Beating Heart Baby, page 24
Cola nods at Shanice, who wears a mixed expression of delight and terror. “You sure have a knack for surrounding yourself with talent.”
Then she smiles cryptically. “You … good on the thing we discussed?”
I pretend my ears aren’t burning when I whisper, “Can I talk to you for a second?” Instead of answering, Cola raises an eyebrow and walks out into the hallway.
I clear my throat. “I’m not coming out today.”
Cola blinks slowly. “Hmm?”
“This is their big dance. I’d be stealing their thunder. It isn’t right.” In my head, I add, For me.
Cola puckers her lips, then sighs. “I don’t think I made myself clear before. After today, your gender is something people are going to explicitly ask you about.”
“And if I want to answer them, I will. But I don’t have to.” I push my shoulders back to make my chest feel broader. “I know there’s more to me than that. You know there’s more to me than that. So if the issue is that the label doesn’t trust me, they think I need a capital-R Reason to be interesting, I’ll prove them wrong. I can present and perform my art without framing it as an exact mirror.
“And besides—” My voice drops, but doesn’t waver. “A little mystery keeps ’em coming back.”
Cola regards me. I lift my chin and meet her gaze. Eventually she breaks eye contact. “Fine. Okay. I trust your trust in yourself.” Then she holds her hand out. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” We shake, and as I open the door to return to the green room, Cola whispers, “Break a leg, Memo.” She winks before calling over and leaving with her entourage.
I’m still riding high on our exchange as I walk back to Ari, and Lucía, who immediately asks, “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I, um.” After this weird interruption, I should pull us together. Everything I want to say sounds corny in my head, so I try for something more aloof. “I hope this’ll be the first of many shows we play together. Thanks for trusting me with your time.”
Lucía turns to Ari. “This is why I gave all the leadership talks in band.” She puts her hand in the middle of our circle. “Emo Ocean, assemble! Three, two, one.”
When I first joined marching band, I hated its overly cheery rituals, which included a lot of actual cheering. It was something I only got over when I found other people to cheer with.
Ari and I place our hands on top of Lucía’s, and at the end of her count, we yell, “Sunshowers forever!”
* * *
“Now kids, we’ve got a special surprise for you tonight. His album, The Sunshow—I’m sorry, The Moonflower Sessions, is coming out in a few weeks, but he’s playing some new songs tonight for the first time ever. Please welcome to the stage…”
When we walk out, I shield my eyes from the lights with my hand to scan the gym floor as a tide of screaming floods over us. Toward the back, Cap and Aya jump and holler. Sayo waves. I smile and wave back. But it’s hard to keep my smile from faltering. I know I shouldn’t have expected anyone else here today—
Lucía pinches me and points toward the side of the hall. “Hey. Surprise!”
They’re all here. All of our friends are here, including:
Santi, who’s wearing a bright lilac suit and a pair of silver Docs that catch the beams shining out from the illuminated disco balls. We lock eyes across the room, and I’m sure mine are as wide as his.
There’s a moment at the end of Mugen Glider that always makes me cry. Marigold, plummeting to their death, sees the clouds part for a split second. The silhouette of their lover flashes above and beyond them; it’s the first and last time they actually see each other in the span of the show. Marigold speaks for a long time, and their lover calls out in response. The cold whistle of wind drowns them both out, but if you break down the scene and clean up the audio, you can piece together Marigold’s second-to-last sentence: The worst thing about music is that other people get to hear it. Repeating their lover’s only spoken line.
There’s no canon source confirming it, but after scrutinizing the scene a million times in both the sub and the dub, then poring over decades-old threads on obscure internet forums, I think I’ve gotten as close as possible to transcribing Marigold’s final words: But I’ve always been listening for you.
I watch Santi’s lips move, but with the lights in my eyes, I can’t read them. I want to jump off of the makeshift stage and ask him how it feels to be caught in a miracle with me. How even after all this time, all these changes, we’ve found our way back to each other. Again.
We always do. But we can’t keep counting on fate to bring us together. This time, I’m leaving nothing to chance.
I tear my eyes away from him. Melissa’s on one side of the gymnasium, against the wall. Her eyes keep flitting between me and where my friends are gathered. Cola’s on the other side, staring at her phone. I clear my throat into the mic, and then all eyes are on me.
“I hope you’re having a good prom.” The fountain of cheering that erupts makes me laugh. “I’m jealous, you all look so beautiful.”
Someone shouts, “Boy, you’re beautiful!” aaand I’m blushing. “Thank you. That’s only because of Shanice Young, Devin Bennett, and Nat Quan. When you’re all celebrating super responsibly afterward, give them a toast.”
I pause and gaze out over the crowd. A knot forms in my stomach at the memory of my baby self, convinced he’d never make it to this moment. “I’m humbled to be a part of your moment. It makes me truly, indescribably happy that everyone gets to enjoy tonight, no matter who they’re with.”
I pause before adding, “On that note.” I look at Ari and Lucía, then back out toward my friends in the audience. “Whoever you’re here with, I want you to take a second to tell them how much they mean to you. How special this night is, not because it’s prom, but because you’re with them. That’s the memory. Uh, okay.” I cough awkwardly in an attempt to keep my blush from growing, “I’ll shut up now. Except to sing.”
I can’t see Santi clearly through the mirrored light, but I swear I hear his laugh cut through every other sound in the room.
* * *
Aya crushes me in a hug, and when she finally releases me, there’s glitter on her face and petals scattered on her shoulder. “Look at our boy, a star!” I let her cup my face with her hands and almost knock her over when Cap grabs me, and he is not picking me up, he is not—
My feet are off the ground. Cap shouts, “Sunshowers forever!” As he puts me down, he whispers, “I’m so proud of you, son,” and I shake my head furiously. As though any of this would’ve been possible without his support and literal shelter. “It’s all you … Dad.” He tears up, and I repeat, “It’s all you.”
He releases me when my bandmates enter the room. Lucía’s breathless when she slides her arms around my and Ari’s waists. “Wow. We’re getting good at this.”
“You were both perfect.” I wiggle out of her hold and, I can’t help myself, I poke her arm. “I know I only asked about playing with me through the Karma Demon show, but what if we went on tour together?”
Lucía gasps, and Ari grins even as they tease, “What, like anyone else will know how to deal with you? Also, Cola’s manager reached out to us months ago. Keep up, band leader.”
“You were all amazing!” Mira leaps onto Lucía’s back. Feli and Octavian are right behind, and while they pile on Lucía, Reva loops a lei around Ari’s neck before bringing them in for a deep kiss.
Someone behind me coos, “Aww.”
I spin on my heel to greet Cola, who’s here alone. She scans the rest of the room, and for a moment, international superstar Cola Carter looks kind of awkward, twirling the streamers on her dress and taking in someone else’s postshow afterglow.
Cap’s busy talking to my friends, so I wave Aya over. “Cola, I’d like you to meet Aya Malandro. My … aunt, kind of.” Aya raises an eyebrow.
They shake hands. Is it just me, or does the energy in the room crackle? Cola legitimately sounds awestruck when she says, “Suwa, you never said you’re related to the drummer from Horadorada. I listen to your band allll the time. If you ever do a reunion tour, I’m there.”
Aya makes a surprised noise. “I don’t think so; most people have forgotten about us. But thank you for the ego boost, and the royalties.”
“I’m gonna post about the set you did on Unplugged. Which…” Cola bats her eyelashes. “You don’t look like you’ve aged a day since then.”
The energy in this interaction is getting weird, so I cut in, “Hey, my next meeting with Melissa is in three weeks? Right after Moonflower comes out?” Timed to the summer solstice.
“Hm? Yeah.” She refocuses on me. “Uh, I don’t know what’s going on in your personal life right now, but I think someone’s waiting to talk to you outside.”
Cola might’ve said something else afterward, but I take off, flinging the door to the hallway open.
I hadn’t really had a chance to steep in the fact that I’m back in my old high school, having a true-blue senior prom moment, even if it’s belated. Some of the ceiling panel lights have been covered with colored cellophane, giving everything—the marble laminate floors and chipped paint lockers and SUNSHOWER SPIRIT banners—a dreamy, kaleidoscopic cast. The muffled bass from whatever the DJ’s playing pulses in the background. Nostalgia, ultra. I sigh and run my hand through my hair. When I bring it back down, flowers rain gently around me.
I bite back a private laugh as I walk toward the trophy case between the boys’ and girls’ locker rooms. My body has shape-shifted through these halls literally, as hormones changed it, but also figuratively as I learned how to carry myself without shame, without fear. Now, striding past these reminders of the person I used to be, I feel like an intruder in my own memories. This is where it all began.
Actually. That’s not true. I stop in front of the case.
Next to me, Santi glows pink. He murmurs, “You’re here.”
The expression on his face isn’t legible through his reflection. “Yeah.”
“No, I mean.” Santi points at something inside the case. “You’re here.” I bend toward the glass, to where he’s pointing, and my breath catches.
It’s a trophy for “Exceptional Solo Performance” from the Southern California Band Association. There, engraved on the plaque: SUWA MOON, DE LONGPRE HIGH SCHOOL. I press my finger to the glass.
Santi drops his hand. “I’m sorry I bounced, this morning. I didn’t … I don’t want to make things more complicated for you, today and—yeah.” He pauses to clear his throat. “You were incredible.”
“You believed in me from the start. More than I believed in myself.” I turn to him without meeting his eyes. I don’t want to lie to either of us and act like what’s between us will ever be simple. Even if I lived a more normal life, we’d still be vulnerable to all the forces in the world we can’t control. But those were also the things that brought us together in the first place.
I force myself to look up. “I don’t want to leave again without telling you exactly how I feel. We’ve always been at our best together. And you were always the best for me. Don’t ever doubt that. But I want to be more than friends. Santi, I want to be your best friend, and I’ll do whatever it takes to win you back again.”
Santi stares at me for a long, almost uncomfortable beat. Then he pulls something out of his pocket. The envelope. He opens it and hands me what’s inside.
It’s a drawing, done in colored pencil, of palm trees and, in the background, the Hollywood sign. Every outline, every fill, drawn out in multiple colors. The sky’s shaded so that the negative space becomes clouds. At the center of the drawing is a kid with their back to the viewer. They’re holding a bass in their hands, its strap crossing their back.
My own hands start to tremble. “Santi…”
“Flip it over.” My body isn’t obeying me, so he turns the paper over in my hands, and we hold on to it together.
Hey Memo. I let out a weak laugh. His handwriting’s so wobbly, like he’d written this in a rush, cramped letters slanting and sliding into each other.
Hey Memo. Right now we’re not really talking but by the time you read this letter I’ll have already visited you. I’m gonna get to LA and hand-deliver this apology. I check your profile every day so get back online okay? If you still don’t wanna talk when I give this to you at least wait until I’m gone before you rip it up. But you don’t seem like the kind of person who’d do that.
You’re an artist also, so you probably get inspired by random stuff like I do. I was walking home from school and saw these crazy clouds in the sky, and the light was nuts, too. So here’s a mash-up of my world and yours, maybe not your LA but like the idea of LA.
I keep listening to Exit Music. I’m so sorry about the leak, and everything. I miss you.
Your friend forever, Canti (btw my real name’s Santiago)
P.S. I know the drawing’s kinda bad but one day I’ll make something as good as your music, for you.
The breath I take fills my chest like a river that’s been undammed. I pluck the paper and the envelope out of his hands and fold them into my jacket pocket.
“Whoa!” Santi almost stumbles when I take his hand in mine and drag him down the hall. Blue, green, gold, red, purple, then through the double doors into the gymnasium, where the DJ’s playing something slow and syrupy.
I look out over the swaying bodies on the dance floor. Everyone seems so fearless here, laughing with and holding and kissing each other without looking over their shoulders. It feels like so much has changed in just a few years, both at De Longpre but also the wider culture. What would it have been like to grow up in a more tender, accepting world? I spent most of my life afraid of who I was. Even now, I’m still scared sometimes. But I was never as alone as I felt. No one’s ever as alone as they might feel.
I pull Santi onto the dance floor and ring my arms across his shoulders. After a beat of hesitation, he slips his hands around my back. His mouth by my ear. “Hey. I think this might be the first time we’ve danced together.”
I hiccup, and he pulls me closer to whisper, “Canti and Memo didn’t think they’d have any time at all. And I can speak for Canti. He’d be furious if Santi and Suwa didn’t try to figure this out.”
He pulls back and places his palm against my cheek. “One more time. One more chance.”
I try to pull together an equally sappy response, when my stomach growls loudly enough that Santi snickers. We untangle ourselves, and I punch him lightly in the arm. “Jackass.” My voice full of fondness. “I haven’t eaten anything today.”
Santi grins. “Let’s go. Cooking lesson number one. You gotta make your own meal.”
I pretend to wilt into his arms, which makes him laugh. “Damn. All right, you’re in luck. I know a guy who runs a BBQ tent in the lot a few blocks from the Metro station, let’s get some food into you. He’s got ribs, wings, the works.”
Sounds like heaven. “Text the group chat, see if anyone else is down.”
“Done.” Santi sweeps his arm out as he bows. “After you, best friend.” I bump his hip with mine, and we leave prom laughing, just two guys holding hands as we dip into the young night.
Track 19
“Before we call it quits, I’m sure you know but the Moonflower reviews have been uniformly breathless. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” I’m running on about two hours of sleep from a long rehearsal the night before, and adjust my sunglasses. The sunlight streaming in from the rooftop greenhouse where we’ve been talking for the past hour is eye-shatteringly bright. I should’ve pushed this interview back.
“I know the songs might not feel as fresh to you as they are for listeners. But while I’m here…” Melissa peers down at her phone. “Is there anything you’d like to correct or explain on the record, about the record?”
I laugh a little too loudly. Melissa stifles her reaction and says neutrally, “I’d just like to point out, compared to how you were the first time we met, the Suwa I’m speaking to now seems much more relaxed. Lighter.”
I lean back in my seat. I feel it, too. Maybe it’s because of all the time I’ve been spending with my friends, now that my schedule’s cleared up a bit post–album drop. There are only two weeks to go until the Karma Demon show, but when we can, we get together like old times, skating and clowning around, hanging out for hours. It feels good but also bittersweet, now that we have to schedule time to be together. But it’s also pretty fun watching groups of younger kids, surly middle schoolers and true babies who haven’t even finished losing their teeth, doing the same things we did back then.
Most nights, I’ll go for a run, then hang out with Santi in person or over a video call, watching anime, playing video games. I help him write grant proposals for new murals. More than anything, we talk. About Tokyo, about Los Angeles; long, spiraling conversations that only end when one of us has to be somewhere else or we’re both on the cusp of passing out.
Lately, he’s been texting about a dog. A stray that’s started hanging around the Woodshed. She pays everyone else no mind but runs up to him. “I’ve been walking and feeding her, and I took her to the vet yesterday, but she’s not like, mine or anything.” Big, dopey eyes. Tan, save for her black snout. When I asked him if he’d named her, he’d flushed before rambling, “I’ve, uh, been calling her Clover. Cause she kinda looks like Norio’s dog, from Mugen Glider.”
It’s cute, how bad he is at hiding his affection. My face grows hot; he’s not the only one having trouble with that. Nobody asks what’s going on between us, but I don’t think it’s for lack of evidence or curiosity.
Melissa clears her throat and draws me back to the present. I swirl the ice in my water. “I think … I’ve made my peace with what I was going through, and who I was when I wrote the songs.” Or, at least, I’ve done all I can to prepare myself for the cognitive dissonance of touring an album about the breakup of a relationship I’m currently rebuilding. “Like, of course I’m relieved that this thing I pulled out of my heart resonates with other people. But that’s not why I made it. That’s not why I make music.”
