by Kellen Hertz
“Tenney, musical collaboration isn’t always about friendship,” Portia replied. “You can make great songs with a person and not really like him or her, as long as you both respect the music.”
“But Logan doesn’t respect my music—he just wants to change it!” I said. “I don’t want to share my song with someone who doesn’t appreciate it. He’s ruining everything.”
“Take a deep breath,” Portia said. “Your emotions are talking. Before you reject Logan’s ideas, you need to take a step back from how you feel, open your ears, and really listen to what he’s bringing to the song. And don’t say you’re doing that already,” she continued, reading my mind. “Really listening means hearing somebody else’s point of view. Do that, and you won’t just learn about your song. You’ll learn about yourself, too.”
Portia’s words echoed in my ears all through dinner. They echoed as I grabbed my guitar and songwriting journal and went upstairs. They echoed as I sat on my bed with my cell phone in front of me.
Really listen, I told myself. I tapped on Logan’s text, getting ready to listen to his version of my song again.
Then my phone let out another cymbal crash. What now? I thought, clicking on the new text message. Logan had sent me a second MP3. In case you want to sing along, his text read.
I clicked on the link. After a moment, brisk drums started up. It sounded like the first track he had sent, but Logan’s fuzzy guitar never came in.
It’s an isolated drum track, I realized. Logan had recorded just the drums for my song, so I could use it to practice. I guess I’d rather use this than listen to his voice and guitar ruining my song, I told myself. I slid my guitar onto my lap and inhaled. Then I pressed play on Logan’s drum track. As it started, I attacked the opening chords of the song on my guitar. I played through the song without singing. Instead, I tried to pay attention to how the mood of the song shifted when I played this way. It was angrier and bolder than the ballad I had originally written, but not entirely awful.
I played Logan’s track again, this time putting down my guitar and singing along with the drums. I started the first verse and noticed how the fast, thundering beat made me sing louder, my voice taking on a rough edge. I listened to my lyrics and found myself growing angrier as I sang—angry at Holliday for coming between Jaya and me, angry at Jaya for getting Holliday involved in the first place, angry at myself for not being around more to help Jaya.
I’d barely gotten to the end of the first verse before I realized … I like this. It didn’t really sound like my old song anymore. It sounded like something new.
I quickly restarted the track and picked up my guitar. I felt each note in my throat as I sang:
I thought I was the one who should be there
I thought it would be me
Got a taste of life’s dish of unfair
You showed me clarity
You are the one by her side
While I’m here on the sideline
I moved into the chorus, and instead of listening for all the ways this version was different from the original version of my song, I just played, never quite sure where the song was going next. It was exhilarating. Logan’s backbeat was always there, holding me up and pushing me to express how I really felt.
When the track ended, I took a deep breath. I felt like I’d just gotten off a roller coaster: I was emotionally exhausted, but also relieved somehow. Portia, Zane, and Logan had been right. “Where You Are” is a rock song, I realized. A good one, too. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t heard it before. And I couldn’t wait to play it again.
I was a little nervous when I showed up to rehearse with Logan on Monday after school. Although I’d worked a lot on “Where You Are” since Logan sent me his drum track, I wasn’t sure how he’d react to the changes I wanted to make.
When I walked into the studio, Logan was already warming up at his drum kit, his arms and legs in constant motion. Watching him reminded me that there was a lot more to playing drums than just keeping a beat. You had to be able to do five different things at once while getting ready to do five more.
Seeing me, Logan stopped. “Hey,” he said, out of breath.
“Hey,” I replied. “Um … is Portia here yet?” I wanted to talk to Logan alone.
“She just went to get some water,” he said. “Zane and Ellie are going to join us at the end of the session.”
“Oh,” I said. My heart hammered against my ribs as I watched Logan thrash away at his drums. I was certain he had zero idea about the gyrations my stomach was doing as I got up the nerve to talk about my song. “So, I got your texts,” I told him finally.
“Okay,” he replied, twirling a drumstick between his fingers. It was hard to tell if he was nervous or showing off.
“I worked with your drum track for a long time,” I continued, “and actually, I realized that your rhythm works really well for my song.”
“Really?” Logan said curiously.
I nodded, and for a moment he looked as happy as a little kid. Then he caught himself and went back to acting too cool for school.
“Good,” he said. “I’m glad you can admit you were wrong.”
Ugh, I thought, irritation stinging me all over. I almost shot back something rude, but I stopped myself.
We sat there for a few minutes in awkward silence before Portia finally returned to the rehearsal room.
“Tenney!” she said, putting her hands on my shoulders. “How you feelin’ today?”
I felt my cheeks redden as I thought about my freak-out the other night. “Much better, thank you,” I said. “I spent the weekend working on the song, and I can see now that it’s stronger at a faster tempo.”
Portia nodded, satisfied. “Glad to hear it,” she said.
I glanced over at Logan. “But I also have some ideas about how to make it even better,” I said firmly.
“Great!” said Portia, handing me a bottled water. “We’re eager to hear your thoughts, right, Logan?”
Logan nodded, but his eyes were guarded.
Focus on the music and be confident, I reminded myself.
“I like your backbeat,” I told Logan, “but the tempo and melodic changes you made to the bridge were sort of … predictable.”
Logan’s mouth crimped into a frown, but I focused on my guitar.
“You did this,” I said, playing Logan’s version of the bridge. “I thought it might sound better like this.” I strummed a new riff I’d come up with.
“I like it,” Portia said. “It’s similar, but more unexpected.”
“What else?” Logan said.
“Well, there’s the ending,” I said. “I know it can’t be soft and quiet like how I first wrote it, but right now it feels abrupt. What about something like this?” I said, playing my idea.
Portia spun her turquoise ring around her finger thoughtfully. “Mayyyybe …” she said. She gestured at my guitar, and I handed it over.
“What about playing a revised chorus to end?” she asked. “Something like this …” She played the last line of my verse melody, then launched into a riff on my chorus that built in energy and emotional power, then snapped to a stop at the end.
“I love it!” I said, clapping my hands.
“Yeah,” Logan said, enthusiasm warming his voice. His eyes met mine, and he nodded. “This song is going to rock,” he said.
“It already does,” Portia said, handing back my guitar and grabbing a spare acoustic off the wall.
We worked through the song measure by measure, throwing out different musical ideas as we went. Some things we agreed on immediately; other things took a while. Even when the song changed to something I’d never imagined, I felt okay about it. I realized with a twinge of surprise that I was actually having fun working with Logan.
Once we’d worked through the whole song, we took a water break, just in time for Zane and Ellie’s arrival at the studio.
“Well, it sure looks like y’all have found your groove,” Zane sai
d, tipping back his hat and surveying the smiling faces in the room. “Lemme hear what you’ve been working on.”
Logan sat down behind the drums, I stretched my hands, and the two of us played the new and improved version of my song from beginning to end.
It was very different from what I’d first written, but I really liked playing it. All the way through, there were musical details that reminded me it was my song—the lyrics had stayed true to my real feelings, and the melody was just a better version of what I had dreamed up at school a few days ago. The more we played it, the more fun I had. After we’d finished a really boot-stomping performance of it, I couldn’t help but grin. Ellie let out a whoop of approval and applauded. Next to her, Zane was grinning.
“Now that’s the song it was meant to be!” he said, patting me on the back.
Ellie nodded in agreement. “How do you feel about it, Tenney?” she asked.
“I actually love it,” I said, giggling.
“What’s so funny?” Logan asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “I just can’t get over that new ending. It sounds so good!”
“I know,” Logan agreed. “Why didn’t I think of that?” he said, giving Portia a wink.
A broad smile spread across Portia’s face. “I have a feeling one of you would have come up with it if I hadn’t,” she said.
Zane folded his arms with a satisfied look. “See that?” he said. “I knew you two would make a great team.”
Logan caught my eye, and we exchanged a knowing glance. Working together hadn’t been easy, but we had ended up with a great song. For the first time, I was glad that Zane had introduced me to Logan Everett.
When the session finally ended, we started packing up. I’d just snapped my guitar case shut when I looked up to find Logan in front of me, shifting from one foot to the other like he didn’t know where to put either of them.
“Hey,” he said. “I just wanted to say good job.”
“You, too,” I said. “Thanks for helping me make the song better.”
“Well, you gave us great lyrics to work with,” said Logan. I saw quiet respect in his eyes. “I think we work pretty well together,” he said.
I wasn’t sure how to reply, so I just nodded.
“Guys!” Ellie called to us. “Before I forget, we’ve got an update on the City Music Festival brunch.”
The City Music Festival! I’d almost forgotten about it!
Zane clapped his hands together. “After today’s rehearsal, I feel confident that if we work hard for the next few weeks, we can put together a set for you two to perform together that’ll be a fantastic showcase,” he said, looking from me to Logan. “The question is, are you both interested?”
Logan and I glanced at each other.
“Yes,” I said boldly.
“Me, too,” Logan said.
Zane slapped his thigh in delight. “Fantastic!” he said. “The festival starts the second week in April, and the brunch will be on the eighth.”
My throat tightened all of a sudden.
“Wait,” I said. “Isn’t April eighth a Saturday?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Ellie.
My heart plunged. That day was the Magnolia Hills Spring Clean, when Jaya, Holliday, and I were supposed to host the book sale fund-raiser for Mina’s school.
“What time does the brunch end?” I asked Ellie.
“Probably around one that afternoon,” she replied.
The Spring Clean goes until two o’clock, I thought. If I moved fast, I could still make it to the end of the sale.
“Is that day a problem?” Zane asked, noticing my frown.
Playing at the artists’ brunch for the City Music Festival was too amazing an opportunity to pass up. I couldn’t face telling Zane and Ellie that I was trying to choose between the performance of a lifetime and a book sale.
“Nope,” I replied. “I’ll be there.” I hoped that Jaya would understand.
Before school the next morning, I was a ball of nerves as I waited for Jaya by her locker. I finally spotted her coming down the hall, deep in conversation with Holliday Hayes.
“Hey, Tenney,” Jaya said, gliding up. Without missing a beat, she started talking about the latest plans for the book drive. The more she talked, the more uncomfortable I got.
“And Holliday’s dad is donating two hundred dollars to help meet our goal!” Jaya said exuberantly, beaming at Holliday.
“Wow,” I said. “That’s really great.” I opened my mouth, about to ask Holliday if I could talk to Jaya alone, but I couldn’t figure out how to say that without sounding rude. I snapped my mouth shut and swallowed hard.
“Are you okay, Tenney?” Holliday asked.
“Um, no. I mean, yes, but …” I took a deep breath, feeling heat rising from my neck to my hairline. “Something’s come up, and I’m going to have to be late to the book sale,” I finally blurted.
Jaya’s eyes widened. “Why?” she asked.
I told Jaya and Holliday all about the City Music Festival artists’ brunch performance and what a great opportunity it was—and finally that it was at the same time as the Spring Clean.
“I’ll definitely be there for the end,” I finished. “I just can’t be there the whole time. Well, most of the time.”
Jaya nodded and opened her locker. I couldn’t see her face behind the locker door.
“I can still help collect books,” I added weakly. “I’m really sorry.”
Jaya shut her locker, hard. “It’s fine,” she said, her voice sounding thin and strange.
“As soon as the performance is done, I’ll come right over,” I assured her.
“Whatever,” Holliday said sharply. “You don’t have to rush. Jaya and I have got it covered. Right, Jaya?”
I felt like my heart had just gotten stung by a bee.
Jaya looked up at Holliday and gave a half smile. “Yeah, sure. Don’t worry about it, Tenney.”
I put a hand on Jaya’s shoulder and looked her in the eye. “I’ll be there,” I promised.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jaya said. “Look, I have to go ask Mr. Balcom about printing out more flyers. I’ll see you in class.”
Side by side, Jaya and Holliday walked away before I could say anything else.
The next few weeks rushed by like a river during the rainy season, overflowing with school, homework, rehearsals with Logan, and collecting books for the fund-raiser as I tried to show Jaya my dedication to our project. By the day before the Spring Clean, we had collected dozens of boxes full of used books to sell. Still, it was hard to know how much money we could actually raise to help Mina’s school.
I spent my lunch hour pricing books in the school gym with Jaya, Holliday, and a few other kids who had offered to help.
“Do you really think this hardcover copy of The Secret Garden should only cost two dollars?” I asked, holding the book up.
Jaya pushed her rainbow headband back in her thick black hair and squinted at the book cover. “Yes,” she said. “All fiction is two dollars apiece.”
“But it’s such a good book!” I protested. “I think we could sell it for more.”
Holliday looked over from where she was sorting baby books. “I love The Secret Garden!” she said. “I bet we could get four dollars for it.”
“You’re probably right,” Jaya said.
Holliday and Jaya exchanged an approving nod, and I suddenly felt very alone. Why did Jaya listen to Holliday when I had just suggested the same thing?
Jaya sighed, looking at the piles of books around us. “There’s no way we’re going to get prices on all these books by the end of lunch,” she said. “I just hope we can finish by the time the Spring Clean starts tomorrow morning.”
“We will,” Holliday said. “We’ll stay all afternoon if we have to.”
I stared at the book in my hands, guilt creeping up inside me. “I’m sorry again about not being able to work after school,” I told Jaya. “This afternoon’s the last chance
Logan and I have to rehearse before our performance tomorrow.”
“I know,” Jaya said quietly, but she didn’t look at me. She piled some books into her arms and carried them off to the bleachers.
Part of me felt as though I needed to apologize again, but another part of me didn’t really know why I should have to. In the end, I just stood there.
“Don’t worry about being busy, Tenney,” Holliday said. “I can handle anything you can’t.”
I studied Holliday’s face, certain she was trying to be mean. But her expression was oddly genuine.
“Um, thanks,” I said, even though she’d just made me feel worse.
Holliday nodded. “Good luck,” she said, sounding like she felt bad for me. Then she turned away and followed Jaya to the far end of the gym.
The next morning was a blur of getting up early and eating breakfast while Mom did my hair for my performance. Before I knew it, I was in Dad’s truck, on my way to the City Music Festival artists’ brunch. It was being held at a private home in Nashville’s fanciest suburb, Belle Meade. Out the window, rolling green hills and wide stone mansions slipped past.
“How are you doing, Tenn?” Dad asked.
“I’m okay,” I said, but my belly fluttered nervously. I wished my whole family could have come along to see me perform with Logan, but Zane had explained that it was a private event.
“Well, we’re almost there,” Dad said. “We’ll even arrive a few minutes early.”
The clock on the truck dashboard read 9:19 a.m. Jaya and Holliday had already been at school for twenty minutes, and people would arrive for the Spring Clean soon. As excited as I was about the concert, a big part of me wished I could be there for Jaya.
“Be ready to drive me back to East Nashville at one o’clock,” I told Dad.
“How could I forget?” Dad teased. “You’ve already reminded me about a dozen times.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I just really need to be at school for the end of the Spring Clean. I promised Jaya I’d be there.”