Songs for a Teenage Nomad

by Kim Culbertson

  I flush. “I don’t know.”

  “What are you going to do about that?”

  “Well, I’ve been really busy with all the Victoria’s Secret calls I’ve been getting to appear in their catalog so I haven’t really had time to hash out a game plan.”

  Eli hugs me, and I wonder why I couldn’t have just loved him. Then he and I could have been together now, and everything would be so much easier.

  ***

  That night I have the dream again.

  Only it’s not really my dream. It’s the song, low and twisting through my mind, but it’s unlike any dream I’ve had before. This time my father stands in a shadowy corner, holding a guitar. He doesn’t play it, but somehow, the song comes from it, out of the little hole in the middle that the strings cross over. I can almost see the notes unfolding in the still air of the strange room.

  “Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me…”

  And my father doesn’t say anything. He just smiles and holds the guitar.

  CHAPTER 23

  KARMA POLICE

  …I lie flat on my back on the floor listening to Radiohead’s strange, haunting music vibrate the walls of the motel room. My mom is across the street getting burritos. I know it doesn’t take this long to get Taco Bell, and I imagine her in the parking lot, calling Ted Number 2 over and over on his cell phone. As the waves of Thom Yorke’s voice wash through me, I wonder if Ted Number 2 even took his cell phone to Hawaii…

  Gaven lip-syncs a Supremes song, waggling a long finger at us from the edge of the stage. Drew doubles over with laughter in the front row of seats, not at the song but at Gaven. From under the bouncing curls of a blond wig, Gaven shimmies back and forth in a full-length sequined gown and heels. Next to him, two other senior boys wiggle in their own sequined dresses and curly wigs. They’re the opening act for the variety show to raise money for the drama classes.

  “Hey, Calle, pass me that wide paintbrush.” Alexa points to a pile of brushes next to the stage. I toss her the brush and finish rolling out the stretch of canvas we’re cutting. The show is tomorrow night, and we’re trying to get the set together. Alexa and I agreed to come in and paint some flats black and hang a large canvas cutout of a comedy-drama mask. We thought it would only take a couple of hours, but we’ve already been here two hours, and we’re not even halfway done. A half hour ago, we sent Eli out for food.

  Gaven and his “girls” finish their song; Drew applauds wildly. When Gaven notices Sara in the back of the theater, he shouts, “Hey, Sara! I’m hot, don’t you think? Kind of makes you wish you didn’t turn me down for Homecoming this year.”

  Sara takes in his wig, his dress, and his shoes. Wryly, she says, “I’m quite sure Diana Ross did not wear a blond wig.” Turning her back on him, she returns to her conversation with Tala.

  Gaven clutches his heart. “Ouch. She kills me,” he smiles. His gesture flashes me to the image of my father, standing below my window and clutching his own heart.

  “Hey, you okay?” Alexa pauses with her paintbrush.

  I stay focused on the canvas. “Sure, why?”

  “You just got a really weird look on your face for a minute.”

  “I just got a whiff of that paint. How can you stand it?”

  Smiling, she returns to the flat. “It’s not so bad.”

  “Hey, you guys,” Sara calls to us. “Tala and I are going to get food. Do you want anything?”

  Alexa shakes her head. “We sent Eli already.”

  Sara smiles. “Make sure you get your change back.” Laughing, she and Tala leave through the glass doors.

  “Hey,” I say to Alexa. She looks up at me, hand poised over a flat. “I’m happy for you and Eli. Sorry I’ve been kind of out of it and didn’t say anything.”

  She flushes. “Thanks. I thought maybe…I thought maybe you were mad about it.”

  “No! Not at all. I’m really happy for you guys.”

  She looks at me, eyes wide, and then giggles. I have never heard Alexa giggle like that before. She says, “I’m really happy too. He’s…he’s great.” Just talking about him makes her glow.

  I nod, something tightening in my chest. “He is great.”

  We get back to work.

  Drew hops up on stage and speaks into the microphone. “Testing, one, two…” He’s MC for the show tomorrow, so he needs to practice his opening stand-up routine. Now that Gaven is done, Drew has the stage to himself. Lucky us.

  Maybe he thinks if he kisses up enough to Ms. Hecca, she’ll forgive his lousy audition and cast him anyway. We’ll see; she posts the cast list for the spring play on Monday. No one’s very excited. This year Hecca decided to do Shakespeare instead of student-written pieces.

  “Should I cut this out?” I ask Alexa, who has dragged the ladder onstage to work on the doorframe.

  From the ladder she looks down and nods. “Did Hecca say she wanted a curtain on this doorway?” she asks me.

  “Yeah. Or a back flat.” I move to the front of the stage and start cutting carefully around the mask Alexa drew for me on the canvas at lunch today.

  “Curtain’s easier,” she mumbles, climbing down off the ladder.

  The door pushes open, letting in a cold whoosh of early February air. Thinking it’s Eli with the food, we all turn, but it’s Sam, blinking away the daylight. He spots me, slides his hands into his pockets, and says, “Hi.” He looks nervously at Alexa and Drew.

  Alexa freezes on the stage and looks at Drew quickly, then at me. Drew just raises his eyebrows and goes back to checking the microphone, tapping it with his finger. Thump, thump, thump.

  “Hi,” I say back, still crouched over the half-cut mask.

  “Umm…” Sam licks his lips. “Can I talk to you for a second?” He pauses, then adds, “Alone.”

  I set down the scissors and stand up. “Sure.” Seeing him there, standing red-cheeked from the cold, I suddenly can’t breathe.

  Alexa walks downstage and stands next to me, placing her hand on my arm. “What’s this all about, Sam?” she asks.

  “It’s no big deal,” I whisper, my face burning.

  “No, it is a big deal,” she tells me. “Some of us are tired of him jerking you around.”

  “Alexa, I…” Sam starts.

  “I’m not talking to you,” she snaps. She tucks her red curls behind her ears and looks at me. “You’ve been sulking around for two months. Don’t tell me he has nothing to do with it.”

  I don’t tell her that. I don’t tell her that it’s Sam and so much more.

  “You’re not at his beck and call, Calle,” Drew says into the microphone. It echoes off the walls. Sam jumps a little. Drew lowers the mike and stares hard at him.

  “I’ll just go,” Sam says.

  “No, wait!” I look at Alexa, and say, “I’m fine.”

  She looks worried but returns to the ladder, casting a suspicious glance at Sam. I know she’s just trying to protect me; it’s sweet of her, but I want to see what carried him in here after weeks of ignoring me.

  I walk down the aisle and take his arm, feeling their eyes on us.

  “Come on,” I say. “Let’s talk outside.”

  Outside the light is strong and clear. Cold winter light and a thick blue sky. I shiver a bit at the temperature change and hope my nose doesn’t start running.

  Trying to smile, Sam says, “Your friends don’t like me.”

  I make sure I don’t smile even as my heart does little flips at his attempt. “Have you given them reason to?” I fold my arms across my chest.

  “Alexa can be a little bossy.”

  I shrug. “She has a point. They both have a point.”

  “Okay,” he sighs, the smile long dead on his lips. “I’m sorry.”

  I wait, refusing to make this easy for him.

  “I’m sorry about our situation,” he says.

  “What situation is that?” I try to sound casual, but my voice comes out strange, choked.

  He takes his
hands out of his pockets and motions to the space between us. “This,” he says. “Us.”

  “I’m not aware there is an ‘us.’”

  He sighs, frustrated. “You know what I mean. You and me. That nothing…that we didn’t…work out,” he finishes. “I feel like you glare at me in the hallways, that you hate me.”

  “I don’t glare at you.”

  “Well, it feels like you do.” His eyes search my face.

  I can’t meet his gaze; it bores into me, so I stare at his shoes. “I have other things on my mind besides you, Sam.”

  “You mean your dad?”

  I shrug, not trusting him with this sudden introduction of my father. I haven’t told anyone about the coffeehouse, the miniature golf, the pebble at my window. “Why do you even care?”

  “I care, Calle. I do. I really like you.”

  Anger flares through me. “Really? Because you don’t seem like you like me. I don’t ignore the people I like, avoid their eyes, never talk to them. If you like me, you pretty much suck at showing it. You sure didn’t seem to care much when your little amateur-photographer friend decided to have a go at me!”

  “I made her take it off!”

  The picture had disappeared a day after it was posted. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t stop someone from putting a “Porn Star” sticker on my locker.

  “I can’t believe you would be with someone who would do that to another person.”

  He shakes his head as if to clear it. “I told Amber how stupid that was. She thinks she’s being funny.”

  “She knows exactly what she’s doing.”

  He throws up his arms in frustration. “You don’t understand, okay? I’m sorry about Amber. I’m sorry she did that to you, but I can’t take it away. That’s not the point. I came here to tell you…it’s just that…you and I…we just can’t be together right now. It won’t work.”

  “That’s clear,” I say, again to his shoes.

  “It’s not clear. Nothing’s clear.” There’s a catch in his voice that draws my eyes to his face. To his eyes. He is crying. I take half a step back. He wipes furiously at his cheeks. “You don’t understand my life right now…it’s too hard.”

  “You don’t let me understand, Sam. You don’t give me a chance to.”

  “Calle?” Eli stands several feet away with clear plastic bags of chips and sandwiches, and a tray of sodas. He looks worriedly from me to Sam. “Are you okay?”

  I shake my head but say, “I’m fine. It’s fine. Thanks.” Sam turns away from Eli and puts his hands back in his pockets.

  Eli nods slowly. “I got you a sandwich and a root beer. When you’re ready.”

  “Thanks,” I smile at him, my heart swelling with him—his glossy hair and dark eyes. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Okay.” He darts another look at Sam. “I’ll be inside if you need me.”

  I nod and turn back to Sam. The door to the Little Theatre opens and shuts.

  “Great,” Sam says. “Now he thinks I’m an idiot.”

  I shrug. “It’s okay. He already thinks you’re an idiot. He thinks all football players are idiots.”

  Sam’s face flushes. “That’s not fair…”

  I interrupt, “Relax. I’m kidding.”

  “Oh,” he mumbles.

  “We don’t think so badly of you,” I say. I look closely at his face, the tears matting his lashes, his red-blotched cheeks. A blurred version of cute. When I cry, I look like a blowfish, all swollen and awkward.

  His eyes well again. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

  I pull him toward me, holding the back of his curly head with one hand, and his weight shifts down into me, the side of his face resting into my shoulder like a child’s. Through the Little Theatre window, I imagine I can see all three of them—Drew, Eli, Alexa—with their noses pressed to the glass, watching us.

  ***

  The next week at Burger Mania, a hand reaches for my tray of fries, and I slap it away. “Just one,” Eli whines.

  Laughing, I hand him the tray. “Have as many as you want. They go well with my burger you just ate.”

  Toby laughs and helps himself to some of my fries as well. Sara just sips her Sprite and shakes her head. “You two are such pigs. How can you eat three cheeseburgers?”

  “We’re growing boys,” Toby says, rubbing his flat stomach.

  “Yeah,” Eli agrees. “Growing boys need cheeseburgers.”

  Alexa stirs her vanilla shake with her straw. “I don’t think that’s actually a rule.”

  “Here’s Drew,” Sara says, scooting over in the circular booth so Drew can slide in beside her. He slumps into the seat and buries his head in his arms.

  “How’d it go?” Alexa asks.

  “Terribly.” His voice is muffled but weighted with despair.

  “Did you tell her we can switch roles?” Toby asks, eating the rest of my fries. “I’m running track this year. I don’t have time to play Lysander.”

  Sara looks skeptically at Toby. “You’re running track?”

  He shrugs. “Sure. It looks good for college.”

  “I hope you stopped smoking, or you won’t make it once around,” she says. He shows her the patch on his arm. “Well, bravo.” She drains the rest of her Sprite. “Scooch out, Drew. I’m getting a refill.”

  He picks himself up and allows her past. “Could you get me some onion rings?” he asks, brushing at some crumbs on his “I do my own stunts” T-shirt.

  “Sure.”

  He settles back into the booth. “She said she won’t even talk to me about the audition until tomorrow. I have to think about it and write her a letter.”

  Eli smiles. “I had to write her a letter last year for the David Ives’s tribute. Just tell her you learned a lot from not being prepared for your audition, blah, blah, blah.” He motions to Sara at the counter. “More fries,” he tells her. She rolls her eyes.

  Drew shrugs. “She told me to read the part, that I get to play ‘the Wall,’ and it’s really funny. Whatever.”

  Toby leans across the table. “Dude, you have to switch with me. I can’t remember all those lines. She just gave me the part because there weren’t enough guys who tried out.”

  “I tried out.”

  “Oh, right.”

  Drew slides over and lets Sara sit back down. He dunks a hot onion ring into some ketchup. “Yum,” he says. “Thanks.” Sara pats his head.

  Eli looks wounded. “Where are my fries?”

  “You’ve had enough,” Sara says, her green eyes laughing.

  “You’re not my mom.”

  “No, but today I’m your bank account, so it’s the same thing.” She smiles at me. “Did you get enough? Eli ate practically all of your food.”

  “I’m fine,” I say.

  “So who’s going to the Sweetheart Dance this Friday?” Sara asks, popping one of Drew’s onion rings in her mouth.

  “Not me,” Toby says, chewing the ice from his soda.

  “Yes, you are. Tala told me you two were going,” Sara tells him.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Drew says, “I’m going.”

  “With who?” Sara asks. “You have to have a date, or they won’t let you in.”

  Toby mutters, “Student Council date Nazis…it’s so stupid. How can they even get away with that?”

  Drew smiles. “I’m taking Greta, my blow-up doll. Let’s see them not let me in.” Toby laughs so hard he almost spits root beer across the table.

  Alexa turns to Sara. “Did Gaven ask you? He couldn’t shut up about it at the show last weekend.”

  “Yes,” Sara rolls her eyes. Gaven’s been madly in love with her for a year, but she always blows him off. “And to Senior Ball already. I can’t wait until he graduates. No, for Sweetheart’s I’m going with Kevin Timbers.”

  Toby makes a little “whoo, whoo” noise, and Sara swats him.

  “Hey, Calle?” Eli asks. “Do you want to go with me?” The table takes an audible intake of
air. Alexa’s eyes widen. He says quickly, “Just friends. Alexa’s going to be in the city with her parents all weekend.”

  “We’re bonding,” she says. She tries to sound light, but I can see her smile sagging at the edges. She stirs her shake.

  “I don’t know…” I start.

  “You guys should go,” she says to me. “It’s fine.”

  “Are you sure?” I watch her closely. The rest of the table watches with me.

  “Oh my god, you guys, it’s fine,” she says. “Someone needs to make sure he doesn’t eat all the Oreos. And do not, I repeat, do not let him dance.” She’s laughing now. “Seriously, go.”

  “Okay, sure, Eli,” I say. “That’d be fun.”

  “Okay, so let’s meet before as a group and grab dinner,” Sara suggests. “At seven.”

  “Let’s meet here,” Eli says. “I think I owe Calle some french fries.”

  “And a burger,” I say.

  ***

  The dance looks like Cupid threw up on it. Pink, red, and purple hearts inked with couples’ names cling to the walls under fat strands of glittery silver and pink garland. Tables are covered with pink butcher paper. A giant spinning orb in the center of the ceiling spits tiny fragments of red, white, and pink light around the room.

  “Gross,” Drew says, pushing through the red and pink streamers in the doorway. “It’s like a Hallmark card exploded.” He holds Greta, the blow-up doll, tightly around her middle. She is wearing a corsage he bought her on her blow-up wrist.

  Tala sighs and leans into Toby. “I think it’s nice.”

  “Hi, guys!” Cruise Director Kayla smiles widely at us as she takes our tickets. “Happy Valentine’s Day!” She is dressed head to toe in red: red jeans, red sweater, red shoes, and she has a giant white carnation affixed to her shoulder. She spots Greta. “Umm…?”

  “She’s with me,” Drew says, and hands over her ticket.

  “Umm, okay. Carnations are one dollar at the sophomore table!” she tells us, her voice high and squeaky.

  “Thanks, Kayla!” Drew says overzealously.

  “Cute shirt,” she points at Drew’s “I’m what Willis was talkin’ ’bout” T-shirt. He gives her a thumbs-up. She giggles and turns toward the next group coming through the streamers. “Have fun!”