by Kellen Hertz
I picked up my guitar and started playing the melody filling my head. There are moments when the music in my head is so loud it feels like my brain might explode if I don’t play it. It felt like that now.
By the time Dad popped his head in and told me to get ready to go home, I’d gotten most of the song down on paper. The lyrics were rough, but writing down everything I wanted to tell Logan had made me feel a lot better. For now, that had to be enough.
For the rest of the week, I worked on my song about Logan whenever I got the chance. I’d plow through my homework at Dad’s shop, then shut myself in the listening room with my guitar until closing time. Sometimes writing a song is hard for me, other times it’s easy. With this song, I knew exactly what I wanted to tell Logan, but I couldn’t figure out the best words to express it.
I’d sit on the floor of the listening room with my songwriting journal open to the lyrics. Playing the song felt like trying to figure out a musical puzzle. As I strummed the chords, the lyrics would shift around in my mind across the melody line. When I hit a bumpy moment, I’d switch words to better fit the music, or stretch out the music to support the lyrics. Then I’d start over from the top. It was hard work, but each time the music and lyrics fit together a little more smoothly.
By Saturday morning, the song felt like an old friend, easy and familiar. Not bad, I thought to myself as I strummed the final notes on the back porch after breakfast. Logan might never hear the song I’d written for him, but writing it had given me hope.
A ripple of claps rang out behind me, and I jumped. My parents stood on the porch behind me. I’d been so focused I hadn’t even heard them come out.
“Good song! Is it new?” Mom asked.
I nodded shyly. “It’s sort of inspired by the whole Logan thing,” I said.
Dad’s eyebrows raised, but Mom didn’t seem surprised.
“I know you wish things had worked out differently,” she said.
I nodded, a lump of mixed emotions crowding my throat. “I’ve been thinking maybe I should call Logan,” I said.
Dad’s mouth creased into a disapproving line, but I stayed focused on Mom.
After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. “Sure,” she told me. “There’s no reason you can’t still be friends.”
“Exactly,” I said, my brain whirling. “We could even jam together sometimes!”
My parents exchanged a concerned look.
“Well, you can play together at some point,” Mom said carefully. “But remember, honey, Logan quit. We agree with Zane that, right now, you need to be focused on your own music.”
“Yep,” Dad agreed. “You don’t need to be working with someone who’s less committed to music than you are.”
Irritation prickled up my back. “Logan’s not less committed to music than I am,” I said.
“Well, he’s more troubled,” Dad shot back.
I bit my tongue, knowing there was nothing I could say that would change Dad’s mind about Logan. He had clearly decided that Logan was a bad seed, and Mom wasn’t in a rush to argue with him about it.
“In any case,” Dad told me, “Zane just e-mailed me a draft of your new contract. Our lawyer has to look at it, but hopefully we’ll be able to sign it by next week. Then you’ll officially be a solo act. Something to look forward to!”
“Right,” I managed, but as Mom hugged me, my insides were churning.
An hour later, Mom, Dad, and Aubrey left to take the food truck to a street fair in Franklin. Mason stayed home to rewire a speaker in the garage while I worked on my music. Well, I was supposed to be working on music. Instead, I was staring at a wall with my guitar in my lap, thinking.
I have to talk to Logan once more before I sign my solo contract, I realized. I don’t have much time left.
I tried calling him, but his phone wasn’t on. I even sent him a text message marked URGENT. No reply. After an hour of waiting, I came up with a new plan of action.
I headed to the garage. Mason didn’t exactly look excited to see me, but I was on a mission. “I need your help,” I told him. “I have to talk to Logan face-to-face and clear the air before I sign my solo contract. It’s only fair after how hard we worked together. Right now might be my only chance. Can you drive me to see him?”
Mason had our parents’ permission to use the pickup for emergencies. I knew this wasn’t officially an emergency, but it felt like one to me.
Mason crossed his arms, on guard. “Maybe. Where is he?”
“That’s the problem,” I said, wincing. “I kind of have no idea.”
Mason’s eyebrows knit together. “So what do you want me to do? Just drive you around Nashville looking for him?”
“Not all around Nashville,” I said. “Just a few places.”
Mason groaned.
“I’ll do your chores for a week,” I offered.
“Really?” Mason said, perking up. He hates chores. Still, he didn’t seem totally convinced yet. “Okay, say you find Logan. What makes you think he’s going to want to talk to you?”
I hadn’t really considered that.
“He might not,” I admitted. “But I have to at least try to get him to listen. Please, Mason.”
“Fine,” Mason grumbled. “You have an hour, that’s it.”
An hour to find Logan somewhere in Nashville and change his mind about everything, I thought, staring out the window as Mason backed down our driveway. No pressure.
Our first stop was Logan’s house. It looked like no one was home, but I rang the doorbell a few times just in case. No answer.
Next, I directed Mason to Logan’s middle school, a few blocks away.
“It’s Saturday,” Mason said with a frown. “Why would he be at school?”
“Who knows, maybe he has a soccer game or something,” I said, even though I didn’t think Logan even played soccer. “I just want to make sure.”
No one was at the school. We checked the neighborhood library and the park next to it, too. No Logan.
“His mom said he was working part time at a hospital,” I said.
“Which one?” Mason replied.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe we should drive by some of them.”
Mason looked at me like I’d suggested we fly to the moon. “Are you kidding? There are at least four hospitals in Nashville. No way,” he declared. “This is a waste of time. You should keep calling and texting Logan. Maybe he’ll respond just to get you to shut up.”
I started to protest, but Mason cut me off.
“Tenney, your hour’s almost up already,” he said. “We’re going home.”
I slumped in my seat as Mason turned onto a wide avenue. My heart sank, but I knew it was pointless to argue with him. After a few blocks, I closed my eyes, listening to the sweeping whisper of the truck’s tires on the road. As we rolled to a stop, I looked out the window.
We were sitting at a red light at a large intersection. A giant gray building framed by trees stretched to the right. WOODLAND MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, read the sign out front. My gaze flicked over a nearly empty bike rack nearby. Suddenly, my breath caught in my throat.
An orange-and-silver bike was locked to the rack. Its front tire looked worn and a little deflated. Logan’s bike!
Before I could say anything, the traffic light changed green.
“Wait! Stop! Logan’s in there!” I said as Mason drove past the hospital entrance.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“I saw his bike,” I said, hitching my thumb over my shoulder. “I know he’s in there.”
Mason didn’t look happy, but clearly he believed me because he flipped on the truck’s blinker and turned around.
We found a spot in the hospital parking lot and hurried into the hospital. Inside the lobby, we studied a wall directory. The place was huge, with dozens of departments.
“If Logan’s working, he could be anywhere,” Mason said, frowning.
I scanned the directory. “Mrs
. Everett is a nurse in the pediatric ward,” I said. “Maybe we should start there. At the very least, she’ll know where to find Logan.”
“That’s on the fourth floor,” Mason said, checking the list. “Let’s go.”
We took the elevator up. When the doors opened, we stepped out into a long curving hall decorated with bright paintings of animals. A short distance away, a nurse in hospital scrubs sat behind a wide purple admissions desk.
“Excuse me,” I said as we stepped up to the desk. “We’re looking for Nurse Everett.”
The nurse typed a few letters and squinted at her screen. “Sorry, hon,” she said, looking up at me. “Marlene isn’t working until later today.”
“What about her son, Logan?” Mason said.
I nudged him and gave him a look. I didn’t want Logan to know we were looking for him in case he might try to avoid us.
The nurse looked back at her screen. “Looks like his shift just ended down the hall. Do you want me to page him for you?”
“No!” I said, catching myself. “I mean, we’ll just talk to him later.”
She nodded, and then got distracted as a doctor came up to talk to her. I took off down the hallway, and Mason followed me.
We passed through a big set of swinging doors. The hall ahead was lined with seemingly endless doors, each leading to a hospital room.
“I don’t think we’re allowed to be in here,” Mason whispered as we walked past doors.
“I haven’t seen any signs saying we can’t,” I replied, scanning the hall. “Just try and act like you belong.”
Mason rolled his eyes, but he kept walking. We nodded to a passing doctor and moved past a nurse’s station, around a curving wall that opened up to a whole new row of rooms. There was still no sign of Logan.
“He’s not here,” Mason whispered, as we moved past door after door.
“Yes, he is,” I insisted. He has to be, I thought to myself. Because if he’s not, I don’t know what else to do.
Then I heard something: a silvery, far-off sound that got clearer the moment I stood still.
“Someone’s playing guitar,” I said. Mason nodded, listening.
I edged forward, following the faint music. Suddenly, my breath froze in my chest.
I knew that song. It was one of my songs: “Reach the Sky”!
Mason and I stared at each other. I could tell he’d recognized the song, too. Before we could say anything, we heard Logan’s voice singing my lyrics.
“Gonna be myself, nobody else,” he sang. “Gonna reach the sky if I only try.”
“Why’s he singing your song?” Mason asked, reading my mind.
“I don’t know,” I replied.
We moved toward the music, curiosity pushing us forward. It was coming from the end of the hall. We reached the doorway to a community room marked THE GATHERING PLACE. The door was slightly open. The song was coming from inside.
Mason touched my shoulder. “I’ll wait here,” he whispered.
I nodded, grateful that he understood I’d want to talk to Logan alone. With a deep breath, I stepped up to the door and slipped inside.
The room was dim and still, with clusters of cozy chairs, couches, and tables; bookshelves lined the walls. The room seemed empty, except for the music. I glanced around for Logan, but I didn’t see him. His voice was coming from a tall-backed armchair in a corner of the room.
A little girl sat there, curled up and looking at a tablet. Her small face glowed green in the light.
As I came closer, I realized she was singing along to my song.
The girl looked up. The moment she saw me, she stopped singing. I froze where I was, not wanting to scare her.
She reached over and turned on a lamp to see me better. She looked about Aubrey’s age. She was small with short hair tucked behind her ears, and she wore a giant black T-shirt with HARD AS NAILS! scrawled across it in lightning-bolt letters. She had tubes in her nose and an IV attached to her thin arm. Cords led to an oxygen tank and a clear plastic pouch hooked to a rolling cart. She stared at me, the skin under her wide, dark eyes ringed with bluish circles.
“Is my music too loud?” she asked, looking worried. “I can turn it down.”
“It’s okay,” I said, but she’d already pressed a button on her tablet, and the music stopped.
“Where did you get that song?” I asked.
The girl gave me a curious look. “My friend Logan recorded it for me,” she said. “It’s my favorite.”
“It is?” I said. I felt my cheeks turn pink. The idea of a song I’d written being someone else’s favorite was almost too amazing to imagine. “That’s great!” I said, beaming at the girl.
She frowned back at me suspiciously. “I’m Alice,” she said. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Tenney,” I replied.
Alice’s eyes grew large. “Logan told me about you!” she piped up, sounding excited. “You’re in his band!”
I almost mentioned that we weren’t a band anymore, but Alice kept talking.
“I really like your songs,” she said. “Logan’s played a bunch of them for me! He says you’re very talented, but sometimes your pace could be snappier.”
She said it exactly the way Logan did when he told me to pick up my tempo. It made me smile.
“How did you meet Logan?” I asked.
“He came to take my breakfast tray from my room one day and he saw my guitar,” she said, gesturing toward a chipped guitar leaning against the side table next to her chair. “We started talking about music, and he asked if he could play something for me. He’s really good at guitar—a lot better than me.”
“Just keep practicing, and someday you’ll be even better than Logan,” I offered with a smile. “How long have you been playing?”
“Since last year,” she said. “I love it.”
She looked down at the guitar, her thin face filling with happiness. She leaned over to pick it up, but as she did, she started coughing. It was a sharp, hard sound that shook her whole body, and it didn’t stop. She drew her knees up to her chin and held an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth.
I sat down on the couch next to her chair. “Should I get a nurse?” I asked, but Alice shook her head. I couldn’t think of what to say, so I just sat there until she was breathing normally again.
She took off the mask and looked up at me. “I’ve been to the hospital eleven times,” she said in a whisper.
I tried not to look shocked, but I couldn’t help it.
Alice’s expression turned fierce. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me,” she said.
I nodded. I’d gone to the hospital for two stitches once when a mandolin string had snapped and hit me in the lip. At the time it had seemed like a big deal. Not anymore.
“Why are you here?” Alice asked. Then her face brightened, and she started talking so fast that I couldn’t fit in a single word. “Did Logan tell you I wanted to meet you? This is so great! You have to play something for me. Please?”
Her eyes were flames of hope on her pale face. I couldn’t say no.
“Um, sure,” I said.
Alice leaned over again and grabbed her guitar by the neck. For a second it seemed too heavy for her as she tried to swing it around the table. I scrambled to grab it and bumped my knee on a table leg, sending a small pile of books slapping to the floor.
Mason popped his head in.
“Everything okay? I heard some noise,” he said to me.
“We’re fine,” I said, embarrassed. “Alice, this is my brother, Mason.”
Mason gave an awkward wave from the doorway.
“You can come in,” Alice said. “Tenney’s going to play me a song.”
As Mason came over, I slipped the guitar strap over my head and tuned the strings.
“Okay, Alice,” I said, standing up to face her and Mason. “Here’s a new song that I guarantee Logan hasn’t played for you.”
Settling my left hand on the frets and my right o
ver the strings, I breathed in and started playing “Someone Who Believes.” The intro was soft and gentle, but as I sang, my voice was strong.
Pen and paper in my hand
Just so you can understand
I believe we have a voice
I believe we have a song
The stage is right where we belong
Alice watched me intently. When I took a breath, so did she. I started the chorus.
I am chasing this dream of mine
I just need
Someone who believes
Someone who believes
Alice’s small hands gripped the arms of her chair, but otherwise she sat still, listening as I continued through the next verse.
I know that getting there’s not easy
We’ll never know unless we try
If we just give up all that we love
We’ll let the moment pass us by
I’d just started the bridge when I heard a voice behind me say my name.
My hand skittered off the strings as I looked over my shoulder. Logan stood in the community room doorway. He was wearing blue work cover-alls, and he looked pretty shocked to see me.
“Logan!” Alice said as he walked in. “I met Tenney!”
“I see that,” Logan said, eyeing me. “What are you doing here?” he asked me, lowering his voice to a growl.
“I needed to talk to you,” I said, meeting his eyes.
He looked curious, but Alice interrupted before I could explain.
“This is great!” she said to Logan and me. “Now you can sing ‘Reach the Sky’ together!”
I expected Logan to say no, but he just looked at me.
“I’ll sing it if you will,” I told him with an encouraging smile. “You can sing lead. I’ve heard you sing it on Alice’s tablet, so I know you’ve got the words down.”
Logan flushed bright red. “Um, okay,” he stammered.
I handed him the guitar, and we sat on the couch so Logan could be beside Alice. He settled the guitar on his knee, leaned forward, and started the opening chords to “Reach the Sky.”
“I am planted in the ground, tiny like a seed,” he sang to her. “Someday I will make you proud. I’ll be steady like a tree. Will you teach me how to grow?”