The Way It Hurts

  “No, Anna. Look at me.” I poured the water over my hand and tried to catch the stream. Then I poured water from my cup into hers, watching her bright eyes follow every drop. I swallowed hard. It was tough watching her try to process simple physics like this. It was like part of her wanted to learn, was desperate to know what was happening in the world around her, but another part of her jealously guarded the first part, growling and barking at everything that tried to get by. The two sides of her mind were at war. I always thought that was why she sometimes exploded.

  I wasn’t a doctor though. I only knew what she liked. And the frown between her eyebrows said she was tired of cups of water. I took one of the cups, flipped it upside down, and put it against my leg. I started tapping out a beat on the bottom of the cup, amplified by my wet jeans. Anna watched the movement. This was something she could do—something she liked to do. I waited until she copied me with the other cup.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Ever since my first guitar lesson when I was about seven years old, I’d been hearing how special I was, how much talent I had. I think it must be in our genes because I sure as hell wasn’t the only musician in the family. Anna not only had impeccable timing, she had an ear for the musical scale. She couldn’t always manage the words, but she could hit the notes. She tapped out a strong, steady rhythm, I added in the downbeat, and then I started to sing Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl.” Anna watched my lips, smiling when I got to her favorite part. I hoped she’d sing with me. It was a good song for her because it was in her range. So I sang it to her every day.

  It was our thing.

  “La la la.”

  I grinned. There it was. Perfect pitch, baby. “High five, Anna.” I held up a palm, and she hit it with a happy shriek.

  The bathroom door opened. “Elijah! What have I told you about bathing with your sister? People think it’s weird.”

  “Mom, she’s dressed. I’m dressed. What’s the big deal?” I rolled my eyes. “People won’t know if we don’t tell them. Besides, it calms her.” I subtly pulled the tub’s plug so Anna wouldn’t notice and stood up.

  “Oh, Eli, those jeans are going to take forever to dry.” Mom took a towel off the rack and handed it to me. Anna noticed the water draining and started her protest.

  I ran the towel over my body and kept singing our song. Anna stopped her complaints and obediently stood up when I held out my arms to her. I wrapped her in a towel and dried her fast. She liked when I did that.

  “Okay, okay, out you go. Say bye to Eli, Anna. Time to put clothes on.”

  “Bye.”

  I laughed, grabbed my stuff, and headed to my room, anxious to peel off the wet denim, grab some dinner, and then get my guitar. Nick and Sam were counting on me to come up with a new arrangement for our next post, and so far, I had nothing.

  “Yes…uh-huh…that’s right. She’s thirteen.”

  Dad was on the phone.

  “No. No, there hasn’t been any improvement, and that’s one of the reasons I called you. Definitely… A big problem.”

  The door to my parents’ room was open. I hovered in the hall, listening to him talk to some faceless person on the phone about my sister…about his daughter…as a problem. Who the hell was it? One of Anna’s doctors?

  “Oh. Yes. That would be good… From a list of referrals. Yes, that’s right… Well, we’re looking at several facilities, but yours was the most highly recommended. Great… Let’s set that up as soon as possible… I honestly don’t think we can take care of her much longer.”

  A shiver ran up my back, and even though I’d made a puddle on the thick carpet in the hallway, I stayed rooted exactly where I was, Dad’s words repeating in my head.

  Facilities.

  A big problem.

  Take care of her.

  The bathroom doorknob twisted, startling me out of my daze. I bolted to my room and locked the door, shivering in my wet clothes while Anna sang “La, la, la” in her room across the hall.

  “Goddamn it, Eli! You’ve left a puddle out here!” Mom pounded on my door.

  I opened my mouth but couldn’t squeeze any words out. I just slid to the floor on my side of the door, pressing the soaking wet towel to my mouth to hide the sobs.

  2

  Kristen

  @kristencartwright

  Ugh. Stupid email. Why won’t it come?

  I clicked through the website that showed smiling faces of successful students, and my mouth watered… It literally watered. This summer, I’d be spending four weeks, four incredible weeks in New York City, studying drama, voice, dance—oooh, maybe even production. I’d be living on campus, studying with the greats, seeing Broadway performances, and going to museums.

  I checked my email again—still nothing.

  When were they going to let me know?

  Sighing heavily, I checked the calendar again. All it said was sometime this week. I crossed my arms and blew hair out of my eyes. Didn’t they know how important this was? Didn’t they understand entire lives were getting planned around this decision?

  Oh, God!

  I sounded just like Etta. And then I rolled my eyes because Etta would raise one eyebrow and demand to know just what was so wrong about a girl sounding like her favorite grandmother?

  Groaning, I shut down the computer. I couldn’t keep watching the inbox for news. I had a show to prepare for. I decided to change clothes, grabbing some yoga pants and a top from the pile of clean laundry on my dresser. Yeah, I had to put all that stuff away before Dad had a cow.

  Later.

  Headphones. Check.

  Towel. Check.

  Water. Check.

  Mirror. Check.

  I jogged downstairs to the basement, carefully holding the full-length mirror that usually hung on the inside of my closet door. I set it up horizontally, leaning it against the washer and dryer, then took a few steps back to gauge the visibility.

  Yeah, it worked.

  I tied my hair up, plugged in earbuds, and let the soundtrack from Cats fill me up. Tonight was opening night. I let the tingles wash over me for a moment. God, I loved that feeling! I was Victoria—the White Cat. Well, kitten, really. Victoria was young and immature, which I was using as my motivation.

  I performed Victoria’s solo once, twice, a third time—each time, making sure I nailed every mark and every emotion. Etta always says the mark of a gifted performer isn’t what she shows, but what she makes you feel. I wanted the audience to feel the show. I wanted them crying.

  Ninety minutes later, I was dripping sweat and so hungry, my belly sounded louder than my singing voice. I couldn’t really eat though. Not yet. I chugged some more water and headed back upstairs, carefully rehanging the mirror on its hooks.

  Don’t break. Please don’t break. Not tonight.

  Okay. Phew! I grabbed fresh clothes and headed for the shower. Then I stopped. I turned back and studied my laptop. There was an email in there. I could just feel it. Tingles. Okay. Breathe. You’re in. Of course you’re in. I booted up, waited, and opened the inbox.

  There it was.

  The Tisch summer program.

  More tingles. I opened the message, wondering when I’d get to meet my new roommate and—

  Oh my God.

  I read the message again.

  The tingles faded to nausea.

  Dear Kristen, We regret to inform you that…

  Oh my God. Oh my God! I…I’d been rejected.

  I fell onto my bed, both hands pressed to my mouth to muffle the sobs. I didn’t get in. Not special enough, the message said. Not special enough.

  Tears dripped through my fingers onto the pillow. I sobbed for minutes—hours? I didn’t keep track—while those words drilled all the way into my heart. Not special enough? Seriously? I sing, dance, and act—a triple threat according to Ett
a.

  Footsteps coming up the stairs had me cringing. Oh, please don’t be Mom. Don’t be Mom. The feet stopped at my door, and I grabbed tissues, quickly blotting and blowing and wiping away all traces of tears.

  “Kristen?”

  I swallowed and pitched my voice to its usual speaking cadence. “Not dressed!”

  “Oh. Well, hurry up! You don’t have much time before the curtain goes up.” The footsteps faded away back down the stairs, and I sagged in relief. How was I going to tell them? Mom, Dad. Etta. My brothers? Tisch’s summer program was supposed to be the shining spot on my applications to Julliard, Berklee, Peabody, and the Boston Conservatory, and without it—

  “Kristen! Hurry up!”

  I wanted to crawl into my bed and pull the covers over my face. I wanted to turn back time and repeat my application. But I had a show to do tonight. Even though I was not special enough, that show had to go on. I scrubbed both hands over my face, pulled myself to the bathroom, splashed water over my face, and changed my clothes. By the time I got downstairs, I’d found my motivation…I just wouldn’t tell them. There had to be some other way to impress the college admissions people.

  I had to find it.

  I had to.

  3

  Elijah

  Ride_Out: Hey, @Ride_On747, thanks, man! Glad you liked it.

  The darkness hummed, and the audience held its breath. A circle of light found the figure on the stage, and beside me, Nick leaned forward, lips parted, eyes forward.

  I shifted my gaze and tried to see what was so friggin’ special about Leah Russo and shrugged in the dark. Okay, yeah, she was hot under the rags of her theater costume, but so were a dozen other girls on the stage tonight. Hotter still were the girls who came to hear our band play. As far as I was concerned, no girl was worth the time away from our music—except Anna. But, like I said…this was for Nick, so it didn’t matter what I thought. We were here, wasting a Friday night numbing our asses on crappy auditorium seats for him. Hope he at least gets laid after this.

  I shifted in my broken seat, wondering how many more minutes of the hell that was Bear River High School North’s production of Cats I’d have to endure. My fingers itched for my guitar and notepad. Melodies played in my head, begging to be put down on paper, and there were a dozen other things we should have been doing to promote Ride Out so we could get the band some notice.

  I gulped back panic when I thought of us…the future. I hadn’t told the guys yet about my dad’s plans to put Anna in a home. I hadn’t even told them about the festival or my plan for our band to go mainstream so we could guarantee ourselves a spot on the ticket.

  The music rose. Beside me, Nick sucked in a breath. I didn’t know Leah. Nick met her at a concert a few months back, and they’d been hanging out whenever they could because, Nick claimed, Leah was the One.

  I hid half a laugh and shook my head. I didn’t get the whole concept of the One, but I’d help Nick get what he wanted.

  Leah raised her face. When she opened her mouth, I sat up a little straighter. Her voice… Jesus, it was astounding. Clear. Strong. Powerful but sweet. I watched and listened, the audience around me fading away. Her voice swelled, and she attacked the high notes without hesitating, making goose bumps jump out of my skin. What was the top note of her range? She glided across the stage; she never struggled or stumbled. The audience waited for the crescendo, and when she reached it, holy God, it was like a…a promise kept. She blew me away. The notes faded out, and the rest of the production was a blur. I had no idea Leah could sing like that and couldn’t take my eyes off—

  My best friend’s girl. Shit.

  I glanced at Nick sitting next to me, but he didn’t look pissed off. He looked…confused.

  “Dude!” Sam reached over me and punched Nick’s arm. “Why the hell didn’t you tell us your girl could sing like that?”

  Nick just stared at Leah and shook his head. “I…I didn’t know.”

  The lights came up, and everybody got to their feet, applauding like mad. Nick held up this lame poster board sign he’d made. I used that time to get my hormones under control and put Leah and her amazing voice out of my head. The rest of the cast assembled on the stage for their curtain call, and I locked eyes with one of the actors—the White Cat. She was incredibly hot—a solid body with an impressive rack. Her solo dance was the best part of the show up until Leah’s song. She looked amazing in that white cat suit. So freakin’ hot.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, a moment please.” A teacher walked to the right of the stage and waved her hands. “Thank you all for attending our opening night performance! I am so proud of these kids. They made all their own costumes and designed the set themselves. And tonight, I want to share with you an amazing last-minute change-up to our program. Grizabella, played by Leah Russo, is ill and was unable to sing this evening. Her songs were actually sung by our White Cat, played by Kristen Cartwright.”

  The teacher’s hand swung to my favorite cat, and my mouth fell open. That awesome voice was hers? Whoa. I stuck two fingers in my mouth and let loose with a shrill whistle while the audience roared their approval. The white cat’s eyes met mine, and I started to picture her in different clothes…maybe some black leather, studded bands on her wrists, hair long and wild down her back, strutting across a stage while I shredded the hell out of the guitar. If she could sing Broadway songs without breaking a sweat, what could she do with a hard metal rock track? I wondered—again—what her range was. Could she get low with some Halestorm or full-on mean with a Slipknot metal scream? I should put her in Ride Out right now. I grinned like a maniac because I knew that would really twist BroadwayBaby17 into a knot.

  A brilliant idea struck. I pulled out my phone, snapped a photo of the white cat, and from the band’s Twitter account, posted this:

  @Ride_Out

  This cat’s HAWT! And damn, can she sing.

  It needed a hashtag. I tapped out “#CatCall.” Oh, this was awesome. My phone buzzed a minute later with a reply from a fan calling himself JJStix88.

  @JJStix88

  Sweet! Get her to meow. #CatCall

  I tapped out another post.

  @Ride_Out

  Meow? Gonna make her purr! Gonna invite her to jam with us. #CatCall

  @JJStix88

  Make her arch that back! #CatCall

  @Ride_Out

  Wanna hear her scream! #CatCall

  Sam elbowed me. “White cat’s awesome, right?”

  I nodded, but awesome didn’t even come close to describing this girl. I couldn’t tear my eyes off her rockin’ body, and then to learn that voice—the most incredible sound I’d ever heard—had come from her and not Leah? I dragged both hands over my face and shivered.

  Sam laughed. “Jesus, dude, close your mouth before a puddle forms.”

  I didn’t notice it was still open. I closed it, swallowing hard. I had to find this girl, talk to her, and beg her to sing with us. She could be what we needed to finally break out. With her up front in some cleavage-revealing outfit, she wouldn’t just get attention—she’d damn near compel it.

  Sam flung an arm around my neck. “Okay, man, spill. What are you thinking?”

  I grinned wide and turned to face him. I wanted that girl in our band like I wanted my next breath. “Her, Sam.” I jabbed a finger toward the stage. “I want her.”

  “I’ll bet you do.” Sam’s smile turned into a knowing leer. “So go get her.”

  My face burned. I meant I wanted her in our band, but for Sam, everything always came back to sex. I could have corrected his perception, but he wouldn’t have believed me anyway. I turned back to watch the white cat work the room and pose for pictures like a pro. My hyperactive imagination stuck a mic in her hand, and suddenly, I was thinking of a hell of a lot more than the music too.

  Sam ran his eyes up and down my favorite c
at’s body. A sudden urge to rip out his throat gripped me. He folded his arms and angled his head. “She’s got it all, bro.”

  Damn, did she ever. A smokin’ hot body and roof-raising voice? We’d be unstoppable. Before I could think again, I shoved past Sam and climbed over a row of seats.

  I was a man on a mission.

  4

  Kristen

  @kristencartwright

  Opening night! #tingles Can’t wait! #Cats #BearRiverHSNorth

  6 FAVORITES

  @ToniOnStage

  @kristencartwright Break a leg!

  @Gina6x

  @kristencartwright You’ll do gr8! Have fun!

  The sound of applause thundered in my ears and galloped in my chest. My fingers tingled, and all the muscles in my legs quivered. Actor’s high. It was the best feeling on earth.

  I’d practiced Victoria the White Cat’s solo dance for so many hours, I often woke up with my legs in pose. But tonight? I hadn’t just nailed it—I’d owned it. I could see Mrs. Dixon’s smile from here. The audience was still applauding wildly. The lights came up, and people jumped to their feet, cheering and smiling. I scanned the audience, row after row, and finally found my family and waved. Mom and Dad looked a little stunned.

  Oops. I kind of forgot to mention the White Cat’s costume was nothing more than a unitard and a wig.

  My little brother waved, my older brother applauded. Gordie hated losing video game time, and Dylan commuted to a local college, and seeing them in the audience caused a blush to warm my face. Etta pressed both hands to her heart, teeth blinding me behind her trademark bright red lips.

  My God, I wished I could bottle these feelings and preserve them forever—like the canned peaches my other grandma used to make. They were so sweet, your whole body would hum in anticipation. That’s what actor’s high felt like. I was a child’s balloon, filled with helium, rising higher and higher—