We spend another hour trying different variations, and I begin to understand what he means by approaching it with a spirit of playfulness. One musical thread seems to lead effortlessly to another, and it feels like a kind of musical brainstorming. As I watch Dad picking out the melody on his guitar, I realize I don’t want the morning to end.
The door to the upstairs opens again and this time Mom’s feet appear on the stairs.
“How’s it going?” she asks. She’s carrying a tray with three mugs on it.
“Good,” I tell her.
Dad nods. “This girl knows something about music.”
“I should hope so.” Mom hands out the mugs and sits down on the end of the couch, beside her harp. Her hands run along the strings. Dad and I sip our tea and listen to Mom play. For a change, there’s no tension in the air. I take a deep breath and sigh, letting the gentle sounds of the harp wash over me.
“I have an idea, Cindy,” Dad says after a few minutes.
She looks up but keeps playing.
“Why don’t Legs and I drop you off at the theater tonight, and then we’ll carry on and catch a movie?”
Mom’s hands drop to her lap and my contented feeling vanishes. It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with him, but going to a movie with my dad on a Saturday night…well, it just seems a bit pathetic. Playing music in the studio is one thing; going to a movie is quite another.
Mom doesn’t like the idea either. “I don’t need a ride, Jerry,” she says. “Marcus drives right past here. He’s happy to pick me up.”
Marcus. So that’s his name.
“I know he does, but I thought it would be nice for Legs and me to do something together. Marcus can drive you home after your concert.”
They both turn to look at me. I shrug. “I was going to use the evening to study,” I say, but I can’t meet his eyes. “I usually have Monday night for that, but it’s out this week because of the rehearsal.”
There’s a long silence. I don’t dare look at Dad.
“Then I’ll drive you anyway,” he says to Mom. “Maybe we can get some dinner on the way.”
“That won’t work,” she tells him. “I’ll be dressed for my performance, and there’s really no point in your driving all the way to the theater.”
“Maybe I’d just like a date with my wife,” he says quietly. “And you could change into your dress at the theater.”
Mom collects the empty mugs and goes back up the stairs without saying a word.
Dad stares at the door she’s just gone through, then suddenly climbs the stairs after her. I hear the front door slam.
I’m left with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
There is no family dinner on Saturday night. Dad hasn’t come home, and Mom helps herself to a bowl of corn chowder that she made earlier. Later on, she tells me to have a nice evening and then climbs into Marcus’s sports car. I watch as they back out of the driveway and speed away.
We don’t have a Sunday-night dinner together either. I spent the morning back in the music studio, working on my project, but Dad didn’t join me. I don’t blame him. I’m not even sure he came home last night.
I help Mom prepare a couple of pots of chili for Monday night’s Loose Ends rehearsal. It was my idea to make two, one veggie and one meat. I stand at the counter, chopping onions and green peppers while Mom fries meat at the stove behind me. I want to talk to her, ask her what’s going on, but I don’t. It just feels like too big a topic to broach. She’s unusually quiet too. When we’re done, we sit at the table, sampling our creations.
“How are you feeling about tomorrow night?” Mom asks gently.
I shrug. “Okay, I guess.” I know exactly why she’s asking. Having friends over is not something I usually do. It’s strange. I can dance in front of a theater filled to the rafters with strangers, or play at a piano recital, but… well, I just don’t “do” friends. Except for Angela, and our friendship never leaves the dance studio. “They’re here for the rehearsal, not to hang out with me.”
She nods. “It’ll be fine.”
Thankfully, the subject is dropped. I’ve been trying not to think about it too much.
Mom leaves for work while I finish cleaning up. I notice that she drives herself. I still haven’t seen Dad. I hope he shows up for Monday night’s dinner. I’m not sure what I’ll tell Spencer and the girls if they arrive and Dad’s not here.
But he does show. When I get home from school on Monday afternoon, I can hear him in the studio, practicing. I don’t recognize the song; it must be new. Mom has tidied up the kitchen and put a stack of bowls and spoons on the counter.
Steve arrives first. I let him in, but I can’t look him in the eyes. The last time I saw him was the night he caught me dancing alone in the kitchen. “So?” he says, hanging his jacket in the closet. “How’s the dancing?”
“Good,” I tell him and leave it at that. He follows me into the kitchen and greets my mom, joining her at the counter where she’s chopping up vegetables. They begin catching up on news. Dad’s soulful saxophone music wafts up the stairs. Steve looks at Mom, eyebrows raised. She just shrugs, but I sense she’s retreating into herself again.
I keep a watch on the street, waiting for Spencer and the girls. Eventually an old Volvo pulls up to the curb, and they all pile out. They wave at the driver when the car pulls away. I can see that they’re laughing about something. Sophie applies lip gloss as they walk up the steps. I take a few deep breaths, open the door and invite them in. I introduce them first to my mom, then to Steve. Dad comes into the kitchen and I see Spencer’s eyes light up. I make the introductions.
“I’m a huge Loose Ends fan,” he tells my dad. “I saw you perform when you opened for the Tragically Hip.”
“Cool,” Dad says modestly. He always acts like he doesn’t get what the fuss is all about. He cracks open a can of soda and takes a long swig. He glances around the room, spots Mom, then quickly turns back to Spencer.
“I think my favorite album is Room to Move,” Spencer continues. “You really explored some new stuff on that one.”
“Interesting that you say that,” Dad answers, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I think it’s my favorite too. It was the first time the guys let me experiment a little.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He nods and elbows Steve, who has moved over to join the conversation. “Before that, they thought I was just a bass player. I finally got up the nerve to show them I could play a few other instruments—and write too,” he adds.
“Cool,” Spencer says.
“And that’s how it got its title, that album; they finally gave me room to move.”
I can see that Spencer is trying to act nonchalant, as if talking to one of his favorite musicians and getting the scoop behind the album is something he does every day, but his posture is a dead giveaway. His arms are crossed tightly across his chest, and he’s rocking back and forth.
I exchange a look with Talia, and we smile. I feel myself relax. Sophie and Molly begin chatting about something else, their voices high-pitched. Eventually the other band members begin to arrive. I introduce everyone. The men act as shy as my friends do. Without their music and instruments to hide behind, they’re just regular guys. I think people forget that.
Mom starts handing out bowls, and everyone eventually helps themselves to the food. The girls and three of the band members sit around the table and talk while they eat. I lean against the counter and eat chili with my dad, Spencer, Steve and Randal, the drummer. Mom stands slightly apart from us and simply listens.
“Spencer has an autograph collection, all musicians,” I tell Dad.
“Really,” Dad says, tilting his head.
Spencer nods. “I’m up to two hundred now.”
“That’s great,” Steve says. “Would you like to make it two-oh-five? I can give you signed head shots of each of these guys.”
“Maybe we’re not famous enough for his collection,�
�� Dad teases.
“Are you kidding? That would be awesome! Thanks,” Spencer says.
I glance at Mom and wonder if this is the moment to remind them that she, too, is a musician, but I decide against it.
After everyone has had a second bowl of chili and the platter of veggies is emptied, Dad asks, “Well, Legs? Is it time?”
“Legs?” Spencer looks at me, puzzled.
I shake my head and roll my eyes. “That’s what he calls me.” I frown at my dad, who just laughs.
Spencer laughs too. “Because you’re a dancer, and your legs are so long?”
“No! It’s short for Allegra. A-lleg—gra.” I sound the word out slowly, embarrassed by his interpretation. “He started calling me that long before I started dancing.”
“Or grew the long legs,” my dad adds. “C’mon, everyone, time to get started.” He leads the way to the studio.
Spencer follows me down the stairs. He pokes me in the back. “Legs. I like it,” he says.
I just shake my head again.
Talia and the girls squish together on the couch, and I prop myself on its wide arm. Spencer sits on the floor, leaning against a wall.
The band members consult with Dad and decide to warm up with some of their oldies. “Any requests?” Dad asks Spencer.
“‘It’s a Day For Dancing,’” he says, without hesitation.
Dad smiles, switches guitars and counts off the beat. In a united motion, each musician plays the opening chord, the drummer hits the drums, and the rehearsal begins.
Spencer’s face breaks into a huge grin. His foot taps along, and when the band gets to the chorus, I hear the girls joining in. It’s a lively song, and the musicians are relaxing as they warm up. When the song ends, they move immediately into the next one. John, on fiddle, really gets going. The girls begin bouncing on the old couch. Christopher puts his guitar down and reaches for Molly’s hand, pulling her off the couch. She doesn’t resist and begins dancing to the steady beat. Talia and Sophie leap up and join in; then Spencer grabs my hand, and suddenly we’re all bouncing together in the tiny space. Christopher picks up his guitar again, and I feel like I’m at a party. My first.
When that song is done, they slow it down a little. The girls return to the couch, and I sit beside Spencer on the floor. He leans his shoulder into mine, and I feel all the tension that has built up over the previous days simply melt away. The song is fairly new, and the musicians stop and start, trying to get it right. There’s a discussion among them about which rhythm pattern should be used. They can’t agree, so Dad turns to Spencer and asks his opinion.
“I like the first version,” he says.
“Why?”
“The tempo’s a bit faster…it fits better.”
Dad nods. “Let’s try that one again.”
They continue working on new pieces for the next forty-five minutes, and then Dad turns to Spencer again. “Do you play the keyboard?”
Spencer nods.
“Wanna sit in?”
Spencer jumps to his feet while Brian, the keyboard player, slides off the bench to let Spencer take over. Brian picks up another guitar and strums a chord.
“What song?” Dad asks.
“‘Found My Way,’” Spencer says. He bangs out the first couple of bars, then the band joins in, and a moment later the girls are off the couch again, dancing. I watch Spencer, impressed by how well he plays the song. He truly is a fan. And good on the keyboard.
When the song ends, the musicians applaud Spencer. “Keep it up, kid,” Steve says, “and we may find a spot in the band for you.”
Dad and I exchange a glance, but I quickly look away. I wonder how hard it will be to replace him when he stops touring.
The rest of the rehearsal becomes more of a jam session, with each of the girls choosing rhythm instruments and playing along. That’s something I’ve noticed about the students at the performing-arts school: they’re not shy about joining in. I sit beside Spencer on the piano bench and we take turns, improvising when we don’t know the notes. The band chooses Loose Ends’ biggest hits, and we put our hearts into it, my shyness from dinner completely gone.
Finally Dad calls for a break. We clomp up the stairs and into the kitchen, where Mom has left a platter of brownies on the counter. They disappear quickly, and I drop slices of lemon into a pitcher of ice water before pouring it into glasses.
“That was so awesome,” Spencer says, nodding. His eyes are shining and his cheeks are flushed.
Dad smiles at him. “Glad you enjoyed it. You’re a fine musician yourself.”
Spencer’s cheeks flush even redder. “Thanks. I can’t actually believe I was just playing with the Loose Ends.” He shakes his head. “I was so shocked when we were playing two truths and a lie at school and Allegra said that her dad was in this band. I thought for sure it had to be a lie.” He looks at me and we both laugh.
“Okay, guys, party’s over,” Steve tells the group. “We need to meet and go over some details for the tour. Back to the dungeon.”
The girls and Spencer all thank the band again.
“I’d love to see your autograph collection sometime,” Dad says to Spencer as he follows Steve out of the room.
“Sounds good,” Spencer calls to his back, obviously pleased.
Talia slides into her jacket. “That was so much fun.” Effortlessly she reaches out and pulls me into a big hug. Molly does the same, followed by Sophie. When it’s Spencer’s turn, he follows the hug with a kiss on my cheek. They tumble out the door, chatting all the way to the curb, where the Volvo is idling.
Stepping back into the house, I smile to myself. The evening was perfect. Maybe I’m finally ready to “do” friends.
At school on Tuesday, Mr. Rocchelli suggests I work in the sound room while he teaches the rest of the class. “Do you have everything you need?” he asks.
I pull the flash drive from my pack. “It’s all on here,” I tell him, “but I don’t really know much about how to operate this equipment yet.”
“Hmm,” he says. “I forgot about that.” He studies me for a moment. “How about you help me out with the class today; then we’ll meet at lunchtime and I’ll start tutoring you on the composition program we use.”
I don’t mind at all. I’m still on a natural high from the rehearsal last night, and I can see Spencer watching us from the side of the classroom. “Sounds good.”
Spencer smiles when he sees me approaching the circle of chairs. “You’re with us today, Legs?” he asks.
I punch him lightly. “It’s Allegra to you, buddy. And yes, I am.”
“Why can’t I call you Legs? I like it.”
I shrug. I don’t know, really. It’s just that it’s always been my dad’s nickname for me, no one else’s, not even Mom’s. It’s his way of being affectionate. Yet I have to admit, it sounds completely different coming from Spencer, and not in a bad way.
“Whatever. You can call me anything you want.”
“Thanks, Legs,” he says.
My cheeks feel warm as I sit down beside him.
“And thanks again for last night,” he says. “That was totally amazing.”
“You’re welcome. Let’s do it again before they leave on tour.”
“I still can’t believe they asked me to play with them!” He shakes his head. “I thought I’d just be watching.”
I look up and see Julia entering the room. Her eyes zero in on Spencer, and she does a double take when she notices me beside him. She takes the chair on his other side. “I didn’t think you were taking the class with us,” she says, leaning across him to talk to me.
“I won’t be, usually, but I am today.”
“Oh.” She doesn’t look happy. “Are we still going to be partners?” she asks Spencer.
He glances at me and shrugs. “I guess,” he says. “Whatever.”
The rest of the class trickles in, and Mr. Rocchelli joins us in the circle. “We’re going to warm up this morning by conti
nuing our work with ear training and music intervals. I’ve asked Allegra to help me, as she has already mastered it. We’re going to circulate and help out where we can. Any questions?”
“Should we stay in the same pairs as last time?” Julia asks.
“That’s up to you,” he says. He glances at Spencer, who is picking at a hangnail. “Though it’s always good to switch it up too. Move about and use any of the instruments. Remember, well-trained ears are essential for all musicians.”
Spencer doesn’t stand a chance. The moment Mr. Rocchelli is finished speaking, Julia says, “Spencer, let’s use a xylophone today instead of the piano. C’mon.”
I smile sympathetically as he gets up to follow her across the room. He looks back at me but just shrugs and shakes his head. I know he doesn’t like her, but he must be too kind to do anything about it. I’m not sure I’d be so nice.
I join the two students nearest me, who are using a keyboard. They glance at me but continue working. I just listen in and don’t offer any suggestions. It suddenly feels really odd to be in this position. I wish I hadn’t agreed to help.
After about ten minutes, in which I do nothing but watch, Mr. Rocchelli asks the students to return to the circle. He’s moved the chairs so that they are all facing a portable whiteboard.
“Great,” he says, when everyone is seated. “I heard some really awesome stuff going on. How about you, Allegra?”
I just nod.
“So let’s continue our work on transposition—changing a piece of music from one key to another. What is the most important thing to remember when we are transposing?”
My mind wanders as the lesson continues. I watch as Mr. Rocchelli draws responses from his students. He does it in such a way that if they make a mistake, they still feel okay about it. “That’s not quite right, Zoe, but you’d be absolutely correct if we were working in a minor key.” “You’re so close, Conner. Want to give it another try?”
Spencer answers a question correctly, and Mr. Rocchelli praises him. My mind wanders back to last night. I remember how his shoulder pressed against mine while we listened to the music. I hadn’t felt panicky at all, just completely comfortable. Spencer sees me studying him and smiles. I smile back, then look away. Where has the easiness from last night gone?
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