The Wedding March

by Tara Randel

  This was why he hadn’t wanted to make a deal with her. Yet at the same time, was secretly glad he did.

  With so little space between them, he looked down at her lips. What would she do if he crossed the line? Kissed her as a way of changing the subject?

  Find out, his inner voice taunted.

  He moved that last fraction closer, his lips hovering over hers. And still she stayed put, as if waiting to see if he would carry out his intentions. So he did.

  His lips covered hers, silencing her gasp. He moved slowly, savoring the unexpected delight. The air around them grew heavy as he coaxed a trembling response from her. Adrenaline buzzed through his system, much like the feeling he experienced when a melody came together. Only this wasn’t a song. This was Cassie. Alive and in the flesh. Returning his kiss now with the enthusiasm he’d seen when she performed onstage. A passion he couldn’t deny. Or fight.

  One of her hands moved over his, satiny soft as she twined their fingers together. The kiss continued. Slow and unhurried. Until a shout from the gym reminded him that his office door was wide open. Everyone and their brother could get a gander of him kissing the pop artist who’d come to the Klub to volunteer her time to the kids, not him.

  He snapped back to his senses, jerking away from her.

  Smooth, Hastings.

  After opening her eyes, Cassie drew in a shaky breath. Wrapped her arms around her middle. Did he regret his impulsive action? Much to his surprise, he found he didn’t.

  “I’m, ah... That was totally unprofessional,” she stammered.

  “I agree. But I can’t promise it won’t happen again.”

  They stood in uncomfortable silence. Voices rose from the gym again.

  “I should probably go out there and referee.”

  “And I should get going.” She straightened the bag crisscrossing her chest. “When do you want to start the songwriting workshop?”

  He walked her into the gym. “How about Tuesday? We have a free flow poetry class at four p.m. I’ll spread the word we’re turning it into a songwriting workshop for the time being. Should get more participation that way.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  Would he?

  Before he had a chance to say anything else, Denny sauntered over. “Hey, Mr. H. We need you to settle a disagreement.”

  Good. A distraction to get his mind off kissing Cassie.

  “Sure thing.” He smiled at her. “See you Tuesday.”

  Her eyes narrowed, which concerned him. “Oh, yeah. I’ll see you.”

  Why did that sound like a threat?

  He watched her head for the exit. She waved and spoke to a few teens before pushing through the door and disappearing from sight.

  “Earth to Mr. H. Come in.”

  He shook off the trance she’d enchanted him with. “Right. What’s up, Denny?”

  “Kyle says we should charge kids to use the art room. For the paints and stuff. I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

  Denny went on to explain the dilemma. This was what Luke needed, to focus on the routine of the Klub. Figure out what was going on with the missing money. Anything to get his mind off Cassie and the fact that she made him hear the music again.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ERIN DUCKED INTO the songwriting class ten minutes late. Slipping onto the only available seat, beside Denny, she immediately slumped down and shivered. The cold metal chilled the back of her legs.

  Maybe no one would notice her. She peeked around. Right. Everyone had watched her come in.

  “You’re late,” Denny said under his breath.

  “Obvious, genius,” she retorted. She wasn’t in the mood for another lecture, not after playing twenty questions with her parents just so she could leave the house.

  “You didn’t miss much.” Denny pushed his glasses over his nose, not sounding at all like her tone bothered him. “Cassie’s just getting started.”

  Crossing her arms, Erin tried to listen, but the conversation with her parents kept running through her head. When she’d come home from school to dump her books, grab something to eat and change from the short skater dress before hitching out to Kids’ Klub, both her mom and dad were home. Unusual for a workday. At first Erin thought something bad had happened, like the day her sister had vanished. Turned out today, her older sister had called her mom. That explained the funk hovering over the house.

  Ever since her sister had taken off with her baby daddy, a guy in a bad rock band, Erin had become the focus of her parents’ anger. Where are you going? Who will you be with? Don’t make the same mistakes as your sister. And especially don’t get pregnant.

  Yeah, like that was gonna happen. She was only sixteen. Like she wanted a baby.

  Still, because of Shannon, her parents now treated her like a bad daughter, too. So now there were rules and expectations and burdens. She just wanted to be a kid. Instead, she’d turned herself into a copy of her wild sister. Might as well fulfill her parents’ dire predictions, which she’d already done by stashing the stolen money in her bedroom.

  Thanks, sis.

  “I’m not going to tell you songwriting is easy.” Cassie was speaking as she paced the front of the music room. Three rows of chairs stretched across the room usually reserved for poetry class. A big white dry-erase board hung on the wall. When Erin normally showed up here on Tuesday afternoons, there were only three or four kids.

  “You saved me this seat?” she whispered to Denny.

  “Yeah. You said you were coming.”

  She looked around. “Full room.”

  “It’s because of Cassie.”

  She was super glad Cassie had come to the Klub. Never in a million years would she have thought she’d meet someone famous. And nice. She was totally down-to-earth. But Erin liked the small poetry class where she was invisible most of the time. No expectations, except her own. No one’s words, but hers, written in the tattered notebook hidden at the bottom of her bag. Her secret words, about her life, disappointments and dreams. She’d never share them. Not with Denny. Not with anyone.

  Cassie continued. “There’s one important ingredient to being a songwriter. Telling a story. I bet every one of you here today has a story to tell. The more personal, the greater the emotional pull of your song.”

  She stopped pacing the small area in front of the chairs. Erin noticed she’d changed the colored streak in her hair to bright orange. If she tried that look, she’d come off like a loser and everyone would laugh at her. On Cassie, it worked.

  “Everyone pull out a notebook. I have some paper if you didn’t bring one. Now think of your favorite song. Jot down the words and let’s see what we all come up with.”

  Denny opened a composition notebook. “Need some paper?”

  “No. Who comes to writing class without paper?”

  “Girls in a bad mood?”

  She rolled her eyes. As the students started to work, Erin considered pulling out her secret notebook. She actually had the words of her favorite song written inside. She’d reread them after a bad day with her parents or if her friends got her down. And weirdly, they were from a Cassie Branford song. The lyrics of “Pretty Inside” were so her, like Cassie had spent a day in Erin’s messed-up life and knew exactly how she felt. Nah. Cassie would probably laugh at her if she really got to know her.

  “C’mon,” Denny urged. “Get started.”

  She tugged her bag onto her lap and searched through the bits of stuff to find the cherished notebook. Her fingers closed over it, snagging the elastic band she’d wrapped around it when the binding fell apart.

  Looking up from his assignment, Denny nudged her with his elbow. Sent her a smile. When had she started to like him? Well before he gave her his shirt the other day, but it had been building slowly. She couldn�
��t have a boyfriend. Would never bring a nice guy like Denny to her house. Her parents would scare him off anyway and then he’d realize what a loser she was. So no, she wasn’t revealing her notebook.

  Her cell phone chimed. She pulled up her text message.

  Meet at park. 911. Gary

  She quickly got rid of the message when she noticed Denny watching her.

  “I gotta split.”

  “Now? We just got started.”

  “Yeah, now.”

  Denny would never approve of her friends. Her parents didn’t. She didn’t even like them all the time. But they let her be her, nothing else. She could breathe with them.

  She slung the bag strap over her shoulder. “Later.”

  No, she’d never be good enough for a guy like Denny. Her parents had harped on it every single day until she’d finally believed them. She’d demonstrated it by taking the money. Why even try?

  * * *

  CASSIE WAITED AS her students scribbled down lyrics personal to them. The butterflies in her stomach slowly began to settle down until a movement in the back of the cramped room caught her attention. Erin. Leaving? Was she that bad that kids were escaping already?

  She grabbed the end of her braid. Tugged it to remind herself she was here for a reason. She couldn’t wimp out, especially because Luke had given her this shot. Her stomach might be in knots, but she’d facilitate this workshop, even if it killed her. Which it might do if she didn’t fire up her runaway muse soon.

  And great, now she was thinking all melodramatic. Maybe this class would be to her advantage.

  “How are we doing?” she asked the group.

  “Is it okay if we don’t use your songs?” a girl two rows back asked.

  “Please, use whatever songs resonate with you. I don’t care if it’s one of my songs or not.”

  “What if it’s rap with, you know, certain words?” a boy with a mop of shaggy hair questioned.

  “As I would tell any writer, use your words carefully.”

  “What if it’s Italian?” Denny asked. A couple of the kids laughed but it didn’t faze him. Proved he was a true opera buff.

  “Can you translate?”

  “Some.”

  “Then for today, use English.”

  She snatched up a red marker and uncapped it. “Now, throw words out to me.”

  Pushing back the sleeves of the oversized shirt she’d paired with skinny jeans and flats, for the next ten minutes she filled one half of the board. Boys, chillin’, school, money, summer, beach—just to name a few. The kids yelled faster than she could keep up.

  “Vero amore.”

  “English, Denny.”

  “True love.”

  She chuckled. Who knew Denny was a romantic?

  “Now, partner up. Take the words that stuck out to you and discover a theme for a song.”

  “Is this how you do it, Miss Branford?” a boy with glasses, asked her. Jack, she remembered.

  “Usually. I like to think of lyrics as poems to music.”

  “Show us how you’d do it,” Denny urged.

  She placed the marker on the ledge under the board. “Okay. Let’s take the word...butterfly.”

  “Ooh, I love butterflies,” a girl named Taylor squealed.

  Hopefully not like the ones flapping around in Cassie’s stomach.

  “Yeah, we’ve seen your tattoo,” Kyle snickered.

  “It’s only fake.”

  The boys laughed louder.

  “First of all,” Cassie said as she walked over to the group, “we aren’t laughing at anyone in this class. If you want to goof around, go play basketball.”

  “Basketball is serious,” a tall, skinny boy told her.

  “So is my time. And I want your input, so think.” She pointed to Kyle. “Especially you.”

  “Got it.” Kyle shot her a thumbs up.

  “Back to what I was saying.”

  “Butterflies,” Taylor repeated.

  Cassie wrote the word on the blank side of the board. “So I take the idea and write down things that describe it. Give me a few.”

  “Wings.”

  “Colorful.”

  “Monarch.”

  The marker squeaked as she jotted the words. “A great start. As the words come to you, you keep writing them down because you never know which ones will come to life in your story.

  “Next, I get my guitar.” She removed Ginger from the stand. “How many here play an instrument?”

  About half raised their hands.

  “So, you play around with a chord progression.” Her fingers moved over the fret as she strummed out a random beat.

  “You mix the two?” shaggy head asked, clearly interested in the process.

  “That’s right. Your name?”

  “Alan.”

  “Do you play?”

  “He’s in a band,” a petite girl sighed.

  “Where’s your guitar?”

  “In the back.”

  “Go get it and we’ll continue.”

  Alan bolted to the back of the room to remove his guitar from the stand. Cassie continued to lightly strum. “Now, take some of the butterfly descriptions and match them to the tempo.”

  The room filled with raised voices as the teams worked together. Alan, his guitar strapped on, quickly matched Cassie’s beat.

  “Taylor, go on up to the board and write the words you hear in the room.”

  The teen, ponytail flying, darted up front. Before long there were phrases across the board. The chatter level rose as the kids grew more excited. Cassie nodded to Alan as she stopped playing. Quiet resumed.

  “So now you have a loose example on how to write a song.”

  “But isn’t it easier if you already have an idea?” a student asked.

  “Sure. It’s like writing an essay in English class. If you already have the premise, it flows much easier.”

  “Like ‘Pretty Inside’?”

  “I wrote that song from a real experience and how I felt because of it.”

  “So we can use our moods? Like if we’re happy or sad?” Taylor asked.

  “You sure can.”

  “What about if you have a melody first?” Alan asked, strumming out a new sound.

  “Of course. There are no rules. Sometimes the melody comes first, then the words. Or the other way around. The main idea is to get your thoughts and the notes written down then figure out where they fit and how to use them.”

  The kids asked more questions and before she knew it, the hour was up.

  “Over the next week, if you have any impressions, music or words, write them down. There’s no right or wrong. Next week we’ll take a look at what you come up with.”

  As she placed her guitar back on the stand, the kids mingled. She caught Denny’s eye and motioned him up front.

  “I saw Erin leave earlier. Is she okay?”

  “I don’t know. She got a text, but she was pretty uptight when she got here.”

  “Any idea why?”

  “She never says, but I bet it’s her family.”

  Cassie could relate. “Would it help if I talked to her?”

  “Not sure. She’s not real open to advice.”

  “Maybe girl talk, instead of an adult asking questions and prying into her life?”

  He shrugged. “She’s a mystery,” he said just as Luke walked into the room.

  He slapped Denny on the back. “They all are, buddy.”

  “Hey, I resemble that remark,” Cassie protested.

  Luke chuckled. “How’d it go?”

  “Awesome,” Denny said. “Cassie knows what she’s doing.”

  Cassie met Luke’s ga
ze over Denny’s shoulder and struggled to maintain a straight face.

  “Yeah, she’s good.”

  His praise lifted Cassie’s sprits. Even if it wasn’t earned just yet. “I enjoyed the class. They weren’t afraid to try.”

  Luke grinned. “Imagine that.”

  Cassie returned the smile. “Smart aleck.”

  Denny looked between them both. “Am I missing something?”

  “Yes. But right now I need you in the art room.”

  “Okay.” Denny scooped up his notebook and pen. “See you later, Cassie.”

  “Thanks, Denny.”

  When Luke followed the teen from the room, Cassie exhaled a long breath. She really didn’t want him psychoanalyzing her right now. Exercising her writing muscles with the kids had taken a lot out of her.

  She opened the guitar case with the intention of putting the instrument away when she noticed her songbook inside. Reluctantly, she reached for it. Sifted through the pages. Mostly, they were empty. She found the last page she’d scribbled on, because at the time, that’s all she seemed to be doing. But a few words and phrases jumped out at her. Taking a seat, she went over them again.

  Don’t be afraid to try. A voice, sounding suspiciously like Luke’s, reverberated in her head.

  Swallowing, she reread her previous entry. As she did, her heart rate kicked up.

  It isn’t as it seems,

  it feels like a dream.

  I thought I knew myself,

  but never faced the past.

  The voices in my head

  remind me I’m alive,

  But every time I look at you,

  I ask the reason why.

  Rattled by the words catching her heart, she glanced at the date. A few days before her father’s wedding. Had she been pouring out her mixed emotions about her father remarrying? Gotten the wedding celebration mixed in with her fears of never writing a decent song again?

  Unbidden, a scene from her childhood flooded her mind of her sitting at the piano with her father, while he gave her basic lessons. She’d been a chip off the old block, he’d lovingly said. She’d pushed herself, wanting to make him proud. But the older and more accomplished she became, the less he seemed interested, until he didn’t acknowledge her talent at all. He began missing recitals and school musicals. He said it was the job, but right this very moment, she recalled the envious gleam in his eyes. Had he resented her talent?