During his break from bussing tables over at the Roadhouse, Dave comes rushing into the garage wearing his uniform: a neat brown apron and crisp blue button-down shirt. Evan and Nick stop hammering out a dented fender to greet Dave, probably hoping he brought biscuits from the Roadhouse.
“Look at this!” Dave says, holding out his phone. He presses play on a YouTube video of me and Jesse singing on the Belle Carol Riverboat.
“Does that say 715,000 views?” Nick asks, leaning over my shoulder to watch the video.
“Maya, this is so, so cool. You sound amazing,” Dave says.
“Finally, a YouTube video where I don’t sound like a banshee!” I reply, and that’s when reporters from the Tennessean, NBC, ABC, the Franklin Times, the Nashville Scene, and the Tullahoma News arrive to interview me, like I’m some sort of celebrity. I’m mortified when I look down at my greasy white T-shirt and jeans. The reporters thrust microphones up to my mouth.
“How’d they know where to find me?” I ask Dad.
“They came by the house first,” he replies quietly. “Your mom got excited and sent them here. I hope Mr. Caldwell doesn’t get angry.”
“Mooooom,” I whine, and Dad gives me a sheepish shrug.
The first question the press asks is, “Do you know why Jesse’s quitting the business?”
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t.” Can they tell I’m lying?
When they realize my mouth is glued shut to talking about Jesse, they start asking questions about me.
“Jesse Scott’s manager Mark Logan told our producers you are skilled on guitar and have a nice voice,” a lady from Channel 4 news says, holding a microphone up to my mouth. “So what’s next for you?”
“School on Monday, I guess.” I shrug, smiling. Mr. Logan said that?!
The reporter’s question strikes a nerve, and I can’t stop asking myself that same question. What’s next? Rejoining show choir and the church choir? Trying to find members to start another band?
I gaze around Caldwell’s, from the oil spots on the floor to the guys covered with grease, and let out a long sigh, trying to keep it together. I like working here, but it’s just a job for me. I want to perform.
It sucks having a once-in-a-lifetime day, a day that changes you, only to hear the same old song repeated on the radio over and over.
I don’t want yesterday to wither away and die.
• • •
When I get home after work, I plop down on a bar stool in the kitchen, exhausted from not having slept last night and having to fend off reporters at Caldwell’s. Dad had to kick them out because no work was getting done, and he sent me home three hours early to stop the press from coming back. I really could’ve used that money.
I swipe my cell on to find a ton of texts from Mom, Dave, Hannah, Nate?, and everybody I’ve ever met. Foolishly, I had been hoping Jesse might reach out to me.
I rest my head on the counter and sigh. I shouldn’t have invited myself backstage to Jesse’s concert tonight. It spooked him. What is it with me and guys? Do I come on too strong? Why do none of them want to stick around? I’m gonna be forty years old and out on a date with some man, and we’ll make out, then he’ll tell me we’re not meant to be, and I’ll go home to my fourteen cats.
“Hey, baby girl.”
I look up to find my mother has appeared in the kitchen. She fills the teakettle with water and sets it on the stove.
“So did you do anything interesting yesterday?” she asks with a coy smile, and I give her my look of death. “What’s wrong?”
“It was all going really well…”
When my voice breaks, Mom wraps me in a hug, and her familiar smell of lavender and dryer sheets calms me. There’s no way I can admit that I thought I had a chance with a boy like Jesse Scott. What was I thinking? She pats my back and soothes me.
“This might make you feel better. Something came for you.” Mom releases me from her embrace and passes me a large brown box. The handwritten label reads Maya.
“Where’d this come from?” I ask.
“A messenger dropped it off this morning.”
“A messenger?”
“Yeah, a guy in a fancy town car.”
“Brown paper packages tied up with string, these are a few of my favorite things,” I sing softly, dragging my fingers over the crisp paper.
“Open it already,” Mom says.
I unlace the string, and the paper falls away from the box. With shaking hands, I lift the lid. It’s those purple boots I tried on yesterday. I gasp and trace my fingertips across the soft leather/python/whatever it is.
“Those are beautiful!” Mom says. We’re the same shoe size, and I can tell she’s desperate to put them on and dance around the house to Dolly Parton.
A card sits wedged between the boots.
Dear Maya,
These boots could belong to no one but you. Holly will be in touch to discuss voice lessons. Thanks again for the great day.
—J
Is this a parting gift or a mixed message? I push the card into my back pocket, then open the fridge for a Diet Coke. What did he mean Holly would be in touch to discuss lessons? Does she want me as a client? Because I can’t afford that.
“What’d the card say?” Mom asks. “Anything about how good of a kisser you are?”
“Mom! Were you spying on me?”
“Of course not. Your brother told me.”
“He was spying? Ugh. Sam is the worst.”
She presses a comforting hand to my forearm. “So what happened with Jesse?”
I’m trying to figure out what to tell Mom when a knock sounds on the back door. It’s Hannah. My mother motions my former bandmate—former friend?—inside. Hannah plays with her lip ring and looks at me with big, sad, brown eyes.
“Hey, Maya.”
“Hi.”
The teakettle rattles, hissing and spitting out steam.
Mom pours the hot water over a teabag, then wraps her hands around the cup. “I’ll be in my room.”
“You don’t have to go,” I say, because I don’t want to talk to Hannah. Especially not alone. I’m afraid I’ll want to yank the extensions out of her hair or worse, cry.
With a smile, Mom takes her tea and leaves the room, and then it’s just me and Hannah. I lead her to the couch in the living room. Why is she here? I lean my head back, close my eyes, and sigh.
“Bad day?” she asks.
“Not the best.” Most kids would probably love the attention I got from the press this morning, and truthfully, normally I would too, but it only reminds me that Jesse left me last night.
“I figured your day would be going pretty great since you hung out with Jesse Scott yesterday.” Hannah smiles shyly. “Are you gonna see him again?”
Does she not care that I sold out? I ignore her question, because I’m still really upset at how last night ended. “What are you doing here?”
Hannah sits on the edge of the couch and ruffles her dark chestnut hair. I want her to leave so I can practice. And listen to a bunch of sappy eighties love ballads. And maybe eat a bag of Cheetos.
“You haven’t been answering my texts or calls,” she says. “I need to talk to you.”
“So talk.”
“I’m sorry for what happened—I had no idea Nate wanted to replace you.”
“Why didn’t you say anything when he kicked me out?”
“I was shocked, honestly, and I had just gotten together with Nate and didn’t want to piss him off. I was confused, I guess. I know I should’ve spoken up.”
“Well, it’s too late now.”
“Maybe it’s not.”
“Huh?”
A smile appears on her face. “I told the guys that unless they get rid of that dickwad Bryan Moore and bring you back as lead guitar, I’m quitting.
Nate has been trying to reach you too.”
That must be why Nate texted and why he tried to cut in when I was dancing with Jesse last night.
I can’t believe this. “So basically the band that I started said they’ll take me back because they don’t want to lose you?”
“That’s not how I meant it, My. I love performing with you—you are what makes our band special, not any of those guys.”
I sigh and sink deeper into the couch, sipping from my can. “Would the guys be willing to play other kinds of music besides metal?”
“We didn’t talk about that,” she says softly.
Yesterday on the playground, Jesse pulled my body to his and told me that if I keep letting other people decide what kind of music I play—if I let them tell me how to live my life—I will end up leading a life that’s not mine.
Yesterday changed me. Before Dr. Salter suggested I shadow Jesse, I thought I knew all there was to know about singing and playing guitar. I never considered I might learn something. And now I know several new techniques to sing from my diaphragm, to better play a B7.
Hell, what if there’s even more stuff I should learn?
Regardless of how the day ended with Jesse, he gave me the biggest gift ever. I’m motivated again. If I want to become something, I need to work a lot harder. Which makes me want to start practicing right away.
After my solo on the Belle Carol, I know that I can do things on my own. I don’t need a band to move forward. If you love something enough, want it bad enough, you should be willing to go after it on your own.
I stand up from the couch and stare down at Hannah. “Tell the guys I said thanks but no thanks. I’m going solo.”
After I let Hannah out, I go to my bedroom. I swipe on my cell, take a deep breath, tap Jesse’s name, then type: Thank you for the boots.
And leave it at that.
• • •
This afternoon, I napped for hours, and I feel a lot better after clearing my head. I glance over at the clock. It’s nearly eight.
I hear arguing, so I drag myself out of bed, quickly rinse my face in the bathroom sink, then head out to see what drama my family has cooked up for this evening.
Before I even make it to the kitchen, I smell it. Mom’s beef stew. I find my parents and Anna, Sam, and Jordan crowded around the breakfast table, spooning stew into their mouths, laughing at a story Anna is telling about how her friend named her new betta fish “Sam.”
My brother puffs out his chest. “I bet it’s a very good-looking fish.”
“I bet it looks just like you,” Jordan replies.
Dad makes a puckering fish face, and Mom and Anna laugh at Sam’s expense.
“You’re awake!” Anna squeals at me. “I want to hear about your day with Jesse!”
Like the ten-year-old she is, she bounces around the kitchen, waving the newspaper that features my picture.
“It was fun,” I say. “I learned a lot from him.”
“Is he cute in person? Did you get his autograph for me? Can I go with you to one of his concerts? Did you find out what his favorite color is?”
“Yes, yes, no, no,” I reply.
“Why can’t we go to a concert?” Anna asks as she pouts, clutching my arm. “He likes you! I can tell from the picture!”
“We just can’t,” I snap, and Jordan and Sam exchange a look. Thankfully, nobody presses me about what happened last night, even though I’m positive Mom told them I was upset earlier.
Gossipy. If I had to choose a second word to describe my family after sporty, it would be gossipy.
“Let your sister sit down, Anna,” Mom says. My sister collapses dramatically in her chair and shovels stew in her mouth, throwing me dirty looks.
Jordan stands up. “Want some stew, Maya?”
“Yes, please.”
I take a seat as Jordan spoons stew into a bowl for me and talks about the upcoming homecoming game. It’s her first year coaching at school, and she is very nervous and upset because her record is 4–1 so far. I don’t follow sports, but apparently the whole town is pissed we lost last night’s game, which hasn’t happened since the Stone Age or something.
“I haven’t lost a game at Hundred Oaks in…well, ever,” Jordan says quietly. “When I played here in high school, I mean.”
“Don’t let any of the nincompoops around here get you down,” Mom tells her. “Everybody knows you were the best person for the job. You just don’t have a strong quarterback and offensive line this season.”
“The team’s doing very well, considering,” Dad adds.
“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Sam says, pointing at Jordan with his spoon. “You should start hunting for a new QB for next year. Like now.”
Mom looks over at me. “Maya, when Dr. Salter called to discuss your detention next week, he mentioned you might rejoin the choir. I’m so glad.”
“I’m not sure,” I say, shoveling the last bite of stew into my mouth. I was so starved, I finished in two minutes. “I think I might try going solo for a while.”
My family starts grinning, and Sam whoops.
Dad serves me another helping, and we move on to discussing Sam’s job as a scout for the Titans. Last night may have sucked, and my former band members are dicks, but at least I have my family. I am beyond lucky. I scoop another heaping spoonful into my mouth and smile around at everybody.
But when I imagine Jesse at his show in Atlanta tonight, a show his parents most likely didn’t show up for, I wonder if he’s okay.
I finish my second helping of stew, scraping the bottom of my bowl.
I’m sure he’s lonely.
• • •
I never sit alone at lunch, and if there’s a school dance, a guy or two will invite me. But I’ve never been one of those girls who gets elected prom queen, runs the student council, or has plans every Friday and Saturday night. But considering the reception I get when I walk into school with Dave on Monday morning, you’d think I’m the most popular girl of all time.
“Woooo, Maya Henry!” screams Alec O’Malley, the star wide receiver of the football team. He throws an arm around my shoulders. “Do you have a date for homecoming?”
My mouth falls open.
Justina Carr, the captain of the dance team, pushes Alec out of the way to walk beside me. “Tell me all about him!”
“Who? Alec?”
She laughs as if I’m Jimmy Fallon, not a girl she’s never spoken to. “Do you think Jesse could introduce me to True Balance?”
True Balance is a boy band that I can’t stand. Their biggest hit is called “I Love Your Saucy Sauce, Hot Mama.” Nuff said.
“I’ll get right on that and ask Jesse,” I tell her, just so she’ll leave me alone. It works—she skips off down the hall to brag to her real friends, who probably sing the saucy sauce lyrics in the shower.
As soon as she’s gone, Alec the wide receiver tries to Heisman his way through the crowd that’s formed around me. Dave blocks Alec, thank goodness. Jordan should recruit Dave as an offensive lineman for the football team, because Alec gets the point. He adjusts his shirt and strolls away as if he can’t be bothered with me any longer.
“That was enjoyable,” Dave says. “Alec has a nice chest.”
“Don’t let Xander hear you say that.”
Nate walks up and gives me a dirty look. If Hannah actually quit the band because of me, I bet he’s pissed. Whatever.
“Are you really not rejoining the band?” Nate asks me.
I shake my head. “I seem to recall you kicking me out. I’m going solo for a while.”
“When I told the metal clubs in Nashville you’re not with us anymore, they wouldn’t book us. We need you back.”
“I’m done with heavy metal.” I turn away just in time for a freshman girl to squeal in my face.
“Are you dating Jesse Scott?”
“Do you think he’ll come visit you at school?” another girl asks.
I have a sudden urge to spend the day hiding in a bathroom stall. I wish Jesse’s security guard were here, because I feel like I might get swept away any second. Unlike Jesse, I’ve only had to deal with two days of this nonsense. I can’t imagine dealing with this for eight years.
“Hey!” Dr. Salter separates the crowd. “If you aren’t in class in two minutes, you get a week of detention!”
Everybody scatters, and I swallow. I do not like people mobbing me like that.
“You okay?” Dr. Salter asks, patting my shoulder, and I nod. “Good. Drop by my office during homeroom later this morning so we can discuss your behavior on shadow day.”
Great. Just great. I take off for my first-period Crucial Life Lessons class, which I have with Dave.
I enter the classroom to massive applause, and I can’t help but smile. It’s all so ridiculous that it’s becoming funny. I take a bow, and the cheering gets louder.
“Okay, okay, settle down,” Coach Lynn tells the class. “Take a seat, Maya and Dave.”
As soon as everybody is quiet, Coach Lynn starts teaching. “What’s the number-one secret to financial success?”
“Shred all credit card offers the moment we get them in the mail,” the class drones.
“What’s the second most important secret to financial success?” Coach Lynn asks.
“Always balance your bank account.”
“Good,” she says. “Today, everybody is going to give a brief oral report on what they learned during shadow day.”
I groan under my breath. While the other students talk about how they spent the day—one guy helped a vet deliver a foal and another rode in a news helicopter—I sink farther and farther into my seat.
“Maya? Care to tell us about your shadow day experience?” The way Coach Lynn enunciates the world “experience,” you would think I’ve been riding roller coasters at a theme park.
I walk to the podium. “Um, I had the opportunity to shadow Jesse Scott.”
Suddenly, Dr. Salter appears in the doorway.
I go on, “During shadow day, I got to visit the studio where Jesse records his music, and he gave me some singing and guitar tips.” I lick my lips and take a quick glance at the class. “I had the opportunity to play a Les Paul electric guitar. I—”
Jesse's Girl (Hundred Oaks #6) Page 12