So Lyrical

by Trish Cook

  afterward.

  Shamus

  I scoured the tour dates, not really believing there’d be any place we might possibly intersect. But lo and behold, Born to Run was one of the bands playing on the course of the Rock ’n’ Roll Marathon. I typed back my reply with shaking fingers.

  Shamus,

  Cool! I’m actually running the Rock ’n’ Roll Marathon. But I don’t think

  I’ll be up for hanging around afterward. Could we all hook up—me, you,

  and Mac—somewhere on Saturday instead?

  Trace

  Just before I pushed SEND, I added a P.S.:

  P.S. Tell Mac he’ll need to give me a password before I can tell him about

  the lost thing. How about we make it who he attended the Springsteen

  concert with in August of ’86?

  Satisfied I had foiled this guy if he was just some psycho trolling for a gullible girl to hack up and toss into a dozen different trash bags, I put on some mellow tunes, got my homework out of the way, and curled up with a good book I’d been meaning to get to for months. I didn’t even bother with dinner.

  At around nine, I tossed the book and checked my e-mail one last time before I shut down my computer. And there it was—an e-mail from Shamus saying he and the Boss-alike would meet me at the Pacifica Breeze Café in Del Mar at ten o’clock on Saturday morning.

  I whooped with delight. I was finally going to meet my dad. And the funny thing was, I wasn’t even mad at him anymore. After all, it wasn’t his fault my mom was so lame she couldn’t find him to say she was pregnant. It’s not like he had rejected me.

  I hunkered down under the blankets, even though I still was totally keyed up. At some point, I must’ve fallen asleep, because later on—I’m not sure how much—the phone shook me awake. I fumbled for it in the darkness, adrenaline pumping like it always does when I get a call in the middle of the night. “Hello,” I croaked into the receiver.

  “Trace, it’s me,” Brina said.

  I cleared my throat, trying to get the frog out of there. “What a pleasant surprise. Is this the same Brina who was draped all over a certain gorgeous underclassman the last time I saw her?”

  “That’s me,” she giggled. “Remember how I kept saying Sully was a baby, Trace?”

  “Yeah. It was your favorite excuse for not even considering him as boyfriend material.”

  “Well, I feel the need to report back that he’s no baby. Sully’s all man.” I could just picture Brina kicked back in bed, grinning like an idiot and waiting to give me the play-by-play.

  I cut her off at the pass. “I don’t need to hear all the gory details. Just tell me you two are deliriously happy together, and that’s enough for me.”

  “OK. We’re deliriously happy together,” she said. “I just feel bad about all the times I dissed him this year, acting like I was too good for the guy just because he’s fourteen months younger than me.”

  Leave it to Brina to find a way to make what she formerly thought was a huge deal into small potatoes. “You counted?”

  “Yeah. I’m one of the youngest in our class, and he’s one of the oldest in his,” she told me. “He’s getting his driver’s license in the fall.”

  “Way to go, Brina,” I said. “You and Sully. Perfect together.”

  “Trace, remember how I also told you I fantasized about falling in love with slp?” Brina’s voice was almost a whisper.

  “Yeah,” I whispered back.

  “I think my fantasy is coming true,” she said, gulping hard. “I’m just having a little trouble getting the words out.”

  “A momentous occasion like this calls for a bold statement, I think,” I told her.

  “You mean, something like taking over the microphone during the morning announcements and broadcasting my feelings to the whole school?” Brina asked. “I can’t. Even though I’m totally infatuated with Sully, I still can’t get my mouth to admit it.”

  “Actually, I was thinking of something a bit more subtle,” I said. “And quieter. More like something slp would do.”

  “I’m too overwhelmed by everything that happened today to brain-storm with you,” Brina said. “So give me a hint about what you had in mind.”

  “Picture this: There’s a big block of gray on the locker next to yours, and it’s just waiting for you two to make some beautiful music together.”

  Silence. The clunking sound of the phone falling. Loud rustling noises in the background. “What in God’s name are you doing?” I yelled, hoping the phone was close enough to Brina that she’d hear me.

  Brina got back on the line a few seconds later. “Trace, I’ve been hoarding lyrics all year. By now, I’ve got something for every occasion. Lust, hate, sex, fear, hope, revenge. Even declarations of undying love,” she said. “I just found the right one, by Heather Horton again. Meet me at my locker tomorrow morning at seven.”

  “Seven a.m. is like the middle of the night for me, Brina. But for you, anything.”

  The next morning, I dragged my silly ass out of bed and shuffled downstairs. Out of the corner of my barely open eyes, I noticed two envelopes—one big and one regular-sized—propped up against the coffeemaker.

  I fingered them and tried to focus. One turned out to be the same skinny Fairfield envelope again—the one I’d never opened—and the other was a new package from UCLA.

  I started to panic. What if I didn’t get into any school at all? You might as well tattoo a big L on my forehead. I could just imagine the comments: Ever heard of a safety school, Trace?

  I swallowed back the fear and went with the UCLA packet first. It looked more promising, being the larger of the two pieces of mail. I slid the cover letter out with shaky hands and scanned it.

  Dear Ms. Tillingham,

  We’re delighted to offer you admission to the class of . . .

  I stopped reading right there and did a little jig around the kitchen. They’re delighted, I thought. UCLA is delighted to have me. What a relief. I would be living out my California dream after all.

  When I stopped dancing, the remaining letter was still there, staring at me. Suddenly, it wasn’t so scary anymore, like the monster in the darkness that turned out to be just clothes draped over a chair when the light flicked on. What the hell, I thought, and tore open the envelope.

  Dear Tracey,

  Welcome to the Fairfield family. . . .

  I did a double take. What? For three weeks I’d tortured myself, thinking I’d been rejected, when all along this warm, sweet acceptance was waiting for me. I couldn’t believe I’d wasted so much time being miserable. And thanks, Fairfield, for wanting me, I thought, but I’ll be in sunny LA.

  I looked up to see Bebe leaning against the doorway. I don’t know how long she’d been standing there, but she’d obviously seen enough to know this was a happy occasion.

  “So it’s UCLA all the way, Trace?”

  “Absolutely.” I couldn’t have wiped the enormous smile off my face if I tried. “I got accepted at Fairfield, too.”

  “You might want to keep your options open, then,” Mr. Steve said as he walked into the kitchen. “Take the weekend to think about it.”

  “You’ll have plenty of time during those twenty-six point two miles you’ll be running on Sunday, that’s for sure,” Bebe said, shuffling over in her slippers to hug me.

  “Why think about it?” I said, hugging her back. “My mind’s made up.”

  “Because sometimes in life, you think you know what direction you’re going in,” Bebe said. “And then something comes along to completely change it.”

  When I arrived at school to meet Brina at the appointed ungodly hour, the gleaming halls greeted me with silence. It was weird being there when almost no one else was.

  I shuffled upstairs to Brina’s locker. By her side was Rodney, one of Brina’s arty-farty friends. I wasn’t sure what kind of a plan Brina had cooked up, but from the looks of things, it was going to be a good one.

  “Hi
guys!” I chirped.

  “Whoa, you’re awfully chipper this morning,” Brina said, surprised.

  “I got accepted at not one but two good schools, and I’m here for my best friend’s coming-out party,” I said. “Who wouldn’t be chipper today?”

  “You did it!” Brina screamed, picking me up and twirling me around the halls. “I knew you could!”

  “Look out, LA—Trace and Brina are on the loose!” I said.

  Rodney watched us go crazy. “You chicks are loco,” he said, shaking his head.

  “That’s the beauty of us,” Brina told him. “You never know what you’re going to get. One day we’re pissed off—the next day we’re ecstatic. It keeps life interesting.”

  “It keeps life freaky,” he mumbled, and went back to helping Brina put the finishing touches on slp’s locker. He stepped back and surveyed their work. “Perfect,” he declared, turning to Brina. “I’m outta here. You can add the words anytime now. It should be dry enough.”

  “Thanks, Rodney, I owe you one,” she called after him. “Come on, Trace, we’ve got a lot of work to do before these halls start filling up.”

  “OK, what’s my job?” I asked her.

  “You’re just here for moral support.”

  “That I can handle.”

  I plunked myself down on the linoleum floor and watched Brina at work. Her body blocked whatever she was doing, so I couldn’t get a sneak peek at it. Five minutes later, she stepped back so I could see the finished product.

  It knocked me out. Their mural was simply gorgeous, and Brina had taken the time to write her lyrics in a flowery script—the direct opposite of the angry slashes that had marked her slp blow-off letter. The locker now read:Let me be your Cinderella

  The whole damn fairy tale turned true

  I want to climb into your palace

  And I will love you through and through

  I want to be

  I will be true

  I’m climbing hand over hand

  Love you through and through

  At the bottom, Brina had painted a little heart and signed her initials. “So, what do you think?” she asked me.

  “It certainly makes a statement, Brina.”

  “You think it’s too much?” she asked, doubt clouding her face.

  “No. I think it’s just enough,” I said, smiling up at her.

  Brina pulled me to my feet and hugged me tight. “Good luck in San Diego,” she said. “I’ll be there with you in spirit, all twenty-six miles.”

  “That’s twenty-six point two, thank you very much,” I told her. “And I know you will. So have fun with your sophomore god. And if you can’t be good, be careful.”

  Brina winked at me. “Will do.”

  Who would’ve ever thought we’d have both come so far in twenty-four hours?

  I was so on edge by last period thinking about the marathon—could I actually run that far? would I hit the wall everyone talks about?—that I almost missed Brina’s getting in trouble.

  The speaker crackled with static, interrupting a very boring history lecture on Catherine the Great. “Would Sabrina Maldonati please report to the principal’s office immediately?” Brina looked at me, her eyes wide with surprise.

  “Bussss-ted,” Charlie Wanamaker hissed under his breath. Brina gave him a sharp kick in the shins with her big-ass boots and he let out a high-pitched yelp. I wondered where Charlie was the day Brina had beaten the pants off of Greg Cyzynski in fourth grade. Usually the memory alone was enough to keep guys from messing with her.

  I waved to Brina as she walked out the door, and then promptly forgot about the whole situation. Today, it was all about me—and my nerves, which felt like someone had jump-started them with a few million amps of electric current.

  I scooted out of school the minute the bell rang, drove home like a maniac, and packed my gear: the newer running shoes I’d broken in over the past month plus the old pair, just in case I had second thoughts; my trusty iPod; layers of clothing I could peel off as it got warmer during the race; and the You + Bliss = Me 4ever T-shirt.

  I was about to switch off my computer for the weekend when I changed my mind and clicked onto my e-mail box one more time. There, hidden among a bunch of spammy offers, was a message from Caitlin, the girl who had been so good to us at Fairfield.

  Subject line: Congrats!

  Trace,

  My friend who works in admissions gave me the great news—congratulations! I know you were considering other schools over Fairfield, but I would be remiss if I didn’t say this: Fairfield is perfect for you. Remember what a great time we had when you visited? If not, I’ve attached a little something to jog your memory. If you’re still not convinced after looking at it, promise me you’ll at least give it some serious, serious thought. Call or e-mail with any questions.

  Your friend the almost senior,

  Caitlin

  I opened the attachment and laughed out loud. It was a picture of me after I ran into the ocean instead of the finish line during the bat races. I was soaking wet, looking very Medusa-like with icicles hanging off my head. The rugby team was high-fiving me and I sported a grin the size of Texas.

  I couldn’t believe Caitlin remembered me, much less cared enough to ask about the status of my application. None of the other schools had a clue who I was. Crap, when I was at UCLA, no one would even talk to me.

  Wait. What was I doing, dissing the university I was going to next year for the one I was never even particularly interested in? Must be all the excitement, I thought. A minute later, the phone interrupted my crazy thoughts. It was Brina. “Oh . . . my . . . God,” was all she could say.

  “Oh, my God, what, girlfriend?”

  “Oh, my God, you’ll never believe what the principal just got me to agree to.”

  I ran my fingers through my hair. “I totally forgot you got called down to his office. What happened?”

  “First, I got a big, long lecture about defacing school property. Then they tried to get me to rat out Rodney, which of course I wouldn’t,” Brina said. “When that didn’t work, the principal gave me a choice of punishments: Stay after school every day for a month to help the janitor clean the place, or let the Winnetka Times interview me for a feature article about the whole slp saga.”

  “Why the second option?”

  “The principal’s daughter has an internship at the paper, and he’s trying to feed her some scoop so she’ll get published.”

  “You are going to look so funny in those gray janitor overalls,” I said, picturing Brina in the preposterous getup. “Do you get an embroidered name patch, too?”

  Brina cleared her throat. “I picked the story,” she said quietly.

  “You what?” I screamed.

  “I said, I picked the story.”

  I couldn’t speak—I was so blown away. Was this the same girl who wouldn’t even skate with Sully just a few months ago because he was an underclassman?

  “Trace, are you still there?” Brina asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Listen, I know Sully won’t mind. And I’m not the least bit embarrassed,” she said. “In fact, I think every girl at Northshore Regional will be green with envy. Who else spent their senior year getting anonymous love notes from the hottest guy in school? No one.”

  The drama queen had gone and topped us all again. With Brina, I thought, there’s never even a close second.

  CHAPTER 17

  On Friday night, Bebe, Mr. Steve, and I caught the red-eye to San Diego. As soon as we got to the hotel on Saturday morning, they flung themselves on the bed and started snoring away.

  I had a whole different agenda. I threw on my You + Bliss = Me 4ever shirt and wrote Bebe a very specific note about where I’d be, just in case Shamus turned out to be a psycho killer who didn’t even know the Boss-alike. The only detail missing was exactly whom I was going to meet. That I left as pretty vague “old friends.”

  I grabbed the keys to our economy-sized rental c
ar and soon I was jamming to the sound of the tiny, tinny-sounding engine pinging its way up the coast to Del Mar. I thought about forgetting the whole thing more than once. But then I realized I had fought too hard to get this far and would kick myself later if I turned around now.

  I was shaking so much by the time I parked the car, I wondered if my legs were going to give out. They didn’t. Slamming the door shut, I looked around until I finally found a sign pointing to the second floor for the Pacifica Café.

  I glanced up to see a breezy open-air restaurant with a great view of the ocean. Leaning over the wrought-iron railing was a man who was obviously waiting for someone. I could tell by the way he searched the face of every person that walked in. So far, he didn’t look like a murderer. I punched 911 into my cell phone anyhow—that way I’d only have to hit SEND if I got into trouble.

  I ran up the stairs, ready for the biggest moment of my life. “Mr. . . . uhhh . . . Mac?” I wondered why only one guy was there waiting to meet me, not two like I’d expected.

  The man turned to face me but didn’t immediately meet my eyes. I realized he was reading my shirt. “Trace?”

  “That’s me,” I said, waiting for him to put two and two together. “Before you say anything else, tell me the answer to my trivia question.”

  “Bliss,” he said, now blatantly staring at all of me, not just my T-shirt.

  “You got it,” I said. I couldn’t believe I was actually face-to-face with my very own father. He didn’t look much like Bruce Springsteen anymore—or maybe it was just the fancy suit throwing me off—but if I squinted, I could see some subtle resemblances between us.

  “I have something to tell you. . . . It’s huge. . . . That’s if you haven’t figured it out already. . . .” I was having a hard time finding the right words to properly introduce myself as his daughter.