by Mary Strand
“Right. Like I do portraits.” Megan shook her head. “I keep trying to branch out, to try something new, but all I ever paint are these lame watercolors of sailboats and classic cars and motorcycles. Let’s just say we’re not exactly in competition with each other.”
I glanced over my shoulder at Pete, who was helping a pint-sized customer and not glaring at me to get back to work. Yet. “I noticed you were into transportation.” In a whimsical sort of way. “What’s up with that?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes we all want to escape. I’m just drawn to slightly unusual means of escape.”
Megan? Escape? “You? Why would you want to escape?”
Her eyes flickered over my face, probably checking to see if I was making fun of her. When she finally spoke, it came out in a tight whisper. “If you’ve ever wanted to escape, you wouldn’t have to ask.”
The kid Pete had been helping brushed past me just then, clutching a bag in his little fist, and I heard Pete clear his throat behind me.
“I gotta get back to work, okay?”
Megan nodded and headed out the door without another word, not even “bye,” let alone explaining what she meant or asking if we could get together sometime. I guess she had her pride.
Something else we had in common.
I got home from work Saturday night just in time to miss dinner. Considering Mom’s cooking, that was good news. After brushing off her offer to heat up a plate of Spam-and-beets hot dish, I nuked a frozen bean burrito and grabbed a Diet Coke out of the fridge, then headed upstairs to my room.
I flopped on my bed, realizing my mistake too late when a splash of Diet Coke hit my hand and the insides of the still-hot burrito spurted out onto my lap. Perfect.
Ignoring it, I inhaled my pathetic dinner in two minutes flat, then glanced at the clock. Nearly eight. Tess hadn’t called or texted all day with any party invitations, and for once in my life I didn’t feel like going anyway. Even if Dad relented and let me out of being grounded, last night had been torture enough for one weekend.
It left me alone on a Saturday night with Mom and Dad, wearing clothes stained with Diet Coke and the greasy brown insides of a bean burrito.
For some reason it made me think of The Book.
I eyed my beaten-up copy of Pride and Prejudice, tossed on top of my desk. I hadn’t touched it since yanking it out of my backpack after school yesterday, disgusted with how badly I’d blown Ms. Mickel’s quiz. I’d read a chunk of the book on Wednesday night, then stayed up half the night on Thursday watching the Colin Firth movie. I know, I know. The quiz covered so much stuff they’d skipped in the movie, almost as if she knew we’d all watch it instead of finishing the stupid book.
English teachers could really be annoying.
After dwelling on my rotten luck for a few minutes, I finally gave up and grabbed The Book. We were supposed to finish it by next Friday, but I’m sure any psychiatrist would agree that it’s cruel and inhuman to inflict Pride and Prejudice on a girl named Cat Bennet whose life already sucks.
I tried to read in earnest instead of just skipping to the parts that dwelled on Kitty Bennet. For one thing, there weren’t many of those parts. Everyone overlooked Kitty even more than me, if that’s possible. Her life was also boring and totally dependent on whatever her sisters did. Especially Lydia.
Hmmm. It did sound like my life.
Before I knew it, my eyelids were fluttering, and I looked at the clock. Midnight! Wow. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d read for such a long stretch. Kitty was still pathetic, but I was starting to get a handle on her—and on why this was fiction and not my life. Jane Austen controlled Kitty’s life, such as it was, and Kitty didn’t.
But Jane Austen didn’t run my life. I was in control. Not Dad or Mom, even if they had the power to screw it up from time to time, and not Lydia or Mary or the always-perfect Jane and Liz. And I planned to make sure the rest of the world knew it.
Starting tomorrow.
My perfectly in-control new life didn’t start too early on Sunday. After staying up late reading The Book, and even longer thinking about it, I slept in until Mom’s screeches reached tornado-siren level.
I finally got up, showered, and grabbed a Pop-Tart for breakfast. Alone at the kitchen table, I wondered what my new life would look like and how I could make it happen. Especially on a blustery February Sunday in Minnesota.
Mary didn’t ask me to go with her to band practice that afternoon, and I refused to beg. When she slipped out the door at quarter to two, though, I heard the Jeep rumble to life and felt a twinge of something I couldn’t quite describe. But I stayed in my room. I could spend the rest of the day finishing The Book and check that off my list.
My cell phone rang ten minutes after Mary left.
“Cat?” Tess, almost breathless. “We’re all at Michael’s, and your sister just showed up, and she said you weren’t coming. Even though you know they want you to sing.”
I knew what two of them thought—Mary and Jeremy—and Tess definitely had it wrong.
“So I’ll come pick you up, okay?”
I still hadn’t said anything, and words kept getting stuck in my throat. The tiny possibility that I couldn’t sing might’ve been a factor.
“Cat?”
I coughed hard, trying to clear my throat. “Sorry. I might be coming down with something.”
Like, say, a terminal fear of singing in front of a bunch of kids who either hated my voice or acted like making fun of me was a new Olympic sport.
Tess giggled. “I’ll be there in five minutes. Be ready!”
I groaned before rolling off my bed and onto my feet. I didn’t trust Tess—not at all—but, like she said, everyone was there. I could go and not sing, right? And grab a ride from Tess so I didn’t have to walk? Definitely. A final check in the bathroom mirror later, a horn honked outside. I slipped out the front door before Dad could straighten up from cobra position to remind me I was grounded.
Tess was alone in her cherry-red Firebird, and she offered a bright smile as I climbed into the passenger seat. “Glad you could come. I was starting to worry you didn’t want to sing.”
I shrugged. “I’m not planning to sing. Jeremy told me they don’t need another singer.”
Tess zoomed away from the curb, her eyes barely glancing at the road. “You know how Jeremy likes to joke around, and we also know he has a major crush on you.”
“No, he doesn’t.” Not lately. “And it wouldn’t matter if he did.”
Tess ignored me. “So he was just acting stupid. I mean, he’s obviously kidding. You’ve heard Michael.”
“I haven’t heard Kirk or Zach or even Jeremy. And Kirk plays lead guitar. Don’t lead guitarists usually have a great voice?”
“Not necessarily, because they’re so focused on guitar. Although—” Tess glanced into the rearview mirror, finally, but only to check out her hair. She fluffed it with her hand. “I have to admit Kirk is pretty talented. Generally speaking, I mean.”
I glanced sideways at Tess. Was she another member of the Kirk Easton fan club? She didn’t seem like the type who’d be willing to stand in line. But I didn’t say anything, and a few minutes later we pulled up in front of Michael’s house. A dozen cars were parked nearby, but most of them probably belonged to the neighbors. I hoped.
Tess walked into Michael’s house as if she owned the place, not bothering to knock or ring the doorbell. I glanced around the first floor and didn’t catch sight of Michael’s parents or little sister. Come to think of it, I’d never seen his parents, and his sister hadn’t shown her freckled little face since the first time I showed up at band practice.
No wonder the band practiced at Michael’s house and not, for instance, ours. The thought of everyone in the band catching Mom screeching or Dad in his baggy, hole-in-the-butt sweatpants on his yoga mat would give Mary nightmares.
At the door to the basement, Tess touched my arm and smiled, looking like the Tess I knew. The one who
no longer inhabited her body. “C’mon, Cat. Everyone’s waiting for you.”
That had to be the biggest fib Tess ever told in her life.
“No, they’re not, and you’ve really gotta cut out the bullshit. It’s not working.”
I rolled my eyes, but my feet followed her downstairs. I didn’t bother to ask her why they’d be waiting for me. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t singing.
When she giggled and led me into the basement, I don’t know what I expected—except possible humiliation, of course—but what I got was anticlimactic.
At the far end of the room, the whole band was assembled, oblivious to the crowd of kids who were here to watch. Jeremy fiddled with his cymbals and snare drum, Michael flitted around adjusting the speakers and mics, and the other three had their heads down, tuning their guitars.
I didn’t see an extra mic on stage this time. Whew. Okay, part of me wouldn’t mind singing again, despite Mary’s and Jeremy’s opinions about my voice, but the sane part of me just wanted to sit in a dark corner and listen.
Blinking against the darkness, I finally noticed who else was here.
Everyone.
The room was packed.
Tess left my side the instant we got downstairs, squeezing into a sliver of space on the wraparound couch between Amber and Chelsea. Drew was on the other side of Chelsea with his arm draped over her shoulder and, from the look of it, his tongue in her ear. Everyone else from our gang was here, too, plus some seniors. Chrissie, the blond chick Kirk brought to Tess’s party Friday night, sat in the middle, chattering nonstop and far from oblivious to all the guys staring at her low-cut top.
No one smiled or waved or said hi to me. No one moved even an inch to let me sit down. I eyed an empty spot of carpeting in the corner, as far from the band as possible, and headed there. I told myself this wasn’t any worse than being grounded. I dropped to the floor and clasped my arms around my upturned knees. I could do this. It might even be fun.
I was such a liar.
When Kirk strummed the opening chords of a Maroon 5 song I liked, “If I Never See Your Face Again”—which was how I felt about half the kids in this room right now—I relaxed, my head bobbing to the beat of Jeremy’s drum. It wasn’t my definition of a perfect afternoon, but I was listening to decent music and surrounded by kids I’d called my friends for the last few years. Even if none of them were talking to me.
Okay, so my standards had slipped.
The only negative, really, was that Michael was singing. Tess was right about that, and everyone but Michael knew it. I saw a few curled lips, a couple of raised eyebrows, and one girl who even covered her ears.
I felt sorry for Michael. He wasn’t terrible, just a little flat, and every song that came out of his mouth sounded the same. The other guys in the band were looking down, intent on their instruments, probably just trying to get through the song without making a face. Unless Royal Revenge planned to limit themselves to instrumentals, they were in deep doo-doo.
Why didn’t they find someone who sings when they put together their band? I was pondering that question as the last notes of “If I Never See Your Face Again” floated in the air. I’d finally managed to stop thinking about Tess and Amber, the tongue bath Drew was giving Chelsea’s ear, and whether anyone in this entire room liked me.
I didn’t notice Tess until her funky red ankle-high boots started tapping right in front of me. She crouched down, and her head dropped to my eye level. “You’re gonna sing, right?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
She grabbed my hand and tried pulling me to my feet, but there were a few advantages to not being a twig like Tess or Amber, or Megan, or my sisters Jane and Mary. I didn’t move unless I wanted to. And I definitely didn’t want to.
Finally giving up, Tess swept her free arm in a wide arc, making everyone stare at us. “They all want you to sing.”
I clasped my knees even tighter. “No, they don’t. You do, Tess, but you’ve been doing a lot of weird things lately.”
A tiny crease went down the center of her forehead, and her lips curled in a pout that looked like a five-year-old’s. “It’s just that I can’t stand another second of Michael singing. No one can, and you know it.”
True. “So? Let Kirk sing. Or even Mary.”
“Mary told me she hates to sing.”
Also true, but not my issue. Ignoring Tess, I turned back to the band, wishing they’d play something. Anything.
Tess dropped onto the floor next to me. “And I never got to hear you sing last time.”
I rolled my eyes. “You didn’t miss anything. And you’ve heard me sing a million times in choir. You always stood right next to me.”
Talk about ancient history.
She brushed a hand through her hair. “That was eighth grade. C’mon, Cat. Kirk said you were really good. I can’t believe you’d say no to him.”
“I’m not. Kirk isn’t asking me to sing.”
I glanced again at the other end of the room, where Mary strummed idly on her guitar while the other guys discussed something pretty intently. They needed a song list. Even with a crowd, they could never seem to agree on what to play next.
Shaking her head, Tess stood up and walked away. Everyone’s gaze focused on her now, which was good news for both of us. It didn’t explain why my stomach gave a nervous little gurgle.
I didn’t trust Tess. I wondered why I ever had. Before I could scramble to my feet, though, Tess took several long strides up to the band and pulled Kirk aside. After a quick whispered conversation, Kirk looked past Tess and out at the crowd. Zooming in on me. Crap.
“Cat? Hey, Cat?”
Kirk was calling me, and everyone was staring. Even though I knew I could sing, and told myself it wouldn’t be the most humiliating experience of my life, I froze into a ball of petrified horror.
It didn’t help when Kirk brushed past Tess and waded through the crowd, his gaze holding mine every step of the way. Even as my life flashed before my eyes, I imagined how cool it’d be if Kirk ever held my gaze this way under normal circumstances. Like, if we were alone, just the two of us.
Nope. Even on my best day ever, Kirk wasn’t possible.
He stopped in front of me, his hand outstretched but not trying to grab me or yank me or otherwise humiliate me. His eyes pulled me upward, though, even hidden behind his sunglasses. Biting my lip, I got to my feet.
I leaned close to him, my eyes blinking when I caught a whiff of the scent of him, a mix of cinnamon and rock star. Trying not to breathe in case I might inhale him, I whispered in his ear. “Kirk, I really don’t wanna sing.”
He just grinned and led me over to the rest of the band. I closed my eyes, praying this was either a nightmare I’d wake up from or a dream in which everyone but Kirk suddenly disappeared.
When he halted suddenly, I slammed into him.
“Hey. My fault.” He turned back to me and grinned again. “I told everyone how well you sang, and we’d all like you to sing again. Wanna do ‘Yellow’ or try something else?”
He told everyone how well I sang? Had he tried to tell Mary and Jeremy? As a warm flush stole over me, I wondered if they were just jealous. Mary, because Kirk liked me. Jeremy, because any other guy liked me. Even if it was just for my singing.
I smiled back at Kirk. “Let’s go with ‘Yellow.’”
Kirk grabbed a sheet from the top of his stack of lyrics and handed it to me. “It’s all yours.” He’d been ready for me, even if Mary left the house without me today, even if Jeremy basically asked me two nights ago not to sing.
Mary and Jeremy weren’t looking at me now. In fact, no one in the band but Kirk was, and I couldn’t see Tess or anyone else in the inky blackness ten feet out from the band.
I clutched the lyrics and reminded myself that Kirk liked my singing. I mostly remembered the words from the last time I sang, not to mention the million times Mary had played the song at stun level in her bedroom, but I stared at the lyrics anyway
.
I knew them. I could do this.
Kirk grabbed a mic from behind Zach, setting it up between Mary and him. It was just like last time, except that twenty kids I couldn’t quite see were watching and hoping my singing would be better than Michael’s.
On my right, Kirk started strumming the opening chords of “Yellow.” Unlike last time, though, Mary just stood on the other side of me, not touching the strings of her guitar. When I frowned, she moved a couple of steps closer to me.
“Don’t do it, Cat. Walk out now, and I’ll cover you.”
I would’ve laughed her off if she hadn’t covered me a week ago when Chelsea showed up.
Even so, I shook my head. “They’ll laugh if I leave. Kirk asked. He wants me to sing.”
She gave me this weird look filled with pity but started strumming in time with Kirk. Pissed now, I stepped up to the mic, grabbed it out of the clip, and held it up to my mouth. I blew softly into it, listening for feedback to make sure it was actually turned on this time.
Ready or not.
I glanced at Kirk just as he did the big swoop with his arm like he’d done the last time, signaling for me to start. I opened my mouth. And sang.
First word, first line, first verse. I relaxed as I headed into the chorus after the first verse, even though Mary looked stiff and upset and I didn’t dare turn around to look at Jeremy. His eyes were always closed when he played anyway, as if he was pretending he was on a different planet, maybe playing completely different music with a different band.
I glanced at Kirk, who gave me his high-beam smile as I hit the final note of the chorus and waited to begin the next verse.
Except it never began.
As I stood there, swaying slightly to the music without trying to look like I was actually dancing or being cocky or whatever, I heard it. Laughter. Giggles and whoops and huge belly laughs.
My head whipped around. None of the guys in the band were laughing, but the corner of Kirk’s mouth quirked upward. Mary looked sick. Jeremy’s eyes were open, but he didn’t meet my gaze. He was glaring at Kirk, glaring at someone in the inky darkness, looking ready to kill. I’d never seen him like this. No one had ever seen Jeremy like this.
