Wesley
S t. George’s was always the plan as long as I got the grades for it. Before Mom’s diagnosis, I was eagerly awaiting the time I’d get to spend in the city. When I told her I’d be fine with sticking around in Caper, she insisted I still went.
“Cancer’s already changed so many other plans, don’t let it take this adventure from you,” she told me, and that was the end of the discussion. Even though it was out of her control, she felt guilty for all the changes in our lives. So I agreed to go, knowing how much she wanted this for me.
On move-in day, we all drove together. Mom slept in the passenger seat, with Avery and I listening to music in the back until we pulled into the line of cars winding around the old brick buildings.
We each hefted a box to my new room, with its naked twin beds pressed to white painted cinder block walls.
“And you’re sure you checked the list the school provided before we left? I should have an extra copy in my purse if we want to make sure,” Mom asked, already setting down her tote on my desk to rummage around in it.
“We’re already here. We’ve got to trust him.” Hudson put a steadying hand on her shoulder. “And we can visit when we’re in the city for your appointments, and he’ll be back every weekend.”
She gave up her search and leaned into him. “You’re right,” she replied before directing her attention to me. “Do you want help unpacking?”
“I’ve got it. You’ve already helped enough.” I didn’t want her to overexert herself. Even after carrying a few boxes, she looked weary.
“Have so much fun, okay?” Tears clung to her lashes. She walked over and pulled me into a hug.
“I’ll see you in a few days and tell you all about it.”
When Mom let me go, Hudson gave me a quick hug before guiding her away. “Come on, let’s give the kids a second,” he said, leaving me with Avery.
“We’ll take care of her,” Avery promised, and I knew I could count on her. “But I am going to miss you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“You’re like my best friend, okay? But don’t you dare let it get to your head.”
“Too late.”
“I was going to give you this, but if you’re going to be annoying, I’ll keep it.” She held up her Discman wrapped in the white cords of her headphones. For the last year, those headphones tethered us for countless hours. It wasn’t an extravagant gift, but I knew how precious it was to her.
“You’re really treating your best friend like this? Harsh.”
“Fine. Take it. But you’re going to have to get your own CDs.”
“I guess I’ll have to start my own collection.”
A knock came at the door and Hudson peeked back in. “Avery, are you ready to head out?”
“Just one more second!” she called back. Hudson ducked out again.
Avery’s hug took me by surprise, her small arms squeezing me tightly. When she stepped away, she said, “And practice guitar. I’m already better than you, so don’t fall even further behind.”
I kept my promise, practicing in the music room after classes since my roommate wasn’t exactly a fan of me struggling through “Hotel California” while he studied.
I probably spent too much time playing, which is why after the first tests of the semester my math teacher asked me to stay behind for an hour-long reprimand about my grade and upholding the academic excellence St. George’s expected from its students. You know, typical boring stuff.
It’s not like I listened. The moment I was done, I raced to get my guitar and headed to the music room.
I was panting when I burst into the room.
In my rush, I didn’t stop to check if someone was already inside.
But there he was, standing with one hand around the neck of an upright bass, the other holding a bow to hover over the strings.
The late afternoon sunlight slashed through the windows illuminating his tall form.
After a moment I recognized him as Garrett Larson, top of our class and not afraid to act like it. He didn’t have any friends that I knew of, but he was respected by classmates and teachers. His blond hair was always dutifully styled, and his uniform was never creased or wrinkled.
“I got here first this time. I’ll be done in an hour. You can use the room then,” he said, not even bothering to look up from his sheet music.
I ignored his dismissal and grabbed a chair from a stack in the corner. Swinging it around, I sat on it backward, resting my arms on the top.
“That wasn’t an invitation,” he said with a sigh, finally lifting his light brown eyes to bore into me.
“What are you practicing for?”
“Because I have to.”
“Do you like it?” I asked, trying to pry something from him. I embraced his stony demeanor as a challenge. A purpose. Just like I had with Avery.
“As much as I like anything.” He cocked his head. “Well, more than I like you.”
“You just met me.”
“You’re loud. I can hear you in the cafeteria. And nothing you say is important enough for everyone to hear it.”
“So, you know who I am. Makes sense. I’m impossible to ignore.”
“Yeah, you’re the guy who gets here before me to play amateurish guitar.”
“That means you’ve stopped to listen. Just wait until people pay to hear what I have to say. I’m starting a band. You should join.”
“Who’s in it?”
“You.”
“Not interested.” He flipped the pages of his music back to restart the piece I’d interrupted.
I moved to stand in front of him and when we locked eyes, I said, “It would be a good challenge, don’t you think? Different from what you’re playing. I need a bass guitarist. I know it’s not the same as an upright, but I doubt that would stop you if you wanted to learn.”
He hesitated, raising his bow. “Maybe if you find other people, I’d consider it. I’m not signing up to babysit beginners.”
“Just you wait.”
Finding a drummer was easy. Luca Mariano was constantly tapping out beats against the desk next to mine, and after a few conversations, I learned he was fairly proficient.
I wouldn’t have picked Jared Petrov if he hadn’t approached me first. His most defining trait was being a nice guy, but I didn’t really know much else about him. Who remembers rock stars because they’re nice?
“I want in,” he said, dumping his notebooks at his usual desk in front of mine.
“In what?” I asked.
“The band? You’re making one, right? Luca told me. Or are you just going to sit here and talk about it until it happens?”
It had been three weeks since I first talked to Garrett.
Every day after, I’d gone to the music room to listen to Avery’s Discman, studying as Garrett practiced.
I wasn’t going to let him forget me. When I finished homework, I’d play.
On a few occasions, I could have sworn I saw someone lingering outside, or maybe I just needed to get my eyes checked.
“Do you at least play an instrument?” I asked.
“Guitar, of course. You want to perform in places, right? I picked it up to meet girls.” He motioned to the room rapidly filling with our classmates.
“Because, no offense to Mrs. Lawrence, but married women in their fifties aren’t really my thing.
And what they don’t tell you about playing the guitar to pick up chicks, is that you can’t do it from your bedroom. ”
I crossed my arms and leaned back in my seat. “We’ll play all over. This is Nashville.”
That afternoon, Garrett clocked my expression the moment I walked. He lowered his bow and gave me a once over. “You did it.”
“I fulfilled my end of the deal. So you gonna join, or what?” I waited as he deliberated. I needed this. I needed him.
“Two months,” he said, “After that, if you guys suck, I’m done, and you have to promise not to bother me anymore.”
Before he could take back his words, I tore a page from my notebook and wrote my dorm number and the date for our first practice in the corner of the page.
I had a band, and with it, I reclaimed some control.