by Kellen Hertz
“Hey, guys,” she said with a wave. “How was the show?”
“Great!” I said. Logan got into the truck as I told her about our set.
“Sounds like you two tore it up,” Logan’s mom said, grinning at him. “I wish I could’ve made it.”
“Next time,” I told her. She nodded.
“Mom, I’m late,” he reminded her.
“I know,” Mrs. Everett said mildly, and kissed him on the head. He looked beyond embarrassed.
“Bye, Tenney,” Logan mumbled, and his mom waved again. As the truck pulled away, he threw a sneaky glance back at me, as if he was worried I’d follow him.
Weird, I thought. As I watched the truck turn the corner out of view, I realized that beyond music, there was a whole lot I didn’t know about Logan Everett. Maybe that was why part of me still didn’t quite trust him.
My friend Holliday stopped in the center of the school hallway and stared at me. “No way,” she said, blue eyes wide. “You and Logan are going to make a record?”
“It’s just an EP, and it’s not going to happen for a long time,” I said quickly. I didn’t want to sound like I was bragging.
“Who cares when it happens?” my best friend, Jaya, squeaked. “It’s amazing!”
“I know,” I whispered. Seeing my friends bursting with pride made it all feel very real. A wave of joy surged through me and I did a happy twirl.
“Watch it!” said a passing eighth grader as I bumped into him.
“Oops! Sorry!” I called after him, but I couldn’t stop grinning.
Holliday, Jaya, and I talked about the future Tenney & Logan EP all during lunch in the cafeteria.
“I know what’s going to happen,” Holliday said, dreaming out loud. “You and Logan will record the EP, and it’ll be a huge hit and your career will take off!”
“She’s right!” Jaya trilled. “I can help design the EP cover and your website …”
“… And I’ll organize your concert tour,” Holliday finished.
“That would be great,” I said with a smile. Jaya’s a great artist, and Holliday loves planning events. Plus, her dad works for a record label, so she knows a lot about the music business. It was nice that they wanted to help out, but what meant the most was seeing how genuinely happy they were for me.
“Now all you guys have to do is decide which songs to record for the EP!” Holliday said.
I winced and nodded, glancing at the edge of my songwriting journal, which was peeking out of the top of my book bag. As I ran my hand along it, my floaty happiness evaporated into a flutter of nerves.
“What’s wrong?” Jaya asked, cocking her head.
“Zane wants Logan and me to write some new songs together,” I grumbled, taking a bite of my sandwich.
“But you love songwriting,” Holliday chirped. “What do you have to be worried about? It’ll be fun!”
I nearly choked on a bite of peanut butter and banana. “No,” I said, after I’d managed to swallow. “It is not going to be fun.”
Holliday and Jaya looked at me with matching furrowed brows.
“Logan and I have totally different personalities and tastes,” I explained. “We got into so many arguments just working on ‘Where You Are.’ He’s talented, but he’s so stubborn.”
“Like you,” Jaya said with a grin.
“I’m not stubborn!” I protested. Then I realized how stubborn I sounded. “Fine,” I admitted. “Maybe I am sometimes.”
“Especially about your music!” Jaya said, letting out a giggle.
“That’s because it’s my music,” I said passionately. “I hear it in my head; I know the way it should be. Anything else just sounds wrong.”
Holliday took a sip of her milk and squinted thoughtfully. “Even if you and Logan disagree on things, you sound great together onstage,” she said. “Isn’t that what’s important?”
“That’s part of it, but the songwriting’s even more important, because it can decide our future as a duo,” I explained. I let out a sigh. “If Logan and I can’t learn to collaborate, this could turn into a musical disaster.”
“Try to focus on the songs, not on Logan,” Holliday advised.
“Easier said than done,” I said. “I’ve been trying to brainstorm song ideas for my writing session with Logan today, but everything just seems wrong.”
“I can help you!” Holliday said, her eyes crackling with enthusiasm.
“Me, too!” Jaya agreed.
“Really? Okay,” I said, surprised at how relieved I felt. I pulled out my songwriting journal and fished a pen out of my bag. “I need to come up with topics to write about, for a start.”
“Everyone always writes about being in love, but music can be about so much more than that,” Jaya offered. “You should write a song about helping the earth.”
“Yes!” I said, cracking open my journal.
“There should be more songs about friendship, too,” Holliday added. “And otters.”
“Otters?” I said, a little confused.
Holliday nodded. “They’re so cute,” she said. “They deserve their own song.”
“What about a song about how hard it is to get up on Monday mornings?” Jaya said.
“Good idea,” I said, writing it down. “Everyone can relate to that.”
By the time lunch was over, Jaya and Holliday had helped me come up with a long list of ideas for possible songs. I wasn’t sure how many of them Logan would like, but I liked them. That was enough to make me happy.
When school ended, I walked over to Dad’s music store. It’s just a few blocks away, snuggled next to a pizzeria at the end of a long strip of brightly painted storefronts with big windows. As soon as I turned the corner, I could see the cheery wooden sign reading GRANT’S MUSIC AND COLLECTIBLES hanging over the entrance.
The cluttered little shop felt like a second home to me. I could describe it with my eyes closed. Its walls were decorated with album posters and covered from floor to ceiling with gleaming guitars, mandolins, and banjos that hung from hooks. The instruments’ polished wood and metal bodies reflected the afternoon light, giving the place a magical glow. The air smelled like cedar and guitar glue.
Suddenly, a memory floated into my mind: I was a few years younger than Aubrey is now, running through the store. I stopped midstride and watched Dad tenderly hanging each instrument on the display wall as if it were a rare jewel. That very day I asked Dad to teach me how to play guitar. Coming back to reality, I felt all over again how much I love it here.
I spotted Logan through the shop’s window. He was crouched on the small demo stage on the far side of the shop, setting up a drum kit. Dad stood over him, supervising. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to our first songwriting session, but at least we were in my territory.
Here goes nothing, I thought to myself, and entered the store. As the front door jangled shut, they both saw me.
“Tennyson!” Dad said with a broad grin.
Logan gave me a curious look.
“Tennyson’s my full name,” I explained shyly.
“Correction!” Dad said. “Your full name is Tennyson Evangeline Grant. Named after the great poet, Alfred, Lord Tennyson.”
My cheeks got hot. I like my full name, but it’s a mouthful, and for a moment I was worried Logan might make a joke about it. To my relief, he went back to fastening the last cymbal onto its stand without a word.
“Looks good,” Dad said, nodding. “And you need to borrow a guitar for songwriting, I assume.”
“If that’s okay,” Logan said. “I don’t own my own guitar yet.”
“I’ve got a couple in here somewhere,” Dad joked. He pulled a small-bodied acoustic off the wall and handed it to Logan.
“Thank you,” Logan replied. “And thanks again for letting us practice here, Mr. Grant.”
Dad waved a hand. “Of course,” he replied. “We don’t get many customers in here on weekday afternoons, and if we do, they’ll be happy to hear some li
ve music.”
He turned to me. “I’m going to go do inventory in the stockroom. Y’all come get me if we get any customers or if you need anything.” With that, he disappeared into the back.
I grabbed my guitar case from its place beneath the cash register and my songwriting journal from my bag, and we started tuning up. We didn’t talk much, which was fine by me. I wondered how we’d decide who was right when Logan and I disagreed about something—because we were definitely going to disagree.
I started playing scales as I always did before a songwriting session. Logan just sat there, clicking around on his phone. Doesn’t he need to warm up? I thought. I let my gaze drift down to the mother-of-pearl songbird inlaid on my guitar. Just focus on the music, it seemed to be telling me, echoing Holliday. I smiled to myself. Warmth crept into my fingers as I picked up my pace. After a few minutes, my hands felt nimble, like if I let them go, they might twirl into the sky.
“Ready,” I said, glancing at Logan. He was checking his cell phone. Annoyance buzzed through me.
“Yeah,” Logan said after a moment, as if he’d just remembered we were supposed to be working. He set down his phone.
“So I came up with some song ideas—” I began, but Logan’s phone chimed with a new text, cutting me off.
“Hold on,” he said. He checked his phone and started typing. My feet did an impatient tap dance. After what seemed like forever, the text sent with a whoosh and Logan looked up.
“Maybe you could turn off your phone,” I said.
Logan looked at me like I’d just grown a third eye. “No way,” he replied.
“We’re supposed to be working on song ideas,” I said, an edge creeping into my voice.
Logan shrugged in that offhand way that drove me crazy. “Some things are more important,” he said.
“Like your phone?” I snapped before I could stop myself.
Logan gave me a hard look, and for a moment, I had a flash of how I’d felt when we argued while we were working on “Where You Are.”
“I’ll turn off the ringer,” he said at last.
“Thank you,” I said, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.
I flipped through my journal, looking for the list that Jaya and Holliday had helped me brainstorm.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about friendship, and how important it is,” I said. “That could make a good song.”
Logan shrugged again. “It’s pretty unoriginal.”
“Unoriginal?” I said, feeling irritation start to bubble inside.
“Yeah, there are zillions of songs about friendship. And Zane said that we’re supposed to write songs that are unique,” Logan pointed out. “Plus, it’s kind of a big topic. Like, what about friendship?”
That’s what we’d figure out together, I thought to myself, but I was too annoyed already to say that.
“Fine,” I said, changing the subject. “What about a song that talks about wishing it was summer when it’s winter? I wrote a poem about that once, and I like the idea. You know, looking back at a time when you were happier.” Like I’m doing right now, I added silently to myself.
“Ugh, no,” Logan groaned. “That seems sappy.”
“Okay,” I said between gritted teeth. I moved on to my next idea. And the one after that. And the one after that. Logan disliked all of them. Every time Logan said no, I got more upset, but I held it in.
Be professional, I told myself. Professional musicians don’t get mad just because someone disagrees with them. They stay focused on the music.
I went through my entire list of ideas (except for Holliday’s otter idea), and Logan rejected every single one. When I got to the end, I took a deep breath.
“Do you have any ideas?” I asked Logan.
Logan’s expression turned sour, and he shrugged again. Then he thrummed his guitar, sending a few shimmery chords into the room. “I haven’t really thought about it yet,” he said.
“Really?” I squeaked in disbelief. I couldn’t help myself; I was super frustrated. “Zane told us we should come to this session with ideas.”
Logan gave me a sharp look. “I haven’t had time,” he said. “Anyway, I think we should just play our set and see how it goes.”
“What do you mean, ‘see how it goes’?” I replied tartly. “We’re supposed to have ideas to play for Portia on Thursday. In a couple of weeks, Zane’s going to want to hear something.”
“We’ll figure something out at Portia’s, okay?” he shot back. “I just don’t feel like doing it right now.”
My heart was an angry fireball in my chest, but I refused to let Logan see how mad I was, even though I really wanted to yell at him. Stay professional, I reminded myself again.
“Fine,” I said at last. Portia will handle this, I thought. I’m sure of it.
“Fine,” Logan said. He hung the guitar back on the wall and got behind his kit.
He nodded, putting up his drumsticks. We started playing “Reach the Sky,” not looking at each other. When I closed my eyes, the music sounded fine. As soon as I opened them, though, I felt lonely even though Logan was just a few feet away.
We spent the next hour playing through the rest of our old set, pausing to get Dad when customers came in, replaying parts of songs that we often messed up, and taking water breaks when we needed to. The music calmed me down, and I considered bringing up songwriting again. But I didn’t know how Logan would react, so I didn’t say anything.
Finally, Dad came in from the stockroom and walked toward the front door. “It’s six,” he said, turning the OPEN SIGN TO CLOSED.
Logan hopped off the stage. “I should get going,” he said.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I was still disappointed that we hadn’t gotten any songwriting done, but at least I didn’t have to look at Logan’s sour expression anymore today.
We gathered up our stuff and went outside.
“Is your mom picking you up?” Dad asked Logan.
Logan shook his head. “I’m riding my bike.”
“Guess I’ll see you Thursday,” I said to Logan, barely glancing at him.
“Yep,” he said, and moved to the bike rack, heading for an orange bike with silver streaks.
I had turned and started toward Dad’s truck when I heard Logan say, “Oh no.”
I looked back and saw Logan inspecting a flat tire on his bicycle. “Stupid bike,” Logan growled, nudging the tire with the toe of his sneaker. “It’s always going flat. I’m so sick of it.”
“Do you need a ride home?” Dad asked.
Logan shook his head hard while opening his bike lock. “I’ll just roll it.”
“Are you sure?” Dad asked, his eyes crinkling with concern.
Logan chewed his lip, thinking. “Do you have a bike pump by any chance?” he finally asked.
“Not here,” Dad said, “but there’s one at the house, and I have patches. We can put your bike in the back of my truck and fix the tire there. It’s just a few blocks away.”
Logan looked torn, but he finally nodded.
“Great,” Dad said. “You can stay for dinner, too.”
“Really?” Logan asked, perking up.
“Yeah, really?” I echoed before I could stop myself. My voice sounded sharp, and I immediately felt bad. Logan’s face turned bright red.
“I mean, isn’t it late notice for Mom?” I said to Dad.
“I’ll ask,” Dad said, whipping out his phone and typing a text. “You know her, she always makes extra. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” I said, trying not to sound as uncomfortable as I felt.
“I should probably ask my mom, too,” Logan said, pulling out his cell phone. “I’ll text her.”
We waited in silence for Mrs. Everett and Mom to reply. Dad had a goofy grin on his face while Logan and I tried to avoid making eye contact. Within moments of each other, Dad’s and Logan’s phones chimed.
“My mom says it’s okay,” Logan told us.
“Georgia s
ays no problemo!” Dad said.
Logan looked relieved. For the first time all day, he cracked a smile.
Dad hoisted the bike over his shoulder and started for his truck. He glanced back at me with a curious squint.
“What are you waiting for, Tenney?” he called.
I realized I’d been standing there, gritting my teeth in silent frustration. The last thing I wanted was to spend more time with Logan right now. But at this moment, it didn’t seem like I had a choice.
When we got home, I could hear Aubrey practicing her accordion through the open window of our living room. Her wheezy song wafted over the porch like a breath of old perfume, pretty but slightly flat. She stopped playing when she saw Logan come through the front door with Dad and me.
“Logan!” she shouted. She dropped her accordion on the couch, raced over, and threw her arms around him. He looked surprised, but he hugged her back.
“Where’s Mason?” I asked. Mason’s my big brother. I thought maybe he could keep Logan company so I wouldn’t have to.
“Probably in the garage fixing another broken amp,” Dad said.
Logan’s face brightened at the mention of amplifiers. Before he could say anything, though, our golden retriever, Waylon, popped up from behind the couch and started licking Logan’s hand.
“Whoa!” Logan said, stepping back.
Aubrey giggled. And even though I felt weird that Logan was here, I couldn’t help cracking a smile, too.
“That’s just Waylon,” I said. “Don’t worry, he’s a lover, not a biter.”
Waylon gave a friendly bark like he was agreeing with me, and Logan looked reassured.
“Hey there!” Mom said, poking her head in from the kitchen. “Logan, you hungry? We’re having spaghetti and turkey meatballs, broccoli, garlic bread, and mud pie for dessert.”
“But you only get dessert if you eat your broccoli,” Aubrey told him. “That’s a family rule.”
“I actually like broccoli,” Logan admitted.
“You can have mine!” Aubrey said eagerly.
We all laughed, even Logan. He seemed different to me now than he had during rehearsal. Less wound up somehow.