Secret Heart

by Dreger,Danielle

  I sigh. “I don’t know.”

  “I do. Trust me, Avery.” She is staring at me hard and once again I’m drowning in her ocean-colored gaze.

  “I need to go,” I say blinking rapidly. I look everywhere but at her.

  “Let me prove it to you that I’m serious about us, this. I don’t want to lose you over something stupid that Miles did. I’ll come to the show Saturday. We’ll be in public. Together.”

  “Being at the same place at the same time is not the same as being together.”

  “But we’ll be together. After the show. I want to be with you,” Madison says. “Please.”

  I hesitate for a second. “I don’t want to talk about this now. You’ve got my heart on a yo-yo and it fucking hurts. I don’t like being played.” I step forward and pluck the greenery from her hair. It flutters to the ground.

  “I’m not playing you,” she says. She cups my cheek like she is holding a butterfly in her palm. For a second I close my eyes and lean into it before breaking away. When I open my eyes I see the disappointment flutter across her face. “We’ll talk tonight. I’m going to prove to you that I’m serious about us.”

  I get into my Civic and slowly back out of her driveway. My left foot hovers over the gas pedal. My head tells me to leave her in a cloud of exhaust, but my heart holds me back. When I turn back I expect to find her gone, but she is still in her driveway, watching me. Our eyes briefly meet as she waves goodbye.

  BY THURSDAY’S LION Pride meeting everything feels like it is back to normal, or at least as normal as possible when you have a secret girlfriend. I spend lunches sitting with Scott and Maura and Madison, where the discussions revolve around Spring Break plans and celebrity hookups and Scott’s love life and I exchange lustful looks with Madison. The Lion Pride meeting crackles with the same energy. There’s only one more day left before Spring Break starts and everyone’s happiness is contagious.

  “Jesus Christ, girl, you’re giving me a heart attack,” Scott says as Jessica pulls four loaded grillers out of a Taco Bell bag. The drama room smells like nacho cheese and seasoned ground beef.

  “You want one?” She waves one at Scott. “They’re still hot.”

  Scott gags. “I think I just became a vegetarian.” Everyone except Scott laughs. “Can someone please crack open a window and prop the door? This Taco Hell stench will be the death of me.”

  Darren fans his face. He is wearing his Lion Pride shirt. “Can we start this bitch already? I’m getting the meat sweats over here.”

  “Okay, okay,” Scott says. “I call this meeting to order. Any old business?”

  “What’s going on with our Purple Prom thing?” A sophomore named Kristin asks.

  “Yeah,” Alex agrees. This is the first time I’ve ever heard him speak at a meeting. Like Darren he’s also wearing a Lion Pride shirt. “It’s nearly April. According to my prom countdown calendar, we only have fifty-eight days left.”

  “What did Prom Committee say?” I turn to Madison beside me. We are sitting close enough that I can see the freckle below her ear. The smell of her shampoo lingers in the air between us.

  Her eyes flit around the room. “I, um, haven’t really asked them yet,” she says.

  “WHAT?” Scott screeches.

  “There have been like a million Prom Committee meetings in the last month,” Alex says.

  “That’s a slight exaggeration,” she says. “We’ve actually only had one meeting. The others were canceled.”

  Kristin folds her arms in front of her chest. “No offense, but it feels like maybe our Purple Prom is not a priority.”

  “But it is!” Madison defends. “It’s on the agenda at the next meeting.”

  “Which is when exactly?” Scott asks.

  “After we get back from Spring Break,” she says. Her leg bounces up and down under the table.

  “Give her a break,” Jessica says as she crumples her last Taco Bell wrapper. “If she said she’s gonna talk to them, she’s gonna talk to them.” Jessica tosses each one into a nearby trashcan. When the last one lands, everyone claps.

  I slide my hand to Madison’s thigh. It stops jiggling, but she keeps her eyes trained on Jessica. “I will talk to them,” Madison promises. “It will be my first agenda item.” Her hand covers mine and she gives it a squeeze. I squeeze back.

  Scott sighs. “Now that we’ve got that settled. Let’s focus on something more tangible like the yearbook club photos.” He turns to Madison. “That’s still a go, right? Or have you not asked about that either?”

  “Scott,” I warn.

  “What?” He says innocently. “I’m just asking.”

  “Stop being an asshole,” I tell him. Madison intertwines her fingers with mine.

  “Oh, burn,” Darren says under his breath. “It just got real in here.” I glare at Darren and he pretends to zip his lips shut.

  “Scott isn’t being a jerk,” Madison says. I can feel the pulse in her wrist throb.

  “See, I’m not being a jerk,” he repeats. He folds his arms over his chest. “WTF?” He mouths.

  “Nothing,” I mouth back.

  Madison glances at her phone with her free hand. “I’ve confirmed it. Mark will be here at the start of the next meeting to take photos of us in our matching shirts.”

  Scott uncrosses his arms and his face visibly relaxes. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

  After the meeting Madison and I give Scott a ride home. Madison calls shotgun before he can and he raises an eyebrow. “It feels like there is some Freaky Friday shit going on here.”

  “Hold your panties, Lindsey Lohan,” I say as we pull out of the parking lot. “We’re cramming for the Spanish midterm tomorrow.”

  “Right.”

  Madison turns around in her seat to face him. “Seriously. Señora Catalana’s being a total Francisco Franco about it. Like any of us can actually concentrate on a midterm when Spring Break is hours away.”

  “Who?” Scott asks.

  “The famous Spanish Dictator from like the 1930’s,” Madison adds. I love that she knows this.

  I catch Scott’s eye in the rearview mirror. He still looks skeptical. “Do you want me to fail so that I can do senior year all over with you?”

  He leans back against his seat. “Well, when you put it like that,” he says. “You’re not failing on purpose to get out of Austin?”

  Madison turns back to me. “Austin is still on the table?”

  “For Spring Break, no. Spending a week trapped in a minivan with Janet acting like a royal bitch is not my idea of a vacation. But next year? I don’t know.” Summer school for Spanish would kill our summer tour. “I don’t want to think about it right now.”

  “Oh.” The worry is gone from her voice as she says, “Keep me posted.”

  “Avery is the Queen of Denial,” Scott says. He is thoughtful for a moment. “Aren’t musicians supposed to have an ear for languages? It’s like the same part of the brain or something, right?”

  “I don’t know.” I stop at a red light. “Maybe I’m the exception.”

  “Girl, you’re always the exception,” he says. Madison’s lips curl upward. She takes a Burt’s Bees tube out of her pocket and applies it. I lean over to kiss her and catch myself before I blow our cover.

  The car behind us honks now that I have a green arrow. I wave in apology. I only have to wait a few more minutes before I can kiss the honey lip balm off of her mouth.

  “WHO ARE YOU making eyes at?” Monica asks before our all-ages show Saturday night.

  “What? No one,” I say, distracted. Madison stands in the back, far enough away that when we make eye contact it’s hard to tell if she is really looking at me or just in my vicinity.

  “You’ve been eye-fucking someone through all of the opening bands,” Janet adds. “It’s either that California girl in the black polo dress or the brunette with faux hawk and tattoo sleeve. My money is on the faux hawk.”

  “No way,” Monica says. �
�The preppy girl. For sure. Check out her legs.”

  “You guys,” I say. “I’m right here.”

  “I don’t know,” Janet says. “I’ve never known Avery to go all J. Crew on us before. What’s next? Sweater vests and loafers? No wonder she’s bailing on Austin next week. It’s too edgy for her.”

  My eyes shoot lasers at Janet but she doesn’t notice.

  “Argyle socks,” Monica snorts.

  “No, khakis,” Janet adds. Monica laughs so hard tears stream down her face.

  “Like you’re one to talk” I tell Monica. “You’re dressed like punk rock Pippi Longstocking.” She is wearing hot pink and black socks over black tights and a pink jersey nightgown. Her short hair is in two tiny pigtails.

  “That was what I was going for,” she says gasping for breath.

  “Halloween called,” I say. “They told me to tell you that it’s March. Time to go burn your costume.”

  “Fuck you,” she says, grinning. We get on stage and I let the familiar rush come over me. Nothing beats this. After that shiteous show last week we decided to change things up and start with Icona Pop’s “I Love It,” and Tacocat’s “Crimson Wave” before launching into “I’m So Excited.” We seamlessly shift into our originals including “Girlfriend” and I’m dying to see Madison’s reaction, but the lights in the back are so dim I can’t see anything beyond the glow of the stage lights. It is hot as hell up here. Rivers of sweat are rolling down my back and pooling in my sports bra. I’m sure my face is as flushed as Monica’s right now, but I embrace it. We are literally rocking everyone’s faces off right now.

  I wish Scott was here right now. Even though he’d lose his shit because I’ve been lying to him, part of me wants him to see how happy Madison makes me. I want to show him that a straight girl is capable of falling for someone like me and that I’m not wasting my time. We fly through “Stadium Love” and “My Number” and “I Just Wanna Know Your Name.”

  I take the mic and address our audience. “We’re gonna mix things up and end with a ballad tonight.” Someone in the front groans. “I know, I know,” I say. “Give it a chance.” It took a lot of begging to Janet, who still hasn’t forgiven me for playing at the Alzheimer’s Café, but she and Monica finally agreed to cover the old Ani DiFranco ballad “You Had Time” on a trial basis to see how the crowd reacts to something softer. If everyone hates it, I will never be allowed to talk about our sound evolving again. If this doesn’t work, then the end of DTG may be closer than what I’m ready for.

  The stage lights dim and I can see the crowd again. I change out my vintage Les Paul for my Seagull S6, the cherry acoustic I always use for shows, and plug it into the amp. Monica gets behind her keyboard and begins playing. Madison has worked her way to the front of the crowd. We lock eyes as her lips turn upward into a slow, sexy smile. I am counting down the minutes until her tongue tangles with mine. Having her six feet away and untouchable is the slowest form of torture I can endure. But it’s also super hot.

  Monica has a keyboard solo for the first two minutes of the song before I join in with my guitar. I close my eyes and let my desire for Madison pour out of me and into the crowd.

  I open my eyes as the last notes fade out. Madison’s eyes are shining. For a moment there is a stunned silence before the crowd erupts in applause and whistles. I raise an eyebrow at Janet. “Evolution, baby,” I yell over the noise.

  Monica gives me a fist bump. “Yeah, we killed it,” she says. We take a bow before we walk off stage. The crowd continues to cheer and catcall until we come back for an encore.

  I grab the mic. The blood in my veins is running hot with adrenaline and need. “This goes out to a girl. Not just any girl, but my girl who is in the crowd tonight,” I say grinning at Madison. She pretends to scan the crowd for the girl but her hands form the shape of heart over her chest as I launch into Tegan and Sara’s “Closer,” the song that started all of this.

  After the encore is over and we’ve packed up everything I tell my bandmates, “I’ll be right back.” I head to the floor and look for Madison. She’s not milling around with the crowd or nursing a Diet Coke at the bar. She must be outside where it is a thousand degrees cooler.

  My shirt is damp from sweat and it feels glorious to be outside. Madison is leaning against what I’m guessing is her mom’s BMW. The streetlight overhead illuminates her turning her into an angel. “Hey,” I say. The gravel parking lot crunches under my boots.

  “Hey,” she says stepping forward to hug me hello. Her lips meet mine for a brief, hot kiss. She pulls away and leaves a burn mark where her mouth just was.

  “What’d you think?”

  “You were really good. I mean, not that you don’t always sound good, but tonight was like amazing. You’re amazing.”

  “Yeah?” I can’t help but smile.

  Her lips tug upward and I move to kiss her again. Her response flutters against my mouth.

  We break apart when the club door opens, spilling out a trio of drunk girls murdering the lyrics to “Girlfriend.” I tilt my head at the white BMW. “Nice car.”

  “It’s my mom’s,” Madison says and twirls a strand of her hair around her finger. “She’s out of town.” She pauses and then adds, raising an eyebrow. “And so is my dad.”

  “Is that so?” My body is humming with the need to touch her.

  Madison gives me a mischievous look. “You want to come over?”

  “Now?”

  She nods and I can see need flicker in her eyes. “As soon as you can.”

  “I didn’t drive here,” I explain. “I came with the band. Also, Scott borrowed my car for his date.”

  “I’ll give you a ride.” She doesn’t catch the innuendo, but my body does.

  The red Jetta next to us beeps as a guy walks over and unlocks it with his key fob. He looks us over and I wonder if he puts two and two together—that I’m with the girl from the song. I hope he does. “Give me a minute to go say goodbye to the band, okay?”

  “Okay,” she says.

  “Be right back.” I fight the crowd exiting the bar. Janet and Monica aren’t backstage. I find them loading the last of our stuff into the van.

  I nestle my guitar cases between the seats.

  “You ready to roll?” Monica asks.

  “About that,” I say.

  “What now?” Janet closes the back hatch.

  “I’m getting another ride home. I wouldn’t back out if it wasn’t a legit girl emergency.”

  Monica raises her eyebrows. “California Girl or Mohawk.

  I answer with a grin that practically slides off of my face and into the parking lot.

  “What about your shit?” Janet asks. She looks at Monica. “Mohawk.”

  Monica purses her lips. “No. California girl.” She takes a step forward and sniffs. “Avery smells like orange juice.”

  “I’ll get it at practice next week.” I shift from boot to boot anxious to get back to Madison.

  “There is no practice next week, remember? It’s the road trip to look for apartments. You can still come. We’re not leaving until Sunday.” Monica glances pointedly at Janet. “I’m sure Janet will be on her best behavior. Right?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Janet mumbles not meeting my eyes.

  I shove my hands into the pockets of my leather pants. “I still haven’t changed my mind. I need a break to figure some things out.”

  “You can figure things out on the road. I’ve already made four playlists. I’m doing one for each state we drive through. Spoiler alert: There’s a lot of Alabama Shakes on the Alabama album. Besides, you should have some say in where we live next year.” Monica is radiating excitement and it kills me a little to shoot her down like this.

  “I can’t,” I say backing away. “I just can’t.”

  And just like that Monica looks like I drowned her hamster and told her Carrie Brownstein will never play music again. “It won’t be the same without you.”

  “Yeah, there’ll be
less drama” Janet mutters. Monica punches her in the arm and I think about how satisfying it would be to hit Janet. But it won’t be as satisfying as making out with Madison. “You owe us, Jennings. You’re gonna wind up with the smallest bedroom if you’re not there to claim a better one,” she smirks. I leave before lose my cool and take a swing at her. Madison is waiting in the car with the engine running when I return. I open the door and Feist’s voice pours out. My mood lifts when I slide in and “Secret Heart” is on the stereo. My leather pants stick to the leather car seat. “I didn’t know you liked Feist,” I say.

  She shrugs. “You listed her as one of your favorites on Facebook and I thought I should give it try.” There is a pause. “I downloaded most of the bands you listed.”

  “What’s the verdict?” I ask.

  “Feist is the only one I really like and I can’t stop playing this song. I can totally see now how a song might change your life,” she says and puts the car in reverse.

  “This is actually a cover of a Ron Sexsmith song. You might like him, too.”

  “Some of that other music was really weird.”

  “Like who?”

  “Tacocat and Childbirth. Those songs were a little too intense for me. The weirdest was that Tiger band.”

  “Le Tigre? They’re my new favorite. There was this crazy documentary about the lead singer a few years ago. You should totally watch it.” I nudge her shoulder with mine. “You never drive,” I say. “I didn’t think you knew how.”

  “Of course I know how. I just don’t have a car,” she says as she turns down the one-way street that will take us to the interstate. The song changes to the next one on the CD but Madison hits the repeat button so that “Secret Heart” starts over.

  Judging by her mom’s car and their house on the Intracoastal Waterway I could on swear on my dad’s grave that her parents could afford to buy her a car. “Why not?”

  “I wrecked my car last year,” she explains. “And now my parents won’t buy me a new one until graduation.”

  “You could buy your own.”

  She half-laughs. “You’ve seen my schedule and how many clubs I’m in. I don’t have time to get a job.” Then she grows serious. “I just have to keep my grades up and get my soccer scholarship.”