The Right Song Page 14

  “I don’t really feel like singing today,” I tell her, nibbling on some strawberries.

  Her smile fades a bit. “Oh, why not?”

  “Just don’t feel like it,” I say.

  “That’s fine. We still need to talk to him. I’ll give him a call after I get done eating,” she says, perking up again.

  It makes me happy to see her excited for me. “Look at you; I haven’t seen you so passionate about something since that letter from Berklee came.”

  “Well, it just so happens that my talented niece is an amazing singer. Of course I’m excited, and you know what? Chris showed me that record label online. They seem legit.”

  She eats her last pineapple then carries her plate over to the sink.

  “What if it doesn’t work out?” I ask. “What if they don’t like me?”

  Aunt Leah glances over her shoulder at me, a heartfelt beam on her face. “They’re going to love you, Rora. Stop thinking like that.” Then she washes her hands and dries them in the towel by the sink. “I’m going to give Luke a call. In the meantime, you decide on what songs you want to record for your demo, okay?”

  “I’ll try.” I smile at her as she walks out of the kitchen.

  Truth is, Daegan sort of killed the songwriting vibe right after building it up. But I can’t let his odd behavior throw me off. Everyone believes I can do it, so I have to push myself to succeed.

  After I finish eating, I saunter upstairs to my room. Hopefully strumming on the guitar will send some melody to my heart.

  I glance around the room, searching for something, anything, to stir me up. My eyes land on the picture frame by my bed, and my parents’ jubilant faces gaze back. In no time, the memories creep up on me.

  My stomach tightens as the horrible night flashes back, like needles pricking me all over my skin. Oh no. I’m having a relapse.

  I take steady breaths to try and suppress what I feel because I don’t want to start this up again. I want to fight to move on now. It’s time.

  The darkness fades when I start to think about Alan Moore and how genuinely interested he seemed. I don’t want to write anything depressing for this demo. He appeared to have enjoyed an upbeat song like ‘Alive’. Maybe I should just record that as my demo and send it to him. Then again, he would have said something about the song.

  Argh!

  I set my guitar down next to the bed and pull the band out of my hair, tousling it. I sit motionless on the edge of my bed for a while until I hear loud laughs coming from downstairs.

  I walk to the door and peer outside, listening. Aunt Leah is on the phone. Wait. She’s on the phone with Luke, laughing… and in a flirty way, too.

  Discreetly, I stroll down to the bottom step and look across at her in the living room. She’s pacing back and forth, winding her blonde stands around her finger, a broad grin on her lips. Wow. I hope she’s not flirting her way into some sort of deal with him to give me free studio time.

  She twirls around, giggling, but it dwindles when she sees me at the stairs.

  “Well, I’ll be seeing you then,” she says, ending the call.

  I stride over and plop down on the couch. “So what does he charge per hour?” I ask.

  Aunt Leah sits down beside me, placing her cellphone on the coffee table. “He’s pretty cheap, actually. We worked something out. But you only get two weeks. After that, price goes up.”

  “Sounds like you two were having quite a conversation,” I tease, trying to get more out of her. “You were laughing and playing with your hair.”

  “Oh, stop, he’s a nice guy. Very funny.” She rests her head against the couch while she stares across the room at the blank TV screen, lost in thought. There’s a smile fighting to break forth. Her cheeks are glowing red. Oh my gosh, Aunt Leah’s blushing.

  “Hmm…” I ponder. “He must have been really funny to make you laugh like that.”

  She swivels and looks at me, about to protest when the doorbell rings. Emma enters.

  “Hey, peeps.” She strolls over to us. “So guess what?” she says as she sits down beside me.

  “What?” Aunt Leah and I ask in sync.

  “Well, I recorded your performance at the festival, then I created a YouTube page and uploaded it. The video’s gotten over 50,000 views already.”

  “Oh wow,” Aunt Leah perks up. “Show us.”

  Emma pulls up the page on her phone. There are so many comments. Seems everyone loves ‘Alive’.

  “You’re also at 10,000 subscribers and 2,000 likes on Facebook,” she excites.

  I shake my head, amazed. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

  “Of course not, especially when it comes to doing PR for my bestie. I already have kids from school texting me about having you sing at their parties.”

  “No parties,” Aunt Leah chimes. “She needs to focus on recording her demo.”

  “Oh, did you guys talk to this Luke?”

  “Yeah, you missed the whole thing. Aunt Leah was doing a sexy laugh with him earlier. She got him to give her a discount,” I joke.

  “Ooh.” Emma giggles.

  Aunt Leah slaps my arm. “I was not laughing in a sexy way. Like I said, he’s a funny guy.”

  “Sure.”

  “So do you know what song you want to use for your demo?” Emma asks.

  I shrug. “Still deciding.”

  She squeezes my shoulder. “Well, whatever you decide on, it’ll be great.”

  22.

  On Monday, I’m met with more notice at school than what I’d gotten with Days End. I’ve even been acknowledged by kids in Milo’s clique, the really popular ones.

  Carly, the redhead who put my disastrous night at the barn on blast has taken the video down. She says it’s obvious that I can sing and that stupid video doesn’t matter anymore.

  I was happy to see Daegan back in school, but when I entered Econ and was about to wave at him, he spun away without so much as a nod. Guess he’s still upset about that song.

  At lunch, I sit in the gym to work on lyrics. Luke said I could stop by the studio tomorrow after school with Aunt Leah, so I wanted to have something for him to start with.

  I’m still having trouble coming up with anything, though. I can’t believe I have writer’s block at a time when I need the creative juices to flow more than ever.

  “Want some?”

  There’s a bag of grapes being dangled over my songbook. I glance up at Daegan’s unreadable face. He sits down beside me on the bench, looking as casual as ever.

  Gosh. Does he have split personalities or something?

  Peering at the blank page, he lifts a brow and chuckles. “New song?”

  “Yeah,” I reply, “if I can find the words.”

  “Don’t force it. It’ll come in time.”

  “Hopefully soon.”

  “Look. Sorry I stormed off on you the other night. That song got to me.”

  I glance over at him. “Got to you how?”

  The way his eyes pierce me it’s as if he’s absorbing every part of me. He finally looks away and fidgets with the plastic bag of grapes. “The lyrics described what I’m going through. I just got emotional for a sec. Sorry.”

  I bob my head, understanding. “I see... like when the band was performing ‘Underneath’.”

  Daegan flicks away from my gaze. “Your lyrics have a way with me, I guess.”

  Silence passes in between us. Then he clears his throat and changes the subject. “What kind of song do you want to write?”

  “Don’t know, something not too depressing, though.”

  “I don’t think any of your songs are depressing. They’re honest, and yeah, emotional, but not depressing at all.”

  “Well, the song I performed at the festival, ‘Alive’, is a positive song that’s about not giving up even when things get tough. So I want to write something like that for my demo.”

  “Record ‘Alive’ then,” he suggests.

  “I feel like Alan Moore w
ants something like what’s on mainstream; something that could possibly be used as a single, you know?”

  He hunches over and releases a razor-sharp breath. “Do you really want to write and sing songs like what’s on mainstream? Everything’s so sugarcoated and only for the moment. Don’t you want to make songs that are timeless?”

  I can’t help but look straight in his eyes when he talks like this. It’s as if he’s speaking to my soul.

  “That’s deep,” I joke. “For a guy, that is.”

  He titters. I turn away, trying to hide the way his mysterious smile sends warmth in my cheeks.

  “That’s just the way I look at my art,” he explains. “I figured we’re both in similar positions, not wanting to conform.”

  That makes my heart flutter. I meet his eyes again. “You’re right, I want to write songs that matter and are memorable. Songs that’ll touch hearts.”

  “And you will,” he asserts, holding my gaze.

  “You sound so sure.”

  “That’s because…” He stops and swivels away.

  I switch the topic so he doesn’t weird out on me again and take off. “Where are you going to school this fall?”

  “Actually, I applied for this summer art program at Ohio State,” he answers, his eyes penetrating the basketball court.

  “That’s cool. Hope you get in.”

  Glancing back at me, he grins. “Thank you.”

  “I think it’s brave to want to branch out of Seville. Honestly, even though I’m making an effort with music, the thought of leaving my home scares me a lot.”

  He furrows a brow. “Why is it scary? You’ll have bigger opportunities if you leave.”

  “I know, but there’s so much here. The few memories I shared with my parents are here...” My voice fades as I realize I’ve shared something personal with him; something that makes me feel vulnerable.

  I lower my eyes, growing awkward the more I consider my words.

  “I know what you mean,” he says. “And that’s partly why I want to leave.”

  Of course he does. His mom killed herself and the entire village of Seville knows about it. I’d want to leave stat if I was in his shoes. But I’m not, and I don’t think it’ll be as easy for me when the time comes—if it ever does.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” he says.

  I look into his curious eyes. “Too much to share.”

  The bell rings, ending lunch period. Daegan stands, clutching the bag of grapes in his hand. He doesn’t take off; instead he waits for me to put my stuff inside my backpack and walks with me out of the gym.

  Coming to a stop, Daegan slants to turn right. “You want to hang out after school, maybe go by the Heat Room again? Get some practice?”

  I almost say yes, then I remember Milo’s game later. “I can’t, I’m going to the soccer game.”

  A sad look appears on his face. He says dryly, “See ya,” and then scurries down the hall.

  Strangely, the feeling of guilt follows me to my next class.

  I know we won the soccer game from the thunderous roars that erupted around me in the bleachers, and I know Milo scored the winning goal from all the excitement he’s depicting as he rehashes his performance now. Only, the bizarre thing is, I can’t seem to erase Daegan’s sad eyes off my mind to focus on anything. Not even on my crush.

  We’re chilling at Denny’s, and I’ve barely touched my buffalo chicken wings, much less the fries.

  I wince when Milo touches my hand on top of the table.

  “You okay?” he asks, excitement dwindling from his voice.

  “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

  I don’t know why, but I actually ease my hand away. His face drops, noticing.

  “Well, you seem like you’re not even listening to a word I’m saying.”

  “I’m listening,” I reply. Then I dip my head and start to eat my fries.

  “You want to have lunch at my house this weekend?” he asks, startling me.

  I look up fast. I’ve never been to Milo’s house when we were kids.

  “Sure,” I say after swallowing what’s inside my mouth. I wash it down with soda before I confirm, “With your parents?”

  He nods, a grin stretching across his lips. “What’s the matter, you don’t want to?”

  “No I do.” It’s kind of frightening. I don’t know much about guys, but from the little that I do know, they never bring a girl home to hang out with their parents unless she means something to them. Does that mean Milo considers me in that way?

  “So what you think about the game?” he asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “It was fun. You were great.”

  A pleased expression morphs his face. He rakes a hand through his hair, grinning from ear to ear. “Well, of course I am.”

  Laughing, I pick up a fry and toss it at him. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

  He tosses one back. “It’s your fault for saying I’m great.”

  We stare at each other, all smiles, before we resume eating. A few minutes later he says something that nearly makes me choke on my chicken.

  “Besides Emma, all your friends are guys?”

  I titter awkwardly as I answer, “Yeah, so?”

  “Nothing really,” he murmurs, finishing his burger. Then he wipes his fingers and mouth with a napkin. “I just find it interesting how you have four guys around you, yet none of them are more than friends.”

  He said four. Has he seen me talking to Daegan?

  “They’re like my brothers,” I tell him. I have no reason to discuss Alex’s recent confession.

  Bobbing his head, Milo falls back on the seat, studying me. “You have no feelings for any of them, nothing beyond friendship?”

  I push the rest of my meal aside then wipe my hand in the napkin. I wonder why he’s so curious all of a sudden.

  “No, I’ve never looked at any of them in that way. Seriously, Alex, Drew, and Chris, they’re like my family.”

  Milo leans forward, resting his hands on top of the table. “What about Daegan Stone?”

  A line creases my forehead as I consider this and the overly suspicious way he looks. “What about Daegan?” I’m a little defensive, if not childish, as if Daegan is a precious gem that I don’t want to share with anyone.

  “Well, I saw you two coming from the gym today, and I heard he’s the one who coerced you into performing live for the first time.”

  I lift my brows, surprised. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “News travel. But that’s beside my point. Is he just a friend, too?”

  I ease back in the seat, observing him, my eyes narrowed to crinkled slits. “Are you jealous or something?”

  A look of dismay covers his face. He straightens and huffs a laugh. “No, I’m only curious. You have so many guys around you. I don’t know which one to be careful of.”

  Okay. Now I’m intrigued.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I’m probably making one of them jealous, and I don’t want to wreck a friendship.”

  “You won’t,” I say.

  The waitress brings over the bill. Taking his wallet out of his pocket, Milo mumbles something like, “You’ll see,” before he hands her his card.

  I make nothing more of it.

  23.

  These darn butterflies. By the time Aunt Leah arrives in the city of Akron and locates Luke’s recording studio, my palms start to sweat and I reconsider all the songs I’d written up to this point.

  I feel encouraged by the fact that Luke is allowing Alex and the cousins to record with me instead of bringing in his own band. That would likely mean more money on our part.

  When we finally reach the Groovy Hill Studio in downtown Akron, Aunt Leah finds parking next to a black pickup on the side of the street and we slip out of the car.

  “Looks small,” she states, eyeing the dark brick building smacked in the middle of a restaurant and an art gallery. I immediately think of Daegan and how h
is sketches need to be on display for the world to see.

  “That’s usually how studios are on the outside,” Chris says smartly. “Then you walk in and bam! Total surprise.”

  Drew knocks his arm. “Shut up. It is small.”

  “How about we just go in,” Alex chimes, nudging Aunt Leah towards the entrance.

  We walk up to the door and Chris pulls it open. Aunt Leah and I enter first. There’s a petite blonde at the front that I presume to be the receptionist. A conceited smile appears on her glossy red lips as she eyes us up and down.

  “Hello, can I help you?” she asks, glancing back and forth from me to the guys.

  Aunt Leah steps forward. “Yes, we’re here to see Luke.”

  “Is he expecting you?” Ms. Red Lips retorts, a feisty edge in her tone.

  “Yes, tell him Aurora Lawrence is here,” Aunt Leah answers, giving it right back.

  She peers down at the phone, pressing a button as she picks it up. “Yeah, that girl is here.”

  Shortly after hanging up, she brings her eyes back to us and says, “He’s waiting for you downstairs. Take that door there.” She gestures towards a rustic pine wood door on our right then goes back to whatever she was doing as we walk away.

  Haunting guitar riffs immerses us the moment we walk down the four steps into a dark, mahogany room with a professional audio mixing console the size of a conference table, and a large glass screen that overlooks the recording booth. I glimpse the microphone and instruments inside. My emotions get the best of me.

  This is incredible.

  “Hey there,” Luke greets. He sets his guitar down then slides off the chair, coming over to us.

  He stares at Aunt Leah for the longest second before reaching his hand out to her. “You must be Leah,” he smiles.

  She beams. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Bryson. Thank you for allowing Aurora to use your studio.”

  “Oh, don’t mention it. She has a great voice.” Gazing at me, he reaches his hand out. “Good seeing you again, Ms. Law.”

  “You know it’s Lawrence, but just call me Aurora,” I tell him with a laugh.