Behind the Bars

by Brittainy Cherry

  “I should get going so I don’t miss the bus home.” He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.”

  He parted his lips as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

  I smiled. “Are you okay, Eli?”

  His smile was laced with nerves. “Yes. Sorry. Okay, well, I’ll see you later.” He started to walk away, but then he paused, turning back to face me. “Can I t-t-take you out?”

  “What?”

  “I just…I was wondering if I could take you out on a date, and not like a friend-date, but like a date date.” As he spoke, the butterflies in my stomach kept swirling around. “You can say no!” he added quickly.

  “I want to say yes, it’s just…” I bit my bottom lip. “Is it because you feel bad about what happened to my locker? Is it a pity date?”

  He laughed. “Trust me. It’s not a pity date.”

  “I’ve never been on a date before.”

  “It’s okay.” He shrugged his left shoulder. “Neither have I. So, Saturday?”

  “What about your show?”

  “I’ll skip it for you.”

  My heart stopped beating and beat faster all at once. “Okay.”

  He smiled so wide and anxiously raced his hand over his head. “Okay. Good. Um, I’ll see you t-t-tomorrow at school.”

  “Bye.” As he walked away, I turned back to my locker and opened it. I started collecting the books from the shelves, and I jumped a little when I heard my name.

  “Sorry, it’s just me again,” Elliott said. “I just forgot to say something.”

  “Oh, what?”

  “First, can I…” He stepped toward me, but then stepped back again. “Can I hug you?”

  I laughed, always so amused by everything about his movements. “Please.”

  He wrapped me in a hug, and I breathed him in.

  I relaxed a bit as he held me.

  “I forgot to tell you that none of it is true. The words they put on your locker—none of it’s true. I’m going to hug you right now until you believe me, and don’t say you believe me, because I know you don’t.”

  “It may take a while.” I shut my eyes as he held me closer. “You’re going to miss your bus.”

  “It’s okay,” he replied, so matter-of-fact. “I’ll walk home.”

  “Are you seriously asking me to do this, Snow?” Ray wondered, standing in the doorway of my bedroom that afternoon. He had a look of disbelief in his stare as he crossed his arms. “The answer is obviously no.”

  I groaned. “But it’s just a small lie,” I promised.

  “Just to be clear”—he narrowed his eyes—“you’re asking me to set up a fake meeting between a music producer and your mother this Saturday so you can go out on a date with a boy who was randomly in my house this past weekend wearing my clothes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jasmine.” He sighed heavily. Whenever he used my real name, I knew he was annoyed. “Normally I’d agree that your mom is over-the-top and out of line, but this time she was right. You lied to her and you snuck around.”

  “It’s the only way I can have a life!” I argued.

  “That still doesn’t make it right,” he replied. “Listen, Snow, I’ll go to bat for you with your mother, okay? I’ll stand up for you and fight for you to have some freedom as a kid, but we can’t win the war if you go into battles lying.”

  “I’m sorry I lied, okay? I knew she wouldn’t have let me go, but this Saturday…this is important. I promise I’ll never ask you for anything ever again if you help me out with this. Plus, if you actually set up a meeting with someone, it’s not a lie at all.”

  “No, the lie is me telling her I’m taking you to the studio to work.”

  “You can take me to the studio afterward—then it’s not a lie. Pleeease?” I begged like a five-year-old. I gave Ray my best ever puppy-dog eyes, and he cringed.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?” I asked innocently.

  “Look at me with those stupid Snow White doe eyes.” He groaned. “Fine, fine, but if we do this, I have a few rules of my own, like one: we will go to the studio after this date thing.”

  “Okay, deal.” My grin spread from ear to ear.

  “Wait, I’m not done, and you’ll also let me meet this boy. I drive and drop you two off.”

  I grimaced. “You’re not going to harass him, are you?”

  He laughed. “Oh, I’m going to harass him. I’m going to inform him that I’m going to make his life a living hell if he ever tries anything or breaks your heart.” He held his hand out toward me. “Deal or no deal?”

  I grumbled, stood up, and shook his hand. “Deal.”

  Chapter Nine

  Elliott

  Uncle TJ kept frowning during my music lesson Friday afternoon. “No, no, no. That’s not right,” he said, cutting me off as I played the saxophone. He marched back and forth in his living room, waving his arms around. “There’s nothing there.”

  “What?”

  “The way you’re playing, it’s boring. There’s nothing there—no heart, no meaning.”

  “I played e-exactly what you wanted,” I stuttered, growing irritated by his criticism. We’d been working on the same opening bars for over two hours. We’d spent the past week working on the same section over and over. I was tired of hearing myself play.

  “Yes, you played the chords, you hit the notes, blah, blah, blah.” He grimaced, still waving his arms around. “But where’s the voice?”

  “What?”

  “Where’s. Your. Voice?” he asked again, this time more emphatically.

  “I don’t k-know what that m-means,” I barked back.

  He locked his eyes with mine, and sat down on his sofa. “You don’t know what that means?”

  “No.”

  “It means, Elliott”—he lifted his cup of coffee from the side table—“that you sound like shit.”

  “There’s no way to make it better,” I argued. “It just is what it is.”

  “Play it again.”

  I groaned. “But—”

  “Play it again.”

  Sometimes working with Uncle TJ drove me insane. He always pushed me to give him something I could never deliver, but still, I kept showing up to our lessons, because at the end of the day, he was always right.

  I picked up the saxophone and began to play. My fingers moved against the keys and I performed the exact number he wanted me to, and still, it wasn’t good enough.

  When I finished, he didn’t make a peep. He didn’t criticize me. He didn’t hold the same annoyance in his stare. All he did was stand up, walk over to his own saxophone, and start to play.

  He played the same piece as I did.

  But man…it wasn’t the same.

  Uncle TJ performed in a way where his whole existence infused into the music. It wasn’t simply the saxophone that created sounds, but his soul bled out through each note. TJ made music that could fix any broken person. He made sounds that were meant to heal the world.

  When he finished, I sat looking like a fool. He took his seat and went back to sipping on his coffee.

  “Okay.” I sighed. “I’ll try again.”

  He didn’t allow me to leave his house until I got it right. We worked long into the night, missing dinner but not caring. That was when the magic started happening. It came after the struggle, after the exhaustion, after the pain.

  TJ was a unique kind of music professor. He didn’t teach people how to play an instrument or how to sing; he took those who already knew and taught them soul. He showed them how to dig deeper and discover more within themselves.

  Once TJ could get you to a place where nothing existed in the world except for the music, that’s when you’d find it—your voice.

  If it weren’t for TJ, I wouldn’t have even known I had a voice.

  Sure, his belief in me drove me up the wall sometimes, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

/>   He believed in my gift when I didn’t believe in myself.

  “There!” He clapped his hands together and nodded. “There it is!” he remarked after I took the song I had thought I’d already perfected and made it magic. “See? You see what I mean, son? That was it! That’s why we keep going.”

  I smiled, because I knew he was right.

  “Now go home. I’m sick of looking at you.”

  I laughed and gathered my things.

  “Wait, I got you something,” TJ called after me. He walked into the back room and came back out with a box. “Your mom said you were going on your first ever date.”

  “Mom talks too much.”

  “Only because she loves you. Here, this is for you. Figured you might want it.”

  I took the box and grinned. “Cologne?”

  “Only two sprays, buddy. No need to drown yourself. Be subtle about it.”

  “I will.”

  “And, Elliott? Have the best time of your life. You deserve this. You deserve all of this.” I left before he got too emotional, because TJ was very much like Mom in many ways; he loved me so much, it often made him cry whenever something good happened.

  And Jasmine Greene was my something good.

  Saturday morning, I stood in front of the mirror, staring at myself. Today’s the day—my first date. Mom had already cried about three times that morning, and Katie couldn’t help giving me tips on how to treat Jasmine like a lady.

  I didn’t really need too many ideas, though. When a guy lived with two girls all his life, he learned what to say and what not to say pretty well.

  I stared in the mirror, my face bright red as I tried to say the only thing I really wanted to say to Jasmine. “You’re b-be—” I grimaced. Beautiful. Beautiful. The word is beautiful. “You’re b-b-b…God!” I groaned, slapping my hands against my face. Sometimes I hated myself more than I could describe. I took a deep breath and stared myself in the eyes. “You. Are. B-Be—”

  “You don’t have to say it,” Katie said, walking past the bathroom. “The way a guy looks at a girl already tells her he thinks she’s beautiful.”

  “How am I supposed to look at her to let her know she’s b-b-be…?”

  “Trust me, you already are looking at her that way. Get out of your head, Eli, and just have fun.”

  I took my sister’s advice. I let go of overthinking everything and got out of my own way.

  “And here. Let me fix your tie.” She walked over to me and started retying my poorly put together tie. “I like that you’re wearing a tie. I’d never been on a date where a guy wore a tie.”

  I tensed up. “Is it too much? Is it st-stupid?”

  She shook her head. “It’s charming. Trust me, girls like charming. And, I know I was mean to her because I thought she was one of them, but she’s not, Eli. She’s nothing like the popular kids. Jasmine is a good thing. You deserve a good thing.”

  I gave her a halfway smile as she fixed my tie. “Thanks, sister.”

  “Anytime, brother.”

  I waited on the front porch for Jasmine to pull up. She’d told me earlier that week that her dad-who-wasn’t-really-her-dad, Ray, was going to be dropping us off and picking us up. That added a whole new level of nerves to the idea of my first date.

  As the car pulled up and parked, I walked down the steps toward the sidewalk. A man climbed out of the driver’s seat and approached me.

  Jasmine hurried out of the car, shouting, “Be nice, Ray!”

  “I’m always nice,” he replied, his voice stone cold. As he walked up to me, my shoulders slumped and my nerves built up more and more. Ray took off his sunglasses, and I lost my mind.

  “Holy crap, you’re Ray Gable!” I shouted, my mind exploding.

  Ray’s harsh stare softened. “You know me?”

  “You know him?” Jasmine echoed.

  “Know you? You’re only the amazing guitarist and lead vocalist for Peter’s Peak. Not to be dramatic, but I’m your b-b-biggest fan. Can I just say one thing?”

  “Sure.” Ray smirked, appearing somewhat excited to be recognized.

  “Please don’t go mainstream.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “What?”

  “Well…” I cleared my throat, the knot in my stomach tightening. “When indie artists go mainstream, the world of music loses true talent because the music industry turns you into money-hungry demons that lose all sense of self and start sounding more like bubble gum and less like music. It has happened to a lot of the greatest artists out there, and I would hate for it to happen to you because your music is raw and real, too great to sacrifice for money—not that I’m saying I don’t want you to succeed and make money, because I mean, I’m sure that’s the goal, and more people should know Peter’s Peak exists, but, it’s just that I would hate for you to lose what you have.”

  After I finished speaking, I let out a deep sigh.

  “Whoa,” Jasmine murmured, stunned. “You just went into full fanboy mode, and you didn’t even stutter once.”

  “Snow White”—Ray tilted his head toward her—“why didn’t you tell me your friend had the best taste in music?”

  “Oh God,” Jasmine moaned, slapping her hand against her face.

  “Come on, Elliott. Let’s get a move on,” Ray said, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “Your cologne smells great.”

  I could’ve died a happy man right then and there.

  The whole ride over to Bourbon Street, Ray and I talked about all things music. He gave me songs to listen to, and I gave him some of my favorites to check out. Jasmine sat in the back of the car, and she was lucky enough to take part in the forming of a true bromance.

  “You’ll have to wear bowties, dude. Your tie is great, but chicks dig bowties,” Ray told me, and I took his notes to heart. As he pulled up to the French Quarter, Jasmine was quick to jump out of the car. I thanked Ray for the ride, and my hand went to open the door, but when I pulled, it wouldn’t budge.

  “Sorry buddy, you’re locked in,” Ray said, sliding his sunglasses back on.

  “Oh?” I went to unlock it, and he was quick to lock it back. “Um…” I swallowed hard and turned to look at him. The cool musician was gone, replaced by the overprotective dad-who-wasn’t-really-her-dad.

  “She’s a great girl,” he told me.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “She’s the most important thing in my life. If you hurt her, I will find you, take your saxophone, and shove it down your throat. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir?” I said with a shaky voice.

  “Is that a question?”

  “No! It’s the answer, Ray. Jeez, back off. He answers things with question marks, it’s no big deal. Now let him out,” Jasmine shouted.

  The second the door was unlocked, I hurried out of the car.

  “Call me when it’s time to pick you up, okay, Snow White? And, Elliott?”

  I swallowed hard. “Yes?”

  He gave me a bright smile. “I’ll check out those songs you sent me.” Then his face turned to a scowl. “And keep your hands out of your pants, and off Jasmine, or else I’ll murder you. Okay, bye!”

  As he drove off, I stood there, a bit terrified of Ray’s final words, but still starstruck too. It was an odd moment to say the least.

  “Ignore him,” Jasmine told me. “He’s all talk.”

  “Yeah, but just to be safe, don’t be surprised if I don’t touch you, like, ever. Come on, we’re gonna be late to the steamboat.”

  “A steamboat?” Jasmine asked as we walked down Bourbon Street.

  “Yeah, it’s called the Steamboat Natchez. It kind of t-takes you around New Orleans and you see all the sights.”

  “Oh, how cool.”

  “Yeah. They do live jazz music and stuff on the boat too. I think you’ll like it.”

  “I’ll love it.” She nudged me in the arm and grinned. “I know what Ray said about bowties, but I like your regular tie.”

  My face heated up, and I look
ed at her the way Katie said I always looked at her. “Thanks. I like your, uh, everything.”

  She laughed and linked her arm with mine. “Thanks, Eli.”

  I wasn’t sure if she noticed, but I definitely stopped breathing—partly because we were linked together, mostly because I feared Ray was somehow watching us.

  Once it came time to board the ship, we sat in the dining hall as the crew served us a late lunch.

  “I’ve never done anything this cool,” she told me. “It’s pretty sad, though, seeing how Hurricane Katrina ruined so much.”

  “Yeah, but it’s a strong city. Rebuilding was the only choice.”

  “Was your family affected by the storm?”

  “No, but a lot of our neighbors were. We were some of the lucky ones. Others in the neighborhood, not so much.”

  “I can’t imagine.” She pushed her food around on her plate and shook her head. “But it must be nice, ya know, to have a city you call home.”

  “Maybe this can be your new home,” I told her. “Maybe a home isn’t where you begin, but where you end up.”

  “I like that.” She grinned. “Maybe.” She shifted around in her seat and I watched her frown. “Elliott? Can I ask you something? Why would you want to take me out on a date after…everything you found out about Todd’s parties?”

  “The only things I want to find out about you are things you tell me. I couldn’t care less what other people think or say.”

  “But I told you what I did with those boys.”

  “For me,” I argued. “You did that to try to protect me—and by the way, no offense, but please never stand up for me in that way ever, ever again. I’d rather get beat up for the rest of my life than ever have you put in that situation.”

  She nodded and agreed.

  Before we could talk more, one of the musicians in the jazz band came and tapped me on the shoulder.

  “It’s time,” he said.

  “What’s happening?” Jasmine asked.

  I just smiled. “My uncle said I couldn’t miss a Saturday performance, so I hope it’s okay if I perform a song?”

  Her smile spread wide. “Yes, yes, yes!”