American Girl Contemporary Series 1, Book 2

by Kellen Hertz

Dad nudged my jittering knee with his. “I know,” he replied.

  After a few minutes of silence, he squinted at a driveway ahead. “I think this is it.”

  We turned off the road and stopped at a humungous iron gate at least twenty feet tall.

  “Ray and Tenney Grant,” Dad said into the intercom, and the gate buzzed open.

  He turned to me. “Are you ready?”

  I nodded, inhaling deeply. Ahead, at the end of a tree-lined driveway, stood a three-story mansion the creamy-yellow color of eggnog.

  “Wow,” I breathed. With its tiled roof and turrets, it looked like something out of a fairy tale.

  “Who lives here?” I asked Dad.

  “No idea,” he said.

  In front of the mansion, several glossy town cars and a limousine with tinted windows sat parked around a large circular fountain. People in windbreakers with big cameras danced around groups of nicely dressed guests, taking photographs. As we pulled up, I spotted Ellie Cale with Logan coming down the sweeping front steps.

  Ellie wore sparkly cowboy boots and a bright green sundress. Logan had on a collared shirt and tie, nice jeans, and red sneakers. His hair had been combed into an old-fashioned rockabilly style, and he was twirling his drumsticks like crazy. Seeing me, he looked relieved.

  “Hey,” I said as I climbed out of the truck.

  “Nice outfit,” he replied.

  “Thanks,” I said, smoothing out the skirt of my floral dress and tapping the toes of my silvery boots. Mom had pulled my hair into a low ponytail so that it wouldn’t bother me while I was playing.

  I grabbed my guitar case from the backseat and said good-bye to Dad. “And don’t forget—”

  “One o’clock,” Dad said, tapping his watch. “I’ll be here. Now go ahead with Ellie! Good luck, honey.”

  I grinned and waved at my dad before following Ellie up the steps.

  “They’ve set up a stage in the conservatory,” Ellie said as we passed through the hulking front entrance into a marble lobby. “Logan’s drums and the sound system have been set up and checked, and Belle’s people said there’s an office where you both can warm up before your performance.”

  “Who’s Belle?” Logan asked.

  “Belle Starr,” Ellie said. “This is her house.”

  “Really?” I croaked as my mouth went dry. Belle Starr was one of the biggest singers in the world right now. It was exciting enough that I was standing in Belle Starr’s house—but soon I would be playing my music here! My knees turned wobbly as I suddenly realized what a big deal this performance would be.

  “Don’t be nervous,” Logan whispered, giving me a nudge.

  “Too late,” I whispered back.

  We turned down a long hallway lined with windows. The sound of voices bubbled up as we reached a set of French doors halfway down the hall. Glancing through them, I gasped.

  Inside, dozens of dressed-up people talked and laughed, swirling in a glittering sea among white tables heaped with flowers and food.

  Zane came around a corner and spread his arms wide. “There they are,” he said. “The stars of the show! You two ready for your big debut?”

  “I think so,” I said, nervously eyeing the crowd through the doors. “Where’s the stage?”

  “Up there,” Zane said, pressing his finger to the glass. I followed his gaze across the room, where a drum kit and a microphone stood on a small platform between two ferns.

  “Wow,” said Logan, looking around the crowd. “There’s Kit Harkins! He’s my favorite guitarist! And look, Justine Gunn is here, too!”

  “She is? Where?” I asked, pressing my nose to the glass. “My dad played her album nonstop last year!”

  “Come on, you two,” Ellie said, chuckling. “There will be plenty of time to stargaze once you’re up on that stage.”

  We followed her and Zane into a small sitting room with rosebud wallpaper, pink-striped furniture, and a picture window framed in frilly curtains. Next to a little table holding a huge vase of lilies was a cluster of drum practice pads, which were like flat muffled drums; that’s how Logan could loosen up his muscles and practice his beats without making a racket.

  “Wow,” Logan said, looking around the room a little skeptically. “This might be the floweriest room I’ve ever warmed up in.”

  “Well, get started,” Zane said. “You two go on in less than an hour. Ellie and I have to go make sure everything’s all set onstage. We’ll be back soon.”

  Logan slipped behind the drum pads while I unpacked my guitar and started tuning, trying to calm the emotions storming inside me.

  What if our performance doesn’t go well? I thought as I twisted the E string peg over and over, tightening the string. I thought about my near-disastrous performance at the Bluebird Cafe a few months ago. I was so nervous and uncomfortable that I made a couple of false starts in front of the audience. But then I pulled myself together and played my song better than I ever had before.

  Thwack! The E string snapped in two, hitting my hand and disrupting my train of thought. I growled in pain and frustration.

  Logan paused his slow backbeat and raised an eyebrow.

  “Geez,” he said, as I started to change my broken string. “You’re wound up tighter than that string.”

  “I am not,” I said.

  “Better loosen up before we get onstage,” he replied. “Unexpected stuff happens before a show. We just have to make it work.”

  “I know that,” I said.

  “Good,” Logan said, speeding up his rhythm. “I wouldn’t want you to blow this chance for us.”

  I turned away and rolled my eyes. Everything about him—his calm voice, his expression, the steady beat he was keeping—made me prickle with annoyance. I took my guitar and crossed the room to a door leading outside to the backyard.

  “Where are you going?” Logan said, frowning, as I opened the door.

  “I need some air,” I said, and I slipped outside.

  In the garden, I sat on a bench near a tall hedge and hugged my guitar to my chest. I just have to make it through this performance, I told myself, and then I won’t have to deal with Logan ever again.

  I took a deep breath and started warming up my vocal cords. “La-la-la-la-la-la-la,” I sang. My voice was rough at first, but after a few minutes, it grew smooth and flexible, and I could easily hit both high and low notes.

  Finally feeling calmer, I looked around. Ahead of me, a curving cobblestone path stretched down the back of the mansion, surrounded by perfect rosebushes.

  I pulled my guitar strap over my shoulder and began playing the intro to “Reach the Sky.” I sang the first verse, my voice ringing out as the song carried me down the cobblestone path.

  “Gonna be myself, nobody else. Gonna reach the sky if I only try,” I crooned, the chorus lifting me out of my prickly mood.

  I started the next verse and was rounding a corner of the enormous house when I nearly ran into a young woman who was looking down at her phone. When she looked up at me, I gasped.

  It was Belle Starr.

  Her porcelain features and long, sun-kissed blonde hair looked exactly as they did in the photos Aubrey had pinned up all over our bedroom.

  “Oh! Hi!” I said a little too loudly, with an awkward half wave.

  “Hi,” Belle said carefully, like she thought I might be a crazy superfan.

  “Sorry, I—I just … I was warming up for the brunch and …” I stammered. I lifted up my guitar to Belle, then realized she could already see it.

  “Oh, you’re one of the performers?” she asked.

  I nodded until I remembered how to speak. “I’m performing with Logan Everett, who’s a drummer. We just started playing together, and I’m pretty nervous, and I had no idea we were going to play at your house …” It felt like my mouth was disconnected from my brain as I kept blabbering. “Anyway, my sister’s a huge fan of yours, and we have all your records …” I ran out of breath, so I paused, sucking in air.

&nb
sp; Warmth crept into Belle’s eyes. “Relax,” she said. “Take another breath.”

  I did, and then realized my mouth was hanging open. I snapped it shut and took a deep breath through my nose. It helped.

  “I didn’t think I was actually going to meet you,” I said.

  “Well, here I am,” Belle said lightly.

  I grinned awkwardly, trying to ignore the fact that my face felt like it was on fire. “I just want to say thanks for letting us play here today,” I said. “It means so much to me, and I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

  “Well, if it’s anything like that song you were just playing, I’m sure it will be great,” she said sweetly. “Good luck.” With that, she slipped back inside the mansion.

  I raced back to the room where Logan was warming up, feeling invincible. I’d just met Belle Starr! And she liked my song!

  Logan frowned at me the second I walked in the door.

  “Where’ve you been?” he asked.

  Before I could reply, the door to the hall opened, and Ellie poked her head in.

  “Guys, it’s time,” she said.

  She led us down the hall to the conservatory, where the crowd seemed to have grown much denser. I struggled to keep up with Ellie and Logan as I edged past people with my guitar. At last, we made it to the stage.

  “Break a leg,” Ellie whispered.

  With wobbly knees, I climbed up the steps to the stage. As Logan slipped behind his kit, I checked my mic stands. I use two microphones—one for my guitar and the other to sing into—and both had to be the exact right height. As I made adjustments, the crowd chatted in front of me. A few guests saw us getting ready to play and started making their way back to their tables, but most of them kept talking and laughing and paying absolutely no attention.

  Zane stepped onto the stage and looked over at us with his eyebrows raised. “You ready?”

  Logan glanced at me and gave me a crisp nod. “Ready,” he whispered.

  Zane switched on his cordless microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, his voice booming through the room. The crowd hushed, and people took their seats as Zane introduced himself and then Logan and me.

  I looked out at the crowd. My stomach went into a nervous shudder. Nearly every person in this room had spent their life making music. They’d played all over the world, sold thousands of records, and won tons of awards. It was scary enough that Logan and I were about to perform for so many talented people. But the scariest thing was wondering what would happen if they didn’t like our music.

  “Please give a warm welcome to Tenney Grant and Logan Everett!” Zane announced, spreading his arms wide. He hopped off the stage and gave us an encouraging thumbs-up.

  The crowd clapped politely. I stood frozen at the microphone, my fingernails digging into my guitar like it was a lifeboat.

  “Tenney!” Logan hissed. I looked over my shoulder at him. He leaned over his drum kit to me; his eyes were bright and fierce.

  “Let’s do this!” he said.

  Logan’s intensity woke me up somehow. Calm strength surged through me, and I nodded to him. Yes. Let’s DO this.

  “One-two-three-four!” Logan counted off, slapping his drumsticks together over his head, and we launched into the new song.

  It only took me a moment to know that we were going too fast. Well, faster than we had rehearsed, anyway. As I scrambled to keep up with Logan, I checked the audience. They didn’t seem to notice that anything was wrong. I shot Logan a warning glance over my shoulder, and he slowed down just a hair. My stomach relaxed, and I launched into the first verse.

  “I thought I was the one that could be there. I thought it would be me,” I sang. “Got a taste of life’s dish of unfair. You showed me clarity.”

  I looked across the room. A few guests were bobbing their heads to the music. They like it! I thought. A jolt of excitement hit me, but I stayed steady, focusing on the next chords.

  As we moved through the refrain, Logan and I started to click. His drums were like a heartbeat under my guitar, keeping the song alive.

  I let my shoulders relax and finished out the chorus. “I see you’ve got it under control,” I sang. “Just wish I could be the other hand to hold. I wish that I could be where you are, where you are.”

  My mind cleared as my lungs filled with pure joy. We sailed through the next verse, the melody from my guitar winding around Logan’s backbeat. It was like we were riding a bicycle together, each taking turns to steer. We sounded great …

  … until we didn’t.

  As we started the intro to the bridge, Logan’s drums suddenly sounded like a jackhammer, too hard and too loud. What is he doing?! I thought. I shot him a glare, but he avoided eye contact, playing more forcefully and intensely, as if he was the loudest windup toy drummer in the world.

  I had two choices: Match Logan’s volume or disappear behind his noise, and there was no way I was going to let him drown me out.

  I picked up my tempo, fingers leaping across my guitar frets, and belted out the bridge. Logan’s drumming got louder. Frustration tightened my throat, but I swallowed it, pouring it into the song.

  The drums throbbed in my ears. It felt as if I was competing against Logan, not playing with him. Still, I knew we needed to get through the song. Fixing my eyes on a back wall, I breathed deep from my belly and unleashed my voice for the final chorus, fingerpicking notes down the guitar frets like wildfire.

  I wish that I could be

  Where you are, where you are

  These words can only go

  Go so far, go so far

  We galloped through the rest of the song at a breakneck pace. Sometimes it felt like we were about to spin out of control and straight into a musical disaster. Instead, we swooped through the last reprise and landed at the song’s end.

  I closed my eyes, relieved I’d made it through, and applause hit my ears. When I glanced up, the mood had changed. Before, people had been distracted. Now, the room was electric, and a hundred pairs of eyes were on us.

  “Thank you,” I said into the microphone.

  I scanned the audience as I tweaked my tuning for the next song. Zane stood at the edge of the crowd. When he gave me a big thumbs-up, I flushed with pride.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Logan looked out of breath but pleased with himself.

  “Ready?” I asked. Logan nodded.

  “Try to keep up on the next one,” he said, only half joking.

  I rolled my eyes. Logan may be talented, I thought, but I can’t wait to get back to being a solo act.

  The rest of our set went fine. We played a few more of my songs, and covers of “Drive My Car” by the Beatles and “I Walk the Line” by Johnny Cash. Logan and I had rehearsed a lot, and we sounded good—and I realized I was actually having fun.

  Our last tune was “Reach the Sky.” When Logan and I had first started practicing together, I couldn’t imagine the song working with percussion. Now, as the song unfolded, I could hear the depth that Logan’s drums added to my melody, and I could feel him listening to me. When the song ended, we were perfectly in sync.

  “Good job,” I told him, under the applause.

  He looked almost embarrassed, then shot me a sideways grin. “You, too,” he said.

  Zane bounded up.

  “Fantastic!” Zane yelped, pushing back his porkpie hat in excitement. “The first one was a bit bumpy at the beginning, but wow, Logan, you really brought the heat to that one!” I smarted a bit at that last comment but smiled as Zane turned to me. “And, Tenney, those last three tunes were phenomenal!”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Is there any water?” I asked. My throat was parched.

  Zane nodded. “At our table. This way.”

  He started moving through the crowd. As Logan and I followed, though, guests kept stopping me to congratulate us on our performance. Some were concert promoters and label owners, and others were musicians and singer-songwriters—I even had some of their records! I wanted to ask each
of them for their autograph, but it seemed as though everyone only wanted to know about us.

  “Y’all are a pair of stars in the making,” crowed a man in a ten-gallon hat.

  “Yes!” said a woman next to him. “Soon enough you’ll be playing the Ryman main stage, breaking hearts and taking names.” She winked at Logan, who turned beet red. Then she turned to me. “And how old are you, sweetheart?”

  “Twelve,” I replied.

  She gasped like I’d just flown around the room. “Unbelievable,” she said. “And you’re signed at Mockingbird Records?”

  “We manage Tenney and Logan,” Zane chimed in firmly. “But they haven’t been signed to a recording contract.”

  “Well, you’d better snap these two up before somebody else does!” the woman said, nudging Zane. Then she turned back to me and Logan. “How long have you two been playing together?”

  “A few weeks,” Logan replied.

  The woman looked surprised. “So you’re not a duo normally?”

  I shook my head. “Just for today.”

  Ellie was straight ahead, waving to us by a table piled with pastries and fruit. I excused myself and pushed toward her with Logan at my heels.

  “The set was good, right?” he said. “Even if I did have to save you on ‘Where You Are.’”

  I stopped dead in my tracks. “What are you talking about?” I said. “You didn’t save me.”

  Logan snorted. “Tenney, we’d still be onstage playing that song if you had your way,” he said. “That’s how slow you were going.”

  “You were rushing!” I said hotly.

  “No way!” Logan shot back. “I was just reading the crowd. If I hadn’t picked up the pace, people would have fallen asleep in their seats!”

  Heat rushed into my face so quickly I thought flames might shoot out of my ears. “I’m so tired of you doing whatever you want and then pretending like you did me a favor. You could have ruined my show!”

  “Your show? You think I’m just here to make your songs sound better?” Logan said. “This is my show, too, you know.”

  I scoffed. “You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me,” I hissed.