This perks Josh up.“You can’t take a break if you’re trying to make it.” He pushes himself up into a semi-sitting position. “You have to work at it all the time.”
“I know that,” I say. "Don’t you think I know that?”
“So what are you saying?” Mike demands.
“Just that maybe—” But then I stop. I haven’t even thought about what to say yet. “Forget it. Let’s just take a break and . . . How about I play my audition piece? I could really use some feedback.”
Mike calms down a little. "What are you playing?”
“You had to write your own piece. I haven’t titled it yet.”
I swing my guitar strap over my head and strum a few chords.Then I start playing from memory. That’s one sweet skill I’ve always had—being able to play without sheet music. I can also sight-read pretty decently. So at least I have those things going for me. Because diverting the judges’ attention away from my lacking academic history is the only thing that will save me.
This song I wrote is definitely my best work. I want to show them how good I am. It’s really technical in some places, but I don’t think it’s too busy. Just enough to distract them from my transcript.
When it’s over, I try to read their faces.“Well? What do you think?”
Mike and Josh exchange a look.
"Ummm...” Josh squints and massages his temples like he has a colossal headache.
“What was that supposed to be?” Mike says.
“My song, scumwad.”
“So, what? You’re playing that in public?” Josh shakes his head. “Bad idea.”
“Yeah, maybe you should...What do you call it when it’s like lip synching, but with a guitar? Strum synching?”
“I think the term you’re looking for,” Josh says,“is pluck synching.”
“Okay, you ass-munchers. Seriously. How was it?”
Josh pushes himself up off the floor. "Incredible.”
“Seriously?”
Mike nods. "They won’t know what hit ’em.”
Maybe this can really happen. And maybe there’s a real chance that Sara and I can stay together next year.
“Let’s bounce.” Josh starts to pack up.
“Are we still on for tomorrow?” Mike says.
“Why wouldn’t we be?”
During the ride to my place with the dark trees moving past us, I think about Sara. I wanted to tell her the whole truth about Cynthia before, but I couldn’t. I don’t want to scare her off. But it has to come up sometime. Especially if things keep going the way they are. The couple of times we’ve hooked up since my car have been just as intense, even more. But here’s the thing. I don’t want to hurt Sara. If she knows there was someone before her, would that scare her away? Would she think I’m like Dave, just using her for sex? And if she knows it was Cynthia, will she still like me?
CHAPTER 35
shocking discoveries
january 11, 9:18 a.m.
When Mr. Perry turns back to the board, I throw the note on Laila’s desk.
Yesterday when I was over at Tobey’s, we were studying and he went out for his usual snack-break provisions. I always let him go as long as he gets Oreos with mint filling. So while he was out, I kind of snooped around his room. I found condoms in his nightstand drawer. And then under some laundry on the floor there was this notebook with all these lyrics about girls. The last thing he wrote was this really intense song about having this really intense sex with some mystery girl. It couldn’t have really happened, though. Tobey said he’s never had a serious girlfriend before me, so there’s no way he’s had sex. He’s not the kind of shallow guy who would sleep around. Just the thought of him with another girl is infuriating enough.
But that song. It was so real. Like it already happened.
The note lands on my desk again. I cover it with my hand. Mr. Perry babbles about the Chain Rule. I slide the note to the edge of my desk. I transfer it to my lap. I unfold it slowly to minimize crackling sounds. So far it says:
I’m just about to write back something particularly X-rated when I notice how quiet the room is. And that Mr. Perry is standing right by my desk. Looking down at me.
He snatches up the note in one spastic move.
“Perhaps I should share this with the class?” he threatens.
I’m paralyzed with fear. He absolutely cannot read this note. There’s just no way.
“Please don’t,” I whisper.
“I’m sorry? I can’t quite hear you, Sara.”
I look up at him. He’s still glaring at me with a look of disgust. I never want to develop that look. I want to be full of life and light and inner peace. Mr. Perry is a test.
The bell rings.
Mr. Perry strides up to his desk. He shoves the note under the homework pile. The next minute is everyone packing books and notebooks into their bags and shuffling out and Joe Zedepski picking his calculator up off the floor and Scott glancing back at me as he leaves the room when he thinks I’m not looking and the grinding whirr of the electric pencil sharpener and three kids surrounding Mr. Perry at the board with a question and the next class coming in. So it’s not that hard for Laila to walk by Mr. Perry’s desk and rescue our note without him noticing.
The next day is a teacher conference day, so we don’t have school. Which means I get to spend the whole day at Tobey’s. While his parents are at work.
“Do you want something to drink?” Tobey says.
“You’re just trying to divert attention from the fact that I’m winning.”
“You’re winning? I don’t think so.”
“Excuse me. Look at my guys, and then look at yours. What does that tell you?”
“That I currently hold the Guinness Book World Record for backgammon wins?”
“Uh, no.”
I get up from the beanbag and stretch. I make it look casual, but it’s a totally strategic move. With this shirt I’m wearing and the way I’m stretching, my shirt pulls up over my stomach. Tobey’s eyes are immediately riveted.
In the kitchen, I point to his blender and protein-shake mix sitting on the counter. “Isn’t that stuff gross?”
“If I don’t breathe through my nose, it’s not so bad.”
Tobey’s wearing my favorite shirt. It’s red with white glittery letters. It says I’M BIG IN EUROPE. There’s just something about him when he wears it. He rocks my world in that shirt.
I lift myself up to sit on the counter. My head cracks against the cabinet.
“Ow!” I yell.
“Are you okay?” Tobey comes over and puts his hands on my knees. “Where does it hurt?”
“Here.” I point.
He puts his hand on my head.
“And here.” I touch my lips.
He kisses me. And kisses me. I wish we could be alone like this forever.
Eventually Tobey says, “I was just getting that drink.”
“You’re supposed to ask me what I want first.”
“Right. What would you like? We have orange juice, milk, seltzer, iced tea—” And then he takes out the iced tea. He already knows what I want.
I go, “Does anyone drink milk straight?”
“Straight? You mean like a shot?”
“Like, plain. As in not in cereal. I mean, who sits around drinking a glass of milk? Unless you have chocolate cake with it or something.”
“Hey, yeah. What’s up with that?”
“It’s outrageous.”
"It’s out of control,” Tobey says. “Want to go to my room?”
I’ve been waiting for him to ask me that all day. The anticipation was driving me insane.
It’s almost dark now. I usually hate that about winter. How the only time I ever get to see daylight is through a classroom window. But Tobey puts music on and turns off the light, and now the darkness is a good thing. He flicks on the lamp next to his bed. It has a blue lightbulb in it.
“That’s so cool!” I say. “Blue lights are my favorite.�
�� It’s a sign. They’re everywhere.
“There’s something I want you to hear.” Tobey goes over to his stereo.
Just being in his room is exciting. And it smells like him. I remember the first time I opened his closet. That soothing feeling of Here are all his clothes.
Tobey puts a CD on. Then he lies down next to me. I look over at him and think, How did I get here?
He brushes my hair away from my face.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I say.
I have no idea how much time passes. When I’m with Tobey, an hour seems like a second. I just want to kiss him and kiss him forever. I never want to leave his room. I try to remember how everything feels while it’s happening. When we’re apart, I miss the feel of his hands on my body. Then I need to remember how it feels when he touches me.
At one point I hear something downstairs.
“What was that?” I say.
“Probably the porch door. It’s always banging open.”
Now I’m on top of Tobey. I only have my bra and panties on. His shirt is off, but his jeans are still on. I wonder how long he’s going to wait to take them off. I’ve already decided I’m getting completely naked tonight.
“Tobey, didn’t you hear me?” His dad swings the door open without bothering to knock. He takes in the scene.
He stares at my bra.
“Oh,” he says. “You must be Sara.”
“Dad!” Tobey yells. “Can’t you knock?”
“I was honking my horn, but I guess you didn’t hear me.” He’s apparently attempting to have a normal conversation like this girl he’s never seen before is not lying on top of his son in her underwear. “I need you to move your car. We can’t get in.” Then he leaves.
I’m like, “Oh my god.”
I am mortified. This is the worst.
That did not just happen.
“Oh my god.” I get up. My arms are shaky as I pull on my clothes. “That did not just happen.”
Tobey sits up. “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay. I don’t know why they’re home so early.” He comes over to hug me. “I’m so sorry about this. I’ll run down and see if we can sneak out.”
“What should I do?” I look out the window and try to estimate how far up we are. There’s no way I’m going downstairs.
“Don’t worry,” he says again. Which is easy to say if you weren’t the one who got caught like a skank. “I’ll be right back. Then we’ll go.”
I stand in the middle of his room, trying to think clearly. What can I tell them? What do you say in this kind of situation? “Hey, people, what’s good? Thanks for not coming in ten minutes later, Mr. Beller. My bra would have been off, too!”
I don’t think so.
A few minutes later, Tobey’s mom comes in.
“Sara?” She holds out her hand. “I’m Mrs. Beller. It’s great to finally meet you. I’m sorry Mr. Beller forgot how to knock.”
“I’m so sorry about this.” I’m trying really hard not to cry. “This is really embarrassing.”
“I know, but I think Mr. Beller has recovered. We’ve never met any of Tobey’s girlfriends.” She smiles. “Until now, of course.” She puts her arm around me. “Mr. Beller really has been wanting to meet you, so why don’t you say hi and then Tobey can drive you home. Okay?”
I nod gratefully. Imagine if I had to stay for tea or something. But now I’m pissed. Tobey’s girlfriends? As in more than one? As in he’s had girlfriends, even though he told me he hasn’t been in a serious relationship before me? I won’t ask him about it, though. I don’t want to be the nagging, jealous-girlfriend type. I just want to trust him. And his mom just said they’ve been wanting to meet me, so Tobey obviously told them about me.
When I get downstairs, Mr. Beller is in the kitchen making coffee.
“Hi, again.” I try for the humorous approach.
“Oh!” Mr. Beller says. “You look much different with your clothes on!” He laughs at this.
He did not just say that.
“We should really get going, Dad.” Tobey takes my hand. I guess hand-holding is nothing compared to catching us practically doing it.
“All right, now,” he tells the coffee beans. “Take care, Sara. Hope we see you again soon.”
We walk outside.
“Right,” I say to Tobey. “With clothes on.”
Tobey laughs.
I swat his arm. “It’s not funny! I am so mortified I could die right now.”
“Oh, don’t worry.” He opens the car door for me. “In a few weeks you’ll be laughing about this.”
“Your parents must think I’m a total sleaze.”
“Are you kidding? My parents love you. They always say how you’re the reason my grades rock now. They’re probably in there celebrating that I finally have a serious girlfriend. I’m sure they were wondering when I was going to come out.”
We dissect the encounter for the entire ride home. I can’t imagine ever being able to laugh about this one day. Then again, the old me wouldn’t have been able to imagine living my life on my own terms, regardless of what everyone else thinks. And now here I am.
CHAPTER 36
points
february 9, 3:02 a.m.
My audition for Manhattan Music Academy is this Tuesday. I’m afflicted with anticipation of the unknown combined with that horrible Sunday-night feeling of having school the next day. Where you can never sleep because of noisy brain. No matter how tired you are. It’s impossible to accomplish anything but lying here in bed. Frustrated and victimized at three in the morning.
So a few hours later when Sara gets to her locker to put her bag away, I’m already there. I’ve been waiting here since the doors opened. I think this is the earliest I’ve ever been in school.
“Oh my god,” Sara says when she sees me. “You’re actually here this early?”
“I think so. Although it’s too early for me to be sure about anything. So maybe it’s not really me.” I’m so drained that I don’t even know what I’m saying.
Sara scrutinizes my face. "Are you okay?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Because of the audition?”
I nod.
“Listen to me.” Sara presses her hand against my cheek. “You have absolutely no reason to be nervous.You rock. You got straight A’s last semester! And didn’t Mr. Hornby say your piece is perfect?”
“Yeah . . .”
It doesn’t sound like she’s just trying to be nice or make me feel better. It sounds like she really believes I’m that good.
“Can you go out after school?” I put my hands around her waist. “I need to unwind.”
Sara puts her hands in my back pockets. “I think I have an idea.”
I press my forehead against hers. "You have really good ideas sometimes.”
“Sometimes.”
“So what is it?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Can I have a hint?”
“Um . . . it’s something we both like to do.”
Wild scenarios of extreme sex flash through my mind. Is she bringing me back to her place?
She whispers, “Think . . . lots of hand motion.”
“Now I’m definitely looking forward to later.”
When the surprise turns out to be going to the arcade to play Skee Ball, I’m a bit disappointed. But anything to take my mind off the audition is a good thing.
Sara rules at this game. I don’t know how she does it, but she gets every ball into either the center hole (fifty points) or the ring around it (forty points). I’m lucky if my ball lands in the third ring (a whopping thirty points). It usually barely makes it into the outside ring (a humiliating ten points).
“What’s your technique?” I say.
“With this?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s all in the wrist.”
“Oh, man. Don’t torment me.”
If she only knew what she does to me.
This weekend is Valentine’s Day. I’m asking Sara to go on a road trip with me. We’ve been on two so far. They’re these day trips where we drive down Route 78 and get off at random exits.The last time we went, we ended up at this truck stop near Newark. Sara loved it. So this time I planned something even better.
“What I mean,” Sara says, choosing to ignore me, “is that you kind of skim the ball along the fabric until you feel it . . . like, catch, or something. It’s like the felt picks up the ball at one point, and if you don’t let it go right then, it rolls too slowly.”
I try. But to no avail. Sara has a steady stream of tickets whirring out of the box every time she rolls a ball.Whereas I might have ten tickets by the time we’re finished.
During an exceptionally impressive round, I reach down to rip Sara’s tickets off.
“Don’t!” she yells.
“I was just ripping off your tickets. The strip is getting really long.”
“I like it long. It looks like I have more that way.”
“Like you need more?” At this rate, she’ll be able to trade in her tickets for a big-money item. She’ll probably pick one of the giant stuffed animals that float above all the loser prizes in the display case. Me, I’ll be lucky to walk away with a Superball and rock candy.
Sure enough, Sara picks out a giant stuffed penguin when we’re done. I get a Superball and hide the rest of my tickets.When Sara goes to the bathroom, I trade them in for a glittery plastic ring. To go with my Valentine’s Day plan.
I sleep better that night. But the second I wake up way before the alarm goes off, there’s that anxiety, punching me in the gut again. And for the whole train ride to New York, all I can think about is how much better all the other applicants probably are. I’m no longer Mr. Applied Guy. Now I’m Mr. Rampant Insecurities Guy.
What I was expecting the audition to be like was all bright lights on a big, empty stage. A row of anonymous judges would be in the audience, but I wouldn’t be able to read their expressions. Even the air would feel empty. I would play in a blur and then leave, with no idea how they’re deciding my fate.
What I wasn’t expecting was a sunny rehearsal space with friendly-looking people sitting behind a table. Which is exactly what I see when the door is opened.
When It Happens Page 17