My situation officially sucks.
On Sunday, after no contact from either my band or my boyfriend, I drag myself over to Tags’ house for his lesson. This is saying a lot, because I don’t really want to think about anything Warriors football related. The jock in question is sitting at his drum set goofing around when I walk in.
“I was wondering if you’d show,” he announces.
I put down my bag and ask casually, “Why is that?”
“I talked to Denny yesterday.”
I never thought I would be jealous of Tags and yet, inexplicably, I am. Oh wait, that’s because he’s talked to Denny in the past 24 hours and I haven’t. Yes, I know communication is a two way street, but I didn’t really feel much in the mood to talk to anyone yesterday. After storming away from practice, I didn’t even feel like following up with Laurel about the Wade/Caitlin thing or answering the phone when Kat called. I picked up the phone to text Denny about a million times, but never could actually get up the nerve to figure out what I wanted to say to him. So basically, I went home and pouted for a whole day. Still, that doesn’t help my poor aching heart from desperately wanting to know what Tags and Denny talked about. I grumble, “What did he say?”
“He just told me, well, whatever.”
“Whatever, what, Tags? Didn’t I do what you wanted? Is Denny playing football now? Couldn’t you spare me at least knowing what ‘whatever’ is?”
I realize I have very little to do with Denny rejoining the team, but still I did speak to him on their, er, Tags’s behalf. Tags looks exasperated and he answers, “That’s not what this is about right now, Julia.”
“Then why don’t you inform me what it is about?”
“Denny’s going through a lot right now—”
I throw up my hands and walk away, not wanting to hear the rest of whatever it is that Tags is going to do to defend Denny. Why is everything suddenly all about Denny? Is being quarterback that big a deal? Don’t the people at this school have priorities? And more importantly, what are his priorities?
Maybe Denny doesn’t have time to be quint section leader, the Warriors star quarterback, and a good boyfriend all at the same time. I don’t know which one he’s going to give up, but after Friday night, and his lack of conversation yesterday, I have to think maybe the one thing he’s going to give up is me. I don’t want that fact to be true, but it could be. Denny was on the drumline long before I came into the picture, and he was a football player even before then. I’m the new kid on the block in this whole picture. I sigh heavily.
Tags looks at me and asks, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I get it, Denny is going through a lot. I should be more supportive.”
Missing my sarcasm and anger, Tags answers, “Well, you’re certainly not making it easy.”
I cross my arms and yell, “William Tartaglia, if you were given the chance to play with your band in a real club, wouldn’t you pick that over football?”
Tags doesn’t answer.
“And, as my boyfriend isn’t it Denny’s job to support me in whatever I do?!”
Tags doesn’t return my yelling. Instead, he calmly replies, “Julia, if you’re so smart, why don’t you at least ask the club owner if you can play on Friday night instead of Saturday? It’s at least got to be worth a shot.”
I snort loudly and reply, “Right, I can just see little old me turning up at the Foundry and saying, ‘Hi, I’m Julia McCoy with the unsigned high school band, Beans and Cornbread. I need to move my gig.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Oh, it’s because I’m going to be in a marching band competition and my section needs me.’ Yeah, right, Tags, that’s not how the real world works. The club owner would laugh in my face and we’d still be stuck playing on Saturday night or they would decide to pull our gig altogether. I’m sure there are plenty of bands that would love to take our place.”
Ever the optimist, Tags says, “You don’t know – maybe the club owner is a former band geek or something.”
“Sure, and Liberty and I are best friends”
“Julia, you could at least try my suggestions. What’s the worst they can say? No? Who cares? Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
Done with the personal part today’s lesson, I say, “Let’s just play.”
Tags’s suggestion follows me home. It haunts me as I do my homework, eat dinner, and check in on Wade and Caitlin. I go so far as to look up the number of the Foundry and debate my options. I don’t think the guys would really care one way or another if we play Friday or Saturday and The Academy Is… is playing both nights, so what do I really have to lose?
Everything.
The next morning, I wait patiently for Denny to pick me up to begin another wonderful week at Westlake. I wait and wait and wait some more. Odd. It isn’t like him to be late. Although we had a fight (?), I didn’t really think whatever happened on Friday night was enough that he would miss picking me up. Trying his cell, I don’t have any luck. Finally, annoyed and exasperated at why he didn’t bother to call me the night before he was going to a) ignore me this morning so that b) I could’ve found my own way to school, I call over to his house and his mom answers. Apparently, Denny is sick and not able to come to the phone…he’ll be out of school (and practice – both kinds) later today. While I’m relieved he is not ignoring me, I am seriously late for school. With the big yellow school bus long gone, and my parents both already left for their respective jobs, I’m unsure how to proceed.
I look out into the driveway, waiting for inspiration.
It’s right there in front of me. In the form of a 2009 black Toyota Matrix.
My parents carpooled this morning. Maybe everything happens for a reason.
Although walking to school would be easy, in a split second decision, I decide, what the hell? Desperate times call for desperate measures, and a mental health day never hurt anyone. Whether or not Mom will agree with my taking the car and putting my new Georgia license to visit The Foundry to potentially save my personal life is another story altogether. Set in my decision, I glance at the clock and realize the manager is probably not going to be in until at least 11, so I head back to bed for a few extra hours of much needed sleep.
Waking up for the second time, I wander downstairs and see the message button is blinking. Hitting the play button, I hear the nasally voice of the school secretary inquiring about my whereabouts. I immediately delete the message. Checking my cell, I see there are a few new messages of people looking for me. Texting Laurel back, I figure she’ll get the word out to the appropriate people. Also, after much nail biting, I send a “Get well – call me if you want to talk” text to Denny.
Free and clear, I notice it’s a few minutes past 11. If I’m going to go ahead with Tags’s idea, this is the best chance I’m going to get. With my heart pounding furiously, I call the number to the Foundry. It rings and rings and just as I’m about to give up, someone finally picks up. With as much confidence as I can muster, I ask politely, “Can I please speak to whoever is in charge of bookings?”
Whoever is on the other end grunts and yells, “Lucy!!!!” like it’s straight out of the sitcom. Okay, well, at least it’s a girl – that’s a good start. Hopefully, this Lucy character understands.
“This is Lucy Karate,” a surprisingly direct voice answers.
“Umm…like…” I begin, like the professional I am.
“Can I help you?” She seems agitated with my Valley girl speak.
Taking a deep breath, I ask, “Are you going to be around later this afternoon?”
“Until 3 or so. Can I ask what this is in regard to?”
“Oh, um, I’m in a band that’s scheduled to play later this month, and I was hoping for a few minutes of your time.”
Whoever Lucy person is, she seems to hesitate for a moment before responding. I rush ahead with something I hope is an explanation, “Because I’m going to be in the neighborhood and just wanted to scope out the club. Y’know, before we play.”
I cross m
y fingers my statement sounds like some glimpse of professional musician.
Fortunately, Lucy believes me and says, “Come by around 1, Miss Truancy, and I’ll see if I can’t find something for us to eat. We’ll call it a working lunch.”
“Sweet, I mean, thank you!”
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: A Productive Junior Skip Day
Hanging up, I try get out some of my nervous energy in the morning by wailing on my practice pad. After taking a shower, trying to find an appropriate outfit, and gathering all the confidence I have, I head to the Foundry. It’s in town, near Decatur, which, of course, I have no familiarity with, but after a few wrong turns, manage to find, park and get myself together. At precisely 1PM, I enter the club. It’s a little smaller than I expected, but the vibe is very cool. It’s all dramatic colors and interesting art and lighting…and hey, it used to be an actual working foundry. I am a bit timid as I walk through the empty club. Was this the right idea? Do I really have any business coming down here before talking it over with the rest of the guys? What if Lucy decides to cancel our gig?
“Hello?” I call out nervously.
A bobbed brunette, who looks barely old enough to legally consume alcohol, let alone run a club, pops out from behind the bar and says, “Hey! Are you the high school kid?”
“Yup, that’s me.” I rub sweaty palms on my jeans, before extending my hand, “My name is Julia McCoy – I’m with Beans and Cornbread.”
She grins at the band’s name, like most people do, and shakes my hand, “Lucy Karate, nice to meet you. Hmm…Beans and Cornbread? I listened to your demo a few days ago – I really like your sound. I’m looking forward to hearing you play.”
Totally not what I was expecting. I manage to stammer, “Th-thanks.”
“Hope you don’t mind Chick-Fil-a for lunch. I was totally craving some today. Follow me.”
“No problem at all.” Ever since moving to the South, I couldn’t get enough of the delicious chicken.
“My office,” she pronounces, as if it is some giant corner suite on Peachtree. We step inside the super tiny office, which barely has enough room to hold two people, let alone conduct a serious meeting, but hey, who am I to complain? As soon as we’re about to talk, the phone rings, and Lucy rolls her eyes, “Probably my ice vendor, I’ve got to take this, go ahead and dig in.”
Not needing any encouragement, I open the familiar red and white bag, and look around the office. There are numerous photos and old band posters taped up everywhere. There are a few semi-famous bands, bumper stickers, and the whole place is lit by twinkle lights. It’s tres cool. Lucy is multi-tasking by eating waffle fries and jotting down notes while talking to her vendor. I’m almost finished with my chicken nuggets before she hangs up the phone.
She flashes me a quick grin and says, “So, let’s talk about why you really came by.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh come on, I’ve been doing this long enough to know that high school students do not just ‘drop by’ in the middle of a school day without some good reason.”
As transparent as I am, I would love to tell her the whole convoluted story, but I answer, “Since you asked, I wanted to know who is opening on the Friday night?”
“Let me check.” She types a few buttons on her laptop and a calendar pops up. After looking for a moment at the screen, she says, “Well, The Academy Is… and Eight Cadet.”
Wiping my hands, I pick at my napkin and ask skeptically, “Any chance the Cadets might want to swap places with us?”
As soon as I say it, I get a crazy idea that maybe I should’ve just done a little research, found Eight Cadet myself, and asked them to switch. Lucy takes a big gulp of her sweet tea and asks, “Why?”
Taking a deep breath, I put all my cards on the table, “I’m in high school marching band and a rock band. If I do the gig on Saturday with Beans and Cornbread, there’s no way I’ll be able to make it to a major competition and I will let a lot of people down. I know it’s asking a lot, but can my band please play on Friday night?”
I wait, breathless, expecting Lucy to laugh in my face and tell me to leave the club, never to return, when she asks, “What instrument do you play?”
“What?” I didn’t even realize I had closed my eyes, like I was expecting some sort of backhand or something. I slowly open them.
“What do you play?”
Toughening up like any self-respecting drumline girl would do, I answer proudly, “Quints.”
“Why didn’t you say so? Let’s see what we can do.”
I blink my eyes a few times in quick succession, then clarify, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
If this is Lucy’s idea of a sick joke, well, there ought to be laws against that. You can’t play with people’s emotions…especially when they are in a fragile emotional state like yours truly.
With a small grin, she says slowly, “You heard me.”
“So, you’re not kicking me out? You’re not going to look for another band to replace us entirely?”
“Why would I do that? It’s not like you’ve come in here demanding only green M&Ms or something.”
“Personally, I prefer sour patch kids,” I say sarcastically.
Dipping a fry in honey mustard, she smiles and says, “Fortunately for you, I know the guy who reps the Cadets and he happens to be one of my oldest friends. I’m pretty sure it won’t be a problem. Not to mention, hello? I used to be a drumline girl myself.”
With this shocking revelation, she pulls out her cell phone and presses a button. After a few rings, her friend picks up and she says, “Hey, Fred?”
My eyes must be about to pop out of my head, but the wheels in my head begin to turn. I can totally picture Lucy as a drumline gal. I wonder which instrument she played.
“Yeah, anyway, I’m looking forward to seeing you soon, too. How’s Becca?”
Lucy giggles as if she’s involved in some inside joke.
“So, the real reason I’m calling is pretty simple. Can you switch up the Cadets for Saturday night instead of Friday?”
“Thanks Fred – you’re the best!” She looks back at me as she closes her phone, “And done.”
As much I want to throw myself at her feet and grovel, I resist the urge. Instead I stutter, “I know it sounds silly, but you’re a life saver! Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Just play an awesome show both days. I wouldn’t want you switching for no reason, now would I?”
“Oh, we’ll win on Saturday. Don’t worry about that.” Finishing my sweet tea, I say, “Thanks again, for everything!”
One problem down, I have a new, far easier one to solve. Now that I am free to compete on Saturday, I have to keep my fingers crossed Mr. Mickelson and Wade will accept my upcoming ‘sick’ excuse for Friday night.
Stopping at school on my way home from a very random afternoon, I make it to Westlake in time for sectionals. Grabbing Quincy out of the almost empty percussion room, I see Denny’s quints are still tucked away safely in their cubby. I grab my stands and head out to our traditional practice courtyard. Wade prefers we spread out so he can walk around and check in on each section.
“McCoy, a moment,” my Instructor motions me over away from Stan and Max. Right away, the tempo of my heartbeat increases dramatically. Arms crossed and forearms bulging, he demands, “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
Wade’s question scares the crap out of me. How did he find out I was thinking about skipping the upcoming competition? Who told him? Is my career as a quint player at Westlake over already? My heart is so pounding fast and so loud I’m pretty sure Wade can hear it. I have experienced entirely too many emotions in the past couple of hours to actually form a response.
Wade must be used to intimidating people out of speaking, so he continues, “People have pulled a lot of pranks on me, McCoy, but I didn’t think you had it in you.”
He thinks me skipping a competition would be a prank? I open my m
outh to say something, but he keeps speaking, “Still, while I should be, and for the record, totally am mad, I can’t help but saying…thank you.”
Is Wade okay? Did I just hear him correctly?
“Caitlin is…well, she’s wonderful and we had the best weekend together.”
He’s talking about me and Laurel setting him up? My heartbeat begins to slow down to something approaching a normal tempo. He doesn’t know about my potential ditching of the Line.
“I’m really glad to hear that, Wade. I mean, we thought—”
“Wait, we?” Wade’s eyebrows are immediately raised, and he asks, “Who is ‘we’?”
His eyes glance over to Stan and Max, and I can see in his head that it’s some sort of drumline conspiracy against him. I put Quincy awkwardly on the ground and say, “No one except me and Laurel know about this.”
I leave out Denny, because I’m pretty sure, Wade doesn’t really want to know. My Instructor’s shoulders slump in obvious relief. Knowing my instructor has little to no female friends, and is probably busting to tell someone about his weekend, I ask hesitantly, “So, are you going to see her again?”
“Yes.” He looks away, unable to meet my gaze and wonders aloud, “I’m going to see her for a date after she finishes work on Wednesday. Do you think that’s too much too soon?”
Knowing that my own relationship is a bit dysfunctional at the moment, I am not sure I am the person who should be doling out and advice, but I ask, “Do you want to see her?”
“Yes.”
“Then there’s your answer.” Knowing I might need Wade to be Team Julia in the near future, I add, “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do…”
Reattaching Quincy to my carrier, we walk back to Max and Stan, when Wade asks, “Where’s Denny today?”
“I really don’t know.”
At the end of sectionals, I’m torn between wanting to drive over immediately to Denny’s, updating Laurel about the current Wade situation, and filling my band in on the whole ‘switching nights without asking them’ plan.
Confessions of a Teenage Band Geek Page 14