23. Almost heroes
ALMOST HEROES
JUNIOR YEAR
T he studio sat low and unassuming from the outside, tucked behind a row of warehouses that smelled faintly of oil, rain, and old ambition.
There was no sign or marquee to announce its presence, just a steel door with chipped paint and a keypad that stuck if you didn’t press the numbers slow enough, like it was testing whether you really belonged there.
Inside was another world. The air was thick with soundproofing foam and history.
Eggshell-gray walls lined with panels cut into sharp, geometric angles, each one absorbing echoes, secrets, mistakes.
Framed platinum and gold records hung unevenly – not as trophies, but as proof of survival.
Some were dusty, some were crooked. A few were cracked behind the glass, like they’d been moved too many times by people chasing the next thing.
The vocal booth was small but sacred. Preston stood at the mic, eyes half-closed. Cameron was locked in behind the keys, Brian keeping time like he always did – loose but exact. The room didn’t feel like a practice run; it felt like the arrival of something big.
Macknificent Townes went around to everyone to make sure Preston had their full support. Admittedly, it made him feel better. Though they were teenagers, each of them were skilled musically – their school demanded excellence.
“One, two three,” Preston called. The band started on cue.
He began to sing My Cherie Amour, the song that was building his career at the moment.
Mack exited the sound booth. He was focused, unmoved, calculating.
He had a precision about himself when it came to music.
When he listened, it was with a master’s ear – sharp and precise.
Spring had been around him enough to hear when he was critical of other bands, and Preston.
He knew his stuff. Usually he was impressed with Preston, but he didn’t look it today.
“Lovely as a summer day,” Preston sung, carefree.
He locked eyes with Spring as he continued.
She smiled at him, encouraging him to take the mic off the stand and walk over to woo her with the power of his voice.
It was a game he played; he wouldn't stop until she blushed, something he affectionately called her “dark-skinned blush,” and he knew her favorite part was coming up. “La la la, la la la,”
As if on cue, she smiled brightly. Mission accomplished.
He glided over to his mother and worked the room. Everyone was into the song. Everyone except Mack.
When Preston finished the last line, the room stayed quiet for a moment. Preston looked at his mentor. He was confident he’d nailed it, but all eyes were on Mack for his stamp of approval.
Then Mack clapped once. Sharp. Decisive. “That,” Mack said, smiling wide, “is how legacies start.”
The entire room clamored with applause. Talia let out a burst of laughter. “My baby is about to be a star. Boy, when you learn how to dance like that?”
He glanced at Spring, and was about to respond when Mack chimed in. “I’m telling you, by time I’m done with him, the boy gonna be the next Usher.”
Preston laughed, a little embarrassed. “You say that about everyone.”
“And I’m right more often than I’m wrong,” Mack shot back. “Listen, P – this album, and the way you’re singing right now? We do this right, there’s no ceiling. World tours. Soundtracks. And you’ll have ownership of it all. You won’t just be known, you’ll be untouchable.”
His mother nodded, eyes bright. “You sounded focused tonight, baby.”
Focused. Not perfect. Not controlled.
Preston liked that word.
Across the room, Spring was leaning against the wall, arms folded, watching him like she always did – not as a fan or a critic, but someone listening for the truth. She mouthed the words, “Go, Big Bird.”
Preston chuckled and winked at her, then walked over to Mack to address some of the finer notes.
When rehearsal wrapped, Spring slipped outside with her dad, voices low but close enough for Preston to catch pieces as he packed up cables. “What do you think of Mack?” she asked.
Ralph paused, then said, “I don’t know him well enough to judge. No doubt he’s full of character, but he seems well-intentioned. Wants to do well by Preston.”
Spring didn’t respond to him right away. After a spell, she said, “You’ll look out for Preston, right? For all of them?”
The smile was evident in his words. “Of course, Nai. Not only is he important to you, that’s Cameron’s best friend. He’s almost family.”
Spring nodded as Preston finally started to approach.
“Ready to go eat?” he asked.
She looked at her dad who nodded. “I’ll get out of you guys’ way. I got a long day tomorrow, so I need some sleep.”
“Headed back to Beaumont?” Spring asked
“Yep, it’s Thursday. Hopefully won’t be much longer, but for now it’s the way it is.”
“Okay, Dad, I’ll see you later.” She waved goodbye to her dad as the two of them walked down the hallway.
When they were alone, she leaned into him and said quietly, “You sounded really good in there.”
He smiled. “You always say that.”
“No,” she said. “I mean it tonight. They’re right about you not having a ceiling. You keep finding ways to improve.”
He searched her face, sensing she wasn’t saying everything. “You okay?”
She hesitated for just a second. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”
He brushed his thumb against her hand. “About what?”
“About how fast things move when everyone agrees they’re good.”
He shrugged gently. “That’s the dream, right?”
She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And then one day it’s not,” she said.
Preston paused. “So, what’s going on?”
Spring huffed. “Sitting in the studio listening you sing that song always makes me feel better. But, today for some reason – I can’t explain it, but it took me back to the night my mom died.”
He stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. “I wasn’t trying to?—”
She rushed to assure him. “You didn’t do anything. In fact, you helped me remember something.”
Preston paused, unsure of where his words would land. “Is…. that a good thing?”
“My mom never wore perfume. She was more into oils and fragrances, natural scents. But the night she died, she had on perfume I remember now because it was so pronounced. I… I don’t know. You singing just now made me think about how she smelled that day.”
“And you want to see what else you remember?”
“How did you?—”
“Spring… at this point I know when you’re pulling on a thread, baby.”
He didn’t say another word; he just opened his car door and got inside.
She stood there, puzzled, as he turned it on. Noticing that she hadn’t yet moved, he walked around to the passenger seat and opened the door, ushering her forward.
“What are you doing?”
“The mall closes in an hour. If we’re gonna spend our night smelling perfumes, we need to get a move on it.”
She stood motionless for a second, stunned by his consideration – him having a solution to a problem she didn’t even know existed within herself yet. She did want to see if she could recall it.
“Move your ass, Nubia, we’re short on time.”
She smiled as she hopped in the car.
The mall wasn’t far from the studio, about a ten-minute drive up the street. Preston parked in a location where there were two major retail stores that sold perfume.
“We’ll start with Macy’s and if we don’t find it there, we’ll go to Dillard's,” he said.
They walked in the mall and began to sample all the scents. After thirty minutes, they began the trek to the next store empty-handed.
Spring moved through the aisles with purpose, lifting testers, closing her eyes, shaking her head, focused.
“Try this one,” he said, offering her a strip.
She smelled it, frowning. “No.” A sigh escaped. “This was stupid,” she said quietly.
He watched her, no longer focused on the bottles. The way her shoulders tensed, even as she tried to laugh it off.
He picked up another bottle and handed her some coffee beans. “Try this one,” he offered.
She inhaled and stopped, frozen in her tracks. “That,” she said.
He leaned in. It was floral, but grounded. Familiar in a way that made his chest feel tight for no good reason.
She swallowed. “That’s it.”
“You sure?”
She nodded once. “I’d know it anywhere.”
Preston examined the bottle. “Pasha de Cartier,” he said aloud.
She examined the bottle.
They left the store without buying anything.
Outside, the sun was dipping low, the parking lot warm and loud. Preston reached for her hand out of habit. She took it, but her attention was distant, distracted.
He pulled her gently to a stop. “Hey.”
She blinked like she’d just remembered where she was. “Sorry.”
They stood there for a second – too close to ignore, too far to feel settled. He leaned in instinctively, and she did too… then stopped herself.
“I’m not there,” she said softly.
He nodded, even though it stung. “I know.”
She exhaled, relieved. “Thank you. For today.”
“You have one more answer than you did yesterday. That’s a win.”
They sat on the hood of his car instead, shoulders touching. Quiet returned, the kind that didn’t rush.
“My mom mattered to me,” she said suddenly. “More than people know.”
“I know,” he said. And he meant it. “That’s why I’m with you.”
She looked at him then – really looked, like she was searching for something.
“My mom wants the best for me,” Preston said, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “She always has. But sometimes it feels like I’m living her life instead of mine.”
Spring tilted her head. “You mean the record contract.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m grateful for it. I am. But when everything turns into expectation, it stops being fun.”
She studied him carefully. “I don’t make you feel like that…?”
“No,” he said quickly. “You don’t. You’re the reason I want to sing.”
That landed.
He didn’t think about it – he just started humming. Soft at first, then clearer.
My chérie amour…
Her shoulders dropped just a little.
He sang to her like he always did – not performing, not proving anything. Just sharing.
When he finished, she leaned into him, forehead resting against his shoulder. “I’m glad it’s you,” she said.
He smiled. “Me too. I’m serious,” he said, sitting up just enough to face her. “Like… real serious. I don’t care where all this goes – music, deals, whatever. As long as I got you in it somewhere, I’m straight.”
She sighed, suddenly unsure where to put all the feeling rising in her chest. “We’re just kids, Preston.”
“Yeah,” he said, smiling like that didn’t scare him at all. “But we’re us.”
She leaned in, resting her forehead against his. The world shrank to the space between their breaths. “I don’t need forever,” she whispered. “I just need right now to be real.”
He kissed her then – slow, careful, like he was afraid of breaking something sacred. When they pulled back, he rested his nose against hers. “We’re gonna have time,” he said. “All of it. I swear.”
She looked up, hesitated, then kissed him again, gentle, unhurried, more reassurance than desire. He kissed her back. And for that moment, everything else faded.
The questions.
The tension.
The things she hadn’t said yet.
For now, they were just them again.
And that was enough.