Out of Tune

by Gail Nall

  Shiver stares after them as the ambulance peels away from the show.

  “We’ll drive you to the hospital, Adalie,” Mom says.

  Shiver wipes her face with the back of her hand, smearing mascara everywhere. “It’s Shiver.”

  Mom gives her an awkward one-armed hug while one of the actors tells Dad how to get to the only hospital in town. We make our way to the truck as the actors try to pick up the gunfight where they left off.

  I want to say something nice to Shiver, but I can’t think of anything. So I stare out the window and hope Gert is okay.

  Chapter 10

  11 days until Dueling Duets auditions

  We’re back at the hospital to visit Gert in the morning. The doctors didn’t say much last night, except that she had a stroke. Shiver refused to leave the hospital, so Mom slept on chairs in the waiting room while the rest of us went back to Bertha. Kenzie texted to let me know that Jack told her she could go to the filming. I haven’t written back yet. It feels weird and selfish to be thinking about whether Jack likes Lacey right now.

  Now the doctors say that Gert can’t go home for several weeks. By “home,” they mean her house, not her RV. She has to stay in the hospital, and then go to a nursing home for a while. And they can’t tell yet if she’ll be the same as she was before.

  This makes Shiver cry even more. Even though she’s been horrible to me, my heart hurts every time I look at her. And Gert was such a fun person, with her crazy long white hair and faded yellow RV, and now she barely even looks like herself. Half of her face seems like all the muscles stopped working.

  One of Gert’s eyes flutters as Mom sits in the chair next to her bed.

  “Adalie,” Gert says in a slurred voice.

  Shiver looks up. “I’m here, Gran.”

  “Shelly . . . California . . . take her?”

  “You want us to get Adalie to her mother’s?” Mom asks.

  Gert’s head moves, just barely. Mom called her old friend Shelly last night to let her know what was going on. I only heard one end of the conversation, but I could tell Mom was annoyed that Shelly was going to stay put in San Francisco. If it was Grandma who’d had a stroke, Mom would’ve been on a plane to Louisville in no time flat—especially if Bug and I were with her in a hospital and totally traumatized by what had happened.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Shiver grabs Gert’s left hand—the one the doctors said she was having trouble moving because of the stroke. “I’m staying here until you get better.”

  “No,” Gert says. “Here . . . too long . . . home.”

  Mom reaches for Shiver’s hand. “She doesn’t want you stuck here in the hospital. She’d rather you be with your mom, and then she’ll get better and come home.”

  Shiver lays her blue head down on her grandmother and cries some more.

  “We’ll take her home. I’ll call Shelly again,” Mom says to Gert. “Don’t you worry.”

  A ghost of a smile flickers over half of Gert’s face. Shiver holds even tighter to her. I want to be angry that Shiver’s moving into our RV, but I can’t. Not right now. I can’t even be angry at Mom and Dad for moving us into Bertha right now.

  “Come on,” Mom says to me and Bug. “Let’s give them some space.”

  I put a hand on Shiver’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I say, because it’s all I can think of.

  “Thanks,” she says, so quiet I can barely hear it.

  I slip out of the room behind Mom and Bug. At least Gert is okay. Or she will be okay. I just hope Shiver will be too.

  We stay for two days to make sure Gert is stable. Then we all load into Bertha to head to Yellowstone. Me, Bug, and Shiver are all stuffed onto what used to be the Dirt Den Couch, because that’s where the only seat belts are. I’ve tried to talk to Shiver about Gert, but she clams up every time. In fact, she barely even acknowledges my existence. So now I’m back to working on my own problem.

  T minus 9 days. That means I absolutely, positively have to find a ride tonight, or I’m going to be cutting it really close to get back in time for auditions. Not to mention that every minute that passes means Jack might be asking Lacey to take my place.

  Since Shiver’s here 24/7, I haven’t been able to sing anywhere except for the bathhouse at the campground (which actually has really good acoustics), or to even page through Everything Y’all Ever Wanted to Know, because it seems like she’s always looking over my shoulder and I’m not really sure about sharing the most important thing in my life with her. I even keep my cubbyhole curtain closed so she won’t see the TTT.

  Back in Cody, Mom called Shelly and asked about getting Shiver on a plane home. Shelly complained about airfare money, and talked about how she’d have to wait until she got paid again. Mom told her she completely understood about financial troubles, and offered to drive Shiver to San Francisco. It’s strange, really, because Shelly hasn’t talked to Mom in, like, twenty years, but I could practically hear her “YES” through the phone. I mean, what if her former best friend is now a kidnapper or something?

  Then, to make the whole thing even weirder, Shelly told Mom that she didn’t want to mess up our plans, so we should take our time getting Shiver home. Mom kind of frowned at the phone, and said, “Okay,” as if she wasn’t really sure it was okay.

  So we’re going to spend a week or so in Yellowstone and Grand Teton on our way to California. Shiver seems more than okay with hanging out in some national parks with us before getting back to San Francisco. Maybe she’s just so concerned about Gert that she’s not really thinking straight. Because who in their right mind would want to spend more time in Bertha than they had to?

  Since all the beds are taken, she’s sleeping on the couch. Which she complains is hard and lumpy and doesn’t give her any room to turn over or have any privacy. Like anyone has privacy in Bertha.

  “There’s a whole free bed,” she said this morning when she walked through my cubbyholes to the bathroom. “Full of junk. And I get the couch.”

  I pulled the covers over my head and propped my feet on a stack of books. And texted Kenzie, who’s been really sympathetic. She told me that Jack asked again about when I’ll be back. Which just made it feel like ants were crawling in my belly, because I haven’t had a chance to look for a ride since everything happened with Gert.

  Now that we’re officially in Yellowstone, Bug’s nose is permanently glued to the window as she searches for animals.

  “Maya, you should look out the other side,” she says.

  I don’t really feel like peering past every tree for a critter, but anything’s better than watching Shiver listen to whatever it is she has on those earbuds and ignore us all. Plus, if I spot something, Bug will be over-the-moon happy. So I stare out the window across the way and watch the trees go by.

  Five minutes pass.

  Fifteen minutes.

  A half hour.

  My eyes are practically crossing. I look away and blink. “There’s nothing out there.”

  “Even if we can’t see them, they’re probably watching us,” Dad says as we approach a sharp curve.

  “You just have to keep looking,” Bug says. She hasn’t moved an inch this whole time.

  “When Dad and I were here before, there were animals all over the— Stop, stop, stop, stop!” Mom’s hand shoots out toward Dad.

  Dad slams on the brakes. The upper half of my body jerks forward and back like a puppet. The tires make this horrible squealing sound, things thunk heavily from my bunks to the floor, and there’s a crazy rattling from where the truck is hooked up to the RV.

  When everything stops moving, Bug’s leaning back into Shiver’s lap and my phone is tossed up somewhere near Mom and Dad.

  “Everyone all right?” Mom asks in a shaky voice.

  “Yeah.” I unbuckle with shaking fingers and try to stand up. But I end up sitting back down because my legs can’t hold me.

  Shiver pulls out an earbud. “Can’t your dad drive?” she whispers to me.


  I ignore her. “What happened?”

  “Look.” Dad points ahead through the windshield.

  I lean forward. Right in front of Bertha is a buffalo. A huge brown, shaggy, bearded buffalo. Just standing there, staring at us with his dark glassy eyes.

  “Bug, you have to see this,” I whisper, like it’s going to hear me and run away. “It’s a buffalo.”

  “Bison,” she corrects me. But then she squeals a little when she sees it.

  Shiver rolls her eyes and plugs back into her music.

  “Look, there’re more,” Mom says. Dad’s snapping pictures as fast as he can.

  After a while, all the bison wander off into a nearby field, and we move forward again.

  “That was amazing,” Bug says. “He was so close!”

  “It was pretty neat,” I admit. Not enough to make me want to give up OMGH, though. I wonder how fast a bison can go. Can you ride one like a horse? If I can’t find a way home in someone’s RV, maybe I could ride a bison home. Now, that would make Lacey’s eyes pop out.

  Shiver just sits there with her eyes closed, like seeing all those bison was the most boring thing on the planet. I go back to texting Kenzie, detailing my new plan to get home. Until the signal disappears.

  “Mom, my phone is completely useless. Why isn’t there a signal?” I shake the phone as if that’ll magically make the signal come back.

  “Oh, we switched phone companies,” Mom says, like this is no big deal at all. “This new one is a lot cheaper, but the coverage is spotty.”

  Spotty? Try entirely nonexistent.

  When we pull into the campground, I ask Mom and Dad if I can take a walk and get to know the place. I’ve already got my hand on the doorknob, ready to leap out and find that one RV that will take me home. Mom looks at me as if she has no idea who I am, while Dad grins and says, “Of course, Maya Mae!”

  His grin stirs up something uncomfortable that’s climbing through my insides. I ignore it. After all, he and Mom ignored my dream.

  The gravel crunching under my feet is just a little louder than my pounding heart. What if I can’t find anyone who will take me home? Even worse, what if I do and they turn out to be crazy?

  No one’s around at the RV next to ours. The next one has a campfire going. Three little boys chase each other, and their mom screams at them to sit down and eat dinner.

  I pause, and decide against it. If I can’t find anyone else, maybe I’ll come back to them. The next two campsites have tents instead of RVs. I cross my sweatshirt-covered arms and try to rub the goose bumps away, thinking of how freezing those people must be. It’s only six o’clock, and it’s already getting cold.

  An older couple sits at the picnic table of the next campsite. They’re drinking coffee from travel mugs and chatting quietly. The woman is wearing a pink sweatshirt that proclaims I Love Santa Monica. It’s totally something Grandma would buy and wear proudly. The man has on a hat with a gazillion pins.

  I glance at their RV. It looks normal. They have a little map on the back of it, with the states they’ve been to colored in red. Tennessee isn’t colored in. Hmm . . . There’s also no scary tire cover, and I’d bet a hundred dollars their TV inside was made in the last ten years.

  They’re the perfect people to ask. If I can get the courage, that is.

  I wish Kenzie was here. She wouldn’t be all palm-sweaty nervous about asking a nice-looking elderly couple to drive us home. I have to do this for the only thing I’ve ever really wanted with all my heart.

  I dig my fingernails into my hands and take a deep breath of the chilly, campfire-tinged air. “Um, hi? Excuse me?”

  “Why, hello,” the man says in a booming voice. “How are you this fine evening?”

  Onstage. Pretend I’m onstage, singing for all I’m worth while TV cameras film me from all angles, and I can do this. “I’m good, but, well . . . my name is Maya, and I’m wondering if you might be able to take me home.”

  The woman tilts her head. “Home? Do you mean to your campsite?”

  “I actually kind of live in Nashville?” I don’t know why I say it like it’s a question.

  “Ah, so you can’t find your campsite. You get lost on the way back from the bathhouse? All these gravel loops look alike, don’t they?” the man says.

  “No, not exactly. I have to get back home, to—oof!” Something huge plows into me.

  “There you are!” Shiver. Ugh, who else?

  I shrug her off and give her what I hope is a meaningful look.

  And she completely ignores me. Instead, she goes on and on to the old couple. “My little sister gets lost a lot. She has the worst sense of direction. Come on now, Maya. It’s time for dinner.”

  She tugs my arm and practically pulls me down. I trip over my toes on the gravel and barely have time to wave good-bye to the couple before she’s pulled me past their campsite.

  “Let me go!” I finally yank my arm from her grasp. “What is wrong with you? Why are you always messing up my plans?”

  She laughs and crosses her arms. The setting sun glints off the stud in her nose. “Wow, Shiver, thanks for saving my life. Again,” she says in this high-pitched voice.

  Seriously, I don’t talk like that. “I was fine. Why do you keep butting in? I need to get home.”

  “What’s so great about Nashville anyway? You’re here with parents who actually care about you, and all you want to do is ditch them as fast as you can.”

  I cross my arms too. “It’s none of your business why I want to go home. But I have something huge planned. Something that’ll change my whole life. And a best friend who misses me. We’re so close, we could be sisters. Not that you’d understand that.” Okay, maybe that’s not the nicest thing to say, but she’s just ruined my best plan yet.

  Her forehead crinkles as she hikes up that black bag she carries around everywhere. “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing. Never mind. Just leave me alone, okay? Unless you have a better idea on how I can get home.” I stride past her toward our campsite.

  “Are you mad because you’re stuck with me?” Her voice grates on my nerves, as if it’s a fork scraping across my teeth.

  I count to ten like I have to with Bug sometimes. I think about Gert. I think about how I would feel if that had happened to Grandma.

  And I don’t say anything.

  When I get back, Shiver trailing behind me, Mom, Dad, and Bug are sitting at the bus seat table, eating mac and cheese and the veggie burgers Mom bought just for Shiver.

  “There you are.” Mom pops a cooked veggie burger between the two halves of a bun and passes it to me. Then she takes a steaming cup of hot chocolate from the microwave. “I thought you’d be cold after your walk.” She hands me the mug.

  I wrap my hands around it, thank Mom, and do battle with the guilt that’s clawing up my throat.

  “Thank you for going after Maya, Shiver,” Mom says.

  Shiver just kind of shrugs and takes the plate Mom hands her. She eats her veggie burger as if she’s starving to death, and then Mom promises to let her use the barely there wi-fi coming from the lodge to call Gert on Mom’s laptop. Because—of course—there’s still no cell signal here, and my phone can’t pick up the wi-fi. It’s like the Cell Phone God knows I need to talk to Kenzie more than anything in the world right now and is just being mean. And there’s no way I’m Skyping her on Mom’s laptop where everyone can hear us. I can text her, but it won’t send until we come back in range of a signal.

  As the sun sets, it gets colder and colder. Dad finally convinces Mom to let him light a fire outside after he promises not to burn the park down. Just as the flames start to crackle, the people belonging to the RV next to us drive up in a little car. They climb out with layers of clothes and enormous backpacks with sleeping bags rolled up underneath.

  Hmm. I wonder if they’re planning to leave tomorrow. Of course, now that Shiver knows what I’m up to, she’ll probably ruin it before I can even ask them.

>   “Howdy,” Dad calls, his new cowboy hat on (which Mom let him get only because it was on clearance).

  I slide down in my camp chair and pretend not to know him.

  “Go for a hike?” he asks the people.

  “We did the Slough Creek Trail,” the man says. “Seven miles in, seven back out. Took two days to finish.”

  “They went hiking for two days straight?” I whisper to Bug.

  “It’s called backpacking,” Shiver says out of nowhere.

  “That sounds like the best thing ever,” Bug says.

  “But where would you go to the bathroom?” I ask Bug. “There aren’t any toilets in the middle of the woods.”

  “You dig a cathole,” the backpacker woman says with a smile.

  “A what?” I ask.

  “You dig a hole six inches deep, do your business, and then fill it in.”

  “Ugh.”

  The man laughs. “It’s not for everyone. We’ll see you folks later.” They disappear into their RV. So they might be crazy for taking that kind of hike, but they don’t seem psycho crazy. Definitely a potential ride home. If only I can figure out how to talk to them without Shiver seeing.

  Dad stares into the fire, then looks at Mom. “Just think of that.”

  “I have, and no,” Mom says as she heads toward our RV. “I’m turning in.”

  Thank you, Mom. I was starting to imagine this horror movie with Dad dragging us all down some fifty-mile trail for a month, making us pee in holes, and probably getting everyone eaten by bears. Everyone but me, that is, since I’ll be on my way to Nashville—somehow.

  Just as the wind picks up and I’m about to go inside too, Mom yells from Bertha.

  “Maya Mae Casselberry. Get in here this minute!”

  Shiver whistles. “Someone’s in trouble.”

  Chapter 11

  9 days until Dueling Duets auditions

  As I move toward Mom’s shadowy figure, I wonder what in the world I’ve done. Did she find out I tried to get a ride home? But how could that happen when Shiver’s the only one who knows and she was sitting right next to me?