Sara held up her hands again. “Don’t blame me for this. You knew he was temperamental from the start. He’s always trying to prove something. Not a team player.” She ticked off the reasons that they were better off without him.
The air was thick with apprehension until Tucker ran his hand over his face and sighed. “Usually it’s the bass players that walk out. This is new one.”
Marcus shook his head and ran a hand over his newly trimmed curls. “Uncool, man.”
“I have no idea what we’re supposed to do now,” was all Sara had to offer.
I sat back and took a deep breath, unsure if my opinion was warranted or not. But it seemed worth a shot.
“Hey . . .”
Every eye in the room turned to look at me.
“What if you just didn’t have a drummer?”
“That’s not exactly possible.” Berkley looked way too skeptical to believe what I was suggesting.
“It is, though.” My voice felt stronger. “You know what my favorite part of your show is? When the music drops out and it’s just you guys singing. It’s like my whole body reacts because it’s just so awesome. And powerful. I can’t describe it, but I can’t look away.” I’d revealed too much and suddenly felt like an idiot.
“So what are you suggesting?” Tucker leaned in to study my reddened face.
“I dunno. Maybe instead of The Beat you guys should be . . . Beatless. A cappella or something. Just the voices.”
A good five minutes went by while they all stared at me and I regretted even opening my damn mouth.
Berkley narrowed her eyes and leaned forward again, her hair sliding over her shoulder in a dark red cascade. “You sing, Mallory Durham?”
“No. No. My throat is wrecked from this mono I had about a year ago. I don’t . . .”
“I don’t believe you,” Tucker whispered at my side.
“But it’s true.”
He shook his head and ran his fingers along the hair at his ear, a common gesture that told me he was thinking about something intense. “We’re gonna need more voices.”
“I’m sure you could find some people from the other schools.”
“I don’t know. I think we might know someone already.”
“Nope.”
“Yep.” Sara was leaning, too.
“I can be your manager or something. I’ll help load your stuff.”
“We’d be without instruments,” Marcus offered. “Nothing to load.”
“I’m not sure I can do that since I work and I have to concentrate on school and I don’t have a car and all that.”
Tucker smiled. “So many excuses, Mal. But you have a car. You told me you did.”
“I can’t drive a stick.”
“Tucker can.” Berkley was smirking like a know-it-all and I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
“I mean . . .”
“It’s settled then. We’ll write some new arrangements. I’ll teach Mal to drive a stick so she can come to rehearsals. And we’ll work on making your voice stronger over the next couple weeks to get you ready to perform.”
“Pass,” I squeaked. “Hard pass. I don’t . . .”
“It was your idea.”
I was being ganged up on, but the looks on all of their faces made my heart beat a little faster at the thought that they actually believed I could do it. So I looked down at my lap, took a deep breath and sighed. I was so easily cornered. “When do we start?”
Mal,
I keep watching this movie. Each time I turn it on, it’s like I’ve never seen it before. Something new shows up and I feel a memory stir in the back of my mind. I’ve tried to put my finger on it, and I think it reminds me of you. That I should relay the message somehow - because it’s important.
I finally figured it out today so I wrote it down before I lost it again. It’s a quote:
“Destruction is a form of creation. They just want to see what happens when they tear the world apart.”
Teenagers today - we’re losing them to apathy.
But you?
You have the ability to set the world on fire and watch it burn.
Sam
~*~5~*~
I was screaming. As much as it could be considered screaming, I was doing it.
“Clutch.” It was all he was saying while I made feeble attempts to even get the stupid car into first gear.
“I AM clutching!” My throat was on fire and I was sweating with frustration while Tucker was sitting in the passenger seat laughing his ass off at my failure.
“You have got to calm down. Has anyone ever told you you’re a little overdramatic?”
Eyeing him with as much distaste as I could muster, I hissed, “Shut it.”
I closed my eyes, concentrated on where my feet were, and took a deep breath before pressing down on the clutch with one foot and hitting the gas with the other. The clunker shot forward and I panicked, letting it die right in the middle of my driveway.
His hand drifted over mine on the steering wheel and he patted my fingers a few times. “It gets easier.”
“Whatever. I should walk more anyway. Build up my stamina.”
“I was thinking maybe you should start jogging or something to build some breath control.”
“So you want me to die. That makes sense. Either I’ll die in this car or I’ll die on the side of the road. All in the name of art.”
Squinting, he choked out a laugh. “They’re going to have an open casting call for the theater in Lawrenceville next semester. You get credit for it. And you should definitely look into it, because you’ve got enough dramatics . . .”
This time I slugged him in the stomach. He doubled over and grabbed my hands, pulling me forward until I was just an inch from his face. The laughter died in my throat and I stared at his downcast eyes, eyes that were fixated on my mouth. I waited, a rush of anxiety rising up through my lower belly and into my chest, blossoming outward until I couldn’t hear anything but blood rushing in my ears.
Tucker lifted his stare to read my expression and then arranged his features to a cool collectiveness before he relaxed back on his side of the car. “We could practice your breath control in other ways if you’re not up for a run.”
“Like what?” It came out like a wheeze.
He bent forward again, placing his hand on my stomach gently, his widespread fingers grazing the bottom of my bra. I broke out in another sweat and chalked it up to the temperature outside. Even though it was like seventy degrees.
With a gentle push he applied pressure to that space and a whoosh of air escaped my lips. “If I press here while you sing, it will make a difference. You can work on controlling your sound that way. Bring it up from the bottom. Through your chest. Not your throat or nose. The sound is richer.”
I was in a confused daze because my body was reacting way too eagerly to his touch. Slowly, I placed my hand on top of his and raised it off my body to place it in his lap, averting my gaze to the windshield. “I guess we could try that.”
“What time does your aunt get back?”
It was a good question because recently she’d been gone more often than not, and even when she was home she was lying around watching television or on her computer. She’d grown increasingly lazy and unkempt over the past month. Divorce depression was a sad thing to watch.
“I don’t know. Hours? I’m not really up to date on her schedule.” Because she didn’t really have one.
He folded his hands together and reclined in his seat while I tried my hardest to ignore his profile. “We can go to my house if you want. My sister has this thing she does on the weekends with my dad and they won’t be home for a while. We could work on some of the music?” It was a question – but it wasn’t. He knew I would say yes.
So I did.
“Okay. But . . . can we take your car?”
***
The Scott house was less than five miles from mine, but it could have been in a completely different world. The neigh
borhood was older, clearly didn’t have a Homeowners Association, and the houses themselves looked like they were in dire need of repair. His was a brown ranch that had an exposed basement, which I quickly learned was where he had all his musical instruments set up. It was a sweet deal because he’d soundproofed the room with egg crates, the whole back wall was filled with band posters, and there were a few guitars mounted to the studs above his keyboard.
He seated himself in front of it, turning on the power and shuffling the sheet music that had accumulated there. “What’s your vocal register?”
“I don’t have one anymore, remember?”
“We can change that.” Light notes plinked out from beneath his fingertips and he swiveled in his seat to regard me carefully. “I know you’ve got it in you. You have to believe it too or it won’t work.”
“I don’t want to sing in front of you.” The thought alone was making me want to vomit. What if I was as terrible as I imagined? I’d only been singing along to the radio in my room, but it was breathy and sparse, and honestly, it hurt a little if I went too high.
His eyes softened and he patted the seat next to him. “Then sing with me.”
I’m not a sucker by any means, but that was an invitation that I couldn’t refuse. My left arm touched his right as he leaned over a little and started to play.
“Do you know this song?”
“I’m pretty familiar with London Bridge, yes.”
He switched the song into London Bridge by Fergie and it sent me into a fit of giggles.
“Okay. Be serious.” Clearing his throat he started another song and I waited until the intro was over, staring at his fingers while he played. Tucker began to sing in a low voice, his face tilted toward mine for a second before he’d look back down again. It was True Colors, so of course I knew it. But I kinda wanted him to keep going. I was just glad he didn’t choose The Rose. I hated that song.
After another repeat he stopped and regarded me. “You know this one. It was in the spring recital you guys did sophomore year.”
“You weren’t there.”
He shrugged, his shoulder hitting mine again as he restarted the song. “Sure I was. And you were an alto so hit me with your part.”
My lips felt dry and swollen, my throat thick with fright. I couldn’t do this. I was going to look like an idiot.
“It’s just us. Don’t freak out.” He kept playing the intro. Two, three times. Until I closed my eyes and leaned into the sound.
It was the first time I’d seriously used my voice in almost eighteen months and the sound that came out was wobbly and foreign, but he didn’t mind. He came in with the lead and I crept up with harmony until I started to lose my breath and had to hold up my hand for a break.
Tucker’s eyes sparkled as he leaned back and took his fingers off the keys. “Not bad for your first time.”
“Thanks for being gentle.” I fluttered my lashes at him in a fake swoon.
“Get up.”
I did as he said, standing in front of him.
“Let’s try the breathing again. But I’ll do it from behind.”
“Perv.”
“Calm your hormones, woman. This is all business.”
“Sure. Okay.”
He walked behind me and pushed his chest into my back, pulling my shoulders into his sternum. His long arms wound around my waist from behind and he placed two fists below my rib cage. “Give me a C.”
I opened my mouth to let the small sound come out and he pressed inward, making the note fuller.
“Breathe in. Low. Under your belly button.”
I was trying to but having him so close was making my head swim. What the hell was my problem?
“You should breathe like you do in your sleep. Like a baby. With your full stomach, not up there.” His lips were right next to my ear. “Lower your chest.”
“Are you looking at my chest?”
He exhaled and pulled me closer. “I don’t really have a choice at the moment.”
His palms opened on my stomach and I squeezed my eyes shut to concentrate on what we were actually doing, and not on what my brain was wandering off about.
“Remember the basics. Don’t lock your knees. Don’t force it. Find your center.”
So I sang. I sang in front of him and he held me upright while I did. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t perfect or beautiful. But it was a start.
After I’d finished the scale as far as I could go, he squeezed me a little from behind. “See? You’re still alive. It didn’t actually kill you.”
I stepped away and looked around the room, trying not to make eye contact. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to be able to do this on a stage or anything.”
“Not yet.”
There was a loud noise from upstairs and Tucker’s attention went to the basement door. “Eliza’s home. She usually needs some time to wind down after she’s been gone. We can leave out the back.” He grabbed his keys and headed for the side door and holding it open for me.
As I inched past him, he held a finger against my hip bone. “We’re going to do this again and again until you get comfortable.”
It didn’t even feel like a threat.
***
Berkley was still skeptical about the entire thing, but once we were in her house to rehearse, she lost her edginess. “I just don’t want this to blow up in our faces. We have a reputation to maintain.”
Sara pressed her fingers down on the keyboard creating a chaotic sound that made us all turn in her direction. “Just bringing this meeting to order.”
Tucker handed out all the sheet music, making sure to keep mine just out of reach so I had to push upwards to snatch it from his hand. The other girls exchanged a look and I ducked my head to keep from smiling.
“Until we have more of these perfected, we’re going to have to cut down on our set time. So I’d say we should have a goal of four songs in the next week that are good enough to do in front of an audience. Miller’s been telling people that he quit so there’s a lot riding on this if we want to prove that we don’t need him.”
It took exactly one hour to figure out we weren’t ready.
“We need something.” Sara’s fingers plinked across the keyboard again and she groaned.
“What about loops?” Tucker moved across the room to Berkley’s laptop. “We could record parts on loop and then it would be easier to sing the harmonies. I don’t have an issue with what was suggested, I just think that it’s going to require more time than what we have right now. And it’s not cheating because it will still be our voices.” I watched as he hit a few keys on the computer and brought up what appeared to be an equalizer. “Mal, come here for a second.” Without even asking, he took hold of a silver microphone head on a stand.
I crossed over to him and waited.
“Can you just repeat after me?”
With a quick glance around the room, my palms started to sweat. “Sure.” I copied him, my voice not coming out very sturdy at all. He gave me a pointed look and moved his hand in a circle like I should do it again. So I did.
He nodded and leaned over the board, concentrating. “Marcus. I need a bass line.”
The other boy stood and crossed over to stand in front of the computer and did as he was instructed. We knew there wouldn’t be an issue with him dropping a beat; he’d been doing it the entire time when he was rapping onstage. He was comfortable with it, so it seemed like an added bonus.
For the next couple hours, each one of us was required to add a part. I thought about all of the videos I had seen on Youtube and movies about a cappella groups. I tried to envision all of us on that stage, giving our all. The recordings were only seconds worth but by the time the entire thing was done, Tucker had added the files to the computer for us to practice with.
“I think it sounds okay.”
“I think it sounds incredible.” The other girls in the room shared another look and I had to close my mouth from saying anything more.
“So we start here. Unless we can get some more people in here, we should just do this.” He regarded us seriously. “Are we ready to begin?”
Mal,
I want to tell you that everyone makes mistakes. You already know that, but what you probably don’t understand is that the human condition is called that for a reason. It’s a burden to be alive and responsible for every action that we make. Our humanity is our downfall. But, if we’re lucky, we have people that will accept us – flaws and all. And they’ll forgive us for our mistakes. They’ll pardon us for the choices that we’ve made that are beautiful, tragic, and life changing.
Being alive is the greatest gift we’ll ever receive. But our responsibility is to accept our imperfections and move on. Dwelling on the past and wallowing in our failures will not help anyone. It’s getting back on your feet and proving that you’ve learned and are willing to try again that shows who you really are.
Sam
~*~6~*~
It was grueling and a little exhausting singing so much. Learning so fast. I had to call in sick to work that week in order to make sure I had enough time for rehearsals and homework. Not to mention my driving lessons.
The day I mastered the clutch I almost cried. “I hate this car, but oh my God, I actually did it.”
“We should celebrate.” Tucker beamed at me from the passenger seat. He’d kept his hands to himself since that day in his basement and I’d lulled myself into believing that the chemistry between us was simply based on a moment of silliness in the car and the intimate way he’d been teaching me the scales and breath control. It was a passing thing. Nothing to dwell on.
“Okay.” I reached over and squeezed his knee. He jumped a little and I clutched harder. “Are you ticklish?”
“No.” His face was telling a different story, though. And while he was trying to pull my hand from his leg, I gripped even tighter.
“I had no idea!”
“I’m not!” It came out in a howl of laughter.
His arms flailed and he scooted away from me, his upper body almost halfway out the window in an attempt to escape. I finally let him go and he settled back into the seat begrudgingly, giving me a hilariously dirty look. “If you tell anybody . . .”