“Stop being so dramatic. I want to be with you. You know that.”
“Do I?”
“I don’t want to talk about it here. Let’s go someplace more private.”
“Like the Bluff?” I ask.
“No.” She says, taking her hand off my arm. The air is cool where her palm had been seconds ago. “It’s like 45 degrees out. We should go someplace indoors.”
“Bean Tree? We’re safe from geezers today. The Alzheimer’s thing isn’t until tomorrow.”
Madison shakes her head and a strand of hair falls into her face. I start to reach over to brush it behind her ear but check myself. “I was thinking someplace where we wouldn’t run into anyone. Someplace quiet. I can explain the whole Tyler thing.”
“My house?” I suggest.
“Will your mom be home?”
“No. She’s doing some flowers for a funeral tonight, so we’ll have the place to ourselves until late.”
“I have to be home by six-thirty for dinner.”
“Cool.” I say and feel anything but. Madison and I are going to be alone in my room.
HOLY SHIT. MADISON is in my bed.
Technically she’s on it. Her hands twitch nervously. I’m afraid if I move too fast she’ll bolt, so we lie side by side on my black velvet bedspread and stare at my ceiling. I try to picture my room through her eyes. The bookcases overflowing with records and CDs. The Taylor Swift poster behind my bedroom door. The pile of laundry that’s been sitting on my desk since last week.
I tentatively reach for Madison’s hand and she doesn’t flinch. After several heartbeats she asks, “Are you sure your mom isn’t coming home?”
My thumb traces circles on her palm to try and ease her panic. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“I don’t want her to walk in on us.”
I get up from the bed and lock the door. “She doesn’t care if I have girls over,” I say starting a Lana Del Rey album on my stereo before crawling back onto the bed next to her.
“Oh.”
I’m propped up on one elbow. “So, you wanted to talk about Tyler?”
“YouknowIcan’tbeyourgirlfriendunlessIhaveafakeboyfriend.” The words come rushing out of her mouth.
I reach for her hand again and give it a squeeze. “Slow down there, Tiger. We’ve got all afternoon. Try it again.”
“I can’t be your girlfriend unless I have a fake boyfriend,” Madison repeats. “That’s the way it has to be. I don’t want people thinking the wrong thing if we’re hanging out. Look what happened with Miles today.”
“The wrong thing meaning that you’re my girlfriend,” I say softly.
“I can’t think of any other way to keep people off my back, you know?”
“Are we always going to have to hide?” I ask.
Madison is quiet for a long moment. Finally, she says. “I don’t know. You promised we would take it slow.”
“Slow is fine,” I say. “I just need to know that I’m not gonna always be your dirty little secret. That scene at lunch really bothered me.”
“You’re not my dirty little secret,” she defends. “Please give me time to get used to this. We won’t have to hide forever.”
I sigh, “Okay. So your fake boyfriend. Is he gonna be around the whole time we’re a secret?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“And what about if people want to meet him? Check out his Facebook page? Won’t everyone expect him to show up at your soccer games and parties and Prom?”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead. It’s not like I planned to lie to everyone, but they just started assuming the rumor was true so I ran with it. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you think Maura and everyone will want to know why he never hangs out with you?”
“I guess he’ll have to be really busy.” She swallows. “Maybe he’s anti-Facebook and mega-serious about his privacy. That could be his thing.”
I roll my eyes. “He’s too busy to take you out? Sounds like a shitty fake boyfriend. I guess that you’ve dated enough douche canoes in real life that a fake one can’t be much worse.”
“That’s not fair,” she says, her mouth turning down into a pout. “It’s not like he has to be around forever. At most he just needs to be around until graduation and then it won’t matter who I date or don’t date. You’re lucky you never had to deal with these high school politics.”
“But graduation is months away.” I let go of her hand and rub my eyes. “Look,” I start. It is impossible to keep the frustration out of my voice. “I’m not trying to be an asshole here. I’m only trying to figure out how we’re gonna make this work if we’re both juggling a million secrets.”
“Is this even going to work?” she asks softly.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “I’ve never had to sneak around before.”
Madison rolls over on her side to look at me. We’re only six or seven inches apart yet she seems so far away.
“Do you really want to do this?” I ask. “Or am I science project?”
“I really want to be with you,” she says. “I just need time. This is all so new to me.”
“Why do you even like me?” I close my eyes. It’s easier to be honest this way.
“I don’t know,” she starts. “But that day in Lion Pride when you smiled at me, I felt something I hadn’t felt before. Being near you makes everything feel electric. It’s like the air crackles around you. There’s still so much I don’t know about you, but I want to find out. I like that you’re funny and you’ve got this amazing voice and you’re so cool, like that singer from the ‘80’s. What is her name? Joan something?”
“Joan Jett,” I supply.
“It’s like you’re Joan Jett and when I’m around you I feel like I’m cool by association.”
The bed shakes under my laughter. “I’m not cool.”
“Yes, you are.” She pauses and I open my eyes to find her staring right at me. “Why do you like me?” She asks.
“You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met. You’re not nice because you have to be. You’re nice because you want to be. I like that. I’m surrounded by so many assholes that it’s like you’re a unicorn.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not that nice—”
“Yes, you are. That day that Keesha called me a “dyke” in Spanish, you were the only one who would meet my eyes. You erase graffiti off of tables when it says something mean. You’re always helping someone. You make me want to be a nicer person. I feel like less of a bitch when I’m with you.”
“I wouldn’t call you that.”
“I know,” I say. “That’s what I like you so much. Also, you’re impossibly beautiful. I look at you and I feel like my goddamn heart is going to explode.”
“That sounds like a song lyric.”
“Because it is a song lyric.”
“Who sings it?”
“Me.” I smile wide. “I’m writing the song right now.”
She pushes my shoulder and I fall back on the bed. “No you’re not.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, you better believe it.”
Madison leans in over me. “Prove it.”
So I sing, “Madison, you’re impossible and beautiful. Impossibly beautiful. You make my heart explode.” I take her hand and put it over my heart beating hard inside my chest.
Madison freezes. Our eyes are locked as she moves her hand down and the longer she leaves it there, the more I think I might pass out from lack of oxygen. But if I breathe I will break this moment.
Her lips have barely touched mine before I am pulling her closer to me, crushing her hand between us. She starts to pull away but then I make a sound in the back of my throat and she begins to caress me.
My hands slide into her hair and it is every bit as soft as I imagined. Madison breaks away from our kiss long enough to look at me from behind the curtain of blonde tresses. Her eyes turn dark and my gaze falls back to her lips. I can still taste her peppermint kiss on my
tongue. I pull her head down to kiss her again. My hands leave a warm trail as they slide down her back and when I lift the hem of her shirt and make contact with the skin above the waistband of her skirt she shudders.
She kisses my neck and it sets my skin on fire. Her hands roam my body. We are touching and kissing and breathing each other in as the sun starts its descent outside.
BY THE TIME I arrive at The Bean Tree the following afternoon, the octogenarian crowd has already settled in. If possible, there are twice as many people here as last month. “Ain’t no party like a geezer party,” Scott whispers. “Except maybe a funeral.”
“Shut up,” I say and elbow him in the ribs.
“Why are you so worried? They can’t hear us. If they do, it’s not like they will remember what I said.” He grins. “And if you fuck up, they’ll never know.”
I transfer my guitar case from one hand to the other. “You don’t have to be here.” Scott is allegedly here for moral support but so far he’s only given me shit.
“Oh, yes I do,” he says. He’s smiling so big I swear his face will crack. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world. You know I’ve been dying for you to try a solo gig. You’re always talking about music and evolution. This is your chance to evolve.”
“This is not a solo gig. The band needs to evolve, not me. This performance doesn’t count. I didn’t even tell my mom about it.”
“No, but I did.” He follows me to the front of the room so I can set up my stuff. “Oh. My. God,” he hisses. “That woman is wearing rhinestones AND tiger print.”
“Don’t make me kick you out.”
“I’ll keep him in line.” I turn toward the familiar voice. Madison is standing there holding two paper cups. She hands me one. “Almond milk latte, right?” Scott raises an eyebrow but says nothing.
“You remembered,” I say taking the paper cup from her. Our fingers touch for a fraction of a second but it is long enough for me to feel the electricity pass between us.
“Of course,” she says, her pupils dilating. She takes a sip from her cup and the moment vanishes.
“Have you been here long?” I ask.
“Ten minutes. I came with Mark.” She points to a blonde guy I vaguely recognize with a giant Canon slung around his neck. “I’ve been talking to some of the regulars from the Senior Center.”
“Hello,” Scott murmurs giving Mark the once over. “I wouldn’t mind posing for him.”
“Don’t waste your time,” Madison warns. “He’s shallow and perverted.”
“That’s the way I like them,” he says batting his eyes.
I give him a pointed look.
“Kidding.”
“So the yearbook, huh?” I ask. “I thought you were messing with me.”
Madison shakes her head and her ponytail whips back and forth. “I never joke about stuff like that.”
Mr. Hawaiian shirt approaches us and slaps me on my back. I nearly lose my balance. “Avery! So glad you made it.” Today his Hawaiian shirt is lime green with purple flowers. Scott looks like he’s going to lose his shit. He claps his hand over his mouth and a tiny laugh escapes. “You brought your friends. Good. Good.”
“When do you want me to start?” I ask. The seniors are getting restless. The lazy barista has yet to bring their coffee. Mark is flirting with her while checking out his reflection in the glass dessert case.
“As soon as we pass the music out.”
I take a stack of papers from my case. “I brought some new music. Hope you don’t mind.”
Mr. Hawaiian shirt reads the song title aloud. “Blown’ in the Wind?”
“I thought since it is March and all, we could have a wind theme.” Suddenly the wind idea sounds like shit.
“Works for me,” he says and turns to go pass out the sheet music. I hope that the crowd is as familiar with Bob Dylan as I am.
His departure is my cue to tune my guitar and start this shitshow. “Wish me luck,” I tell Madison and Scott.
“Break a leg,” Madison says. Scott gives me a thumbs up sign and waves his iPhone around.
“If you record this,” I hiss. “I will murder you and feed you to the gators in the lake across the street.”
“Fine,” Scott says, pouting. “You’re no rock n’ roll fun.” My heart swells at his Sleater-Kinney reference. As they walk away Scott asks Madison, “How the holy hell did you get her to agree to this? She hates old people like I hate Crocs.”
Mr. Hawaiian shirt claps his hands. The geezers are either not paying attention or they can’t hear. “Attention!” he yells but still they chatter.
I stick my fingers in my mouth and give a piercing whistle. Dad taught me this when I was seven and we would do this at Braves games between our hot dogs and Cracker Jacks. Soon all eyes are on me. I’ve never performed without Monica and Janet before. This feels like a betrayal. Without them it’s me singing naked.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to our March Alzheimer’s Cafe at the Bean Tree. We’ve got a special guest on guitar today. How about a round of applause for Avery. Avery…”
“Jennings.” I smile nervously. This is not stage fright. I don’t get stage fright.
“Avery Jennings of Oak Bluffs High.” There is a smattering of applause. They don’t look very excited to sing along with a teenage girl in a Kinks shirt and Doc Martens. “I know some of you were expecting a St. Patrick’s Day theme, but Avery here has prepared something special for us. Isn’t that nice?”
“If it’s not Irish I don’t give a shit,” the old woman in front of me yells. I recognize her from last time. It’s nice to see that Virginia is still alive and kicking.
“Now, now folks. Let’s give her a hand.”
“Hello, I’m Avery,” I say pushing the doubt down my throat and swallowing the seagulls away. I got this. “I’m filling in today. I play in a band called Detonate the Gazelle.”
“Speak up,” says an old man wearing a name tag with “Hello My Name Is Ray” printed on it.
“Hey, I’m Avery. Thanks for coming,” I yell.
“We’re deaf, not dead,” Virginia calls back. Shit. Playing for these guys is nearly as bad as playing for a frat party at USF. The only difference is the men here aren’t yelling at me to take off my shirt. I turn my attention to Scott who is typing away on his phone, no doubt Tweeting to the whole world that I’m about to embarrass myself. Janet and Monica will know soon enough that I performed without them. Janet will have more than a few choice words about playing for charity.
I shrug it off and strum my guitar to focus. This guitar is my baby. It was my first guitar and made out of cherry wood. Mom gave it to me the Christmas after Dad died. He would have loved it. “Our first song is a favorite of mine by a man you may have heard of, Bob Dylan. It’s an oldie but a goodie. Join in when you can.” I start to sing and despite all of their heckling and grumbling, the seniors join in with me.
Madison’s smile grows wider as I sing. Scott has procured a lighter and is waving it in the air. Mark isn’t watching my show. He’s trying to chat up the lazy barista who still isn’t paying attention to him.
The lazy barista, on the other hand, winks at me. From this distance it’s hard to tell if it was intentional or if she has something in her eye.
I shake the distractions from my head and follow up Dylan with Bob Seger’s “Against the Wind.” Just when I think I might have lost them, the seniors manage to hang on. They are out of tune but at least they are still singing.
By the time I end the set with Jimmy Buffett’s “Bama Breeze,” I think I have won them over. They clap and I get a few whistles. The ones without walkers give me a standing ovation. The Alzheimer’s Café is definitely just a one-time gig, but playing solo isn’t bad. I can almost see a future version of me, maybe not in Austin, but playing shows here on my own. There’s another green flyer on the wall. Maybe an Open Mic Night isn’t such a remote possibility.
“Play ‘Free Bird’,” Scott calls from the back of the cafe.
I can’t see him so I glare in the vicinity of his voice. Madison is clapping and smiling so big it nearly swallows her face. I smile back at her at the same time a camera flash goes off in front of me. It doesn’t matter that my bandmates will be pissed. It doesn’t matter that the yearbook is here documenting my geekdom. I have music. And I finally have Madison.
THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY night is an alien tsunami of shitstorms. Our show is terrible. As predicted, Janet and Monica are pissed about me playing solo for all the geezers. I might have won points with Madison, but the tension between me and Janet is at a John Lennon-Paul McCartney level. On top of that, the opening bands are late, and the audience is a sea of douche canoes. Kissing Madison is the only thing that can distract me from the downward spiral that is my night but she couldn’t make the show.
I start to post a status about how terrible our show went, and that’s when I see it.
Madison has been tagged in a photo at what looks like a beach party.
Madison has been tagged in a photo at what looks like a beach party kissing Miles.
The caption reads, “Look whoose back 2gether!” The grammar atrocity was time stamped eight minutes ago.
“WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK?”
Monica looks up from putting her bass in its case. Her hair is plastered to her head from sweat. The show might have sucked, but we still gave it our all. “What’s wrong?”
I stare at my phone in disbelief. “This is a nightmare, right?” I ask. “Somebody punch me in the face.”
“Nope.” Janet frowns. “But I’ll still punch you in the face if that’s what you want.”
“Janet,” Monica warns. “What’s wrong?”
My hands pull at my hair. The back of my neck is sticky. “My fucking girlfriend kissing her ex-boyfriend is what’s wrong.”
“Ouch,” Janet says as she breaks down her drum set. “That sucks.”
“Shit, Avery,” Monica says.
“Fucking fuckity fuck.” I grit my teeth. “Fuck.” I punch the wall with my fist and pain ripples up my arm.
Secret Heart Page 9