by Kellen Hertz
Electricity raced through me. I wanted to perform again more than anything else. “And you said that once my set is solid, I can start playing solo gigs, right?” I asked Zane.
“Absolutely,” he said. “In fact, we need to get cracking, because I’m working on booking you for an upcoming performance.”
My stomach did a cartwheel. “Really? Where? When?” I asked.
Zane tipped his hat off his head and bounced it on his knee, eyes sparkling.
“During the festival next month,” he said.
“Next month? Wait … do you mean the City Music Festival?” I croaked. My breath caught in my throat as I envisioned myself performing on the Ryman Auditorium main stage.
Zane nodded. “At the start of every festival there’s a welcome brunch for all the artists who will be performing at the festival. It’s a chance for them to catch up with one another and get pumped about the week’s festivities. Each year, a different label provides the entertainment. This year, it’s Mockingbird’s turn to choose. And I want you to play at the brunch.”
“Oh,” I said, realizing that Zane wasn’t asking me to play in an actual festival concert.
Zane raised an amused eyebrow at me. “You were thinking I got you a concert slot?” he asked with a chuckle. “Sorry, the festival only asks artists who have albums out to perform at the festival itself. The good news is, along with the festival performers, everyone who’s anyone in music in Nashville will be at that brunch. Playing for music industry insiders is exactly what you need right now: to get people excited about working with you.”
I nodded, my brain filling up with possibilities. What if an artist I loved heard one of my songs and wanted to record it? Or even better, wanted me to sing it with them! Playing at the City Music Festival artists’ brunch could easily lead to more musical opportunities.
“So you’re interested?” Zane asked.
“Yes,” I said, hugging my guitar. “I am definitely interested.”
All during dinner that night, my mind kept floating up into dreamland as I imagined myself performing in front of a crowd of musicians whom I loved and admired. It was thrilling and terrifying at the same time. The City Music Festival was just five weeks away, I realized, counting the days. That wasn’t a lot of time to get a flawless set of original songs together.
Waylon followed me upstairs and watched me finish my homework. Then I grabbed my guitar and my songwriting journal and sat on my bed to work on music. I started with my new song. At first I tried playing it faster and hardening my voice, but I didn’t feel like myself—I just sounded like I was imitating somebody else. Portia, Ellie, and Zane had urged me to branch out to make my song more powerful. But how could I do that and stay true to my music? As I thought about it, my stomach felt topsy-turvy.
Calm down, I told myself. You can do this. I opened my journal and looked at the notes I had jotted down from our session. Feisty. Driving. Powerful. Faster. The words seemed to describe a rock ’n’ roll song. Maybe that’s what everyone wants to hear, I thought.
I played the song twice, trying to make the song sound “rock.” The harder I tried, though, the more it just sounded rushed. I growled in frustration. I took a breath and started over, closing my eyes. Usually, that helps me hear the song better. This time, I changed keys to see if that would somehow make it sound more rock ’n’ roll. It just sounded weird instead.
I sighed, exhaling my frustration. Then I tried one of the verses again in the original key.
It’s always been just her and me
We’ve no need for your thoughts
There’s no room for your bad energy
We’re giving it our best shot
I listened to the words as I sang. They were strong and hurt and a little angry. Under them, my melody seemed too soft. Maybe Portia was right, I thought. It needs to be punchier. I started reworking the chorus melody.
Right when I felt like I was on the verge of a breakthrough, our home phone rang, and Mom picked up in the kitchen.
“Tenney! It’s for you!” she called.
I left my guitar on the bed and grabbed the phone in the hallway, humming my new chorus.
“Hello?” I said into the receiver. The music I’d been working out was still playing in my head, so for a second I only heard every other word that Jaya was saying.
“—and I thought it would be a great idea!” she finished. She paused, waiting for me to respond.
Oops, I realized. I had no idea what she’d been talking about. “Sorry, Jaya,” I said. “I’m a little distracted. Can you repeat that?”
“I want to put on a book drive to raise money for Mina’s school in Bangladesh!” Jaya bubbled enthusiastically. “We’ll collect used books and resell them at the Spring Clean!”
The Magnolia Hills Spring Clean happens every April. My classmates and their families donate used toys, clothes, appliances, and even bikes, and our school hosts a rummage sale one Saturday in the gym.
“Normally, all the money goes to after-school sports, but I already asked Ms. Carter if she could make an exception for books, and she’s going to check!” Jaya continued.
“Okay,” I said. I felt a little hurt that Jaya had already asked Ms. Carter to okay her idea. She hadn’t even asked my opinion first.
“I guess a book drive could be good,” I said. I wasn’t too psyched about the idea, but Jaya sounded so excited that I decided to keep my opinion to myself.
“It’ll be great!” Jaya replied. “We’ll collect books at school and around the neighborhood for the next few weeks. Then we’ll price them and sell them in a stall at the event. A million people come to the Spring Clean. We could sell out!”
I tried to get a word in edgewise, but Jaya was talking way too fast. As she chattered in my ear, the melody I’d just made up started to get fuzzy in my brain.
“Hey, Jaya?” I interrupted. “I have to go.”
“Okay,” said Jaya, surprise edging her voice.
“Great thinking, though. We’ll talk about it more tomorrow,” I said. I hung up the phone and hummed my new melody again to make sure I hadn’t lost it. Jaya will understand why I had to get off the phone, I thought as I pulled my guitar back into my lap. Right now, I need to focus on my music.
When I walked into class the next morning, I spotted Jaya talking to Ms. Carter at her desk. Our teacher waved me over with a warm smile.
“Tenney!” she said. “I was just telling Jaya that I spoke with Principal Schreiber, and she’s fine with you girls selling books at the Spring Clean to raise money for your project in Bangladesh!”
“That’s great!” I said. I turned to Jaya to share my excitement, but she kept her eyes glued on Ms. Carter.
“We’re both very impressed with the initiative y’all are showing,” Ms. Carter continued. “Good luck!”
As we settled at our desks, more kids came in, and Ms. Carter wrote the morning lesson on the board. I waited for Jaya to turn around in her seat to chat. Instead, she kept her back to me.
“I’m glad that Ms. Carter is helping us make the book sale happen,” I whispered to the back of Jaya’s head.
Jaya nodded but didn’t say anything.
She’s in a funny mood, I thought. Maybe she just forgot to eat breakfast.
Throughout first period, Jaya remained facing the front of the classroom. When the bell rang at the end of class, Jaya stayed quiet as we spilled into the hallway with the rest of our classmates. I was about to ask if something was wrong when a blur of golden hair stepped between us.
“Hey!” said the blur, which turned out to be Holliday Hayes. “Good news: My dad said we can put donation boxes at his company offices.”
“Fantastic!” Jaya said, beaming at Holliday.
I was confused. “Boxes for what?” I asked, doing a two-step to catch up to them.
“Collection boxes,” said Holliday. “For the book drive.”
“Oh?” I said, looking to Jaya for an explanation.
Ja
ya finally looked at me for the first time this morning. “After you couldn’t talk last night, I wanted to get another opinion, so I called Holliday and told her about my idea—”
“And I was happy to help out!” Holliday said, finishing Jaya’s sentence. They both laughed.
I swallowed hard. So that’s why Jaya is upset, I realized. Because I was distracted last night. I’d have to explain to her later, when it was just the two of us.
“I also thought we could post flyers around town,” Holliday continued. “And ask local businesses to put out more donation boxes!”
“Good idea,” Jaya said, her eyes twinkling as she beamed at Holliday. “You’re going to be a great part of the team!”
“I agree!” Holliday said, with a satisfied skip.
I smiled politely. Maybe Jaya’s right about Holliday, I thought as I walked with the two of them. Holliday was really organized. She had headed up the sixth grade’s Jamboree planning committee, after all.
Still, Holliday had a mean streak. Why would Jaya want to get her involved in our project? And why didn’t Jaya ask me if I wanted to work with Holliday? I’d assumed raising money for Mina’s school was going to be something Jaya and I were going to accomplish together. Finding out that she’d turned to Holliday made me feel a little less special, but I tried not to let it bother me. The important thing is that we’re all working together for a good cause, I told myself. That’s what I need to focus on.
At lunch, the three of us sat down with our cafeteria pizza and worked out the details of the book drive.
“I liked Holliday’s idea to put donation boxes in the school and around the neighborhood,” Jaya said, “but where do we get the boxes?”
“My dad has lots of old shipping boxes at his store,” I said. “We can use some of those. I bet we can set up a donation box there, too, and at the senior center, the grocery store, and the library. We can send out a schoolwide e-mail.”
“And put up the flyers Holliday suggested,” Jaya reminded me as she took notes. She looked up and gave me a warm smile. I felt like things were finally starting to get back to normal between us.
“What about morning announcements?” Holliday suggested, tucking a lock of golden hair behind her ear. “I can do an all-school intercom announcement every Monday to remind people to bring in their old books.”
“Good idea,” I said.
Holliday beamed at me. Surprised, I gave her a cautious smile back. Maybe working with Holliday wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“We should get together after school to keep planning,” Jaya suggested. “I have art club after school today, but what about tomorrow?”
“I’m free,” said Holliday.
“I can’t tomorrow,” I said. I had promised Portia and Zane that we’d start meeting three times a week to polish my songs for the City Music Festival brunch. “But I could meet the next day …”
Jaya’s face fell. “Tenney, we need to get started on this right away,” she told me, sounding like a teacher. “We only have a few weeks until the Spring Clean.”
“I know, but I can’t miss my songwriting session,” I said.
We sat there in awkward silence until Holliday jumped in. “Why don’t Jaya and I meet tomorrow,” she said to me. “Then we’ll text you where we’re going to put the boxes, and we can figure out a good time to put up flyers and stuff.”
“Yes!” Jaya said.
My heart sank a little. I wished that Jaya had wanted to wait until all three of us could meet in person, but I felt like I couldn’t really complain. Instead, I just nodded and hoped I could make it up to Jaya sometime this week.
When school let out the next day, I wished Jaya and Holliday luck with project planning and headed to the front steps to meet my mom. She wasn’t hard to find among the minivans and yellow school buses picking up my classmates. I grinned at the sight of Mom’s robin’s-egg-blue food truck in the parking lot, with GEORGIA’S GENUINE TENNESSEE HOT CHICKEN scrolled across the side in tomato-red letters. I hopped in, and Mom turned out of the parking lot. We were headed for Shake Rag Studios, where Portia was still recording her album. Zane had suggested we meet there.
As we pulled into the driveway of the studio, Mom kissed me on the forehead and wished me luck.
My stomach got queasy as I thought about playing the new, “rock” version of my song for Portia and Zane. “I wish you could come in with me,” I said.
Mom gave me a regretful smile.
“Me, too, honey,” she said, “but I have to pick up some extra supplies for my event tonight. I’ll meet you back here at four thirty, okay? Text me if there’s a problem.”
I nodded but didn’t budge.
“Don’t be nervous,” Mom said, reading my mind as usual. “You’ll do great.”
I gave her a big hug, trying to believe her.
Inside, the receptionist walked me down the hall to a rehearsal room that was much larger than the one where I’d met that rude drummer, Logan. Portia and Zane stood talking next to a baby grand piano. A full drum kit stood nearby.
“How’s it going?” Zane asked, as Portia gave me a squeeze.
“Good,” I said, although my heart was beating double time.
Zane got me a bottle of water as I unsnapped my case and took out my guitar. Zane and Portia waited while I sat on a stool and warmed up.
“What do you say we work on your newest tune first?” Zane asked.
I nodded reluctantly.
Portia raised an eyebrow. “Okay,” she said. “Are you ready?”
Not really, I almost said, but it was now or never. Digging my fingers into my guitar frets, I took a deep breath and attacked the song. My new tempo for the song was faster—much faster, I realized as my brain spun. Every chord I played sounded too loud and abrupt, but I kept going, stumbling through the new chorus and the bridge with my eyes glued to the frets. The last verse was a blur of mumbled lyrics and messy guitar licks. It all felt weird and wrong.
When I looked at Zane and Portia after the song ended, I could tell they felt the same way.
“It’s bad,” I said, hopelessness drowning my voice.
“Come on, now,” Zane said mildly. “It’s rough, that’s all.”
I shook my head. “That melody just isn’t a rock melody.”
“I don’t think that’s the problem,” Portia said softly.
Surprise shot through me, and I looked at Portia. Her expression was gentle, but her blue eyes were sharp.
“The problem,” she said, “is that you didn’t really change the song, Tenney. You shifted a few notes in the chorus, and you sped it up, but you didn’t rethink the song.”
“I—I tried,” I stammered, my cheeks growing hot with embarrassment. “If you don’t like it, maybe it’s because the song doesn’t need changes.”
Portia and Zane exchanged a look. I could tell they weren’t buying it.
“I know how you might be able to start hearing what’s missing,” Zane said good-naturedly. He left the room and returned a minute later, a big grin stretching across his face. “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine,” he said as a figure appeared in the doorway behind him. “This is Logan Everett.”
Logan stepped into the room. I blinked hard to make sure I wasn’t seeing things.
His eyes locked on me. “Oh. Hi …” he said, trailing off.
I realized he didn’t remember my name.
“Tenney,” I said stiffly.
“Right,” Logan said.
“You two know each other?” said Zane, perking up. “That’s great!” He pushed his hat back on his head and leaned forward.
“Logan’s got great instincts as a drummer,” Zane continued. “After I heard this song the first time, Tenney, I brainstormed what could make it even better. I thought, why don’t we invite Logan in for a jam session and see what happens?”
“Oh!” I said a little too loudly, trying to disguise the disappointment in my voice. Zane didn’t seem to notice.
&nbs
p; “I think your sounds will really complement each other,” he said enthusiastically. “If this goes well, I’m thinking you two could play together at the City Music Festival artists’ brunch.”
It was as if someone had plunged my heart into ice water.
“Play together?” I croaked.
Zane gave me a nod and a broad smile.
I shot a glance at Logan. Sagging in the corner, he looked about as frustrated as I felt.
There was no way in a million years that I wanted to play music with Logan Everett. But right now, it looked like something I couldn’t avoid.
I can’t believe this is happening, I thought, as Logan settled in behind the drum kit. Suddenly, I deeply regretted skipping Jaya’s project-planning meeting to come to the studio. For a moment, I considered faking a stomachache or playing terribly to make it sound like Logan and I were an awful match—anything to get out of that room as soon as possible! But then I realized that Zane might wonder whether I was ready to perform at the City Music Festival brunch, and I couldn’t risk losing his trust in me.
I swallowed hard and slung my guitar across my shoulders. Anger, fear, and worry stormed inside me, and I felt like I could bubble over into tears.
Portia sat down next to me. “You okay?” she asked softly.
“Not really,” I muttered.
She leaned down, forcing me to meet her gaze.
“I know this is confusing, but nothing’s set in stone,” she said. “Just focus on the music, okay? Remember, this is an opportunity for you to grow as a songwriter.”
I nodded halfheartedly. Normally, I love jamming with anyone, especially when we’re playing one of my songs. My family even has a Sunday tradition where we play all the tunes that we love. But I didn’t trust Logan.
I glanced over to where he was warming up—loudly. It sounded less like drumming than a never-ending car crash. My head started to throb as Zane waved him to a stop.