4. Leo
Ishot out of bed, heart racing and confusion coursing through me.
“What’s that? Who’s there?” I slurred.
Bright, early morning, pink light filtered through the cracks in the blackout curtains.
In my hand was a lamp I didn’t remember grabbing as another shout of commands were called from outside, followed by a crash of cymbals. I set a hand to my racing heart and blinked the rest of my sleep away with a shake of my head.
Seconds later, horns blared a loud, quick tempo as snare drums and another cacophony of cymbals.
“What the hell?” I put down my illuminating weapon, stumbled to pull apart the panels of curtains, and was blasted with a ray of sunshine straight to the face. I hissed like a vampire. I hadn’t witnessed a sunrise since I was on tour and that was only because I never went to sleep. As it wasn’t the Stone Age, there was no evolutionary advantage to seeing the sunrise when your job didn’t require it.
From my second-story window, the neighbor’s massive pine took up most of the view. The residents of Clearview Lane had all complained about it needing to be trimmed for months. Those dry branches at the top were asking for trouble, but this wasn’t the time to let that transgression be my focal point. I had plenty else on my plate as a group of maybe fifteen hooligans stomped in somewhat coordination to the jaunty tune they tutted and trilled. Other neighbors appeared on their porches, coffees in hand, confusion on their faces, or they peeked out their windows.
I see you, Clara Hill.
The band of no-good ruffians had spread out and were headed dangerously close to the shrubs and creeping vines.
“Not the dahlias!” I yelled, sprinting out of the room and hammering down the stairs as fast as my feet would carry me.
Janice sipped coffee serenely at the table, head bobbing slightly to the melody. Her gray curls were shorter than mine, and her signature tortoiseshell glasses sat low on her nose as she looked at her phone. The woman already had her bright red lipstick on. Where did she have to be so early?
She glanced up with a sweet smile. “Good morning, darling.”
I scrubbed my hand through my hair, a loose curl flopping into my eyes. “Are you aware there is a marching band in the front yard?” I asked.
The horns and woodwinds continued to blast so loud that the patrons of Daisy’s Nuthouse had to be wondering what the hell was going on.
“Oh, I don’t think that’s the whole marching band. Are you aware that you forgot a shirt?” She gestured to me, her bracelets clinking like wind chimes.
I stood akimbo. There hadn’t been time to get dressed, but I probably couldn’t go out in only my boxers to a bunch of youths. I glanced around the kitchen. My choices were a raincoat I would likely rip at the seams or a flowered apron hanging on a hook on the back of the kitchen door. “Can I borrow your wrap?”
My mother sighed. “Darling, it’s a caftan. And it’s silk. Careful hands.” She shrugged out of it, leaving her in all-black shirt and pants.
I carefully wrapped the red-and-gold paisley caftan around myself. Most of my legs were on display, along with a large slice of my chest and abdomen. “Am I crazy, or am I pulling this off?”
My mother looked at me over her glasses and nodded.
“That’s all you have to say about the band on your lawn?” I asked.
“They sound tight, considering how early in the year it is,” she answered serenely.
“You are in on this.” I slid into my sandals as I studied her.
“I had a chat with the band director, yes.”
Band director? The pieces slid into place.
“Is this because I wouldn’t tutor that kid?” I had to raise my voice because the music got louder with every passing minute.
She shrugged and picked her phone back up to play her bubble game with her coffee.
I shook my head. “If they crush my echinacea, I will never forgive you!” I called over my shoulder as I went into the front yard.
They were in full swing now, scurrying around like clenched ants.
“Hey!” I yelled but wasn’t heard. Or, more likely, was ignored. The eyes of the neighbors were on me, and I wrapped myself up tighter, knowing this would be the talk of the town today.
My sudden nerves at the spotlight made my throat tight, but I tried to get the attention of the person leading the performance.
The classic marching band performance of “Sing, Sing, Sing” morphed into another song—one I knew all too well—at the direction of the woman up front who swung her arms wildly as she shouted a command I didn’t understand.
I squinted as sun glared through the trees, hiding her from view.
“You’re kidding me.” I rolled my eyes skyward as “Small Town Escape” by The Burnouts filled the air. Perhaps our biggest hit, before my departure. It was a hack job, but recognizable. I had to give them some credit. They managed to sound this good considering I only turned Devlin down a few days ago.
“Very clever,” I mumbled, feeling the weight of all the onlookers. I just wanted this to stop.
The band split to reveal a tall kid in a white tank top, with athletic arms and long black hair, holding a marching quad set. The rest of the band quieted down as the girl with the quads looked up at the woman directing and then at me. I saw a nervous twitch of her cheek before she seemed to swallow her fear and glare with determination.
I recognized that look. That “screw this small town, screw this person who doesn’t think I’m good enough” look. I felt a shiver pass down my neck as she began her solo. A similar solo I had played a hundred times on this very song but not on marching quads.
I grumbled.
She really was good, insanely good for a high school kid, but not as good as I was. When I still played. She was stiff and a little tentative.
When she finished, I clapped, hoping the madness was over. Janice popped up at my side, clapping and whooping loudly, drawing even more attention.
“That child is going places,” my mother said. “Hopefully,” she added pointedly.
“Thank you for that, Janice,” I grumbled.
Just then, the woman who’d been conducting turned and headed toward us.
All coherent thought left my mind. The sun shone on her blond ponytail, a faint smile on her lips. Her dark eyes seemed to be full of secrets and knowledge. She came to the porch to greet us as the rest of the band gathered around the drummer. As she approached, I could see the director had a large smile and perfectly aligned white teeth. Her frame was tall and slender, and she wore jeans and a striped sweater.
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t manage a full breath in.
“Lovely to see you again. The kids sound really great, Mari,” my mother gushed.
“Thank you, Janice. I learned from the best,” the woman, Mari, said.
Mari. This was the friend of Devlin? This was the woman who needed my help? Why did she have to be so beautiful? She had an air about her that I always envied in people, like she was already unimpressed and indifferent to the opinions of everyone around her. She had the rock star energy I always tried to emanate.
“You make this retired old gal feel good.” Mari smiled as Janice spoke. Was she blinking in slow motion? Did the sun shine brighter as it reflected off her? She was incredible. “Mariam, this is my son, Leonard. I don’t know if y’all have officially met yet.”
“I haven’t had the pleasure.” She smiled wider yet and extended a hand. When our hands met, I had that slowing down of time feeling again. I had to stop looking at her so much.
“Leo,” I corrected quietly, not sure if she even heard.
Look away. Don’t make it any weirder.Release her hand. The brief touch of her soft skin went too fast, and I debated who even decided how long a handshake should be.
She looked me up and down, and I once again remembered that I wore my mother’s floral caftan. “Hi, Leo. I’m Mariam. Mari, rhymes with Atari, to most. I’m the band director at Green Valley High.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but all that tumbled out was the mumbled worries about the marching band being dangerously close to my azaleas. My mother quietly clicked her tongue at my behavior.
“How was your family’s visit?” Janice asked. Mari flicked another look my way. Maybe I should have gone with the raincoat. Or said something more than a mumble about my garden.
Mari tucked her hands in the back pocket of her jeans and leaned back. Mari’s smile twitched and widened. “You know, it didn’t work out. We are all so busy.”
“Oh no,” Janice said and patted Mari’s arm in sympathy. “I know you were looking forward to it.”
“You know how it goes.” Her smile widened but felt forced and unnatural to me, and I’d only just met her. “Actually, I’d love to chat more, but I don’t want to take any more of your time. I gotta get these kids to school before the first bell.”
My mother winked. In all my years, I’d never seen my mother wink. But I got it, there was a presence to Mari that I had not expected. Was that what Devlin had meant about being a force? She certainly was a force. I almost couldn’t stay standing. But not because she was scary, as he implied. Was that what he had implied? Now I couldn’t recall his ominous and ambiguous warning. When I looked at her, I couldn’t get the sound of heavenly harps and birds chirping out of my brain long enough to focus.
“I’ll let you kids chat,” Janice said. “See you at the big game.”
“Can’t wait,” Mariam said.
“Coffee’s ready when you’re done.” My mother squeezed my shoulder as she went back into the house.
I had been about to apologize with a prepared explanation of why I couldn’t help the obviously talented student. I assumed that was what this had all been about. A last-ditch effort to prove the drummer’s skills.
The second the screen door smacked closed, Mari’s demeanor changed. The smile fell off her face, her features morphed into sharp lines, and her eyes narrowed, fox-like and calculating. “Welcome back to Green Valley,” she said, hands clasped, the warmth gone from her face.
“Is this a six o’clock welcome committee?”
“This is just a few volunteer members of my marching band.”
“Okay, I—” I tugged at my curls, ready to confess.
“We just wanted to welcome you back. And insist that you come to our first show at the homecoming game. The whole town will be there. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to miss it.”
“Listen—” I tried again, humiliation burned me up. The watchful eyes of the town made everything in me feel my most insecure.
“Aye, pup pup pup.” She pinched my lips together with her fingers. This was the second time she touched me, and my brain made a special note of that. “No excuses. No more talking. Just be there tomorrow night.”
This close, looking into her brown eyes, feeling the full force of them, she reminded me of Peggy Lipton from her Mod Squad years combined with Gwen Stefani in No Doubt. Both incredibly cool and breathtaking women. I was outmatched by her. She was a force. This was what Devlin had meant. I was in awe.
And she thought I was a self-centered, washed-up rock star. Fantastic.
Nothing I could say would change her first impression of me. It matched what the rest of the town thought anyway.
I gently grabbed her wrist and removed her hand from my mouth, stretching my lips, wondering how long until her touch would fade away.
“I wouldn’t have even gone to a football game when I was in high school.” It was the worst thing to have said. Why was that the excuse I came up with?
Her features sharpened. It was true that I barely went to band, and that was only because my mom was the teacher, but I didn’t do marching or jazz or any extracurricular. I practiced with Vander. Day or night. Weekday or weekend. Every spare moment filled with practice, writing, playing covers of our favorite bands, and daydreaming about The Burnouts’ big break. And I wasn’t ever beloved around town. I was the weird, shy kid with painted black nails and a freakish growth spurt.
“The choice is yours,” she said, ignoring my pathetic protest. “You go to that game and see Cath play, or you experience this lovely welcome committee every morning until you go insane.”
“Whoa.” I stepped back, palms raising. I glanced up, but her students were too far away to hear. Or help.
“I don’t care if you think you’re too good for this town to ‘lower’ yourself to help my student.”
“I never?—”
“But Cath is the rare sort of musician that comes along once a generation, and I will be damned if I let some spoiled, washed-up rock star?—”
“Hey, now.”
“—ruin her chances to get into a good school. I don’t care if you’re busy. You will make time. You will help this kid out of the goodness of whatever is left of your little, shriveled, dark heart, or so help me God.”
By the time she finished her rant, her cheeks were flushed, and her chest heaved. A flush of red spread from just below her collar to behind her ears. She came to my chin, yet I had never felt smaller. I tried to speak, but having her mad at me took me by complete surprise. I knew this town hated me, but I had thought maybe because she’d taken over for my mom, she was one of the few who would not assume the worst about me.
I had been wrong. Just like everyone else in this town, she thought I was the weird kid or the grown-up, spoiled rock star who thought he was too good for this town. I needed to make her understand, but how?
“I’m not—it’s just that—” Her eyebrows raised expectantly, ready to combat whatever flimsy excuse I could muster. And that was all it’d be—flimsy—because she was right. Not about me being self-entitled and all that (ouch), but because I didn’t want to do it. There was no way I could help a virtuoso drummer get into college. I was an uneducated, unmoored former drummer. Why did this woman even want my help?
But I waited too long to finish the sentence, and she’d made up her mind. Everything she’d suspected had been confirmed in my silence. If only I could ever say what I wanted in the moment, ask for what I wanted.
“That’s what I thought. Welcome home. I looked forward to seeing you again.”
Loser.
I would help if I could, but I was not the person for this job. Not even my own mother knew my reasons for being back in Green Valley. I opened my mouth to argue. The screen door swung open again, and Mari’s demeanor melted into the sugary sweet Southern style from earlier.
I shuddered. She was terrifying, after all.
Janice came back out with a tray of the blondies I made last night.
“I have goodies!” Janice was swarmed by students after her pronouncement. To me, she whispered, “You can make more.”
“Those were for tonight,” I mumbled, once again completely ignored.
“Hurry up and grab a treat. We gotta get back to the school,” Mari instructed her students.
The kid, Cath, glanced up at me and gave a half-smile as quickly as possible before looking away.
Ugh. Whose great idea was this anyway? At least when I enjoyed my retirement around here, I wasn’t hurting anybody else. I was just existing in peace and quiet. Helping bees and hanging with my mom.
“See y’all tomorrow.” Mari waved and bounced away, her blond ponytail bopping as she went.
“She is such a lovely girl,” my mom said when they were all gone.
I snorted.
“She knows how to get things done,” she added.
“You don’t say.”
She shoved me with her shoulder, just above my elbow. “Just wouldn’t want to be on her shit list.” She raised her eyebrows smugly and went back into the house.
I groaned and followed her. No way was I going back to that school. It was bad enough to know the whole town got more gossip for the mill this morning. I was the last person who would be wanted at the precious homecoming game. I wouldn’t be going, and nobody could make me.