Chapter Three
Twice a week after school, Wills and Dorothy hung out at the smoking tables until Jani was through with band practice, and then they all went to the one diner downtown and had French fries.
Instead of ketchup, they dipped their fries in a shared vanilla milkshake, which made all the other kids want to do it. The order was even called the Feathers.
Today was the first day of guitar lessons, and no matter how hard Wills tried, she couldn’t focus on her trig homework while waiting for Jani.
Finally, she got up and told Dorothy she was going to use the restroom.
Dorothy watched her walk away thoughtfully.
As soon as Wills was in the building, she went straight to the auditorium, looked to see if anyone was around, and quickly slipped inside.
Gram would never know. The auditorium was a dead zone, and probably the real reason Gram had said no to lessons.
It had nothing to do with Wills’s hands.
Gram simply wouldn’t be privy to what was going on in here.
It was near the end of the lesson, and six boys were in chairs in a semicircle onstage with Jack facing them, slowly mapping out chords.
They weren’t getting it, but Jack still smiled and told them it was a good start.
He placed his guitar into his case that, curiously, had a long umbrella strapped to the inside lid, then handed them each a piece of paper torn from a notebook—chords to practice until their next lesson.
She watched, hidden in the shadows in the back row, as the boys packed up guitars they’d pilfered from their attics, or borrowed from neighbors.
They were alive with excitement now that they could focus on Jack and not the music, bombarding him with questions about where he’d been and how many women he’d slept with and if any of them were famous.
As the boys finally walked off the stage and down the aisle, they were talking about forming a band of their own.
When the doors clicked shut behind them, Jack took a deep breath.
He put his hands behind his neck, which caused the hem of his white T-shirt to ride up, exposing a trail of dark hair disappearing into his waistband.
He stared at the ceiling, where pulleys and counterweights were holding scenery backdrops and curtains.
After a few moments, his expression began to collapse and it looked like he might be about to cry.
It was such a vulnerable moment, his guard down, loneliness beaming through the cracks.
She would hate if someone saw a moment like this from her, one she didn’t want anyone to see.
“A band with six guitar players,” she called out. “That would certainly be something.”
His hands immediately dropped and he looked into the audience, searching. He finally found her. “You decided against learning to play.”
“My grandmother decided for me.”
He began stacking up the chairs. “You know, I’ve only been here a few days, but already three different people have warned me about her,” he said.
“You should listen to them. From the time she was a little girl, she’s had what people around here call second sight.”
“You’re joking.” He picked up his guitar case and walked down the stage steps. He stopped at the end of the row where she was sitting.
She shook her head.
“Now you have to tell me,” he said. He set his case down and sat beside her, which made her body tense.
“Well,” she said, unsure where to begin, “I think she was six when it started. She told her parents that she heard in the air that the railway was coming through, and that it was going to take a good portion of their farmland from them. The government said it wasn’t going to happen, but her parents believed her.
It wasn’t a risk one way or the other. It was probably the excuse they needed to let go of some of the land, anyway.
Gram’s family was land rich, but dirt poor.
That changed because of Gram. Her family sold the far acreage first, to an unlucky guy who only got back in easement a fraction of what he’d paid, after the railway really did come through.
The train stop from the city eventually made people interested in living here, so Gram’s family sold more land.
With what was left, they developed downtown, and collected rent as income from those buildings. Gram inherited everything.”
“Wow,” he said, sliding down in his seat so his head of wavy hair was resting against the back, and his legs arced out in a V.
“I know,” Wills said.
Then he laughed with what almost seemed like admiration. “What an amazing con.”
“No, it’s not a con,” she said earnestly.
“She’s always known things she shouldn’t know.
She said her own grandmother was the same way, but she was more chaotic, and people called her crazy.
Gram is very deliberate. She’ll say things to you that only your dead aunt knew.
Or something that was said or done in the privacy of your own home.
She spooks people. You look like you’ve seen enough of the world to know that strange things can happen, even here. ”
He turned his head on the seat and smiled. His eyes were so dark it was like staring into water at midnight. “Yes, but usually only with the help of some good drugs.”
Wills rolled her eyes but smiled back. She couldn’t help it.
“I didn’t shock you?” he asked.
“I’m basically numb.”
“I doubt that.” He reached over and took her hand out of her lap. He put his thumb to the pulse point on her wrist and said, “Nope. You’re alive.”
She pulled her hand away quickly. “I said I was numb, not dead.” She had a certain panache for a place like Hen Town, but she knew she wasn’t sophisticated, knew it the way you can know the meaning of a word but not how to pronounce it.
She read every paper and magazine Gram had delivered to the house, and every book she could check out of the library, but it wasn’t enough to scratch the surface of what there was to know.
He probably thought she was a rube, and therefore easy.
“Just so you know, I’m not an Everywhere Girl. ”
“And just so you know, I’m not Andy Smooth.”
She hesitated, then conceded his point. “So how did you end up on tour with someone like him?”
“He needed a rhythm guitarist, and I was between gigs.” He shrugged. “And I like being on the road. It means I have a roof over my head, even if it’s the roof of a van. Studio work is competitive in LA, and doesn’t pay the rent.”
“Is that where you’re from?”
“Close enough.”
“Doesn’t your family worry about you?”
“No,” he said with a snort. “I’ve been on my own for seven years. Since I was sixteen.”
He was Terrence’s age. She was surprised. He seemed both older and infinitely younger, something she’d never associated with anyone but herself.
“Wills.” She turned to see Dorothy at the auditorium doors. “Band practice is over. Jani’s coming,” she said, which Wills knew was much more than general information. It was a warning. Jani’s unpredictable nature lately meant she could have a field day with this.
She immediately got up and inched by Jack to get out of the row, her bare knees brushing his jeans-clad legs.
“So long, Willamena,” he said wistfully as he watched her.
When she got to the doors, she paused. “Call me Wills.”
After that, Wills watched every one of Jack’s lessons. She didn’t even have to tell Dorothy where she was going. And by unspoken agreement, Dorothy always came to get her when band practice was over, before Jani could find out.
Wills had been friends with Jani longer, and her loyalty to her was fierce, but she felt on steadier ground with Dorothy.
Dorothy kept her head down and didn’t want to be noticed, but she had beautiful red hair and an Irish complexion, so it was impossible not to notice her, especially since the rest of Dorothy’s family was dark-haired and tan-skinned.
In middle school, Jani had welcomed Dorothy into their friend circle in a keep-your-enemies-closer way, after Jani’s longtime crush, Buck Pringle, had called Dorothy pretty.
A blond, a brunette, and a redhead, like Neapolitan ice cream, the three of them had always been good together, rounding each other out.
Wills had attention, Jani wanted attention, and Dorothy didn’t care.
Wills would stay seated in the back of the auditorium with her homework as a cover in case one of the boys saw her.
And after the boys left, before coming to join her, Jack would play for her, his audience of one.
It was the single most intimate musical experience of her life, and years later she would still think of it and feel the hum through her body.
She could easily imagine him on TV, the camera tight on his face, his eyes closed.
He was made for it. She once asked him what he was going to do when he left, and he’d replied with a grin, Take on the world.
He was on his way to an extraordinary life, once he got out of Hen Town.
Which would be none too soon for him.
He came off as blasé about it, but he didn’t fit in, and the longer he stayed, the more the shine of him wore off.
He couldn’t go anywhere alone because most people eyed him with suspicion.
Someone even called the police when they saw him in Principal Penwell’s neighborhood, just walking around one evening.
They called him a vagrant, which seemed to amuse him.