Fanfare (Country Roads #2) - Chapter 1

It was close to midnight and I was sitting in the living room of one of my two best friends, Hanna Philips, the first friend I’d made moving to town, with her and Katherine Moore, who was … complicated. We were huddled up under a big blanket together on Hanna’s couch, watching the commentator kill time while they waited for the countdown to midnight. Hanna had just gotten back from her skiing vacation and the three of us had spent all day together, just catching up. Our parents thought we were being overdramatic, since two weeks wasn’t that long for most people to be apart, but I don’t think they really understood what we meant to each other.

Until four months ago I’d lived my life in an RV traveling up and down the east coast as my dad went from gig to gig. It wasn’t until his drunk ass accidentally killed another man in a bar fight that Mom and I settled down in one place. I’d hated it at first, since I’d gone from us being on our own and seeing new places all the time to being on our own in one place. Then I got into a fight to help this little kid that turned out to be Hanna’s cousin. Hanna and I became friends and she showed me all the stuff I’d been missing, growing up on the road.

It turned out Hanna had needed someone too. She’d been in a depressive spiral since she was sexually assaulted the previous year, and had cut herself off from anyone else. I don’t know why she decided to open up to me, but it had saved both of us.

Kat was a different story altogether. Where Hanna and I had just been cut off from others, Kat had an actual disorder with a capital D. Her dad had refused to get her help, but the doctor I got her to talk to before Christmas diagnosed her with something called Dependent Personality Disorder, which basically meant she was incapable of standing up to anyone or even saying no. The worst kid in school had figured out she was vulnerable and had been taking advantage of her in every way imaginable. She’d been forced to do stuff she didn’t want to do, and without treatment, there seemed no way out.

That was about when I figured out a loophole, based on a warning the psychologist had given me. It turns out if she found someone she trusted, there was a danger she’d latch on to them, and start seeing them as the final authority over her, kind of like a small kid does with a parent. He’d warned me because it would make later treatment harder and told me to be very careful with how I acted with her to make sure that didn’t happen. Since her dad refused to even get her looked at, let alone treated, it didn’t look like she’d be getting that therapy anytime soon.

That was around the time Aaron stepped things up, using her to actively hurt other people. Kat recognized what she was doing was wrong but was powerless to go against him, and she was starting to spiral all on her own. The loophole was doing exactly what the doctor had warned me against, and convincing Kat that I should be the person she listened to. I’m sure when she finally got to see a psychologist for real, this would become a problem, but for the last month she hadn’t had to do anything she didn’t want to do, and it showed.

She’d stopped being so soft-spoken and even given her opinions several times. We were still on training wheels, but she was making progress, at least in how it affected her day-to-day life. She seemed really happy for the first time since I’d met her, so that was something.

Hanna and Kat had spent a bunch of time together recently, before Hanna went on vacation, and had become friends. Besides me, Hanna was the only other person who knew Kat’s diagnosis, and she’d been making an effort to get Kat to start being more independent, which was good. I’d worried that everything I did just pushed her more into giving up her own autonomy, since it was easier for Kat to do than deal with the panic attacks and physical symptoms of her disorder. Hanna didn’t have that kind of relationship with Kat.

So here we were; three broken people each using the other two to find a way back to normal. If I explained it to someone, they’d probably see us as some kind of sad story, but I was probably the happiest I’d been in my life, just sitting here with my girls.

“I still can’t believe you went snowboarding,” Kat said.

“Why? It’s a rush. It kind of feels like flying, especially if you go over one of the jumps. I didn’t go on any of the real slopes, but I swear next time we go, I’m just going to snowboard. Skiing is fun and all, but you don’t just let go like you do on a board, you know?” Hanna said.

“I’d be worried I’d fall down and break my neck.”

“Nah, I wasn’t going that fast. I fell down lots of times, but I was wearing a helmet and so many clothes I just kind of slid. Besides, of the three of us, I’m the least athletic. You two would do great.”

“Maybe Charlie, but not me. Swimming may be a good workout, but it doesn’t do anything for your balance. Heck, I think all that time with my head underwater would probably make it worse.”

“Don’t look at me,” I said. “After breaking my foot, I've got a new respect for how fragile my bones are. I like being on firm ground, thank you very much.”

“How was the show tonight?” Hanna asked.

Chef had decided on a big New Year's Eve show, which he hadn’t done before. When I’d first gotten to the Blue Ridge, Willie Johnson and his band played there on weekend nights. He was an old blues player and they’d had good size crowds, but mostly of older folks from Wellville and the surrounding farming communities and some tourists who’d been passing by on I-26 heading up into the Shenandoah or down towards South Carolina and Georgia.

Willie had heard me play when Hanna first brought me to the Blue Ridge and taken me under his wing. Eventually, they’d given me a shot at playing on my own, or at least being the frontman for Willie’s band, doing pop and rock music instead of blues. We’d worked it out so that we split up each weekend night where I’d play a set for the younger crowd and then Willie’d play a set for the people who still wanted to come in for blues. Things had taken off from there.

“It wasn’t as full as Chef had hoped. It wasn’t dead, but we’d had busier nights. I think with the holiday, people were able to go down to the clubs in Ashville, so we lost a lot there.”

“That sucks.”

“Nah, it’s all right. Chef had been making noise that maybe I should do both sets and play till midnight, since it’s still a holiday, but when he saw the crowds he said I could knock off after the first set. Which means I get to be here with you two.”

“You know I would have come down to the Blue Ridge if you were still playing?”

“It’s okay, you’ll be forced to hear me play a lot more before you leave for college, so maybe it’s good that you’re getting a break. Kat showed up and gave me a ride home, so it all worked out.”

“You know I love your music, so stop with the whole ‘forced to hear me’ BS,” Hanna said before looking across me at Kat. “How did you manage to stay out so late? Doesn’t your dad always make you get home by like nine or whatever?”

“He’s out of town on work, so I’m on my own until Thursday. He called to check on me, so I had to stay home till then and only heard the last half of Charlie playing, but it means I can stay out and watch the ball drop.”

We fell into silence again, looking at the TV. Kat’s dad was a subject of some contention. I was still fairly certain he was in some way responsible for Kat’s condition, and his unreasonable demands on where she went didn’t help those suspicions. I’m all for parents wanting to know where their kids are, but having a nine o’clock curfew on a teenager, even on weekends, was strange. That with his unwillingness to get help for Kat’s condition and the fact that no one I knew had ever met the man just added to the growing list of things I disliked about him.

“What’s your plan for the rest of the year?” I asked Hanna, breaking the silence.

“Just make it through, I guess. I sent off my last applications by the middle of December, so now we’re just waiting for decision letters to see what my choices of schools are. We should start getting acceptance and rejection letters in the mail any time now.”

“Have you thought about which school you prefer, if they all accept you?” Kat asked.

“No. When we started sending out applications at the end of the summer, all I wanted was to be really far from here, so my original list was all west coast, Florida and New York, with a few Texas schools. Mom made me expand that and apply to most of the major universities in the state, and some other ones closer, like Virginia Tech. If you’d asked me four months ago where I wanted to go, I’d have said USC, just to get as far away as possible, but now … I don’t know.”

“Don’t let us affect your decision,” I said.

She’d made a few comments since the end of last semester about how much happier she was now that she had real friends again, and how she’d miss us once she left for college. She’d said it enough times now that it felt almost like she was building herself up for choosing somewhere close, so that she didn’t have to go that far away.

“While you know we’d love to have you nearby, please don’t choose something just because we’re within driving distance. Where you go to college will be a big factor in setting you up for everything else in life. You have to think really selfishly on this.”

“I know, but I’m not sure it really matters as long as it’s a halfway decent school. Hell, I don’t even have a clue what I want to major in, so I can’t really judge any schools by specific programs.”

“You don’t have any idea?” Kat asked.

Kat’s dad had her whole life planned out for her, so uncertainty about what to go to school for was probably completely alien to her.

“No. When I was a freshman and sophomore, I was so sure I had it all planned out. I’d major in primary education and a minor in history, since I always preferred social studies when I was a kid, and join a sorority. Now, I can’t even remember why I’d wanted to be a school teacher. I don’t have some big jones for kids or education or whatever. I think it was because that was what all the other girls I knew wanted to do.”

“I think it’s okay to start in something more general like a basic liberal arts degree or a business degree,” I said. “You can always switch programs when you find the thing you like. Hell, I have no idea what I want to do either, although I still have a year and a half before I need to start applying, so I guess it’s not quite the same.”

“I know, and that’s probably what I’ll do. I’m just … I don’t know, everything’s different, and I’m still trying to figure it out.”

“You know we’ll support you no matter what you go with.”

“I know,” Hanna said, leaning into me as we watched the countdown to midnight finally start.

Monday, we were back in school. It felt strange coming back after some time away, and I wondered if everyone had that feeling. Since this was my first year with actual public education, it was all new to me. I was sure once things got rolling I’d fall back into the same patterns as before and it would become routine but at the moment, just walking in, I couldn’t shake how the place seemed a little smaller than it had before we left for winter break.

I was partway to my first class when I heard my name called out behind me. My first instinct was to tense up, since the only person to call me out like that had been Aaron Campbell, my nemesis. It only lasted for a second, since it wasn’t his voice, but it did show I wasn’t completely over my concern about him, despite kicking his ass before we left for winter break. He wasn’t the kind of guy to let things lie, and I knew it was only a matter of time before he retaliated.

It took me a second to place the teacher who’d called my name. I’d only met Coach Dean once, during one of my run-ins with Aaron’s crew. The vice-principal had been ready to suspend me for fighting when he’d shown up as a witness for the event and defended me.

“You forgot to sign up,” He said when he caught up with me.

“What?” I asked, confused.

“After the thing on the baseball field, I told you I wanted you to try out for the baseball team this year. You had a hell of an arm.”

“Ohh, yeah. Sorry. I’ve had a lot going on and I forgot all about it.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard you’re some kind of musician. Tryouts are Wednesday afternoon and I’d really like to see you out there. Can I put your name on the list?”

“Coach, I really appreciate the offer, but things are kind of crazy. I’m still in tutoring ‘cause I have a lot to catch up on if I want to pass this year and make it to eleventh grade. So it doesn’t leave a lot of time in the afternoons to get to practice, and after that, I go and do band practice most days, because I play at the Blue Ridge on weekends. I’m also not sure I’ll be able to make it to games because I’ve already committed to playing there. I would love to play, honestly, but I just don’t have the time.”

“Charlie, after we met last semester, I looked into you, so I’m perfectly aware of how busy you are. I also saw you throw that ball to stop Harry Torres from attacking that other kid, and you have a hell of an arm on you. He was running full out and you were still able to hit a pretty small target without a lot of lead time. We could really use that kind of accuracy on the field.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that, but …”

“Hear me out. I know you’ve had some problems getting along with some of the other students, especially in the athletics program. I think it would do you some good to participate in student activities and integrate yourself better with the rest of your class. Now, as I said, I’m aware of your schedule. I did some checking and heard you were close with the guy who runs the Blue Ridge and you’ve been spending time there every day, so I went to talk to him. Feel free to give him a call, but he agreed with me that you might get some benefit out of being part of a team, and he said he’d make sure you’d find a way to get everything worked into your schedule.”

I hadn’t expected that. While I knew a lot of people in town knew Chef and it was true I spent most of my time at the Blue Ridge, it surprised me that anyone would start checking my schedule through him, although it probably shouldn’t have. What surprised me more was how much work Coach Dean had done, considering I hadn’t even tried out for the team.

“Again, I do appreciate the offer, but I’m a little confused by this. You’ve only ever seen me throw one ball. You don’t know if I can hit or if I’m fast enough or pretty much anything else except that one throw. Why are you going through all this trouble to get me on the team?”

“Call it 'gut instinct.' Recognizing when someone has potential is what teachers and coaches do, and I can see it in you. I also saw why you threw the ball that day. You’ve got a good heart. More than athletic ability, that’s something we really need on our teams. All that matters is, do you want to play ball? If yes, then we’ll work it out. Anything else is just excuses.”

I thought about it for a minute. I had to admit it was flattering how much the coach had done so far to get me on the team, and I really did miss playing baseball. When I was traveling with my dad, we’d stop at RV parks for a few weeks occasionally, if he had a lot of gigs in one area. In the afternoons there’d usually be pickup baseball games, and I always loved it. It’d been several years since I played, and I hadn’t realized I’d missed it until now.

“Fine, I’ll come to tryouts.”

“Good, It’s Wednesday after school.”

“Sure.”

Part of me hoped I got on the team, both because it would be fun and because he was right, except for Hanna and a few of her friends, I really had just been separated from everyone else. Maybe it was from being homeschooled until this year, but I didn’t really have a great grasp on how to navigate high school very well. Joining into school activities might help me deal with people like Aaron. Probably not, but it was worth a try.

Of course, I was setting myself up to be even busier, but the change might do me some good.

Speaking of changes, I wasn’t done yet. After a bunch of nudges and hints from Mr. French, the music teacher, at the end of last semester, I’d put in for a new schedule. I’d dropped the art class I was in, since I was never going to be any good at drawing or painting, and signed up for Choir. I’d been concerned I was coming in late, since everyone else had been in all year, but Mr. French wasn’t worried.

I’d already seen some success on the vocal practices. Cameron - who was in Choir - had introduced me to Mr. French in the first place, and I hoped this would help that along. Working with Willie at the Blue Ridge had advanced my guitar playing, but Willie was a classic blues man, where the singing had a particular style. While I thought I was a pretty good singer, and he tended to agree, just like guitar, the voice is something that you never stop working to improve. He’d admitted that in that area, he wasn’t going to be a big help and had suggested I find a vocal coach.

There weren't a lot of those in a town this size and we didn’t have the money to pay for something like that. I liked Cameron, but he was a student and a different kind of singer than me, also, focusing on Broadway-style projection singing, rather than something more nuanced that I’d need if I ever wanted to get past live performances and actually record music.

This seemed a good - and more importantly, an affordable - alternative. Walking into class I realized I didn’t know anyone and for a second just hung back by the wall. I felt a little out of place, since joining something like this your sophomore year was unusual, more so when it was halfway through the year.

Thankfully Cameron appeared from a clump of kids and came over to find me.

“So you did get signed up,” he said, slapping me on the arm.

“Yep. Mr. French took care of it, although now that I’m here, I’m not sure what’s happening.”

“The first few minutes are always a bit chaotic, but it’ll settle down. You’re a tenor, so you can come with me. We group by range, so the basses are at one end and the sopranos are at the far end,” he said, pointing at the half-circle of chairs all facing a center podium thing that was probably where Mr. French would stand. “We’ll do some vocal warm-up to start, just follow along. They’ll seem weird, but some of them you did with me already. It’ll all make sense.”

“Are we working on something specific?”

“Probably. We spent most of last semester getting ready for the Christmas concert and some performances we did at nursing homes and places like that. Now we’ll switch to music for the spring concert and UIL.”

“UIL?”

“It’s the school competition thing. All of the arts programs like band, debate, and whatever all compete in UIL programs. There’s a separate national competition that we’ll do but it will probably be the same piece. At least that’s what we did last year.”

“How'd you do?”

“Not great. We got through district but got knocked out in regionals. Hopefully, we’ll do better this year. Maybe Mr. French wanted you in as a ringer.”

“I’m not that good of a singer; my thing has always been the guitar.”

“You’re joking, right? Once you train to use the full range of your voice, you’ll be amazing. Your pitch is on point, you’re mid-range is silky smooth and you’ve got this rasp in the lower range that is really something. Hell, now that I’m thinking about it, I think we might do well this year.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Hey, I’m just happy to have you here.”

Mr. French tapped on the music stand, settling everyone else down.

“Welcome back. I hope you all had a good winter break and got a chance to relax a little bit. I’m going to hand out our new music here in a second, but first I want everyone to welcome our newest member, Charlie Nelson. Some of you might know, Charlie’s already working in music himself and plays most weekends at the Blue Ridge. He's also done a few shows down in Ashville. Everyone make sure you take a moment to welcome him after class.”

A bunch of people looked my way. I was used to people looking at me on stage, but this was different. It felt like I was being judged before I’d even done anything, and wished Mr. French had not given me the build-up. I didn’t mind performing, but I didn’t need everyone who’d been in the class all year feeling like I was trying to upstage them. I had enough enemies in school without making new ones.

“Okay, now for what we’re going to be working on. We’ve picked The Proclamation, Gloria in Excelsis Deo for State. For our spring concert, we’ll be doing that as well as Mamma’s House and Into the Fire. If we have enough people sign up for show choir, then those will be the two that you compete with as well, so no time wasted.”

I hadn’t heard of the first song and assumed it was something classical. The other two were really popular at the moment, getting a lot of play on the radio. Mamma’s House was a pop-country song, veering more to country, and Into the Firehad been bouncing in and out of the number one spot on the pop charts for months. I was a little suspicious of his choices, since both songs were in the rotation I did at the Blue Ridge, and I’d performed both of them a dozen or more times.

Of course, everything we did was top 40 on either the pop or country charts, so it wasn’t that big of a coincidence.

Like Cameron said, we started off with the vocal warm-ups he’d had me learn to do. I still thought they were silly, but I had to admit they did make my throat feel looser and made it easier to hit some of the notes at the top of my range.

That done, we did a couple of run-throughs on all three pieces. To say it was rough would be an understatement, but I’d seen enough of the process of working up a song that I assumed it was just the first steps and it would get better. At least, that was how it worked with a band, and I assumed this wouldn’t be that much different.

I was pleasantly surprised by the response I got after class. Once we finished up, a good half of the class stopped me to welcome me to Choir and everyone seemed friendly enough. Even those who hurried out seemed pleasant enough.

Things were starting off a lot better than they had the previous semester. I knew it was too much to ask, but I hoped it continued like this.

Of course, that wasn’t likely.