Will's Story Page 2

  “Everyone, this is Will, from over in Sevenmile.”

  The guitar player who just quit lifts his chin toward my case. “What you got?”

  “A Deering.”

  The guy nods. “Nice banjo. Want to duel?”

  The bearded guy to my right groans. “Really, Jack? Again? You ain’t got to piss on this tree. He’s just a kid.”

  Being called a kid doesn’t sit well with me. I open the case and pull my instrument into position. “Dueling Banjos” is the swan song for every picker.

  The guitarist, Jack, laughs. “Shut it, Sizz. Your kid here wants to play.”

  I launch into the first chords.

  Jack plays back.

  I play again and we’re off. My fingers fly across the strings and the sweet metallic sound weaves in and out of the dulcet tones of Jack’s guitar. I’m speed and motion. I’m pure unadulterated energy. When we wind up and up until the moment we drop all sound, I think this has got to be the next best thing to sex.

  “Well, hot damn.” Beau’s grinning from ear to ear and launches into a slow clap. “Boy, you can play.”

  “I’m Nicole. This is Sizz,” the girl on the bearded guy’s lap says. “You need to come out to our house sometime and jam.”

  “To hell with that,” Jack says. “He needs to come jam tonight.”

  They all look at me expectantly, even the couple of guys I recognize from Flat Trucker. I swallow, thinking about Dad’s warning. Maybe I can figure something out. Luckily, Beau saves me. “Hold up, eager beavers. This young man has school tomorrow. High school. Y’all remember what that’s like, don’t you?”

  There are nodding heads and laughter and the barista comes over handing out drinks. “Here you go, sweetie.” She hands me something frothy and warm.

  “Oh, I didn’t order . . .”

  She cuts me off with a flash of cleavage and a wink. “On the house.”

  “Look at you with the lady appeal.” Sizz chuckles.

  “Speaking of ladies.” One of the guys from Flat Trucker speaks up. “Y’all know anybody interested in doing some sugary vocal stylings? We’re toying with the idea of a female backup singer.”

  I immediately think of Amber Vaughn and our drive up to the bald. How she was singing along with a song of theirs I had on my playlist. How I’d even said they’d kill to have her in their band like I was a damn psychic for this moment or something. When nobody else speaks up, I blurt it out. “I know a girl.”

  “Oh, yeah?” The Flat Trucker guy leans forward.

  I take a sip of what turns out to be some kind of burnt sugar latte. My taste buds feel like they should complain—not such a manly drink—but it’s really good. As I swallow, I nod. “Yeah, she goes to school with me. She’s incredible.”

  “Bring her by our house.” Nicole looks at the band guy. “When are y’all coming over next?”

  “Friday.”

  Nicole smiles. I get the feeling she’s like the den mother for this mixed bag of musicians. “So it’s settled. Next Friday, and really, you should come out before that. We’re always playing music. We even have a stage in the living room.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” But my brain’s slipped into overdrive. How the hell am I going to get Amber Vaughn to their house?

  Nicole writes the address onto the back of my hand, then Beau pulls out his fiddle, stepping into a lively rendition of “Blackberry Blossom,” and all talking stops. We play for the next couple of hours and by the time we’re done, I feel like all my questions about the future have been answered.

  “You going to apply?” Beau grins as he packs away his fiddle, my answer already written on my face.

  “This week,” I say.

  He laughs at my eagerness. “I’m glad, but you’ve got a little time. Once you get accepted to the university, you’ll need to come out and audition for the program. Any performance history you have to list is a bonus.”

  My face must fall because he’s quick to add, “Don’t worry, boy. You’ve got the chops. But if your school has some music classes, even a chorus, you might want to jump on that for your transcripts.”

  Beau stands and several of the musicians follow suit.

  “Don’t forget, man, we’ll be looking for you next week.” Sizz bumps my shoulder with his fist.

  “And bring that singer,” the guy from Flat Trucker adds.

  They wave as I get into my car. Now I’ve just got to figure out a way to convince Amber Vaughn to get back in it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Hard truths

  Easy lies

  The path I choose

  Might be a surprise

  “Chorus? Isn’t that sort of for losers?” Amber Rose’s thigh presses against my leg under the lunch table.

  “Yeah.” Her friend Sarabeth chimes in. “The only people who take chorus are fags, fat girls, and fuckups.”

  “You did not just . . .” I shake my head. “Did that shit literally come out of your mouth?” I don’t talk about Devon’s sexuality, kid deserves his privacy, but I can’t let that slide. “I know people who are gay and they’re just people.” I glare at Sarabeth and slide away from Amber Rose’s leg. “And you know what, a girl with a little meat on her bones is not the worst thing in the world. Actually, it’s kind of hot. Fags, fat girls, and fuckups, seriously?” I cross my arms. “What kind of backwoods bigots are you?”

  Both Amber Rose and Sarabeth suck in a breath at that. So what if I wreck their worldview, it might do them good.

  Sarabeth mumbles under her breath, something about fuckups and I feel pretty sure she’s referring to my recent stoner past.

  “Shut up, Sarabeth.” Amber Rose squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry, Will. It’s just, a tiny bit unusual, adding it to your schedule last minute. But I get it, you love music.”

  Something stops me from telling her about my talk with Beau after the session yesterday. I mean, Amber Rose was pretty awesome that day out on the lake, listening to me gripe about my issues with my dad, but she’s not a musician. How can she really get it?

  “Will, I promise Sarabeth didn’t mean anything. She was just joking around.” Amber Rose slides closer, doing that thing where she presses her breast against my arm and makes me forget whatever I was thinking about. “I like when you sing.”

  “Whatever.” I won’t be distracted that easily.

  “No, really.” She presses closer and runs a fingernail behind my ear, then whispers, “Forgive me?”

  Body takes over brain and I tilt my head toward her and move my arm so it rubs against her already-there breast, taking advantage of this mid-lunch cop-a-feel moment.

  “Will.” She laughs but her body shifts, leaving my arm cool and lonely.

  Sarabeth smirks. To hell with them. I’m still going to sing.

  That afternoon I walk through the door of the chorus room and do a quick scan for familiar faces. There’s only one. Amber Vaughn. It’s time to get past our moment of indiscretion.

  I remember her Star Wars joke and try one of my own as I pass her seat. “How’s it going, oh Forceful one?”

  The look on her face is daggers. Like she full-on hates me.

  “It’s going nowhere, Will.”

  I hesitate, then I feel the flush creep into my face and mutter something about that being too bad because I’d be happy to give her a ride home again and then as soon as I say it I realize I must sound like a total perv. So I cut my losses and go sit down in the seat I’m directed to.

  Luckily there’s not a lot of time to think about what a colossal fuckup I am because Mrs. Early, the chorus instructor, gets us started. We’re singing this old song, “Shenandoah,” and it’s actually pretty cool to hear how she gets all of our voices working together. Every now and then I steal a glance at Amber Vaughn and I wonder if things will ever be easy with us again. She knew I was going out with Amber Rose. It wasn’t like she said no that afternoon. What happened was definitely mutual. And it isn’t like she’s given me the time of day since, or any
clue that would make me think maybe she actually likes me. I mean, if she did, I might . . . I don’t know, but it would change things. I think.

  After chorus, I follow her out to the front of school. Her sister’s there in a beat-up old Chevy. She must have gotten out on bail or something. I wave my sheet music in their direction, hoping for a smile, something, but Amber Vaughn only glares at me.

  When I get home I’m faced with another jolt of reality. Dad. He’s got the Common Application site up and open on the kitchen laptop. Which means when I apply to ETSU it’s going to be there bright as brass for him to judge. Pun intended.

  “What are you doing home so early?” I hang my keys by the door and throw my backpack on a stool.

  Dad sips something golden over ice. “Early day. Took advantage of it. I also had a long conversation with a friend of mine down at Carolina. He said we needed to get you started on this.”

  “Dad, I got this.”

  “Do you? Because the last time I checked you were working your way toward a correctional institution.”

  “You mean our kitchen?”

  “Funny.” His voice is serious, but I see I got the laugh by the tilt in the corner of his eyes.

  “Dad. Hard truths. My grades are mediocre. My extracurriculars, kind of nonexistent, at least not the kind I can put on a college application, and Carolina isn’t easy to get into.”

  “Will. You leave getting in to me. But you have to do this application.” He shakes his head and takes another sip. “I don’t know what bit of rebellion charged you off the rails but I have faith you’re going to keep turning this around. You are my son, after all.”

  Now would be a good time to tell him, he happened to me, him and his hometown judge’s bench ambitions. That if we’d stayed in Raleigh, I’d still be at prep school and on track. But even as I think it, I wonder how true that would be. My old friends are always out partying, getting seriously wasted and not just smoking a little weed. They’re the quintessential bad, rich boys. I’d never tell Dad, and I’ve only just begun to admit it to myself, but moving out here, to the mountains, may have actually saved my ass. Because if we hadn’t moved here, I’m pretty certain I never would have picked up the banjo. And what started as my own tongue-in-cheek joke has turned into more than I ever could have imagined.

  I try a new approach. “You want to play some music?” It’s a little known fact that Judge McKinney can play just about any stringed instrument, if you can talk him into it.

  He grins. “Nice try.” The smile drops and he points to the computer. “Sit.”

  “Fine.” The sooner I get this done, the sooner I can apply where I want.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Make the plans

  Steal the show

  Figure it out

  I’m good to go

  The next week is a blur. Every afternoon I’ve driven up to Sizz’s for a few hours to jam and hang out. So much so that Amber Rose is starting to get bent out of shape.

  “So where is it that you’re going?”

  “I told you, up to Erwin to play music with some guys I know.”

  “College guys.” She’s sitting with her arms crossed, her back to the concrete wall of the commons. “Which means, college girls.” The sincerity of her glossed pout is questionable, but I guess I’ll play her game.

  “Come on, it’s not like that.”

  “Will, you’re not going to flirt with some college girl, are you? Especially since our four-week anniversary is tomorrow.” She gives a little humph and I know my correct next move is sweet words and pleading but I’ve given her the option to come with me. She’s said no every time.

  “Amber Rose, you have nothing to worry about from college girls. But don’t forget, you’re the one bailing on me tonight.”

  “Like you care.” She shifts on the bench and lifts her chin. It’s so cartoonish I almost laugh. But then I feel bad because she’s right. When she told me she couldn’t come to our house tonight for Devon’s little pregame soiree, part of me saw a chance. Tonight’s the night Flat Trucker said they’d be out at Sizz’s house to jam and without Amber Rose around, I might still find a way to convince Amber Vaughn to come with me. No funny stuff, of course. I will not be that guy again. Not until I’ve figured out what it is I really want.

  “Aw, come on.” I scoot closer to her. “I’m looking forward to meeting your family tomorrow.”

  She glances sideways. “You are?”

  Good question. I mean, on the one hand, yeah. I like people. I’m pretty good with adults. Her parents own the one decent restaurant in town so the food’s bound to be good. But the more time away from that day on the lake and the more time with Amber Rose and her clique of school friends, the more I’m wondering if this is the right relationship. We really are about as different as a girl and a guy can be.

  “It’ll be great,” I say. “Really.”

  She relaxes against me. “I like you, Will.”

  “I like you, too, Amber Rose.”

  She leans her head into my chest, all girl-smell great, and mumbles. “I’m really sorry about tonight, but you know . . .”

  I put my arm over her shoulder. “Yeah, I know, shopping. Way more important.”

  And it’s like the universe is testing me or something because no sooner than I feel sort of snuggly inside, Amber Vaughn walks out of the cafeteria with the other new kid at our school this year, Kush’s cousin, Sean, and bam, my mind goes straight back to that afternoon. A slow-mo fantasy plays in my head where I’m on my feet and going to her and planting a not-for-school kiss on those full lips, and I have to shake my head to make it stop. Because, obviously, she hates me. And, not so obviously, but maybe she’s into that new kid. They’re pretty intense in conversation about something. And she’s smiling. And he’s doing that dude hands in his pockets, hair over his eyes, shy and studly thing.

  “Are you okay?” Amber Rose looks up. “You stopped breathing for a second.”

  I return my focus to the girl next to me. “Yeah, fine, just remembered I forgot my calc homework in the car.”

  That afternoon, I help Devon get ready. He’s a mess because he’s jonesing hard for Kush. And it doesn’t matter how many times I’m telling him that dude is straight, Devon does not want to believe it.

  “What do you think? Pepperoni or meat lovers? But he’s half Indian, maybe he’s a vegetarian.”

  “Doesn’t he eat lunch with y’all every day?”

  “Right. Not a vegetarian. Chips in a bowl or in a bag?”

  “You are so gay.” I roll my eyes and grab the chip bag from his hand and plop it on the bar that separates the kitchen from the family room. “Bag is fine.”

  “Savage.” Devon gasps but doesn’t grab the bag back. “When’s Amber-o-zia getting here?”

  Devon is hilarious with his nicknames and with all the Ambers in our school it’s necessary. Amber-o-zia, like the frothy Jell-O salad, is what he calls Amber Rose. The nickname kind of fits her.

  “She’s not. She’s shopping with her mom. Some big sale or something.”

  Devon freezes. “Please tell me you’re not staying home.”

  I sidle over to him and sling my arm around his neck. “Staying home. Plopping on the couch right between you and lover boy. Need to make sure there’s no funny stuff going on in here.”

  “If you’re not lying I hate you right now.” A web of red splotches works its way up his neck. It’s completely easy to rile him up.

  I drop my arm and nudge him. “Kidding. Don’t worry, I’ll get out of your hair. Wouldn’t want to interrupt your boy time.”

  His phone chimes. When Devon finishes reading the text, he lets out an exasperated sigh.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I haven’t told Plain and Small I’m not going to the football game and dance. She’s expecting to ride with us, but I was counting on Sean giving her a ride. Now he can’t come over.” Devon paces the kitchen then stops. “Crap, she’s going to hate me.”<
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  “She’s not going to hate you, kid. She’s your bestie.” My brain ticks and clicks with possibility. If I can get her in my car, maybe I can convince her to go over the mountain to sing at Sizz’s. I doubt she’ll want to miss the dance, but if she’d be willing to miss the game, we could do it. There’ll be time. “And, hey, no worries.” I snag a handful of chips out of the bag. “I’ll give her a ride.”

  “Really? You’re the best.” Devon goes back to singing his way around the kitchen and now I’m the one pacing. I’ve got to find the right way to play this. She can’t think I’m trying to hit on her. Or that I’m trying to be a douche to Amber Rose again.

  I’ll have to make it all about the music.

  CHAPTER SIX

  What I thought I knew

  Where I thought I’d be

  It’s all a wash

  When you look at me

  When the doorbell rings, I’m prepared. I’m all slick confidence and killer grin.

  I throw the door open. “Look who’s here. Gorgeous junior girls.” And it’s true. C.A., Cheerleader Amber, who gave Amber Vaughn a ride over, is your quintessential all-American leggy blonde, and then there’s Not So Plain and Small, pint-size, curvaceous, with the biggest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. I take a breath and remember my plan. Keep it about the music, lose the player act.

  C.A. doesn’t fall for my false confident routine, just pushes me out of the way and walks down the hall telling me to stop it. Not So Plain and Small hesitates though, and I fumble, saying some stupid thing about ogling the Ambers. My mother would fucking kill me if she heard me talk to a girl like that. And I could do the same. Why is my nervous fallback always to act like I think I’m hot shit or something? It never works.

  They both ignore me and go to find Devon and Kush, who are dancing to Bollywood movies in the den. Okay, so maybe new kid Kush has more layers than I realize.