Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
“You guys are on in twenty,” the stage manager says, leaning into the green room, bringing with him the sharp vibrations of applause for Tenderhook, the band on before us, and a blast of the August heat.
Morgan jumps up and down, making her unicorn-snot hair gel sparkle in the low lighting.
Crosby is seated on the floor, his lanky legs crisscrossed and his eyes softly closed, noise-cancelling headphones clamped on his ears.
I should have eaten something. There’s enough food in here for several football teams. Don’t think about football right now! My phone pings from my purse, and I leap for it.
It’s William, like I’ve conjured him.
You guys are on soon right?
I blink in surprise. William’s hundreds of miles away at Oregon’s football camp.
He wanted to be here, but he’s officially in the big leagues now, and leaving his new team was impossible.
Next month, I’ll be leaving for Cornish in Seattle.
Will’s going to meet me there and help me move into my dorm.
We’ll have two whole days together before he has to head back to Eugene for their opening game against Texas.
I text Will back:
In 20
WILLIAM
How are you holding up?
I huff a giant breath and shake out my free hand.
But the tingles running under my skin only buzz harder.
I know I’m just anxious, but this is the biggest crowd Boxcar Doves has ever performed for.
And yeah we’re one band out of a dozen in a weekend festival lineup, but it’s still fucking terrifying.
ME
What if I can’t do this?
WILLIAM
You already have. Dozens of times. Why would this be any different?
Okay, he has a point, yet…everything’s bigger at Creekside. The stage. The expansive grounds. The fancy lighting and sound systems. And of course, the audience.
How is it that three hundred people bought tickets to see us play?
I draw another slow breath and hold it, then let it out. Then I do it again. Why do I feel like I’m going to cry one second, then puke the next?
ME
I’m scared
WILLIAM
It’s okay, baby. Just take it one note at a time
I close my eyes and draw this beat of kindness all the way down to the tips of my toes. How does he always seem to be so tuned in to what’s happening inside me?
ME
How are you even texting me rn? Aren’t you in the middle of practice?
WILLIAM
I’m supposed to be taking a piss
I laugh, imagining Will hiding in a bathroom stall, bulky pads and all, just to talk me off the ledge.
Dad slips into the room, his eyes sparkling. “Five minutes, gang.”
Crosby’s eyes open and Morgan squeals.
ME
Gotta go, we’re up next
WILLIAM
I love you
I blink at the screen but my eyes sting and my breath feels hot in my cheeks. We’ve said those words to each other plenty of times but seeing them still makes my heart stutter.
I finger the pendant shaped like a coda and swing it back and forth, the feel of it reassuring. Will gave it to me the day he left for Oregon. You’re my ending, Charlotte. The refrain I want to play over and over again.
ME
I love you, QB
WILLIAM
You’ve got this, blackbird
The nickname makes my heart feel like a balloon expanding inside my chest, filling all the little crevices with warmth and light. I place my hand over where it’s beating hard and strong and close my eyes for one, two, three counts. Then I exhale and tuck my phone away.
At the mirror, I check my makeup and hair one last time.
I barely recognize myself, but everything is in place.
Morgan slides in for a sideways hug and snaps a selfie of us, then bounces away, giggling.
It’s almost hard to believe that only two years ago, she had purposefully put herself in harm’s way to escape the terrible things she was feeling inside.
Since then, she’s worked hard to reach for the light.
She smiles more. Laughs more. She’s kinder to herself, too.
And she’s put a lot of effort into writing songs and making music, which is the only reason we’re here today.
If I wasn’t a ball of apprehension right now, I’d be glowing.
Crosby’s put his stuff away too and though his face looks pale, he’s a rock. Still just as awkward, but he’s never nervous. Not before the SATs or senior finals, not before our choir duet, and certainly not before a show that a brilliant musician like him could play in his sleep.
He gives me a hint of a smile. “Ready for this?”
I huff another giant breath. “I guess we’ll find out, huh?”
Dad leads us from the room, and we walk single file down a dark hallway, the sound from Tenderhook’s finale growing louder with every step.
We got to meet them yesterday at sound check.
Ari, their lead singer, is the same age as Mo.
Maybe it’s just my nerves talking but they’re definitely better than us.
When we get to side stage, even though the evening is cooling off, with all the lights blasting down on the band, heat pulses off them in waves.
I’m looking everywhere but at the crowd when Morgan leans in close. “Nic’s here.”
I follow her gaze. Across from us, his hands crossed over his chest, stands Nic Salazar with his flock of scantily-clad groupies.
His blonde hair is shaved close on one side and long on top so that it hangs into his eyes.
That night we played at The Limelight together, I caught him practicing flipping it back in a mirror.
Though I haven’t talked to him since then, he played at The Limelight last year, and he and Dad keep in touch.
Tonight, he’s wearing his typical ripped black jeans, combat boots, and black T-shirt printed with some logo too faded to make out.
When he sees us watching, he arches one eyebrow and gives us his cool guy chin lift.
Morgan grips my arm and squeals. “He’s going to watch our set!”
My stomach flutters. In the last year, Nic’s blown up.
Record deal, an album recorded, a thirty-two-stop tour that kicks off next month.
I’ve heard two of his songs on the radio already, “Candle,” which is still my favorite, and a new one since our Limelight show that is definitely catchy but feels…
lacking. Like he’s already selling out. Or maybe he’s not as talented as everyone thinks?
Morgan gets occasional DMs from him on Instagram that make her downright giddy.
They talk about music and he sends her shots from his gigs.
She’s shared some of her journey with him through the songs she’s written, and I guess he’s been encouraging.
I haven’t been shy about telling Mo that once Nic’s tour kicks off, we’ll likely never see him again.
Dad’s murmuring something to the stage manager, and then he clasps him on the shoulder, like they’re sharing a private joke. Applause erupts from the audience, slamming my ears with sound .
“Thank you!” Ari says into the mic, raising one of her arms in gratitude.
The lights go out.
One note at a time , I remind myself.
Emmie’s just finishing the last curl in my hair when my phone buzzes. I snatch it up.
“Hey,” I say, my voice breathy.
“How’d it go?” William asks.
“So good,” I gush while Emmie cheers, “They were AMAZING!”
I laugh. “The crowd was great.”
“Wish I could have been there,” he says, his tone edged with regret.
Emmie slips the curl from the curling iron and unplugs it, then bounces out of our bathroom.
Dad let Emmie and me share a night in the hotel instead of going home with him and Morgan after the festival.
You’ve worked hard, pumpkin. Enjoy a night with your friends .
It’s bittersweet because in just a few weeks, Emmie and I will be going separate ways.
We already said goodbye to Wren, who left for the University of Wyoming last week.
At least Crosby and I will be at Cornish together.
And I’ll have Professor Massey as my advisor.
I swing the coda medallion back and forth on its chain. “You were with me in spirit.”
We talk a little more about the show, and he shares stories from his brutal practice and getting to know his new team. He sounds tired but happy.
“Call me when you get back to your room tonight,” he says as we’re wrapping up.
I scoff. “You’ll be asleep.”
“No sleep for me until I know you’re safe.”
Still so protective, even from hundreds of miles away. “Okay. ”
“I love you, blackbird,” he says. “I can’t wait to see you.”
“Love you back, QB.” I smile at my reflection, because my whole face lights up when I say those words to him. “Twenty-two more days.”
He groans. “That’s twenty-two too many.”
I sigh because I’m the luckiest girl on earth. He may not be here, but a part of him is. The part that lives inside my heart. And that’s all that matters.
I finish getting dressed, going for a black tee with a thin ruffle along the cap sleeves, dark jeans, and suede ankle boots Emmie calls my “uptown booties.” Emmie look like a million bucks in a navy blue dress and cowboy boots.
We stop by Crosby’s room down the hall. His parents, Sally and Ted, are here too, staying in an adjoining room.
“How do I look?” Crosby asks, his face a little pale. He’s wearing jeans and white sneakers, paired with a blue dress shirt rolled up to his elbows.
“Like a professional,” I say with a grin.
Emmie drags him from the room and we hurry to the elevator.
The penthouse suite is all white marble and high ceilings, and big glass windows overlooking the lake. Music blares from speakers and there’s at least a hundred people mingling, talking, laughing, almost everyone with a drink in their hand.
“Ohmygawd,” Emmie says, her eyes wide. “It’s bigger than my whole house!”
I laugh. “Come on, let’s get a drink.”