The Right Song Read online

  When I beat the eggs and sugar together, I pour it on the sifted flour and add spices, stirring everything in a large mixing bowl with a wooden spoon while I let the oven preheat.

  “So, what’s wrong with you?” I ask, looking up at him.

  Daegan rests his elbows on top of the island. “Rough few days,” he says flatly.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  He exhales long and hard before answering, “Later.”

  I scoop the cake into a square non-stick baking tin. Shortly after the oven beeps, I place the tin inside and sit beside him at the island while it bakes.

  “What else would you like for your birthday?” I ask before thinking.

  He answers smartly, “An acoustic performance.”

  “Hey, didn’t I already give you a show last week?”

  “That was good, but I rather you sing like you did at the cemetery; subtle and emotional.”

  His remark makes me shift on the stool, uneasy. “That was… different,” I tell him.

  “If you want to be a recording artist and connect with people, you’re going to have to get emotional sometimes.”

  “Oh really?”

  He smirks. “Really. Like I said, I’m only looking out for my fellow artist.”

  I wrench my eyes away from his, unsure of the abrupt feeling that’s growing in my chest. I stare at the stainless steel oven instead.

  “When did you start sketching?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

  “As a kid, when my…” he breaks off, saying instead, “There’s another thing I’d like to do today.”

  I swerve back to face him. “Huh?”

  “I want to sketch you.”

  An onset of nerves floats over me. I roll my eyes and pretend as if I’m not bothered. “What’s this fixation you have with sketching me?”

  He hops up, excited. “Be right back.”

  I watch him scurry out of the kitchen, his footsteps disappearing in the background.

  A minute or two later, Daegan returns with his sketchbook and a pencil. He flips over to a blank page and glances at me.

  I spin away. “Don’t, it feels awkward.”

  He laughs. “Why’s it awkward? This is the best way to sketch someone. You’re right here, so close.”

  “Because you’re like, looking at me… it’s weird,” I fumble for the right words to explain. I’ve never had trouble like this. Then again, I’m not writing a song.

  Putting down his pencil, Daegan tilts his head and studies my face. “I don’t understand. Why does it make you feel weird?”

  I stick my hair behind my ears. He notices the movement and scrunches his forehead. A smile dangles at the corner of his mouth. “Why are you getting so nervous?”

  “Nervous? No, not at all. I’m… not nervous.”

  Pff! What’s he talking about? I’m in no way bothered by him.

  I continue to shift uneasily on the stool while Daegan observes me. He picks up the pencil, tapping it on the sketchbook.

  “What?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

  The timer on the oven beeps and I actually flinch. He chuckles at me. I slide off the stool, grab a potholder, and walk over to get the cake.

  “Looks good,” I say as I pull the tin out of the oven. “Don’t expect anything fancy, but I promise it’ll taste great.”

  “I hope so,” he remarks.

  Carrying my eyes to him, I advise, “Let’s wait until it cools down before we cut it.”

  Daegan stands up. “So what do we do while we wait?”

  I shrug. “Up to you. It’s your birthday.”

  He dips his head and looks down his nose, flashing me a cunning grin before he says, “How about that acoustic performance?”

  “Not today,” I groan.

  Pouting, Daegan clasps his hands together and plead. “Come on, it’s my birthday.”

  I stand firm. “Nope.”

  “Please, Aurora,” he begs in a silly voice.

  Laughter gushes from my lips, and I can’t help but give in to his request. “All right, I’ll do it.”

  A satisfied look covers his face as I tread out of the kitchen and out the front door, going to get my guitar off the backseat of the car.

  When I walk back inside, we settle down on the mahogany couch in the living room. I strum on my guitar, trying to think of a song fitting for the occasion. One in particular comes to mind as I peer into his intriguing eyes.

  “It’s an electric guitar, so it’ll sound a little different to you without the amp.”

  He seems unaffected by that, anxious for me to sing something. I clear my throat and continue to strum lightly, harmonizing. I settle my voice softly on E below middle C—a safe zone for lyric contraltos like me—as I begin the song.

  A little black bird flew into my life,

  Pulling me out, now it’s so hard to hide,

  Unbelievably, my heart has changed,

  Forever…

  A sad little girl, I used to be

  Spent many nights crying myself to sleep

  I know I don’t have much, but I’m trying you see,

  Cause with you in my life there is no end for me

  You look at me, yeah, you look at me

  And all of my walls come crashing down

  You look at me, oh, you look at me,

  And I don’t want to disappear anymore

  No it isn’t easy to say all these things

  But I have to let you know….

  That the truth is, you see into my soul

  I don’t understand why you get under my sk—

  I stop singing as the front door pushes open. Daegan and I spring to our feet. Martin Stone enters. He looks across at us, suspicion peppered on his face as he glances from me to Daegan.

  “What’s going on here?” he huffs, dropping a bag by the stairs.

  There’s something about Martin Stone that scares the hell out of me. He’s tall, hulk-like, has a tattoo of a dagger on the right side of his neck, and he gives off the characteristics of a ruffian.

  I look over at Daegan and notice how tense he is. The muscles in his neck bulge, and he clenches his fists as if he’s ready to fight if it calls for that.

  This is a weird atmosphere indeed.

  “Dad, this is Aurora,” he says, introducing me to his father.

  “I know who she is,” Mr. Stone hisses. “Why is she here? You know I don’t like people coming to my house when I’m not here.”

  Yikes!

  “I brought his homework,” I explain, “and I baked a cake for his birthday.” I probably sound stupid because Mr. Stone snorts at me.

  He cuts his eyes away from us and walks up the stairs, not saying another word.

  When he disappears on the second floor, I turn to Daegan, touching his arm. “Is something wrong? Why did he act like that?”

  He stares at me with an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry, you have to go.”

  “Oh.” The sadness in his voice irks my stomach. “Okay, I’ll leave then.”

  Walking me to the door, he says softly at my back, “Thanks for stopping by and for making me a cake. I haven’t celebrated my birthday like that in a long time, much less had anyone to celebrate with.”

  That sends another feeling of hurt over me. I can’t believe he’s this alone.

  “Yeah sure, I’m glad I could do that,” I emphasize. “What are friends for?”

  He cringes at the word, but recovers fast. “Also, thanks for the song. It’s too bad you didn’t get to finish it. Still, you were beautiful as ever.”

  My face feels warm. I drop my head to hide my cheeks in case I’m blushing. Once I’m composed, I look up and clutch my guitar under my arm. “Well, see you,” I say, turning to leave.

  “Hey,” he stops me.

  I stare back sideways.

  “You wanna exchange numbers? Or is that crossing a line…” He sounds unsure. This is a new, more vulnerable side of Daegan Stone.
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  I like it.

  “Sure.” Reaching in my jeans pocket, I take out my phone and hand it to him. “Put your number in and call your phone so you’ll have mine.”

  Our hands brush when he passes it back to me. Instantly, a stream of emotion whooshes through me. When our eyes meet again, I can tell he’s felt something too.

  Backing away from Daegan, I wave and tell him “Bye,” going down the steps and making my way to the car.

  I pull onto the road and head home.

  19.

  It’s Friday, the day of the Spring Festival. More than half the village is gathered on the huge farmland off Center Street. There are food stalls and games to entertain in between the live shows.

  The band is given a section in the performers’ tent behind the stage. We’ll be the fourth act to go on.

  I decided to wear my laced up black boots today with black skinny jeans that are slightly ripped at the knees¸ a chic looking chiffon top, and an embellished leather jacket. I also let my hair down again, making it a tad wavy. I have to look my best whenever we perform in front of our largest audience.

  Chris and I joke around while Drew and Emma talk about something that seems serious. Alex fidgets in a corner to himself.

  The guys look fantastic, with Drew and Chris in gray graffiti shirts and black jeans, while Alex stands out in his blue and black chord patched check shirt and dark blue jeans. He rolls his sleeves up to show off his ‘Don’t define me’ tattoo.

  Emma is flawless in her white embellished pink dress, denim jacket, and black flats. There’s a sad look on her face as she swivels away from Drew after their conversation. They both seem unhappy.

  I start over to check on them when Alex comes up to me. “I’ll sing the first two songs. You take the lead on ‘Alive’,” he suggests.

  “Oh no, this is our last performance together. It should be you on all three,” I tell him.

  “Rora.” He says my name in a soft tone, lifting a hand to run along my cheek. “This crowd is bigger than the one at the Heat Room. Show them you’re not a cover artist. Sing you’re song.”

  I move his hand away from my face and hold on to it. “Alex, I’m so—”

  “I’m an idiot,” he cuts me off. “I shouldn’t have gotten mad over something so petty. Who cares if it was Daegan Stone who got you on stage? What matters is that you did it and you’re here now. Let’s give them another good performance—an original one.”

  The third act’s wrapping up their set now. Alex telling me to sing ‘Alive’ causes a surge of anxiety to overtake me. This is a whole different situation compared to the Heat Room. It’s not a saloon on the outskirts of town.

  The entire village of Seville is at the festival.

  “Oh boy,” I breathe out, nervousness threatening to drive me insane.

  He places his hands on my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. “You’ll be fine. Just relax and warm up before we go on.”

  “Okay,” I mutter. He pats my arm and steps away, informing the others of the plan.

  Emma saunters over to me. “Is it true?” she confirms, “You’re going to perform?”

  “Yeah, hopefully I don’t choke third time around.”

  She jerks my elbow. “Silly. After what you pulled off last week, this should be nothing.”

  “Oh, you’re right. It’s nothing, except every single person who lives in Seville is here,” I say in a sarcastic tone.

  A faint smile plays on her lips. I can see something is going on behind her blue eyes.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  Brushing back her hair behind her ear, she drapes her arm around me. “I’m fine.”

  Soon it’s time for Days End to make our way to the stage. I’m calm for the first songs. I laugh and enjoy myself throughout the performances.

  Then Alex glances back at me from the microphone stand as he finishes ‘Waiting on Forever’.

  I’m up.

  My heart starts to pound behind my ribcage. I look down at the crowd and spot Aunt Leah. She’s excited, confused, and waiting to see what happens next.

  Silly me, I look around for Daegan. I can’t find him anywhere in the crowd, though. It’s disappointing. Maybe he doesn’t do festivals.

  I relax a little when my eyes find Milo instead. It’s good that he’s here. By the anxious expression on his face, I know he realizes that I’m about to perform next.

  Alex moves away from the microphone, gesturing me to centerstage as he takes my guitar from me.

  Keen eyes peer up at me. Alex has piqued their interests and everyone’s waiting for me to give them something great.

  I press my eyes shut. Sweat trickles down the side of my face and I feel my hands tremble as I grip the microphone.

  It’s as if everything’s closing in on me. I feel sick to the stomach. My head feels light. And I fear I might empty my stomach right on the crowd. Frick!

  I don’t understand. I did great at the Heat Room. I just have to chill out, I tell myself.

  Alex blasts off with the opening guitar melodies for ‘Alive’. It sends an adrenaline through me. Daegan’s encouraging smile crosses my mind and suddenly fear dissipates. I can do this.

  In 3-2-1.

  You can’t give up,

  you are stronger than you think

  You can trust yourself,

  look inside, you’ll find the voice of reason

  You can make it through the pain,

  As long as your heart still beats

  Just believe, there’s a way… yeah

  Hold on to the hope of tomorrow

  Keep your head high and face today…

  You’ll survive

  You’re alive… ohh

  I hear loud screams. The crowd’s feeling the song. Everyone, young and old, starts to dance. I sing the chorus twice after the second verse, trying to embed it in their heads enough to sing along with me.

  Something that Daegan said yesterday plays over and over in my mind. I have to connect with the audience.

  Finally when I think they’re ready, I hold a hand up and signal for the guys to kill the music. We clap along with the crowd as they sing the chorus with me, sounding as if they truly mean it.

  You can make it through the pain,

  As long as your heart still beats

  Just believe, there’s a way… yeah

  Hold on to the hope of tomorrow

  Keep your head high and face today…

  You’ll survive

  You’re alive… ohh

  That excitement from the Heat Room returns. I’m flooded with indescribable joy. There’s nothing like singing a song I wrote and having others love it as much.

  When the song comes to an end, we make our way off the stage, still caught up in our high from the entire performance.

  “Man, you are ahh-mazing!” Chris drapes his arms over my shoulder as we come down the steps.

  Drew lays one on my cheek. “That was super cool! Not a bad way to close this chapter, huh?”

  Our laughs fizzle, knowing what he means. This is it. Days End is officially over, but it’s possibly the start of something incredible for me.

  Possibly.

  “Let’s go cool down,” Alex says, walking to the tent.

  Aunt Leah and Emma join us shortly, boiling over with excitement. Aunt Leah kisses me on the top of the head, giving me her proudest smile.

  We hang out there for a while before deciding to join in the festivities. I want to find Milo. And incomprehensively, a part of me wants to see Daegan. I’ve been drawing so much from him to motivate myself and I really wanted to share this feeling with him.

  So odd.

  “Aurora Law,” a bold voice says my name as I toss my empty water bottle in the recycle bin.

  We swivel in sync. A man dressed in a gray shirt, dark jeans, and army green jacket ambles over, reaching his hand out to shake mine.

  “Alan Moore,” he introduces. “I’m a music producer and A&R for Epic Rock Records.”

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nbsp; He slides a business card out of his pocket and passes it to me. Aunt Leah takes it before I get the chance, flipping it back and forth to check its validity.

  “Never heard of this label,” she remarks. As if she’s heard of any label. “What do you want with her?” She places her hands on her hips.

  Oh geez.

  Mr. Moore smiles, understanding her protective nature. “I’m interested in working with Aurora. I think she has something special and I’m willing to help her go all the way to the top. I’m talking a studio album, tours, endorsement deals, mag—”

  “Hold on now.” Aunt Leah lifts a hand to stop him. “My instincts told me once a viral of my niece showcasing her talent went live, that every Tom, Dick, and Harry would come popping out of the bushes to try and “sign” her. So how do you I know you’re for real? Does this label even exist?”

  “Aunt Leah,” I groan, embarrassed.

  Mr. Moore doesn’t seem bothered, though. “Actually, Luke Bryson mentioned you. I checked out your performance from the Heat Room online and was completely impressed. I heard you’d be at the festival, so that’s why I came to see for myself. Are you in a band?”

  “Well, no—” I start to explain.

  Aunt Leah cuts me off, continuing to drill him. “Are you from Ohio?”

  He nods with a grin. “Yes, ma’am. I was born and raised in Cleveland.”

  “Say she considers this, how does she go about starting the process?” Alex chips in.

  Mr. Moore looks over at him. “Well first, Aurora will have to record a demo and I’ll run it by the label. If they like it, they’ll present her with a contract and probably ask her to join our summer tour along with another female vocalist that we’ve recently signed.”

  “That doesn’t sound too bad,” Chris chimes in. “Recording a demo should be easy breezy. When can Rora do that?”

  “Hold on a sec.” Mr. Moore faces me again. “While I am impressed by your talent, Aurora, I can’t assist with the recording of music. The label won’t fund that unless the artist is already signed, which you’re not. But Luke owns a studio in Akron, so you might want to talk to him and arrange something.” He reaches in his pocket and hands me Luke’s number.