The boys turned around and watched them approach. The tall, skinny boy—Hillary’s cousin—smiled and waved at them with his fork. He looked shy and a little bit awkward, as if he were still getting used to being so tall. His blond, stocky friend didn’t smile at them or wave at all. He was definitely cute, and he knew it. He had narrow, smoldering eyes, and he stared at Hudson in a familiar, unblinking way that she had seen before. Uh-oh, she thought, her heart sinking. He likes me.
“Hey, nerd,” Hillary said to the tall, skinny boy, carefully ignoring his friend. “What are you guys doing?”
“Just having some cake,” Ben said, just as a glob of it fell off his fork and onto the floor.
“This is my friend Hudson,” Hillary said. “You guys already met.”
“Hi,” Hudson said.
“Oh, uh, hi there,” Ben said, momentarily distracted by the cake on the carpet but smiling at her anyway.
“So… are you gonna go up there and jump on the bass?” Hillary said, pointing to the stage. “Ben’s starting a jazz band,” she explained to Hudson. “He’s really good.”
“Not really,” Ben said shyly, waving off Hillary’s compliment.
“This is my friend Hudson,” Hillary said to the other boy. “This is Logan.”
“Hey,” Logan said, taking a bite of brownie with studied mellowness.
“Hi,” Hudson replied, careful not to meet his gaze for too long.
“Are you guys looking for a singer?” Hillary blurted.
“We haven’t started yet,” Ben said, looking at Logan. “We’re still trying to figure out what kind of jazz band we’re going to be. It might just be drums, bass, and sax.”
“Well, Hudson sings,” Hillary said. “And plays piano. She almost did her own al—”
Before Hillary could say album Hudson clamped her hand around Hillary’s arm. “I just sing a little,” she said, shooting Hillary a quick warning glance.
“Yeah?” Ben asked. “What sort of stuff do you sing?”
Hudson smiled. “A lot of stuff,” she said. “Mostly my own songs.”
“She has an amazing voice,” Hillary said. “You should totally audition her for your band. You don’t want to do that awful coffee-shop jazz. That stuff is just noise. Ugh.”
Just then the lead singer’s voice rang out over the sound system. “All right, people! It’s that time we’ve all been waiting for—when you get up here and show us what you got!”
They all looked to the center of the room. The rest of the band had cleared off the stage, and a projection screen was being lowered from the ceiling. As the lights dimmed, Hudson realized what was happening. It was karaoke time.
“Okay, who wants to go first?” the lead singer yelled again with an almost diabolical smile. “Come up here and pick out a tune! And then be the star of your very own music video!”
On the dance floor, kids milled around, wondering who would be the first to go.
“Perfect timing,” Hillary said to Hudson. “Go up there and show everyone what I’m talking about!”
“What?” Hudson asked, clamping down on Hillary’s arm even tighter. “You’re joking, right?”
“I’m dead serious,” Hillary said. “We were just talking about your great voice.”
“Um, can I speak to you for a second?” Hudson asked, yanking Hillary aside.
“So what you do think? Is he into me?” Hillary asked as soon as they were alone. “I could feel him looking at me. You know, when I talked.”
“I really don’t know,” Hudson fibbed. “I’d have to see you guys together more. But what are you doing? Why are you trying to make me sing?”
“Because this is the perfect step three,” Hillary said. “Singing in public. This is your biggest fear. You can tackle it right now!”
“I’m not tackling any fears today,” Hudson said, trying not to snap. “I came here to be your wingwoman.”
“And I hate to criticize, but you could be just a little more talkative around Logan,” Hillary said. “I can’t do all the work.”
Hudson took a deep breath. “Well, I really don’t want you to mention the album to people.”
“Fine, but those guys wouldn’t know your mom if she fell on them. They’re total nerds. The only TV they watch is the Discovery Channel.”
“And I’m not singing here. No way.”
“It’s karaoke!” Hillary said, loud enough that Ben looked over at them. “Nobody expects anyone to be good.”
Hudson met Ben’s eye and he politely looked away. The group of seventh-graders had started edging closer to the stage. Hillary’s cousin Josh, the boy being bar mitzvahed, was being pushed to the front of the dance floor. Hillary was right: How serious could this be? “I’ll do it if you do it,” she dared.
Hillary snorted. “Of course I’m doing it,” she said. “Watch me.”
With that she yanked her arm free and charged through the crowd. “I’ll go!” she yelled. “I’ll go!” Hillary almost knocked her own cousin down as she ran up to the stage.
“We have our first performer, everyone!” the lead singer shouted with glee into the mic. “What’s your name?” He tipped the mic to Hillary.
Hillary grabbed the mic. “Hillary Victoria Crumple,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Just start the first song. I’ll sing anything.”
Hudson watched with amazement as Hillary positioned herself in the center of the bright white spotlight. Hudson hadn’t seen this kind of confidence and flair since the last time she’d seen Holla in concert.
“This is dedicated to my cousin Josh!” Hillary shouted into the mic. “And my friend Hudson!” A moment later a familiar beat started to play.
“Oh, God, no,” Hudson said under her breath. She knew what the song was, and it was the worst song Hillary could have picked. And when Hillary began to chant into the mic in a wobbly, screechy voice, Hudson’s blood ran cold.
I wanna hold ’em like they do in Texas plays
Fold ’em let ’em hit me raise it baby stay with me
She snuck a look at Ben and Logan, who didn’t move. The kids on the dance floor seemed shocked speechless. But that wouldn’t last. Pretty soon they were going to be snickering, if not all-out laughing. I have to save her, Hudson thought. Before she makes a worse spectacle of herself than I did at the Silver Snowflake Ball.
She began to push through the crowd. A few boys had already started to laugh. Finally she made it up to the stage, just in time to join Hillary for the chorus. Hudson threw her arm around Hillary and kept singing. All she was thinking about was trying to drown out Hillary’s voice, or at least trying to make it sound like it was on-key. She didn’t dare look down.
Until, toward the end of the song, she finally did, and saw that everyone was dancing. A middle-aged man with a paunch—somebody’s dad—stood beside his chair, clapping his hands over his head. An elderly woman with wispy white hair did the twist on the dance floor. Even Ben’s brother and his friends had stopped snickering and were jumping up and down in time with the beat.
Hudson looked over at Hillary, who was grinning, as if to say, Isn’t this great?
When the song was finally over, the lead singer pounced on them with the mic. “That was fan-TAS-tic! What’s your name?” he asked, tipping the mic toward Hudson.
“Hudson,” she said, still out of breath.
“Let’s hear it for Hudson and Hillary, everyone!” he cried.
Everyone clapped, hooted, and hollered. Hudson linked arms with Hillary and, grinning crazily, they both took a bow.
“That was amazing!” Hillary said as soon as they’d jumped down from the stage. “We totally killed!”
Hudson felt someone tap her on her shoulder. She turned around to see Ben staring at her with a radiant, awestruck smile. “Hillary was right,” he said. “About your voice.”
“Thanks.”
“I hate it when she’s right,” he joked.
“Me, too,” she joked back.
He ran a hand thr
ough his unruly hair. “So… this might be kind of sudden, but… would you be into being our lead singer?”
Hudson blinked. Yes, a voice inside her said. Say yes. “I’d love to,” she said.
“Cool. Just come over tomorrow for rehearsal. Around two.” He looked at Hillary. “I bet Hillary will want me to pay her a commission or something.”
Hillary sidled up beside them. “What’s going on?” Hillary asked.
“Hudson’s gonna be our lead singer,” said Ben. “Turns out you’ve got an eye for talent, Hil.”
“Um, obvi,” Hillary said.
Ben glanced at the stage, where his brother was trying to sing an Eminem song. “I think I better get over there. Before the girl he likes never speaks to him again.”
As he gave them an awkward wave and headed back toward the stage, Hillary started jumping up and down. “God, I love it when I’m right about stuff!” she shrieked. “You’re going to be their lead singer!”
“But I can’t do this,” Hudson said, suddenly panicked. “I don’t even live up here. How am I going to be the lead singer of a jazz band? Here? When my mom will barely even let me off the block?”
Hillary shook her head. “Don’t you get it? This is just what you need! A second chance to do what you really want to do. And your mom has nothing to do with it!”
Hudson watched Ben onstage, backing up his brother on the Eminem song. The two of them looked so goofy that she had to smile. Singing up there had been fun, and now she had a feeling that being in a simple high school band might be even more fun. She wouldn’t have to worry about concerts or clothes or Saturday Night Live appearances. Music would be fun again. And wasn’t that what all this was about—fun?
Still, there was one last thing she had to do. She dashed back to her table, fished her phone out of her bag, and wrote a quick text.
Just got asked 2 b the lead singer of a bnd. Up in Larchmont. Yay or nay?
The answers came back right away, first from Lizzie, and then from Carina:
YAY!!!
With a smile spreading across her face, Hudson put the phone away and walked back to Hillary, who was at the dessert table, piling her plate with cookies. She was sure now. This was fate.
“I’m in,” Hudson said to her. “As long as you don’t tell Ben anything. You know, about my mom.”
Hillary looked up. “No way,” she said. “And you better thank me when you win your first Grammy.”
chapter 14
The next morning Hudson sat bolt upright in bed and rubbed her eyes. She’d told Ben that she would be back up in Larchmont by two o’clock for rehearsal. But she’d also promised her mom that she’d see Aunt Jenny today. Oops, she thought. And it was already nine o’clock.
She grabbed her iPhone and texted her aunt.
Brunch at 11?
A moment later, Jenny wrote back:
Come over. 421 E. 76th Street.
Phew, Hudson thought. She would just be able to pull this off.
She showered and dressed in what she called her Seventies Urban Princess outfit: slim-fitting gray wool pants, an oversized cashmere cowl-neck sweater, and vintage platform boots. She drew back her curtains and looked out at the cloudless blue sky. The sidewalks were deserted—even the patch of sidewalk across from their house was empty of photographers. It had to be freezing outside. Hudson ran back to her closet and grabbed the thick black cape she’d picked up in Covent Garden during her mom’s last tour and pinned it at her throat. Hopefully this wouldn’t be too over-the-top for Larchmont.
When she opened her bedroom door she was surprised to find a big shopping bag waiting for her. There was a note pinned to the handles:
Honey plz bring this for Jenny. I thought she’d like it.
Mom
Hudson reached into the bag and pulled out the present: a thick white throw blanket, wrapped in red ribbon. It was exactly like the one they had in their living room. Hopefully Jenny wouldn’t remember. Her mom meant well, but sometimes she could be a little dense. Hudson stuffed it back in the bag.
Soon she and Fernald were driving uptown. The few people out on the streets were bundled up with scarves wrapped over their mouths and noses and walked, heads bent, into the wind. Hillary had decided to spend the night in Larchmont after the bar mitzvah, so Hudson would be going up herself. Which meant that she’d be taking the train alone.
At Jenny’s building, Hudson hopped out of the car with the shopping bag and the wind hit her face like a bunch of knives. “I’ll text you in a bit!” she yelled to Fernald, her eyes watering from the cold.
He waved back to her, trusting as usual. Hudson felt a stab of guilt when she thought about her plan to elude him later—she’d need to get rid of him before she left for the train—but she pushed it aside.
Standing outside and shivering she pulled out her phone and called Carina.
“What are you doing today?”
“Staying the hell indoors,” she replied. “It’s like five below out.”
“Can you come with me to Larchmont for my first band rehearsal?”
“Larchmont?” There was a long pause. Hudson could practically see Carina biting her lip, trying not to say no. “Sure,” Carina finally said. “Just tell me where and when.”
“Grand Central, one o’clock. Let’s meet under the clock. We’re taking the train.”
Then she called Lizzie, who signed on right away. “As long as we’re back by five,” Lizzie said. “I’m trying to finish a story tonight.”
“No problem.” Hudson clicked off and went to Jenny’s door. Thank God for her friends.
Jenny’s building had no doorman, only a buzzer. Hudson rang the bell and a few seconds later the front door unlocked with a loud buzz. She pushed her way into a dingy, dim vestibule, then walked through another set of doors. There was no elevator, only a set of stairs. From above she heard a door open. “I’m up here!” Jenny’s voice called. “Fourth floor!”
Hudson climbed the stairs, and when she turned the corner, slightly out of breath—her platform boots didn’t make it easy—Jenny was waiting for her at the door. “Hey, stranger!” she said, beckoning Hudson inside. “Come in and warm up!”
Jenny was more casual today in hole-ridden jeans, a faded red T-shirt, and a fuzzy Mr. Rogers–esque cardigan in a pale shade of yellowish brown. Hudson gave her a hug, and then walked inside. Her apartment was small, just one room, but, like Hudson’s room, it was stuffed with eclectic pieces: a small chandelier suspended over a blond wood farm table and chairs, a Tiffany lamp on a skinny-legged end table, a beautiful red and purple dhurrie rug that stretched across the floor. But the two windows faced a brick wall, and it was so dark inside the apartment that it could have been nighttime.
“I haven’t had a lot of time to finish decorating,” Jenny said. “I’ve been so busy.”
“That’s okay,” Hudson said, looking around. “It actually looks really cool in here.”
“Do you want some tea?” Jenny asked. “I got the most amazing Earl Grey tea from this little tea shop in the Marais. And there’s a French bakery around the corner from here that makes semi-decent croissants.” Jenny put the kettle on to boil, then put the croissants on a plate and carried them to the table. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the shopping bag.
“It’s for you. From my mom.”
Jenny gave Hudson a suspicious look. “What is it?”
“A housewarming gift,” Hudson said, giving it to her.
Jenny reached into the bag and pulled out the throw blanket, letting it fall to its full length. “Isn’t this the one you guys have in your living room?”
“Yes,” Hudson said awkwardly. “I guess she thought you’d like it.”
Jenny carefully spread the blanket over the back of her shabby chic–style couch. “Well, this time, I have to hand it to her. It’s beautiful. Tell her I said thank you.”
“I think she feels bad about Christmas,” Hudson offered.
“So do I,” Jenn
y said. The kettle began to whistle, so she slipped into the tiny kitchen and turned off the gas. “Every time I tell myself not to lose it, but she’s just impossible to be around sometimes. You were there. You saw it.” She poured the water into two mugs. “She just does that to me.”
And me, too, Hudson thought. “I think she just worries about you.”
“I know, but I like my life. I’m happy,” she said, bringing the mugs of tea to the table.
“I think she just feels that you’re a little…” Hudson let her voice trail off, aware that she was on dangerous ground.
“Lost?” Jenny said with a smile. “Look, I know I don’t have Holla’s discipline. Hardly anyone does. But I think I do okay.” They sat down and Jenny stirred her tea, lost in thought. “She always wanted to be famous. That was always her thing. Did I ever tell you that?”
Hudson shook her head.
“She’d even talk about herself in the third person. She’d interview herself, pretend she was on Barbara Walters or something.” Jenny smiled as dunked her tea bag in and out of the mug. “I remember the day she won her first talent show. I was six, she was eleven. She sang and danced to some Madonna song. She was even better than Madonna.”
“I’m sure,” Hudson said, picking at her croissant.
“And I just wasn’t like that,” Jenny added. “I didn’t need to be famous. I liked to dance. I was good at it. But when I blew my audition for the Martha Graham Company—”
“What? You blew an audition?” Hudson asked.
“Yep,” Jenny said, taking a careful sip. “Just froze up. Forgot my routine. I practiced for weeks, and then when the time came I just stood there like an idiot, while a whole tableful of people stared at me.”
“Why’d you freeze up?” Hudson pressed, clutching her mug.
“I’m not sure,” Jenny said wistfully. “I was so self-conscious. At that point Holla was huge. She’d already won her first Grammy. She’d just had you. And there I was, trying to make it as a dancer. It was a lot of pressure.”