by Lisa McManus
Before I could turn away, she grabbed my face in her hands and gave me that look when she wants to know what I’m thinking. “Why so glum, chum?” I hate that look of hers. The one where she looks deep into my eyes, trying to read my mind, her eyes full of concern. It almost always breaks me. Almost.
I pulled out of her hands, shrugged, and put on the best fake smile I could. “Oh, I’m fine. Just a little tired.” I tried to act normal, whatever normal was for me these days. “Ya know, back to school and all that.”
She nodded, and then her face lit up into a big grin. “Hey, I managed to get some time on the computer at work and went to your school’s website for back-to-school updates. I saw an advertisement about this music competition and printed it out. Are you going to enter it?” She handed me a printout of the ad. I glanced down at it, just to appease her. I didn’t really want to read it.
“I dunno.” I shrugged, folded it up, and put it in my pocket. “I’m not exactly up to competition ‘standards’.” I finger-quoted “standards.”
“Why not? You’ve been working so hard on it, what with all that Grandpa taught you and with your lessons all summer.”
Groan. Why did she have to bring that up? I felt smaller than the ant that was crawling up the wall behind the couch. I leaned over and squished it, and then felt even worse. I’m a liar and an innocent bug killer.
“Na, Mom. Really—I’m not that good.”
She just stared at me, again making me squirm. “I really think you should think about it. Just try. I know you can do it. I’ve heard you practicing up in your room, and you really are very good.” An idea sprung to my head as she said it. Before I could think about it any more, she continued. “And why don’t you talk to your teacher, Mr. Smith, for a bit of extra help? You seem to really like him.”
“His name’s Shark, Mom.” I smirked at her and she smiled back. We had had a never-ending conversation about what was appropriate to call a teacher, and she finally called the school to confirm the teacher’s name as Shark (she was concerned I might get suspended for calling him that). It was a little joke we had going between us.
“Oh, right. Shark.” She grinned then said, “So why don’t you talk to him, and see what he has to say?”
I shrugged and headed down the hall to my room. I stopped and looked at her, guilty for not thinking about someone other than myself. “Oh, sorry, how was your day?”
“Oh, fine, the usual. I have to work all this weekend, so will you be okay by yourself for the whole time?” Despite me being old enough to be by myself at home, she still always worried I would get lonely.
“I have practice with Mrs. Brown, remember?” I felt worse than the ant I had just squished. I assured myself that soon enough I wouldn’t have to lie anymore.
“Oh, that’s right.” She got up from the couch. “Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes. Hamburger casserole okay with you?”
“Fine, thanks.” I continued down the hall to my room, trying not to bang the guitar on the walls as I went.
I kicked aside a bunch of clothes, propped open the guitar case on my bed, and lay down beside it. As I strummed, my thoughts jumped from one to another. The closet where my meager stash was hidden loomed at me from the other side of the room.
I pulled the printout from my mom out of my pocket and the prizes listed glowed at me. Even the $100 third prize would be great. The competition was a month away. It seemed all very last minute, and they sure hadn’t given kids a lot of time to prepare.
Beau flashed through my mind. I was sick of him and sick of being called Newbie Nick. And then an idea struck! Maybe I should practice more, and I don’t just mean practicing downtown. I could go into the music room at lunch—no one would have to know. The teachers always hang out in the staff room at lunch, staying as far away from their classrooms as possible. So with practicing at lunch and in the evenings, maybe…
I flopped back on my pillow, staring up at the ceiling. Who was I kidding? Why was I even thinking about it? I looked at the printout again. The prizes seemed to pulsate on the page. Even if I won third place, that would get me the guitar for sure. The money I already had saved could go towards Mom’s necklace—just in time for her birthday.
Could I do it? Did I even have a chance?
***
The first week of school went fast. Josh kept bugging me about the competition. When I didn’t respond to his pressure, he eventually gave up.
The weekend came and after my mom went to work, I rode my bike to the bus stop. Overnight it had turned cold. A tiny bit of frost remained on people’s lawns. Despite my frozen fingers, I had to play – needed to play. The stakes were higher now, and I was second-guessing my plan.
It seemed dumb to waste time working for a competition I wasn’t even sure I would enter, never mind win. If I was gonna enter, however, I needed to practice, whether it was cold or not. I rode on, my cheeks cold from the frosty morning, I realized I might as well start practicing anyways, until I figured out what I would do.
Once downtown, I dragged my guitar off the bus and unhooked my bike from the bus’ rack. I waved to the driver, attached my guitar to the back of my bike, and started off.
I found a spot against a building. I had been at this spot before, and with my sunglasses on I felt better; hidden, anonymous, and out of sight from anyone I knew. With my case open at my feet, I strummed a few chords to warm up, and felt even better.
My fingers weren’t working, it was so cold. I was determined to get in a few hours that day, and hopefully the next, so I kept strumming, People kept dropping coins in my case, the tinkling sound urging me on. Every bit of cash helped.
Warmed up a bit, I did one last tune, and went right into Sea Shanty. To those who play guitar, it might seem a little silly to be playing the standard learn-to-play guitar song. I guess I was better than I thought because I had managed to jazz it up a bit, and make it fun. People tapping their thigh in rhythm as they walked past was proof.
Cling ching!
“Thank you!” I called out.
As I played, eventually I forgot why I was there. I forgot about everything that was bothering me and let the music take me away. Sure, my clumsy cold fingers stumbled the odd time, and sure, I still watched for someone I might know. Yet I kept playing. Because I loved it.
Just as I was finishing the song, my fingers by then warmer from playing, a wavering voice broke into my rhythm interrupting my last few chords.
“Um, excuse me.” It was that little old lady I had seen many times over the summer.
“Uh, hi.” I was polite, although kept my guard up. I was always on the lookout for police or whoever might bust me. Even though she had on her usual scuffed blue shoes and always seemed nice enough, I knew to be careful.
“I’ve watched you playing all summer,” she said. I felt silly sitting on the curb looking up at her, so I stood up. It seemed kinda rude not to.
She continued with a smile. “And I just wanted to tell you I think you are a really great guitar player.”
“Oh, uh, thank you, uh…”
She cut me off before I could say any more. “My son used to play, and with your hair and those silly sunglasses hiding your face, you remind me of him.”
At her hint, I immediately removed them. I just hoped no one I knew would come by.
“Um, thank you. Does he still play?”
She looked down. Her face paled and for a second I thought she was going to start crying. Just as I gulped, as the last thing I wanted was a little old lady crying in front of me, she spoke again.
“No, he doesn’t. He died many years ago.”
At her words, memories of my Grandpa rushed back at me.
What felt worse was that I reminded her of her dead son. What was I supposed to say? What was I supposed to do? Was she going to start crying?
Before I could mumble out something really dumb, she forced a smile and continued talking. “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that, and to give y
ou these.” She handed me some gloves. “I’m not sure how long you will be playing out here. It’s going to get cold soon and these gloves might help.”
I didn’t know what to do. Do I take a gift from a complete stranger? Do I pay her for them? I only had a quarter in the guitar case. I looked from her to the gloves.
“Well, go on. Put them on,” she urged.
“Thank you very much, but I can’t take these…”
She cut me off. “Yes, you can. Everyone needs a little help once in a while. Make me happy. Put them on. Go on…” She waved her hands at me, anxious for me to do so.
After telling me about her dead son, how could I not?
I put them on, and realized they were the kind with the tips of the fingers cut off. I looked up at her, grinning. She saw my reaction, and her fake smile slowly turned into a real one.
“Hey, look at that! They’re perfect!” I wiggled my bare fingers at her.
“Well, now you can go on playing for a little longer.”
As she turned to leave, she threw a five dollar bill in my case.
I leaned over and picked up the bill. “Wait, I can’t take this, as well. I should be paying you for the gloves.”
She stopped and turned. Her eyes watered for a minute, and I gulped. “Please son, have it. I want you to. You have given me such happiness listening to you play. It’s the least I can do. Thank you.”
Before I could say anymore, she turned and quickly walked away. Well, as fast as a lady her age could. I should have gone after her, insisting she take back the five bucks. However something in her words, along with the look in her eyes, stopped me.
I sat back down, stuffed my squished sandwich in my mouth, and tried not to get crumbs on my new gloves.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the old lady with the blue shoes. Throughout the summer, even though I saw her all the time, we never really talked. The most contact we had would be when she would sometimes stop and listen and occasionally throw in some money - that’s it.
Something about her words had me stopping mid-chew.and I couldn’t figure out why.
And then, like a light bulb, I got it.
Did my crappy playing really make her happy? Was I better than I thought?
Na, I thought as I continued chewing, she’s just a lonely old lady who didn’t have anything better to do.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about the sad look in her eyes as she told me about her dead son.
Chapter Five
By the end of the weekend I came up with plan. All I had to do was build up the nerve, and as ever, not get caught.
“Hey, Nick, wait up!” Josh hollered as he ran up to me in the hall Monday morning. I had just locked up my bike and was carrying my guitar case to store in the music room until guitar class.
“Hey, man.” Josh belted me in the shoulder. “How was your weekend?”
I shrugged. “It was fine. I was busy, and…”
Before I could say any more, he butted in.
“Listen, you know that girl, Amanda? How I wanted her cell number?”
Oh, great. Here we go again.
“Ya, I do. Look Josh, I don’t care about…”
“Ya, ya, whatever—I know you don’t care about that stuff. I got her cell number!” He leaned toward me with a sneaky wink. “And don’t ask me how.” Despite me rolling my eyes, he continued. “Anyways, we talked on the phone on Saturday night…oh, right! Where were you all weekend?” He interrupted himself so fast, he could barely catch his own breath. “Right. You were downtown. Anyways, I was talking to Amanda, and she said that her friend Felicia—you know her, right?”
Just to get him to shut up, I nodded and faked enthusiasm.
“Ya, ya?”
More and more kids were starting to stream into the school. Despite the noise and crowd in the hallway Josh bellowed out anyway, “Amanda said that Felicia likes you!”
I groaned. I was just about tell Josh to shut up, when I heard a voice behind me.
“What? Is Felicia on something? Does she have the right Nick?” Oh groan. I turned around. Beau.
“Beau, you can just shut the…” started Josh.
I whacked Josh on the arm. “Just leave it. You’ve done enough,” I growled at him through clenched teeth.
Just then I was literally saved by the bell. Beau chuckled at me, gave me a little shove, and sauntered down the hall like he was king of the school. I felt my face flame, both in anger and embarrassment. Josh glanced at me, saw how pissed I was, and then turned to leave. I guess he figured it was best to leave me alone.
“Later, Nick.” He avoided looking at me, and he slouched off to class.
Every time I passed Beau in the hall the rest of the day, he would do this stupid fake snicker and laugh behind his hand while pointing at me. And of course while making kissing sounds at me. Really? How stupid.
I put it all behind me and somehow got through math class, despite the butterflies in my stomach. Guitar class was next block, of course with Beau in it. It wasn’t Beau who had my stomach wasn’t in knots. I had big plans, and I needed to talk to Shark about it after class.
Guitar class went fine, despite feeling restless. Beau kept his mouth shut for once, except for the kissing sounds he would make as he passed me. Josh was too busy talking to the girl I soon learned was Amanda. Even after a year of being at the new high school, there were so many new faces, I still hadn’t learned everyone’s names. I tried not to grin as Josh demonstrated his severely lacking guitar playing skills. He might like playing, but doesn’t love it like I do, and it showed.
“Hey, Nick, meet you at the bike rack?” Josh asked me at the end of class, leaning around Amanda.
“Na, there’s something wrong with my tuning pegs,” I lied.
Again.
I was sick of all the lying I was doing these days. My best friend didn’t deserve it, either, no matter how annoying he could sometimes be. “I’m gonna have Shark look at them. I’ll just catch a later bus.”
Josh glanced at Amanda and then quickly looked away. As I watched him trying to hide the bashful expression on his face, it struck me that this was a side of Josh I had never seen before. He looked back to Amanda with a shy grin, and then at me.
“Oh, okay man. Ya, no problem.” His eyes widened and his face turned a shade redder than he already was. I could only assume he realized that me not heading home with him meant that he and Amanda would have a chance to be alone. He nervously shuffled over to Amanda, and leaned over to say something to her. Wow – he sure doesn’t let anything like embarrassment stop him. I could sure learn a lot from him.
I turned my focus back to my tuning pegs, stalling. Of course Beau kicked my chair as he walked by. The guitar case I was balancing on the chair almost fell off.
“Kissy, kissy, Newbie,” he hissed at me as he went by.
I kept my eyes locked on his. I wasn’t an angry kind of guy, but I was getting sick of all the crap I was getting from him. I had done nothing to him. I kept staring at Beau as he walked through the room, and got a little satisfaction when he glanced back at me as he got to the door and saw me still staring at him. He stopped with his hand on the door, and stared right back. Of course with that stupid sneer on his face.
Someone cleared his throat. I looked over to see Shark leaning against his desk, his massive arms folded as always across his chest. He was staring back and forth at each of us. Like he knew something was up.
“Have a good night, Beau,” Shark dismissed Beau from the room with his words. Beau turned and pushed through the door, and the last of the kids in the class followed out.
Shark watched them go then walked over to me. “Hey Nick. Is everything all right?” He pulled up a chair and sat down, looking around the empty room. “Why aren’t you racing out the door like everyone else?”
Suddenly, I was nervous. And shy. And anxious. Beau was forgotten, and all my angst about asking Shark for this favor welled up inside me. I hated asking for anything, es
pecially help. I just wanted to do things on my own.
“Um, I, um, was just wondering if you could recheck my string you fixed the other day.” Aw man, why? Why another lie? Seriously?
Shark picked up my guitar. “Sure thing, Nick. And don’t forget - in the next class I’ll be showing everyone how to restring guitars. How quickly you forget!” Shark grinned, then playfully punched me in the arm.
I didn’t forget. And he didn’t realize I already knew how to restring. Again, guilt made my stomach flutter.
I tried to smile good-naturedly, but I must have done a crappy job of hiding how nervous I really was, because he kept going on about the strings.
“Oh, it’s okay, man,” Shark spoke up before I could. “No problem at all. It’s not a big deal changing strings.” I realized I must have had a really funny look on my face if he was worrying so much about me and the strings. I guess I needed to take an acting class if I was gonna get through all this.
“Um, thanks. Ya, that would be great if you showed me how.” Just to keep talking, I went on. “And ya, I think the rest of the class would like that too. You know. Strings. On their guitars. And, um…” What? What am I babbling about?
Shark stopped and looked at me, his eyes narrowing and assessing, as if trying to figure me out. Much like my mom would. “Was there something you wanted to talk to me about, Nick?”
How does he know things like that? Man, he’s good.
Taking a deep breath, I said, “Um, do you think I could practice in here during lunch hour? You know, with no one around and all that?” See? That was easy. Why was that such a big deal?
A huge grin spread across Shark’s face. “Of course you can! That’s great!” He patted me on the arm, which wasn’t really a pat, more like almost a shove that made me lose my balance for a second. I think Shark forgets how big he is compared to a shrimp like me. “Are you going to enter Mike’s Music Competition?”
Gulp. “Um, well, I don’t know yet. I’m not that good. And, um…I really don’t think…” Why was admitting I was thinking about it such a big deal? I kicked at the leg of the chair with the toe of my shoe. “I might, I don’t know. I have to still think about it.” I needed to shut up. I stood up, suddenly antsy to get out of there.