The Right Song Read online

  “But you just painted a pretty picture about an album and touring,” Emma breaks in.

  “Yeah,” Aunt Leah adds. “What was that about?”

  They’re both so suspicious of Alan Moore now.

  He shakes his head. “That will happen after she sends in a demo that will blow their minds. Epic Rock is making big moves this year and we’re only looking for the best. Aurora Law has the talent we want. I’m sure she won’t disappoint with an original demo.”

  It’s my time to actually get a word in. “That’s perfectly understandable and I’ll think this through some more. We’ll be in touch.”

  “Sure, but I hope you consider it fast because the summer tour kicks off at the end of June, so if you want to get on that, I suggest you send in that demo to be considered for a contract. That’s if you want this,” he says.

  Twisting to leave, he nods at each of us and smiles. “Hope to hear from you soon.”

  I watch Mr. Moore walk away and disappear around the stage.

  “What do you think?” Drew asks, jerking my arm.

  “I don’t know,” Aunt Leah remarks.

  I glance at her. “It’s fine. I probably won’t do it, anyways.”

  Her mouth drops. “What? I said I don’t know about it, but that doesn’t mean you should just walk away from this.”

  I narrow my eyes and survey her. “So what about Berklee? Are you saying I should give that up and consider Epic Rock?”

  She strokes my face. “There was nothing I wanted more than for you to go to college, but sweetie, after seeing your video from the Heat Room and watching you perform today, I honestly think your heart’s already made that decision for you.”

  Chris wraps his arm around my shoulder. “Yeah, Rora. Epic Rock isn’t a bad label. They’re fairly new, but I have heard of their indie bands and they’re pretty legit.”

  I glance around at their faces. “You guys, where am I going to get the money to pay for studio time to record a demo?”

  “You let me worry about that,” Aunt Leah says. “Just focus on writing the amazing songs I know you’re capable of.”

  Oh my gosh, is this really happening? Am I seriously considering going after this singing thing?

  Yes, I think I am.

  20.

  “You must be on top of the clouds right now,” Milo enthuses. We’re sitting side by side on the swings in the playground after the festival dissolved in the evening. I told him about Alan Moore and how everyone wants me to work on a demo. He’s even more elated than I am.

  “Yeah, well, let’s see how it goes,” I tell him. “I don’t want to get too hyped up and have it blow up in my face.”

  Milo eases over to bump me lightly on the arm. “Don’t worry about it; you’re going to knock that label off its ass when they hear you.”

  I smile at his confidence in me. “Thanks.”

  He grins. “No problem. So what’s it like singing on stage?”

  “It’s hard to put into words. I feel… free. The same way I’ve felt playing with the guys, except better. As if I’m at more peace. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

  He looks at me hard, considering my words. “I can tell how happy you were. It’s weird though…” he trails, lowering his eyes to the sandbox.

  “What’s weird?” I prod.

  He keeps his gaze on the sand as he answers. “It’s like you’re a different person now compared to the girl who was on stage.” Looking back at me, he adds, “You seem more confident on stage.”

  I laugh a little. “You have no idea how scared I am before I sing. It’s just that once I start, my nerves settle down.”

  “I see.”

  “Are you saying you prefer the girl who was on stage rather than the girl beside you now?” I say teasingly. “Because, um, I am the same person.”

  Milo gets up and moves behind me, pushing me on the swing. “Of course you are. I like you either way.”

  Oh. My. Gosh. He just said he likes me.

  Warmth creeps into my cheeks. I tighten my grip on the chains as a sea of anxiety rushes me.

  Hold on a sec. That like could mean anything. He probably meant it in a friendly way. He used to tell me he liked me back in elementary school.

  Suddenly the feelings dissipate and I return to feeling normal.

  It doesn’t last long, though. Milo rests his hands on mine. My back brushes his abs whenever I come back in the swing, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

  “I have a game on Monday, are you coming?” he asks, sounding nonchalant.

  “Of course, I usually do,” I blurt out without thinking. “I mean, I like supporting school events when I’m not busy. I’m not saying I only watch you play…” I try to explain so I don’t come off too weird.

  He stops my swing and walks around to stand in front of me, leaning his head to the side as he regards me.

  “So you’ll come then? You won’t be too busy?” He grins.

  I nod. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be there.”

  “Cool. So, uh, you want to get out of here and go for a drive or something?”

  “Yeah,” I say, sliding off the swing. We walk over to his car outside the park. Emma drove the Volvo home so I could hang out with Milo.

  After a drive nearby Chippewa Lake, we stop for a quick bite at El Patron, the best Mexican restaurant in all of Seville. Then Milo takes me home. This time he doesn’t walk me to the door. We say our goodbyes in the car and he pulls off as soon as I reach the porch. He said he wanted to go for a run at school before they lock the gates to the field.

  Later on I try to write.

  “Hmm… ooh… ohh…” I harmonize, unable to pull a song out of my heart. I’ve been sitting on the carpet in my room for nearly an hour now since I showered and not a single word is on the blank page before me.

  I can hear the TV downstairs. Maybe that’s throwing me off. I put in earplugs and scroll through my phone’s playlist, looking for a song that could possibly spur a feeling I can tap into to write.

  I’m about to play Bruno Mars’ ‘Talking to the Moon’ when I receive a text message. Unexpectedly, my face heats up when I see who it’s from.

  Daegan: How was the festival?

  Me: Good. How come u missed it? Still sick?

  Daegan: Not really my thing. I’m not sick. Never was.

  I pucker my forehead, worried.

  Me: Why’d u miss school then?

  Yikes. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. We’re not that close. I chew on my bottom lip, thinking I’ve crossed my boundaries.

  Daegan: I skipped cause of other reasons.

  Me: K. I understand. The festival really was great, though. I sang today.

  I get a tingle in my stomach, telling him that. I don’t even know why my heart wallops a little when I see his next text.

  Daegan: I bet you killed it. Those lucky bastards got the best performance ever.

  Me: LOL. Stop. I’m not that great.

  Daegan: U stop with the modesty. U R amazing. I mean that.

  Reading his text over, I pause a moment before typing again. It makes me feel so good when he says that; so much better than when anyone else says it. I don’t know him that well and yet I feel so calm, just like when I’m on stage. Another text comes in while I linger in my thoughts. It rattles me a bit.

  Daegan: Can we hang out?

  Me: Tonight?

  Daegan: Yes. Is it too late for u old lady?

  I scoff.

  Me: No. I’m surprised u asked because I figured it’s too late for u, youngster.

  Daegan: Hey, I’m only younger by two months.

  I squint in my dismay. He knows my birthday already passed.

  Daegan: U don’t have to come out. Sorry I asked.

  Now I want to meet up with him. From that last text, I have the sense that he’s in need of a friend. I don’t know. I could be misinterpreting things.

  Me: Don’t be sorry. I’ll meet up.

  Daegan: Really?

  Me:
Yes silly. Where r u?

  There’s a delay before his reply.

  Daegan: Out by the tracks.

  A flood of concern jolts me to my feet. By the tracks? Oh no, he’s not going to do something crazy, is he? I mean, I’ve been thinking about yesterday when I stopped by his house and his dad came home and saw me. The way he snapped had me worried, and then when Daegan asked me to leave right away only enforced my distress.

  Hurriedly, I type my reply.

  Me: On my way!

  I hurry out of my PJs and haul on a pair of jeans and t-shirt. I put on my sneakers and dart downstairs, snatching my keys off the hook by the door. Good thing Emma brought the car over.

  “I’ll be back in a sec,” I call out to Aunt Leah in the living room.

  “This late? You going by Emma’s?” she asks.

  I’m out the door without answering her. Before I know it, I’m in the car speeding out to Wilson’s Farm, hoping that Daegan asking me to come is a sign that he wants me to stop him before it’s too late.

  Parking on the farm, I jump out of the car and begin running for dear life. I sprint through the grass, the sound of my pounding heart and heavy breathing loud in my ears.

  I slow down as I reach the old water tank and peer out at the train tracks. Sure enough, Daegan’s standing there, his head hung low.

  My legs are tired and I’m gasping for air, but I push to move my feet and walk over to him.

  When I get close enough, Daegan hears me and spins around. He furrows a brow and edges toward me.

  “What the—Are you okay?” He lifts a hand to touch me but decides against it.

  “Don’t… do… it,” I say in between gasps.

  “Do what?” he asks, perplexed.

  I gesture to the tracks. “There’s… always… a way. Don’t give… up.”

  His eyes widen. His brows shoot up. Stepping away a tad, he looks over at the tracks then back at me. “Wait a minute, you thought I… you thought I was going to kill myself?”

  He chokes back on laughter. Soon, he’s unable to control himself, hunching over as it gusts out of him from the belly up.

  “Oh man, you’re crazy,” he manages to say amid his throaty laughs.

  I feel like an idiot. Straightening, I turn and walk over to the water tank, lowering to the ground to steady my heavy breathing.

  Daegan strides over. He sits down beside me. “So you rushed here to save me?” he confirms, still chuckling.

  “Yeah,” I mumble. “Stop laughing. It’s not funny.” I can’t believe he can even laugh, especially considering his mother committed suicide.

  “Thank you,” he whispers, bumping my arm. “I’m glad you care.”

  “I’d do that for anyone. Besides, we’re friends. Of course I’ll come when you ask me to.”

  His face is barely lit by the light posts across from us, but I can see that his jaw tenses at the word.

  “Friends, huh?” he repeats in a low tone. “Anyway, I’m still happy you came. I wanted to apologize in person for the way my dad acted yesterday.”

  “Oh, it’s fine,” I say.

  “No, it’s not,” he retorts. “He was rude. I’m sorry.”

  “He did seem kinda upset with me. I didn’t get you any trouble, did I?”

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  “Well, hey, at least you got a birthday cake and an intimate performance.” I suddenly cringe, regretting the use of the word intimate.

  Was that inappropriate?

  Glancing over at him, I see he’s lost in thought. After a while he asks, “Did you perform an original song at the festival?”

  “Yeah, this song I wrote for the band. Oh, I almost forgot, do you remember that A&R guy Luke mentioned?”

  “Yeah?” he urges me on.

  “Well, his name’s Alan Moore. Turns out he saw the video of my performance at the Heat Room on YouTube and he was impressed. He showed up at the festival today, and he wants me to record a demo for the label. If it goes well, they’ll sign me.”

  Daegan leans forward, looking amazed. “No way? Are you serious?”

  I nod in my excitement. “Yep. And if I get signed, then I’ll go on the label’s summer tour.”

  “Get out of here.” He knocks my arm. “Good for you. See that, and you didn’t even want to sing.”

  “Yeah, okay, I guess I have you to thank for that.”

  “You do,” he smirks, a conceited look appearing on his face. “I’m your drive.”

  I stop smiling a bit because he’s right.

  An awkward air weaves in around us, and for a moment we say nothing, only stare up at the starry night sky. Soon the silence is consumed by chugging and the loud horn of the train as it approaches.

  Its bright lights blare in our faces. We’re swept up in nothing but its deafening noise and the clink of the wheels on the tracks.

  Finally, it passes and we’re left in silence again as it disappears into the night.

  The wind picks up, and the air gets chilly. I hug myself to stay warm. I left my house in such haste that I forgot to grab my sweater.

  I wince as Daegan suddenly places his hoodie around me. “Here,” he says, “You look cold.”

  Gazing over at him, I smile and say, “Thanks.” Then I ask, “Why do you detach yourself from the rest of the world? It’s like you drown in your art instead.”

  He pulls up his legs and rests his elbows on his knees, clasping his knuckles together. “I’m not detached. I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” he says smartly.

  “Yeah, but you weren’t before. If I hadn’t approached you last week by the soccer field, we probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

  I nearly jump out of my skin when he meets my gaze. His deep brown eyes are darkened by the night, but he stares at me so hard I fear he’ll steal my soul. All of a sudden I want my songbook. I feel inspired to write.

  “Well, it’s good you did because I would never have found the courage to talk to you.”

  I lower my eyes to the ground, feeling uneasy. “How come?”

  “Because,” he murmurs, “I don’t feel like I deserve to talk to you.”

  His remark puzzles me. I look into his eyes again. “That’s crazy. I don’t understand why you’d feel that way.”

  He gulps. “If you come to know me better, you’ll understand why.”

  We fall quiet again. I stare at him for a while, trying to make sense of his words. When I realize I simply can’t, I spin away and stare across the dark field.

  “I want to share something with you,” he whispers, his voice raspy.

  “Okay,” I reply, giving him my attention again. “What’s up?”

  Daegan inhales and exhales intensely before he whispers, “My mom wanted to take me with her.”

  Oh God. That’s heavy stuff. He must feel comfortable enough to say something like that to me. Maybe he finds a sense of peace when he’s around me?

  Collapsing his head back against the steel base of the tank, he goes silent with a painful expression on his face.

  I don’t know what to say after that. In my heart, I want to offer him some comfort. But how do you console someone who’s been through that?

  Without thinking, I reach over and touch his hand resting on his knee. He glances at it and turns his palm over, squeezing my fingers. His hand is free from callouses. It’s gentle, warm to the touch, and skin-tingling. I feel like I’m… at home.

  Unexpectedly, I begin to sing a song I’d written so long ago called ‘Safe’.

  I walk a lonely path, it seems

  Is there anyone to walk with me?

  I’m lost here…

  Come find me…

  And everybody sees a smile

  But they can’t tell it’s just a lie

  Cause I’m lonely…

  Come find me…

  I want to feel safe

  I want to be right where I belong

  Want to fly from this place

  Run into the arms of the
one…

  Oh will you wrap me up in all your love

  And wipe away these tears…

  I long for you to make me feel safe…

  Daegan lets go of my hand and jumps to his feet. I stand up, confused by the angry look on his face and the rapid way his chest rises and falls.

  “I—”

  “The next time you sing that song to someone,” He looks me dead in the eye as he says sharply, “you better mean those words.”

  He takes his hoodie from me, swivels, and walks away, making his way across the field. I watch his back in the dark. He appears tense and upset. I don’t understand. It’s just a song. I was only trying to comfort him.

  I whisper the lyrics to myself. Then I ruffle my hair in frustration, only now realizing I just sang Daegan a love song. I feel like kicking my own ass. What was I thinking?

  As I start back to my car, I ponder the possibility that I might have confused him with the lyrics, led him to believe I wanted those things from him. Oh geez. I can’t believe that one song could make him turn so cold.

  21.

  My mind stays on Daegan all night until the next day. I’m having lunch with Aunt Leah after she came home from her short shift at the hospital, and I’ve hardly heard a word she’s said. That song and his reaction keep distracting me.

  I recoil when she suddenly snaps her fingers, pulling me out of my thoughts. I peer up from staring at the island and give her my attention.

  “What’s on your mind?” she asks, biting on a slice of pineapple.

  “Nothing,” I answer.

  She squints at me as she surveys my face. I dip my head, eating the rest of my fruit.

  “Well, as I was saying, I want to talk to this Luke and see if we can get you some hours at his studio. Maybe we should swing by tonight,” she enthuses. “You could perform.”