Falling for Forever

by Melissa Chambers

  He nods as if he’s been expecting this.

  “Does Mom have an official diagnosis?”

  He exhales a deep breath. “Honestly, I don’t know. She was diagnosed with depression all those years ago, but I think there’s more.”

  “Has she seen a doctor…like recently?”

  He circles the bottom of his glass on his knee, leaving a ring. “She won’t go. I’ve been trying to get her to for years.”

  “So she’s mentally ill and running around with no diagnosis.”

  “It’s not that simple. If a person refuses to get help, you can’t force that help on them.”

  I hit my armrest with my fist. “Why not? Trick her. Take her to the doctor.”

  “I’ve thought about it. But my relationship with your mother has been so fragile for so long.”

  My heart aches for my dad. I want so badly to repair all this wreckage, but I’m helpless in my mom’s wake. I had no idea how much power she truly possessed over both of us.

  “Is she the love of your life?” I ask.

  He nods. “She was…at one time.”

  “And now?”

  “People change. Your mother and I are no exceptions. When we met, I was enamored with her elegance, her poise. I respected that she bucked the system any chance she got. What I didn’t factor in was that those same principles would translate to motherhood. I thought she’d be different.” He meets my gaze. “I’m so sorry.”

  I look down at my lap. “Dad, will you be honest with me about something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did you get me into this school for me or to keep her here longer?”

  He looks over at me, his brows furrowed in concern. “Oh, honey. Your mother and I have been done for a long time. It’s true, I wanted her to stay as long as you were home, but that’s not why I wanted to keep you here. It’s important to me that you have your high school degree. I know your mother didn’t get hers, but I didn’t want you to have any regrets down the road. Do you understand that?”

  “I do. You did the right thing. I needed to stay.”

  He swallows hard. “I’m so sorry you heard all those things we said.”

  My stomach wobbles at the mention of that conversation. “I didn’t hear anything I didn’t already know.”

  He clenches his eyes shut. “I wish to god I could have done better for you.”

  I can’t help a laugh. “God, Dad. You’ve done so much for so long. How could you have done better for me?”

  He looks so relieved. “Thank you for saying that.”

  I pat his arm in response.

  “You all good for tonight?” he asks.

  “Yep.”

  “Who’s your biggest competition, Miles?”

  I consider that. “I think it’s myself.”

  He lifts an eyebrow.

  “I’m going to go get ready,” I say, standing up and stretching.

  He furrows his brow. “You need to talk about anything with Miles? Something was definitely wrong between you two the other night. I didn’t want to pry.”

  I let out a breath. “Nope. I’m good. Just ready to show him and every other asshole at that school that I not only belong in that top ten, but that I earned the money I’m gonna win.”

  He grins. “You’re gonna kill it.”

  I tilt my head back and forth. “Pretty much.” I smile at him.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Jenna

  TPAC is abuzz with activity. It reminds me of Sensation but on a smaller scale. Not too much, though. The audience is about the same size. The only things missing are the cameras and the huge production crew.

  But NACA holds their own. Students and teachers alike scatter around fixing and doing, rehearsing last-minute notes, dance moves, and lines. In a way, it’s a bigger deal than Sensation, especially as far as the bragging rights are concerned.

  Shane is a shaking mess. I rub on his biceps like a mom warming up her little kid from the cold. “You are going to do fine. Quit psyching yourself out. Have you learned nothing from all we’ve worked on together?”

  He points at the audience. “There’s twenty-five hundred people out there? Who are all these people?”

  Apparently, talent scouts from all over town come here to see these performances every year. In addition to the industry judges, there’s people from local ballet companies, record labels, booking agencies, artist management firms, and even people representing Julliard and Curtis. Someone mentioned there was an admissions counselor from Belmont here, and I wanted to run to tell Miles until I remembered he was a part of my past now.

  Nicolette, Jasmine, and Greta walk around the corner.

  “Jenna!” Nicolette yells. She comes at me, her eyebrows permanently knitted together. “Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry. You have no idea.”

  I wave her off. “It’s fine. It all worked out.”

  “No, you don’t understand. I feel awful about saying something to Claire. I was really pissed, and I knew her way before she fell in with that crew. I thought we were friends. I totally swore her to secrecy and everything, and she said all this awful stuff about Bianca in return, so I thought we had each other’s trust. I swear, I didn’t think in a million years she would throw me under the bus like that.”

  I put my hand on her arm to calm her. “Seriously. It’s fine. I’m not mad.”

  She puts her hand to her heart. “Oh, thank you.”

  “What about Miles?” Greta says. “Are you mad at him?”

  I let out a huge breath and consider Greta’s hopeful eyes. She’s such a romantic. “He totally was ready to have me sacrifice myself for Nat. How can I forgive that?”

  Jasmine lifts an eyebrow. “Same way we told Nicolette to forgive Dev for doing the same thing.”

  Nicolette shrugs.

  I look between all three of them, trying to hold my resolve, but finding it difficult.

  “They were practically raised together,” Greta says. “Like brothers. Can you understand that?”

  Like I always do, I turn the tables and imagine the situation reversed, and I have to pick between Chloe and Miles. My heart aches just at the idea. Of course, Chloe wouldn’t do anything so stupid like Nat did, but Miles also has a way longer history with Nat than I do with Chloe.

  I turn the tables one more time and envision I’ve done something stupid, which is not hard to picture. I imagine Chloe having to choose between Landon and me. I cross my arms over my chest, not ready to give in just yet.

  Jasmine holds up two hands. “We’re just sayin’.”

  “Five minutes till curtain!” the stage manager shouts.

  I wave them toward me. “Okay, come here. Wish me luck.”

  We do a big group hug, and I whisper, “I love you guys. Thank you for letting me in.”

  “Oh my gosh, stop it!” Greta says. “I don’t want to cry.”

  We pull apart, and I smile as I watch them scurry down the steps to find their seats. My first group of girlfriends. I know I’ve only known them a couple of months, but something tells me I’m never going to lose touch with them.

  The front row is open for us if we want to watch anyone’s performance. I’m thinking I may be too nervous for that, but my curiosity is getting the better of me.

  We got our lineup showing where our spot is in the show. One thing I learned from being on Sensation, is they line you up worst to best, pretty much. They may juggle it a little to keep people interested around the fourth or fifth performance, but for the most part, they’re burying the lead.

  They’ve got Shane going tenth and Miles going eleventh. Big surprise. I’m slated for third. Not a surprise. Everyone at this school has underestimated me. That’s on me, though, not them.

  And it’s good. If you’re being discounted, then they’ll never see you coming.

  I have decided not to do “Blue Sky.” That’s not me, and it was never my song to begin with. What I’ve got planned may be suicide, but it’s my funeral, baby, and I’m
throwing a party for it.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Miles

  I sit in the front row, gnawing at the skin on my fingertips. They slated me last. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one of these where the act that went last lost. I thought if I got last, it would be a boost for my ego, but I think it’s having the opposite effect.

  Shane sits next to me, his leg bouncing nonstop. I lean over to him. “Will you please get that thing under control? You’re going to distract Jenna.”

  “Oh shit,” Shane says. “She’s next, isn’t she?”

  The stagehands finish rolling away the piano, and Barclay comes out smiling and clapping in encouragement for David Willis.

  “Wasn’t that fantastic?” she asks, and the audience gives more applause. “Our next performer has only been at Nashville’s Academy of Creative Arts for a short time, but she’s been…a lovely addition to our cast of talents.” Barclay might as well be biting a nail as she recites this line.

  “She comes to our school from Cliff Ridge High where she starred in productions of Footloose and Kiss Me, Kate.” She gives a single nod, hesitating, seeming to be summoning up courage for her next line. “And, it’s possible that you saw her compete on a television show earlier this year called America’s Newest Sensation.”

  The audience roars their applause, whistles, and shouts. This auditorium is usually partially full, but I’m not sure it’s ever been a sold-out show like it is tonight. I’m starting to think that’s because people wanted to see Jenna.

  Barclay gives a sort of surprised lift of her shoulders. “So, without further ado, please welcome Jenna Quigley.”

  My heart races as I anticipate her on the stage. The track starts, and it’s the strumming of a banjo, I’m pretty sure. She sings her first couple of lines from off stage and then she appears walking slowly onto the stage decked out in a metallic silver skirt, long in the back, but short in the front, displaying her legs that look way longer than I remember. She’s got on tall silver boots that climb up over her knees and a skin tight black shirt with silver sequins. Her hair is a little more in control than usual, flowing naturally all around her as she moves.

  I adjust myself in my seat as I tell my middle to calm the hell down.

  She stops center stage where she puts her hand in the air and belts out the chorus hitting notes that make me grip the armrests.

  “What is this?” I ask Shane.

  “‘America’s Sweetheart.’ Elle King.” He meets my gaze. “She’s fucking awesome.”

  I nod, mouth still open.

  Once she’s finished with the chorus, she takes ownership of the stage like nothing I’ve ever seen before. But she’s not obnoxious about it. She just looks like she’s having a ball, inviting the audience to join in the fun with her. I turn around to find they’ve all gotten to their feet and are clapping and dancing along to the song, smiles galore.

  I nudge Shane, and we both stand, doing the same thing. She spots me in the front row and sings a line directly to me about putting me in my place. My chest heats up like a firecracker at her direct assault, but I kind of like it.

  She keeps going, and I can’t believe it’s almost over. She just got started. She hit every note, pitch perfect, and in the face of everyone at this school or anywhere who ever doubted she was worthy of winning. And I know now, without a doubt, she’s my biggest competition.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Jenna

  Shane is tearing up “The Twelve Days of Christmas” on stage. I can’t quit smiling. I can’t believe this is the song he chose. Of all the hard rock and metal songs, of all the bluegrass and country songs he could have chosen, he’s doing a Christmas song, and it’s phenomenal. He’s even wearing a Santa Claus hat, which is hilarious, but there’s nothing funny about his performance.

  He’s playing to a track, just like I sang to one. The verses are all the same, but it’s what he’s doing with the instrumental breaks that’s so cool. Each one has this really unique solo, sort of like he’s building on those just like the verses count up to twelve. By the time he’s finished, he’s told a story through his solos that’s just as interesting as the verses. I get now why he was featured in Guitar Universe and why everyone calls him the Guitar God of NACA.

  When he takes his bow, his hat falls off, but he promptly catches it. I clap harder and shout louder than anyone here.

  I inhale a deep breath and still myself as Shane wheels his amp off stage, and Barclay comes out doing her requisite clapping.

  “Wasn’t that a treat?” she asks the audience, and more applause erupts.

  She inhales a deep breath and smiles like she’s about to say, “Now, what we’ve all been waiting for,” but instead says, “The last performer of the night is a Nashville Academy of Creative Arts treasure.”

  Shane sneaks in beside me, and I reach over and give him a huge hug. “You were freaking amazing,” I whisper into his ear.

  He closes his eyes. “I’m so fucking glad that’s over.” I grab hold of his arm and squeeze tightly.

  Barclay is still rattling off Miles’s accomplishments when I give her back my attention.

  Shane points at the stage where a screen is being lowered behind Barclay. “What the hell?”

  I shrug. I have no idea. He never would tell me what his superpower was, and I never pushed him. I’m beginning to wish I had.

  Barclay drones on. “Though it won’t count toward his score, as only what is performed live here counts, you should know that the music you hear as accompaniment was originally composed and pre-recorded by the artist. So please, give a hearty welcome to Miles Cleveland.”

  The applause is stronger than for some other acts, so I see Miles’s reputation isn’t just all talk on his part. People really do seem to be humming with anticipation of this performance. A stir of bumblebees buzz around in my stomach as I wait for the music to start.

  A spotlight shines on a figure standing at a table behind a laptop, and I realize it’s Miles. He’s wearing a black button-down shirt and jeans that may have been purchased during the twenty-first century. His shirt is unbuttoned at the top, and it’s kind of turning me on.

  A beat, steady but strong, fills the room as the word “Welcome” appears on the screen behind him in script like he wrote it out with his mouse.

  The music is electronic but pleasant, cool and original. Shapes are being drawn on the screen beside him but they flow to the beat and the feel of the music. Right as a symbol crashes a display of fireworks explode one line at a time and then disappear from the screen.

  I’m not sure I understand what’s happening, but upon further inspection, I realize Miles is drawing shapes and pictures with his computer to compliment this strange music. He draws a bird, and the second he’s finished the music gives a tweet, tweet. He hits a button and it’s gone, and he’s onto the next drawing. The music is cool and vibey, and the pictures go from simple to complex as the piece continues.

  How is he doing this? The pictures are vivid, and I see he’s hitting keys to change colors as he creates a picture of a girl with big, wavy hair and a skinny frame. She’s glancing at the ceiling, and the word “Basic” floats out of her mouth in a balloon. I huff a laugh as I realize it’s me.

  The next scene is a boy crouched down in a shower as water spews out of a big mouth that acts as a shower nozzle. I bite on my finger as I realize this is my dad that day at our apartment. I try not to laugh, but it’s really funny.

  He concentrates so hard, working feverishly to complete picture after picture with the changing of the music which through all its highs and lows has kept the same beat and feel. He works now on a body of water and stick figures of the boy and the girl holding hands on the edge of a pier, their backs to the water. He draws arrows to the water and then makes a huge splash with color, and it’s like they’ve fallen in backward.

  The music builds as Miles draws a small heart, and then draws a bigger one around it, then a bigger one around it, and o
n and on, and then he writes in cursive over them all the word, “Love.”

  I give a little gasp, wondering if he’s just told me he loves me.

  He draws a sort of a stick figure of a boy with his chin on his fists at the bottom of the screen, then a few pictures above his head—one resembling that famous Scream painting, one of a wilted flower, and one of a stick figure flexing his muscles.

  Next is a picture of a badass girl with a boxing glove. As he finishes the final stroke on her glove which is aimed at the viewer, the music explodes into a “pow,” and Shane and I both jump a little.

  As the music crescendos, he draws the boy one last time holding up a sucker and pointing to himself. I giggle. I think he just said, “I suck.” Then that image is gone, and a new image is there of the boy on his knees, hands steepled in front of him.

  That picture is gone, and an outline appears of a person’s profile holding a candle with puckered lips. The music stops out of the middle of nowhere and the candle is extinguished.

  He writes the words “Thank you” on the screen, and then comes out from behind the table.

  I think we’re all in a stunned silence, because nobody moves for a moment, until applause finally starts in the back and ripples down to the front, complete with shouts and whistles. We’re all to our feet giving thunderous applause as Miles shakes out his arm and smiles at the mass of people. Then he meets my gaze and walks toward me. I blink, my heart and stomach at war with one another to see which can freak out the worst. He falls to his knees in front of me and holds out his hands. “I’m sorry,” he shouts, but I can barely hear him over everyone.

  Shane nudges me. “What the fuck are you doing? Go to him.”

  I can’t jump over the orchestra pit, so I run over to the side of the stage and walk up the stairs. He stands up and meets me halfway.

  “I’m so sorry,” he says.

  He tries to say more, but I cover his mouth with a kiss, and we throw our arms around each other. The auditorium explodes with applause and shouts louder than the whole night put together.