jess looks at me, questioning.
“Meet me and Jess outside the Tall Grass office,” I say. “We’re on our way.”
* * *
Jess and I round the corner and see Harper in a spotlight of late-afternoon sun, waiting in front of the Tall Grass building. She leans against the wall, head down, and kicks at the bricks with the heel of her boot.
“She’s going to knock the place down,” Jess says.
I’m more worried she’s going to knock us down. “Harper,” I call.
She lifts her head as we approach. “Thanks for quitting Honeycomb and stranding me.”
“I know you’re probably angry, but—”
“Probably?” Harper pushes away from the wall. “We get a chance to sing at Tall Grass. Something any band would kill for. But you throw it away. This was my dream! So yeah, I’m angry. Because now I realize I was an idiot to include you two.” She starts to cry, and her hands fly up to her face.
Jess and I are shocked into silence. On the way over, we’d planned how we’d deal with an annoyed Harper, how we’d let her vent a bit before going into the Tall Grass office to sort everything out. We hadn’t planned on a defeated Harper.
She wipes at her eyes, stares at us and lets out a harsh laugh. “Why did I even bother to meet you here? Forget it.” She straightens her shoulders and turns to leave. A pigeon ruffles and scoots out of her way.
“Wait.” I grab Harper’s hand. When she looks at it, angry, I reach out and take her other hand, more gently. “You came because you’ve always believed in the trio. You saw what we could do before Jess or I did. And you’re still ready to fight for it.”
Harper’s eyes soften for a second. Then she pulls her hands away. “There’s nothing to fight for. Honeycomb doesn’t exist. You quit.” Then she points at Jess. “You abandoned us.”
“Hey, I went to get guitar help from Darrell so I could be better for Honeycomb. I wasn’t abandoning anything. And I sure wasn’t ‘seeing’ Gabe. How was telling Nat that supposed to help the trio?”
“It’s not like you were telling her what you were really doing. I was trying to be her friend.”
“By upsetting her so much she blew a rehearsal with Ingrid?”
For the hundredth time I come between Harper and Jess. “That. Doesn’t. Matter.” I pull the two of them over to a nearby bench and make them sit down. “I want to be in Honeycomb. Jess wants to be in Honeycomb. Harper, do you?”
She looks at me like I’ve asked the stupidest question. “Of course I do. I don’t care how much you guys drive me crazy, we sound brilliant together.” She pauses, then laughs and shakes her head. “It’s true. Weird. Our voices get along even when we can’t.”
“It’s like the music knows something we don’t,” I say.
“Music knows everything.” Harper spreads her hands wide, then rests them on her lap.
Jess leans back, her elbows on the top of the bench. “Yep.”
Jess and Harper can’t see it, but they both wear the same peaceful expression. The last time I saw that was when we were singing at the March-break showcase.
I sit down beside Jess. “So Honeycomb still exists.”
Harper turns to me. “Not on the Tall Grass website.”
“Let’s go take care of that,” I say.
* * *
Robert looks ambushed when Jess, Harper and I charge into the office. “Ladies. What’s this?”
Harper slaps her hands down on his desk. “We need to see Ingrid.”
“She doesn’t live here, you know. Although it feels that way lately.” Robert sighs. “It happens that she is in rehearsal with Feathered Hair. A very restrained duo.”
“Unlike us, you mean?” Jess says.
We hear a familiar voice projecting down the hall. “Keep yawning. Your jaws are too tense. Yawning helps.” Ingrid, fiddling with her timer, appears. “Robert, do you have batteries? Oh!” She notices the three of us.
Robert adjusts his red glasses. “I told the ladies you were busy in rehearsal.”
“You owe us an explanation,” Harper says.
“So I got your attention, did I?” Ingrid smiles without looking friendly.
Harper’s voice goes dark. “Taking Honeycomb off the Young Performers list was your way of getting our attention?”
I hear Robert’s desk drawer bang shut.
“Well, didn’t you quit?” Ingrid asks.
“No!” I say. “I mean, I know I said that, but I was upset and frustrated and…”
Ingrid takes the batteries from Robert. “I’m too busy with the other groups to waste energy on one that isn’t committed.”
“How many times do we have to tell people?” Harper says, her voice frantic. “We are committed.”
Ingrid casually jiggles the batteries in her hand, like they’re dice. “To missing our sessions? Running out on rehearsals? Declaring you quit?”
“Of course not,” Jess says.
“I wanted you to think of the consequences of those behaviors.” Ingrid pops the new batteries into her timer. “You all have excellent voices. But perhaps you’re just not ready for Tall Grass.”
“I can’t believe this is happening.” Harper speaks barely above a whisper. Her eyes are welling up again. That makes my own eyes prickle with tears.
Ingrid lifts her chin, considers Harper mo
re closely. “I might be willing to give you girls one more chance. Perhaps next Saturday, if you’re truly able to commit.”
The way she makes it sound like she’s doing us a huge favor sticks in my throat. I feel like I should say something, but before I can think of what, Harper nods frantically and says, “Yes. I promise you won’t be—”
“Um, Ingrid?” A tall skinny girl pokes her head around the corner into the office. She has—no surprise—feathered hair. “I think we’re all yawned out.”
“Really?” Jess says, hands on her hips. “Have you tried closing your eyes? Holding hands? Closing your eyes, holding hands and yawning? Or maybe try singing. That’ll loosen your jaws.”
Ingrid’s head swivels in Jess’s direction. So does Robert’s. The girl from Feathered Hair backs out of the room.
“Jess, are you crazy?” Harper cries.
And in that frozen moment, I get it. This is how we work. Jess annoyed and blunt, Harper passionate and self-centered, me anxious to keep the peace. But each time they argued, we all worked harder. And that work has created Honeycomb. We don’t need Ingrid or Darrell to tell us if we’re ready for Tall Grass. We just need to do it. I don’t need to keep quiet anymore. I need to use my voice.
Ingrid stalks toward the office door.
I call, “Is there a rule that says we have to work with a mentor in order to be eligible to perform at Tall Grass?”
That stops her. Turning, she pins Robert to the spot. “You’re the expert, darling. Is there?”
He shifts from foot to foot. “It is, of course, absolutely recommended. It is a huge benefit for the young musicians who get into Tall Grass…” His rich voice fades to nothing when he looks at the three of us.
“But?” Ingrid prompts.
“No. They do not have to work with a mentor in order to perform.” He sits back down.
I don’t even try to hold back my smile. “Thank you for all your help, Ingrid. We’ve learned so much. I know I have for sure. But Honeycomb won’t be working with you anymore.” Over her shoulder, I see Jess’s eyes go wide. Harper makes a little squealing noise. “If that’s okay with you guys?”
“Yes!” They say it in perfect unison.
“Well,” Ingrid says, short on words for once. “Good luck.”
Honeycomb Page 7
