A Song for the Season

by Kellen Hertz

  We dove into the song, attacking each note. Our pace was fast, and it got faster as people started dancing in front of the stage. After a few measures I started to feel like my head was spinning. When a verse ended, I glanced over to where Dad and Zane stood offstage. They both gestured to me to slow down. I tried, but as the tempo relaxed, the music sounded weird, so I picked it up again. By the last verse, it felt like I was hanging on to a galloping horse. We ended the song with a crash of Logan’s drums, and I was glad to see that the audience had finally swelled to the size it had been when we first got onstage.

  I took a big breath, relieved that we had saved the show, whatever was left of it. Now one of our songs, I told myself. Shifting my guitar in my hands, I started strumming the intro to “The Nerve,” a duet that Logan and I had written together.

  After a couple measures of the guitar intro, I realized I was playing solo. I glanced at Logan, who was quickly pulling his guitar over his head. He joined in and stepped up to the second microphone at the front of the stage. He leaned over to me. “You forgot to tell me what song was next,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Sorry,” I groaned, feeling my cheeks burn with embarrassment. I started into the song, singing the first verse and letting Logan sing the second. The audience listened attentively and cheered loudly when we finished.

  I looked over to Zane, who signaled that it was time to get offstage.

  “Thank you,” I said into the microphone.

  Then I heard a voice ring out from the crowd. “Play ‘Reach the Sky’!” a young girl shouted.

  I looked to Logan, who shrugged, and then to Zane again. The stage manager was standing next to him, waving us offstage and tapping her watch. Zane shook his head apologetically.

  I squinted into the audience and saw a girl around my age looking at me with hope in her eyes.

  “Sorry,” I mouthed to her. She looked disappointed.

  I quickly leaned into the microphone again. “Don’t forget we have records for sale and—” Before I could say more, my microphone switched off and background music started playing on the speakers.

  Zane gave me and Logan brisk shoulder pats as we came off the stairs into the backstage area.

  “Good job,” he said, but I couldn’t stop frowning. I felt horrible knowing that I had disappointed one of our fans, and wished we could have finished out our set like we planned.

  When Portia arrived backstage a few minutes later, she could read the frustration on my face as I packed away my guitar. “Tenney, you look mopier than a hound dog when it rains,” she said.

  “I can’t help it,” I grumbled. “It was barely a show.”

  “At least we played pretty well,” Logan pointed out.

  “That really doesn’t make me feel better,” I shot back.

  A flash of tension bristled between us.

  Portia turned to Zane and Dad. “Gentlemen, can y’all grant me a little time with my favorite duo?”

  “Sure,” Zane said.

  “We’ll take the guitars back to the van,” Dad told me. “How about y’all come meet us there in twenty minutes?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  As Dad and Zane disappeared into the crowd, Portia put a hand on her hip and looked us over. “I know just what you two need,” she said. “Follow me.”

  It turned out what we needed was hot chocolate, velvety and sweet and topped with whipped cream in tall, striped cups. Portia got them for us at a coffee shop a few blocks up Main Street, and sat down with us at a rickety table in the corner to talk about our show.

  “You two did remarkably well, given the sound catastrophe,” Portia said.

  “Exactly,” Logan agreed, but I shook my head.

  “But we were only just getting into our groove when we had to stop,” I insisted gloomily.

  “You played the show, Tenney,” Portia cut in. “That’s all that counts when you’re on tour. You can’t worry about too much else.”

  She set down her hot chocolate and looked from me to Logan and back with a laser-sharp stare.

  “Being on tour is tough,” she continued. “Sometimes your sets will be great. Other times, not so much. You can’t worry about any of that. You just have to keep going. Don’t get rattled, don’t worry about what you can’t change. Just try your hardest and think on your feet. Think of it this way: Now you can go to your next show knowing that you already got your rough patch out of the way.”

  I looked up at her. “But Belle Starr told me that the first show sets the tone for the rest of the tour. What if—”

  Portia waved her hand as if she was sweeping away my worry. “No matter how badly a performance goes, always remember that your next show could be your best show. You just need to keep your head in the game and be there for each other. Okay?”

  Logan and I nodded.

  I’m not sure if it was Portia’s pep talk or the sugar rush from the hot chocolate, but by the time we walked out of the coffee shop into the crisp December air, I felt a whole lot better.

  “Well, this is where we say our farewells,” Portia said, giving us both hugs. “You know where to find Zane’s van?”

  “The van’s just up there,” Logan said, pointing to the side street ahead.

  “All right then. I won’t wish you luck, ’cause you don’t need it,” Portia declared. “You’ve got talent, grit, and determination. And that is enough to make any tour a success. Take it from someone who knows.”

  We grinned and said our good-byes.

  “Send me some photos from the road—and remember what I said!” Portia called as she walked off. And with a wave back at us, she melted into the crowd.

  As Logan and I started walking back to the van, I repeated Portia’s words in my head like a mantra: Keep your head in the game, Tenney. Our next show could be our best show. I sure hoped she was right.

  Once we got on the highway, Zane put on a CD. By the time the zesty twang of bluegrass music filled the van, Franklin was fading into the distance.

  Outside, patches of half-melted snow and skeletal trees dotted the landscape. I pressed my nose to the window’s cold glass, my breath fogging up the view. We were headed to Knoxville, a medium-sized city on the eastern side of the state. It was nearly two hundred miles away, so the drive was going to take a while. I’d never been to Knoxville, so I was really excited to visit. Still, after a few minutes of passing billboards, barns, and cold-looking cows, I started to get bored.

  I opened my backpack, looking for something to do. I could write a new holiday song! I realized with a zip of enthusiasm. Yes! I’ll write something fun that I can sing at the holiday jam.

  I pulled out my songwriting journal, where I keep all my notes and ideas for songs. I turned to a new page and stared at it, resting my head against the window. I had no room to get out my guitar to tinker around with melodies. So I tried to come up with lyrics instead. I wrote down a few holiday words, trying to spark inspiration: holly, Santa Claus, mistletoe, sleigh bells … But with Dad and Zane chatting in front, and Logan’s knee bouncing as he sat beside me, it was hard to concentrate.

  I glanced at Logan. He was hunched over his phone, typing.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Texting,” he said impatiently, as if I should have known better than to ask.

  I jiggled the sleep out of my foot and looked around. “Want to play a game?” I asked, trying to get him to lighten up. “My family always plays I spy when we go on road trips. It’ll be fun!”

  Logan grunted. I took that as a yes.

  “Okay, I’ll go first,” I said, spotting a highway sign advertising AUNTIE EM’S PIES! 2 MILES! “I spy with my little eye something delicious!”

  “I’m busy,” Logan said, without looking up from his phone.

  “Are you sure?” I said, giving him a friendly nudge.

  He looked up, startled. “What? Yes,” he said tersely, then refocused on his phone.

  Annoyance prickled through me, but I shook
it off. Whatever. Logan wasn’t in the mood to play games, apparently.

  “How much longer till we get there?” I asked.

  Dad glanced over his shoulder. “Long enough that you should probably stop asking,” he said with a wink.

  I sighed again, huddling deeper in my coat for warmth. My eyelids felt heavy. I’ll just close them for a minute, I thought. Then I’ll keep working on the holiday song.

  The next thing I knew, Dad was shaking me awake.

  “Wake up, sleepy,” he said. “We’re here.”

  Our hotel was on the outskirts of Knoxville, on a big landscaped hill overlooking the highway. As we pulled up the circular driveway to the front entrance, a wave of excitement hit me. The last time I’d stayed in a hotel was when I was ten and we went on a family vacation to Florida. Seeing the hotel really brought it home to me that we were on tour. I think Logan felt the same way, because when we got out of the van he kept looking around like he was afraid he was going to miss something.

  “They have vending machines and a snack bar,” he pointed out as we wheeled our suitcases into the lobby. “Do you think they have a pool?”

  For the first time since we left Franklin, Logan cracked a hopeful smile.

  “They don’t, unfortunately,” Zane chimed in. “But they do have a business center.”

  I squinted at him, confused. “That’s no fun!”

  “It is for me!” Zane cracked with a loopy grin, which made us laugh.

  After check-in, we took the elevator to the third floor, where our rooms were. Dad and I were sharing one room while Zane and Logan had another a few doors down. As we walked down the hall, my whole body buzzed with excitement. In Florida, I remembered, there had been complimentary chocolate chip cookies waiting for us in our room, and big fluffy pillows that Aubrey and I had used in a pillow fight.

  Dad slipped the key card into the lock and the door clicked open. Inside, the room was large and neat, with two beds with purple-and-gold bedspreads and matching carpet. It was nice, but in a businesslike way. There definitely weren’t any chocolate chip cookies. I set my bags down and poked at one of the flat pillows.

  “Want to call home?” Dad asked.

  I perked up. That was exactly what I needed right now.

  Dad laughed, handing me the phone. After a few rings, Mom picked up the video call. “Tenney!”

  “Hi, Mom!” I said. I had only been away from home for half a day and I already missed her.

  I had to smile when Aubrey and Mason crowded into the frame with Mom on-screen.

  “How’s it going?” Mason asked, but Aubrey interrupted before I could reply.

  “It’s amazing, right?! I bet it’s incredible,” she declared, breathless. “You’re on tour!”

  “Y-yeah,” I fumbled, trying to match my sister’s enthusiasm. “It’s really great.” I told them about our audio snags at the Franklin show, doing my best to downplay the disaster and sound as optimistic as possible. But I didn’t want to sound like I was complaining, so I changed the subject. “What did you guys do today?” I asked.

  “I made Waylon a reindeer antler headband for the Howl-iday Ramble,” Aubrey told me. “And Mom and I practiced ‘The Holly and the Ivy’ for the jam. We decided Mom should play Autoharp and not mandolin.”

  Aubrey continued chattering a mile a minute, telling me all about their first “rehearsal.” As she and Mom teased each other about missed cues and shaky harmonies, I felt a twinge of regret that I wasn’t home with them. But I shrugged it off.

  You’re on tour! I reminded myself. That’s a thousand times more exciting than rehearsing for the family holiday jam.

  Aubrey was still talking when someone knocked on the door. Dad hopped off the bed, glanced through the peephole, and opened the door.

  “Hey,” Logan said, waving at me from the doorway.

  “Wait, who’s that? Who’s there?” Aubrey bleated on the other end as Mason and Mom laughed.

  “It’s Logan, hold on,” I told her.

  “This is a bad time,” Logan said, looking self-conscious.

  “No, it’s okay,” Dad said, coming over to the doorway, but Logan was already shaking his head.

  “It’s fine, never mind,” he said, taking a step back. “I’ll just see you guys tomorrow.” Before I could reply, Logan walked off.

  Dad looked at me and shrugged.

  After a few more minutes on the phone, Dad and I said our good-byes and I love yous to Mom, Mason, and Aubrey and hung up.

  Dad stood up, bouncing on his heels.

  “Boy, I am wired from sitting in the van so long,” he said. “I’m gonna go stretch my legs before dinner. Want to come?”

  I shook my head. Talking to my family on the phone had energized me, and suddenly, a song lyric popped into my head.

  “You go ahead,” I said, pulling out my songwriting notebook. “I’m feeling inspired.”

  “Okay, then,” Dad said with a wink. “I’ll be back. Call or text if you need me.”

  I nodded and scribbled down the lyric before I could forget it. As soon as he left, I crossed the room and snapped open my guitar case. Slipping the strap overhead and across my shoulders, I moved to an armchair and settled in.

  I sang the lyric first, the tune coming naturally as if I had known the song for years. Then I strummed out a few chords that complemented the melody, and from there I figured out the chord progression to form the first verse. It was pretty and yearning, like a ballad. I liked it, but it wasn’t exactly overflowing with Christmas cheer.

  By the time I found a basic structure for the song that I really liked, the door opened and Dad popped his head in.

  “Ready to eat?” he said. “I thought we could order room service.”

  Was it time for dinner already? I often lose sense of time when my songwriting is going well. I peered out the window, and sure enough, a cheery coral-and-pumpkin sunset filled the sky.

  “Yes!” I said, suddenly realizing I was starving.

  As I set down my guitar, a calm pride surged through me, the way it always does after I’ve cracked a song’s structure. It wasn’t done yet, but it was a solid start. Most importantly, working on it had lifted my spirits, making me feel like everything that lay ahead was bright with promise.

  The next morning, Dad and I met Logan and Zane in the diner downstairs and ordered breakfast. By the time my waffles and bacon arrived, my stomach was growling like a stray cat. I poured syrup over my plate and dug in.

  As we ate, Zane went over the plan for the concert, which was scheduled for later that morning at Knoxville’s main library. “Our show’s part of their annual holiday music series,” Zane told us. “They’ve been doing it for a few years now to promote the library and help bring the community together.”

  “We’re playing at a library?” Logan said uncertainly. “I hope they don’t expect us to play quietly.”

  “Not at all,” Zane said with a chuckle. “We’ll be performing in the front lobby, actually. They set up a stage and speakers there, and seating, and they handle all the audio. All we need to do is show up with our instruments.”

  “Great,” Dad said, but remembering the audio disaster during our Franklin show, worry tied a knot in my stomach.

  “I think we should go through our set list again, and talk about what songs we’d cut if we run out of time again,” I told Logan. “Just so we can be prepared if something goes wrong.”

  I expected Logan to agree with me, but instead he wrinkled his nose.

  “I doubt we’re going to have any more problems,” he said, taking a bite of his breakfast burrito.

  Irritation flickered inside me, but I squelched it. “We can’t know that for sure,” I pointed out, then turned to Zane and Dad. “Don’t you think we need to have a plan for what to do if we need to make changes mid-show?”

  Logan bristled, but Zane jumped in before he could reply. “Tenney’s got a good point,” he said. “We’ve got some time before we need to leave for the sh
ow. I need to go make some calls about our upcoming gigs after this. While I do that, y’all can figure out a shorter set list as a backup.”

  “We can do that,” I replied, relieved that Zane agreed with me.

  Logan stayed silent and stabbed a sausage patty with his fork. I eyed him, confused. He was acting as if I had just suggested that we totally overhaul our set list. Maybe he’s just not a morning person, I decided.

  After breakfast, Dad and Zane went back to our rooms as Logan and I sat on couches in the lobby to work on a shortened set list.

  I pulled out my songwriting notebook and a pen and glanced at Logan. He didn’t look like he was in the mood to work on anything. He had his headphones on and his hoodie pulled down over his head as he stared at his phone.

  “So what songs do you think we would skip if we had to?” I asked.

  “Whatever ones you want,” Logan said with a shrug, still looking at his phone. He started typing a text and sent it off with a whoosh.

  “Really?” I asked.

  Logan nodded. “I trust you,” he said quietly, but he still didn’t make eye contact.

  “Um, okay,” I said. It felt strange to revise the set list without talking it out, so I ran through each song, telling Logan which ones I thought we could leave out.

  I expected that he would object to skipping one song or another, but he didn’t. He just nodded like he was barely listening to me. I squinted at him. The Logan I knew always had an opinion about everything, especially when it came to our music.

  “Are you even listening to me?” I asked finally.

  “Yes,” he said sharply.

  I frowned. Logan’s gaze flickered up at me for a brief moment before returning to his phone.

  “You want to skip a few holiday songs and make sure we always keep ‘Reach the Sky’ as our last song,” he said, softening his voice. “That’s fine. Whatever.”

  “Okay,” I said. I waited for Logan to say something more, but it was clear that we were done. I shrank into the corner of the couch, annoyed.

  I remembered feeling this way before, when Logan and I first started working together earlier this year. Logan had been stressed out trying to balance band rehearsals and songwriting sessions with his responsibilities at home, and he was in a bad mood all the time. It made collaborating on our music almost impossible. Logan even quit the band for a little while! But since then, we had become a team.