Out of Blue Comes Green, page 26
“We’ve got fans!”
The beanie-wearing kid and the blue-haired girl have props for their scene, and they’ve set up a table and chairs to simulate a kitchen. No one else has had anything but costumes.
Beside me, Madi digs into her bag and pulls out a piece of pink paper. In a whisper, she says, “Have you seen this?”
At first, I think she means the band for prom that’s playing instead of us. But no. She’s pointing to the handwritten word boycott.
I rouse a smirk for her, but that’s all.
She closes the paper again as if it’s a secret. “I’ve heard a lot of people say they don’t want to go if your band isn’t playing.”
I won’t tell her that I don’t care if other people aren’t going to the prom.
In front of us past three rows of chairs, the beanie kid fakes eating something while the girl rants about the manipulation of the communist party.
Madi scooches closer to me and whispers, “What happened?”
I shake my head. I don’t want to tell her what the principal wants. Then she’ll picture me in a prom dress. That would be worse than the night at the mall with Christine.
She places a hand on my leg, sending a shiver through me.
“It must have been pretty serious.”
“Why?” I want to sound nonchalant, but I only sound ticked off.
“After everything you did to get a second audition. After how upset you and Libby both were.” She tries to make eye contact with that look she gets.
“After class,” I say.
Before much longer, the blue-haired girl has worked out her issue with the communist party and the bell rings.
Neither of us says anything. Madi matches my movements, step by step, until I stop outside at the tree Libby and I like by the parking lot.
I try to put together the right words in my head to make her understand without creating an image I don’t want.
“It’s okay, Nate. You can tell me.”
It’s strange but I feel I can trust her more than anyone else I know.
I hit my foot absently on the ground, kicking up dirt. “The principal said he got complaints from parents about me, and if we wanted to play, we’d have to dress appropriately.”
“What does that mean?”
I catch her gaze and hold it. “Prom clothes.”
She looks confused. “So wear a tux and play your guitar. Why is that such a big—”
I cut her off. “No. Appropriate clothes. He wants to make me wear …” I trail off, not wanting to say it.
She doesn’t pick up on my meaning at first. Then suddenly she does. “Oh.”
My shoe has made an ugly divot in the grass. I keep my focus there instead of on her reaction. I’m already seething in anger with a little twinge of embarrassment.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. What does it matter what you wear?”
“That’s what I said, but he won’t go against the parents.”
She shakes her head, seeming as incensed as I am.
I wish she would hold my hand like she did in Drama class. Her anger on my behalf is almost enough. Almost.
I take hold of her pinky and ring fingers, gently, and she doesn’t pull away. I need to be connected to her if I’m going to be real with her. “I didn’t realize how much I wanted this, you know? I thought it was Libby’s thing, and I’d do it because she wanted to.”
She slides her hand into mine without a word.
“But I really thought this was going to happen. I’d be on stage singing to our whole high school, and everyone would cheer. And I wouldn’t be …” I pull back the sob that wants to come out. “I wouldn’t be a joke to them anymore.”
Madi squeezes my hand. “You’re not a joke to them.”
I let out a brittle laugh.
“Really. If anything, you’re a mystery to them. There are a lot of people who’ve never thought about gender or questioned their own.”
That’s probably true. And most of them have no idea that I’ve never questioned mine either. I’ve always known my birth gender is wrong.
In weightlifting class the next morning, Danny and I spot each other on the bench press. I’m getting close to another weight increase, and Danny is all encouragement. No more envy. With him cheering me on, I lift one-hundred and forty-five pounds almost six times. When he slaps on another five-pounder on each side, my muscles tremble. One hundred and fifty-five pounds.
Danny swats the bar with both hands. “You can do this. It’s only ten more pounds.”
“Ten pounds is a medium-sized cat. Ten pounds is enough bananas to feed a whole troop of monkeys. Ten pounds is—”
“Lift it already.” Danny commands.
I wriggle my head under the bar, putting my feet flat on the bench with bended knees. Curling my fingers around the barbell, I keep my arms loose until I have to brace them against the increase. Then I do it. One hundred and fifty-five pounds not once, not twice, but three times. My arms will be Jell-O the rest of the day, but it was worth it.
Danny slaps me on the back. “Nice piece of work, Kinkade.” He uses a thick Irish brogue.
“You sound just like your uncle.”
He’s adjusting the weights on the barbell. “You bet your sweet arse—” Danny stops moving. He stops talking. Slowly, his lips curl up into the smuggest grin. “I’ve got an idea.”
It’s hard not to smile back at him. He’s quite pleased with himself. “Well …?”
“Well, you and Blue have a setlist, yeah?”
“Libby made a concert-length, mega-list, yeah.”
He leans against the barbell all cool-like. “How’d you feel about playing at an Irish pub?”
Returning to Wallin Animal Rescue, knowing that Dakota is no longer there, feels completely wrong, but I have to talk to Dr. Wallin. I feel sick about deceiving all of them for so long, and whether they understand who I am and why I liked being Nate is beside the point. I have to do this for me.
I suppress the nausea I feel as I open the door and step into the lobby. I shake off the images of the last time I was here and Dakota was a happy, smiley dog, and everyone knew I wasn’t Nathan Ashur.
Behind the counter, Jeanie looks up as she sees me approaching. For an instant she smiles, then her memory erases her happiness.
“Hi, Jeanie.” I stop a few feet from the counter.
“I’ll get Dr. Wallin.” Her tone isn’t hateful but it isn’t kind either. She disappears through the back door.
For a moment I worry that when she says “Dr. Wallin” she means Troy and Julia’s dad, but Dr. Julia Wallin enters.
Jeanie lingers for a bit, then decides she doesn’t want to be a part of this conversation and leaves.
Dr. Wallin allows herself a cursory smile. “Hi there. Is it Nate still?”
I nod. This is harder than I thought it would be. “I wanted to let you know how sorry I am. I know I said that before, but I need you to know that I never was trying to deceive anyone.”
She nods in acknowledgement.
“The days I spent here were some of the best days I’ve had this year. I love being with the dogs. And all of you were so kind.” I sigh at myself. I can’t get these words right. Maybe I should have written it down. “Coming here and being Nate was important to me. I appreciate having the chance to work here.”
Dr. Wallin waits for me to say something more.
“I hope you all can forgive me.” And then because I don’t know how to end the conversation, I give her a wave, and head for the door.
Each step feels like an eternity; I know she’s staring at me.
She calls out, “You have a way with dogs, you know?”
I spin around. “Yeah?”
“When you’re ready to show us your ID, we can get you paid for all your hard work and write you on the schedule officially.”
“You mean it?”
She smiles. “The way you were with Dakota shows how much you care about animals. I talked with Troy. We both think you belong here.”
My shoulders untense a little. Troy doesn’t hate me. “What about your dad?”
She shrugs. “He’s mostly retired. He only comes around a few times a month. I’ll tell him what I need to tell him.”
I laugh to myself. I should’ve asked that question weeks ago.
“Come back in a few days and we’ll get you set up.”
Chapter 39
IT’S BETTER THAN I EXPECTED. Danny and I talk to Libby and Gene about going down to O’Sullivan’s to speak with Uncle Brian. We’d like to play a Friday or Saturday night, ideally the night of prom, but I don’t want to get too hopeful. Libby has her hair in a pseudo-mohawk that makes her look dangerous. I’m wearing my black leather jacket that I can only hope makes me look just as intimidating. And Gene, well, I think his chin has at least three more hairs poking out. He’s smartly worn his black jeans and a Jimi Hendrix T-shirt. Danny’s make-up is prominent, which tells me his uncle must be a cool guy. The four of us sit together, talking about which songs we’d do if we had an hour to play, which we’d do if we had a second hour.
Uncle Brian joins us with a tray full of Cokes, hands one to each of us. He looks us over, then says to me, “Danny gave me some of your songs.” His eyebrows rise. “A little rough.”
My stomach ices over.
“But you’ve got fierce promise there. Lots of emotion.”
I think that’s good, but I’m not certain.
“You could do with a bit of familiar music, of course.”
Libby, who’s been eyeing her Coke, says, “We have a number of popular songs prepared with our own personal spin.”
Uncle Brian chuckles. “You do, now, do you?”
As she names a dozen or so, he turns to Danny at his left elbow and whispers something.
Danny grimaces. “I don’t think so.”
Libby, Gene, and I stare at them, waiting, though neither of them says anything right away.
Uncle Brian breaks the silence with words to his nephew. “Not even ‘With or Without You’?”
Danny checks with me. Am I supposed to know that song?
Libby clears her throat. “Not currently in our regular rotation, but we do have an arrangement for ‘One.’”
This appeases Uncle Brian. “I think I have room for you kids to play some night.”
Some night? We want a very particular night. We have a statement to make that will fail to gather any steam if we don’t get the right date. I know Danny understands that. He must’ve told his uncle.
Uncle Brian opens a green ledger. He flips through a few pages before he comes to the page he wants: May. His forefinger trails down and he says, “I have this one free.”
I’m poised on the blunt edge of asking for the fifteenth. Does he know how much we need this?
“Saturday, May fifteenth.”
Prom night.
“I’ll give Danny some posters to hang around your school,” Brian says. “We always put up a few around town too.”
I wonder if O’Sullivan’s posters will draw an audience. Maybe. Maybe not. But Danny said the pub brings in quite a few people for the free live music. Fingers crossed.
A day later, Danny finds Madi, Libby, and me in the commons area. He rolls out a poster on the table—the background is a starry night sky with letters that say: LIVE! Blue. May 15 at 8:00 p.m. with O’Sullivan’s Pub logo at the top.
Libby slaps her palm down on it. “Perfect!”
Madi smiles as broadly as the rest of us. “That’s amazing! You’re playing a real show!”
I meet Libby’s eyes. It’s better than prom, and we both know it.
Madi says, “That’s the same night as prom.”
“Exactly,” I say.
Realization crosses her face.
“It’s all right if you don’t come,” I say, even though, more than anyone else, I really want her to be there.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Aren’t you already busy that night? With Hunter?”
Madi smiles as her face reddens. “I was only going to buy a ticket to prom if it meant that I could see you.”
I close my eyes. She’s too kind sometimes. “You should go to prom. I just wish you wouldn’t go with one of JT’s friends.”
She’s about to defend her choice when I hold up a hand in apology and stop her. “You can date whoever you want.”
“Thank you for your permission,” she says.
“No, no, that’s not how I meant it.”
She touches my arm gently. “I know how you meant it.”
The O’Sullivan’s posters are up around the school before lunch, and people are already talking about it. I get a few acknowledgements in the hall—smiles, nods, fist bumps.
When Christine approaches, I panic. I want to disappear. But she’s beside me before I can take a detour.
She’s seen the posters, of course. “I didn’t know you played out in the real world.” She chuckles at her own joke.
My breath comes easily now that she’s here; she’s not intimidating anymore.
Her face becomes concerned. “Isn’t that prom night?”
“I’m not going.” Why would I?
She nods. “Of course not. Maybe I’ll have to change my plans that night.”
My mind trips through any guys I’ve seen her with, wondering who’s been planning to hold her close at prom, but before I figure it out, my thoughts drift to the chords for “Time After Time” and then Gene’s face when I told Libby to slow down the tempo. He nearly spit he laughed so hard.
When I come back to the present, Christine’s waiting for a response.
I give her my school photograph smile. “I hope you make it.” I can’t recall what she said.
Our instruments are set up well in advance, but then all we can do is wait. O’Sullivan’s boasts the best burgers in the Twin Cities, but I don’t have an appetite. Probably never eat again. There’s no backstage, so we’re just hanging out in the same booth we occupied when we first met with Uncle Brian. Gene and Libby share a giant basket of chips, but Gene has slowed down considerably in the past ten minutes as a few people have come in.
Danny’s there to be our cheerleader, bursting through my nerves and Gene’s nausea.
Quite a few people are here already for the dinner hour, talking easily and laughing loudly. I look past them at the framed pictures decorating the walls: famous Irish people, newspaper articles about the pub, clippings about a football team—which is, of course, a soccer team.
A few couples stride up to the bar and call out for drinks, causing Gene’s face to change; it looks green.
Libby swats him. “Knock it off. You’re making me tense.” She snags another fry and munches it down.
“There are so many people here.” He puts his fist near his mouth so he can bite his knuckles.
“What’s the big deal?”
He doesn’t answer me, but it has to be because we’ve only played at school, not in a real venue before. I don’t see many teenagers, just a lot of adults.
I should have known it was foolish to think they’d boycott the prom because of me. No matter what students scribbled on the flyers. It could have been the work of a single person for all I know.
Catching my reflection in the mirror behind the bartender, I don’t recognize myself at first. Maybe it’s the dim lighting or maybe I’ve been too up in my head worrying about appearing female, but the kid in the mirror looks like a pretty cool guy. Almost like the one I want to be.
More people arrive, but I stick my chin up a little higher. I can do this.
Brian appears at our table side with his cheery smile. “Well, lads.” He glances to Libby. “And lasses. It’s about time. I’ll go up and introduce you, then you come on up and play.”
Libby wipes her greasy fingers on her jeans. “Showtime.”
I glance around the room at the adults engaged in conversation, drinking, and eating. They’re not here for our band. This is going to be a giant flop.
Libby shoves Gene to make him get up. “Let’s go.”
Brian O’Sullivan talks to the audience from the stage, which is raised little more than a few feet from table level. I’ll be able to look directly into their faces.
“Tonight we have a special treat for you, directly from my nephew’s high school. If you haven’t heard of them before, you have now, and you won’t soon forget them. Put your hands together for the band Blue!” Brian claps with the rest of the people, slipping off the stage as we step up.
Libby safely secures herself behind her drums while Gene slings his bass over his shoulder, solidifying his stance off to the side and far from the audience’s accosting eyes.
I hesitate as I turn on my amp and it gives off static. Stupid piece of crap. Don’t you dare ruin this for me. I make myself laugh it off and grab the mic. “How are you doing tonight?”
A number of them are having conversations again, but the majority either clap or yell out. “O’Sullivan’s has some pretty awesome food!” I add, hoping for some free applause.
It works, and some random guy adds, “And beer!”
He gets a bigger laugh than I got applause, but so be it.
Madi. Madi is near the stage, standing. Thank God she’s here. She gives me a little wave. I give her a goofy smile. She’s just wearing jeans and a shirt, but she looks absolutely lovely.
“Our first song is our take on a hit from the eighties. ‘Don’t Stop Believin’.’” Gene and I have worked out guitar and bass parts to replace the missing synthesizer. As I strum my first chord, I spot a few people from Lakeview High. Someone came.
My amp crackles for a moment but stops.
The talking picks up for a bit, but then when we come to the chorus the second time, a number of people sing along, which quiets down the whole room. Libby speeds up the tempo until it feels like we’re racing. My fingers falter but no one seems to notice since my amp crackles again.
O’Sullivan’s stage lights are green, red, and blue intermittently with yellow. The blue light comes on most frequently, perhaps as an homage to our band. Perhaps in my imagination.
