by Kellen Hertz
“Whoa,” Logan whispered.
“Videos of Tenney and Logan’s opening set are also getting a lot of online views,” Ellie added. “As a result, we’ve had a healthy stream of inquiries from people wanting to know more about you. Some of them even want to talk about booking shows.”
I looked at my parents. Their faces were calm. I took that as a good sign.
Zane turned to Logan and me and continued. “Since your show at the Ryman, I’ve had a couple of phone calls with your parents, and we all agree that we want y’all to be able to build on the enthusiasm for your music that is brewing online.”
“Definitely,” said Mrs. Everett. My parents nodded.
“Okay, so what does that mean?” I asked, afraid to say my hope out loud and then have it not come true.
“What it means,” Zane said, “is that you two are going on tour.”
On tour! I wanted to jump up and down and do cartwheels around the room. Instead, I let out the kind of squeal I haven’t made since I was five.
Logan clamped a hand over his ear and laughed.
“Sorry,” I said, trying to compose myself.
“That’s okay,” he said, still smiling. “I’m excited, too. Maybe just warn me the next time you’re going to make a noise like that so I can get out some earplugs.”
Zane grinned. “There’s just one catch,” he continued. “We need to get this show on the road ASAP to maximize the momentum y’all have right now.”
“Absolutely,” Ellie agreed. “With the holidays coming up, people are looking to book musicians for holiday fairs, music series, even parties.”
Logan perked up. “Wait, so we’re going right now?” he asked.
“Wh-what about school?” I stammered, my brain spinning. “I have a math test on Monday, and a field trip next week and—”
Mom laughed and put her hand on my knee. “Believe me, honey, there’s no chance we’re going to let you two traipse off and miss a month of school!” she said reassuringly.
“Oh,” I said, feeling relieved and sort of disappointed at the same time.
“So when is the tour going to start?” Logan asked curiously.
“In about six weeks,” Zane replied. “That will give me time to line up all the tour dates, plan our travel, and get your album ready.”
My breath caught in my throat. Logan quickly covered his ears in case I squealed again, but he looked just as excited as I was.
“Our first tour and our first album?” I whispered, as if saying it any louder would make it untrue. I had dreamed of recording an album since I started writing songs, and now it was really happening.
“When do we start recording?” Logan asked, as if he was reading my mind.
“Unfortunately, we don’t have time to record a new album from scratch,” Zane explained. “I’ve been recording your live shows ever since you signed to Mockingbird, and I’m going to patch a few songs together to make an EP to sell on your tour.”
Logan and I shared a dubious look.
“But what performances are you going to include?” I asked. “If I’d known that we were recording an album during those shows, I would’ve sung better.” My mind spun as I remembered that one time when I had a cold and hit a bad note during “Someone Who Believes,” or that day I got distracted and missed my cue while playing “The Nerve.”
Logan nodded. “And I would have added some really cool drum riffs and—”
“Don’t you two worry about that,” Zane interrupted. “I promise I will find your best performances, including your encore with Belle last weekend.”
That made me feel a little better. But I still couldn’t help feeling like we were missing a huge opportunity to record the best album ever.
“Look,” Zane said, reading the disappointment on our faces, “this is just an EP—an extended play with a few tracks—not a full album. If we sell enough copies and your tour is a success, then we can talk about putting together some new songs for a full-length album.”
My heart skipped a beat. I almost squealed again, but I held my breath instead.
“Alrighty,” Zane said, clapping his hands in satisfaction. “So can we get back to discussing the tour now?”
I nodded, and Logan’s knee started bouncing again.
Zane proceeded to explain his plans for the tour. “You’ll begin performing the day after school lets out for winter break. Tenney’s dad and I will be with you the whole tour. We’ll book between five and seven shows around Tennessee, so we’ll be on the road a little less than a week.”
“Does that mean we’ll miss Christmas?” Logan cut in, slipping his mom a worried look.
“Nope,” Zane said. “We’ll have you home on Christmas Eve.”
Logan sat back in his chair, looking relieved.
“Just as long as you get home,” Mrs. Everett replied.
“Of course,” Zane assured her, cracking a grin. “Personally, my momma would disown me if I wasn’t home for Christmas supper.”
I took a deep breath, trying to process all of this information. So much for traveling to far-flung cities across the country, I thought. There was only so much we could fit into a week-long tour—which was a lot less than the month I’d imagined. Being away for the week before Christmas means that I’ll miss a lot of my favorite holiday traditions, I realized. Gift shopping with Jaya, the Howl-iday Ramble with my big brother, Mason, caroling with Aubrey … At least Dad will be with me the whole time and we’ll be home in time for Christmas—
Mom touched my arm. “Tenney, are you okay?”
I snapped back to attention. “Yes! I’m super excited!”
So what I’ll miss out on some of that stuff, I told myself. Christmas happens every year—but my first tour was once in a lifetime!
“Wonderful,” Zane said. He leaned forward, studying Logan and me. “For this tour to be a success, we’re all going to need to make sacrifices and work hard,” he told us. “But I promise, if we do it right, it will take your band to the next level professionally.”
When I looked at Logan, I could tell he was thinking the same thing I was.
“That’s exactly what we want,” I told Zane. Logan nodded.
“Good,” Zane said, settling back in his seat. “So for the next few weeks, while Ellie and I book shows and work out logistics with your parents, you two need to do your part,” he continued. “I want you rehearsing every day, putting together a tight set of holiday classics mixed with your own songs. I thought you could work with Portia on that.”
“Great!” Logan and I said at the same time.
Over the past year, Portia Burns had become a mentor to me and an unofficial coach for our band, helping Logan and me learn how to write songs together and work out our musical differences. Logan and I both trusted her.
“Okay, then,” Zane said. He stood up and walked around his desk, clapping Logan and me on the back. “Congratulations, you two. You’re going on your first tour!”
Everyone started talking at once as Zane and Ellie shook my parents’ hands and Mrs. Everett hugged Logan. I took a deep breath and imagined myself playing a big holiday show with Logan, both of us singing our hearts out in the crisp winter air before a crowd of screaming fans. Then I dared to picture myself in the recording studio, headphones clamped over my ears as Logan and I sang a duet into huge microphones for our first real album.
Sure, I’ll miss out on some holiday fun, I thought. But if this tour is a success, it’ll make my greatest dream come true.
By the first Saturday in December, Logan and I had put together a solid set and were meeting with Portia three times a week to rehearse, rehearse, rehearse.
The sun was shining that morning, but I still had to turn up my jacket collar as I walked from Dad’s instrument shop to Portia’s house. The wind had an icy edge, like the world was trying to remind me that winter was finally here. Fall and winter in Nashville can be unpredictable. One minute there could be a warm streak, the next it’s snowing. You ne
ver really know what’s around the corner. Still, today was cold, no question about it. By the time I got to Portia’s house, the chill had blown pink into my cheeks and my ears were numb.
I climbed the short stack of steps to the front door decorated with a wreath of orange-gold maple leaves. Portia answered my knock almost immediately. She had on a violet-colored sweater, and her gray hair was braided and looped around her head like a crown.
“Why, if it isn’t Miss Tennyson Evangeline Grant,” she said, pronouncing my full name with relish and a wry wink.
She led me inside to the sitting room, where Logan was already planted on the couch with his guitar. We said our hellos and fell into the routine of our rehearsal warm-up.
As Portia made tea and Logan started playing scales, I snapped open my case and lifted out my aquamarine guitar. I pulled the strap over my head and began tuning. I listened to each string in turn, my eyes roaming the room. It was as cozy as it had always been, stuffed full with furniture, instruments, and memorabilia from Portia’s decades of performing. But now I noticed that Portia had added some holiday decorations. Strings of lights edged the wide picture window, and above the fireplace, red velvet ribbons and fresh green mistletoe hung over an antique mirror. Along the mantel, boughs of fresh pine had been placed between framed photos of Portia’s friends and family.
“Christmas is my favorite time of year,” I said with a sigh.
Portia set a tray of tea and cookies on the coffee table and smiled. Logan must not have heard me as he focused on his guitar scales.
“On Christmas morning we have a big breakfast and then take turns opening presents,” I continued. “And after that we always have a family holiday jam, where we sit around in our pajamas and play music together all day.”
“That sounds pretty cozy,” Portia admitted. She turned to Logan. “What’s your family doing for the holidays this year?”
Logan silenced his guitar and gazed at the steam rising from the teacups. “I dunno,” he said, his mouth tightening into a sad knot.
I studied his face, remembering how much Logan had been missing his father. Was he thinking of him now?
“Will your dad come home this year?” I asked.
“Probably not,” Logan said, an edge forming in his voice. “It’s really expensive to fly from Asia.”
Suddenly, I felt bad going on about all the fun things my family does for the holidays when Logan wasn’t even going to get to hug his dad on Christmas.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Logan’s cheeks turned bright pink, like he was self-conscious, but he shrugged. “Everyone always says the holidays are full of joy,” he muttered. “But nobody ever talks about how they can make you sad.”
Portia was watching Logan carefully, too. “Here’s what I think,” she said. “Sure, the holidays can be lonely. But this season is also a time of giving. It’s an opportunity to remind people how much we care about them.”
I nodded, waiting for Logan to reply, but he just shrugged and kept his eyes locked on his guitar.
“We should get started,” Portia said after a moment. As she moved to grab her guitar, I sat by Logan on the couch.
“Are you okay?” I whispered.
“I’m fine,” he replied, but his voice wobbled.
Sympathy swept through me. I wanted to say something to make him feel better, but I wasn’t sure what that would be. Instead, I made a silent promise: This holiday season, I would find a way to show Logan that I cared.
That afternoon, Mom rounded up our whole family to “holiday up the house,” our family tradition of putting up the tree and the indoor and outdoor decorations. It was always a ton of work but it was fun, too, and I’d been so busy rehearsing with Logan for our tour lately that I was looking forward to it more than ever.
Once Aubrey and I had hauled every box of decorations into the living room, Mom put on a Patsy Cline holiday album, and the three of us sang along as we worked. Our golden retriever, Waylon, joined in, too, howling as we hit a high note.
Through the window over the couch, I could see Dad and Mason outside on the porch, wrapping tiny lights along the railing, their breath freezing in the air as they chatted. Dad laughed and clapped Mason on the back. When Dad spotted me watching them, he grinned and started playing air guitar. Mason joined in, playing “air drums” until the three of us cracked up. I turned back to the warm glow of the living room, cozy happiness like a blanket around me. This is what I look forward to every holiday season, I realized. Being with my family like this.
“I can’t wait until the holiday jam,” I called to my mom over the music.
Mom smiled. “I have a feeling that this year will be our best holiday jam ever,” she said. She hung an heirloom velvet banner reading JOYFUL MUSIC over the fireplace and stepped back to make sure it was centered.
“Mom and I are going to sing a duet!” Aubrey said, reaching into a box and pulling out a set of bottle-brush evergreens.
For a fleeting moment, my stomach sank. Usually, my mom and I performed a duet at the jam, but I had been so busy with tour rehearsals that we hadn’t had time to prepare anything. Anything. Most likely, I won’t have time to learn a new song for the jam this year, I realized. Then I reminded myself that I was happy for Aubrey.
“Your first jam duet!” I exclaimed. “That’s so exciting!”
Aubrey grinned. “The only thing that could make our duet better is a concertina,” she declared. “I really, really hope that Santa will bring me one this year.”
“You’ve mentioned that,” Mom said.
“Like, every day for the past six months,” I added.
“That’s because concertinas are so tiny and cute, and they sound so pretty,” Aubrey crooned. “Plus, all the best musicians play two instruments, and I only play the accordion. That’s why I need a concertina.”
“Instead of being focused on what you need,” Mom said gently, “why not focus on what you’re going to do for others?”
I perked up, suddenly remembering what Portia had told Logan and me: This season is also a time of giving. It’s an opportunity to remind people how much we care about them. With only a few weeks left before the tour, I realized I didn’t have long to find the perfect gift for Logan.
“Hey, Mom, do you think we’ll have time to go Christmas shopping before I go on tour?” I asked.
“We can try, honey,” Mom said, “but you’ve been so busy with rehearsals and homework that you’ve hardly had time to join us at the dinner table.”
“I know,” I said. “But it’s really important to me to find the perfect gift for Logan.”
“Honey, true generosity isn’t always about finding someone a ‘perfect’ gift,” she said. “And remember, the best gifts don’t always cost money.”
I knew she was right. But what would that look like?
When it came to Logan, I often felt, well, discombobulated is a good way to put it. When we performed onstage together, our music flowed as if we shared a heartbeat. But when he got moody or withdrew from the world, I didn’t know how to reach him. I needed to find a gift that would show him that I am his true friend—onstage and behind the scenes.
The next few weeks passed in a whirl of school, rehearsals, and meetings about the tour. I was so busy that sometimes I had to remind myself to stop and take a breath. Whenever I thought I’d have enough free time to think about Logan’s Christmas gift, I was too exhausted by the end of the day even to shop online. Maybe I would find the perfect gift while we were on the road, I decided.
When my alarm went off the morning of the first day of our tour, I was already awake. I shot out of bed, took a shower, got dressed, and lugged my suitcase downstairs. My parents were already up making eggs, toast, and sausages in the kitchen.
“Ready to go, I see?” Dad cracked, rumpling my hair. “Zane’s not picking us up for another half an hour. Besides, we need something hearty before we hit the road.”
I slumped against the wall and groa
ned. “I want the tour to start already so I won’t have to think about it anymore and I can just enjoy it!”
My parents laughed.
It wasn’t long before Aubrey bounced downstairs and Mason slouched into the kitchen from his room. Once breakfast was ready, we all sat down together for one last family meal before the tour began.
“Are you super excited?” Aubrey asked me.
“Of course!” I said, scooping a big forkful of scrambled eggs into my mouth.
“You should be,” Mason said. “It’s going to be awesome! Even Waylon agrees. Right, Waylon?”
Our dog was curled up in a furry golden circle under a patch of sunlight streaming through the sliding patio door. At the sound of his name, he did one of those happy sleep twitches, showing his belly.
“He’s probably dreaming about the Howl-iday Ramble,” Mom said.
I grinned. The Ramble was a yearly neighborhood parade where everyone dressed their pets in holiday-themed costumes and walked them around the park. Last year I had dressed Waylon in a doggy top hat and an ascot, like Ebenezer Scrooge.
“Don’t worry, Waylon!” Aubrey said, jumping out of her seat to scratch his belly. “This year we’re going to have the best time ever. I’m going to walk you all by myself.”
“And I’ll keep you company,” Mason said. “Although I’m sure Waylon will miss Dad and Tenney.”
A pang of sadness hit me as I watched Aubrey cuddle Waylon. Mason and I had gone to the Howl-iday Ramble together every year since we adopted Waylon as a puppy. It was strange to think I wouldn’t be there this time. I shrugged, shaking off the momentary melancholy that was starting to settle. I can walk Waylon next year, I thought, just as I heard wheels coming down the driveway.
I ran to the kitchen window and looked out. In front of our garage, Zane was hopping out of a big white van with “Mockingbird Records” emblazoned on the side.