Paradise (18 page)

I looked in the mirror. “Not exactly Happy the Clown.” The color on my eyes wasn’t bad. “The red lipstick has to go, though. Maybe tone down the blush too.”

Lacey smiled at me in her bittersweet way. “Levi said the guys are leaving early next Saturday.”

I nodded.

“How are you getting to Austin?” she asked.

“I’m going with the band.” That was the first time I’d said it, and the first time it seemed real. “I’ll tell them this week to pick me up early, before dawn at the bridge down from L. V.’s.”

Lacey shook her head. “That’s running away. Even I wouldn’t try that.”

“I can if you cover for me. It’s just for a little more than twenty-four hours. If they start asking questions, just tell them the truth. Austin is six hours away. By the time they figure it out, we’ll have already performed.”

“I have to cover for you my way.” Lacey took a deep breath. “Here’s the real juicy detail. I’ve already told Mother that you and I are going with a friend to her church’s youth retreat early Saturday. We won’t be back until late Sunday.” Lacey put her hands together like an innocent praying angel. She squealed, “I’m going to Austin with you.”

I sat numb, processing every single word she said—especially the part where she said she was going to Austin. I threw her salon cape on the floor. “You’re not going with me. You’re going with Levi.” The mascara burned when my eyes began to tear. “This is the most important thing ever for me, and you’ve gone and screwed it up.” I wanted to slap her. I couldn’t believe she’d be that selfish.

“I’ve done this for you, Paisley. Is Levi’s family going? Yes. Do I want to see him play? Yes. But I’m taking you there, not him. This way you’re not running away. You’re with me.” Lacey picked the cape off the floor. “Everyone else in that band will have family there. If I don’t go, you’ll have no one.”

Lacey knew me better than I thought. I dabbed my eyes with a tissue. I was almost sure she was sincere.

“You’ve gone and messed up my artwork.” She took the tissue away from me and patted more concealer under my eyes.

I ran down a mental checklist of the details of her plan: Mother would expect us to leave early. The youth retreat gave us a reason to be gone all weekend. No running away.

“I’m going to do your makeup,” she said. “And I’m bringing my camera.”

She sounded like Mother.

“A youth retreat?” I rolled my eyes. “Really, Lacey.” But the more I thought about it, the more I thought Lacey’s plan might actually work. Regardless, we were a week away from taking the stage at Texapalooza. I had no choice but to stick with her plan and focus on my drumming. Getting to Austin was just one part. Being good enough to stand out was the other. My adrenaline whirled inside me like a rapid roll on a snare drum. Everything had come down to this. The band was really taking the show to Austin. Other than Mother, nothing could get in the way. But I misjudged my own sister.

25

INCENTIVES

On my way to rehearsal on Monday, I passed Uncle L. V. chugging across the pasture in his big green John Deere. The shredder buzzed low over the ground—a clear sign he was manicuring his ryegrass runway.

I stopped the four-wheeler and waved to him. No use. From the looks of the high grass edging a narrow, short strip, L. V. was just getting started. He maintained his runway as well as he did his planes’ engines. He’d keep an intense focus on his mowing and probably stay on the tractor until close to dark, until the grass runway was as tidy and perfect as a country club fairway.

I loved riding with him when I was younger—the constant buzz in the seat, the
chugga-chugga
bounce, the jolt of an unexpected
thwunk
into a hole.

I hit the throttle on the four-wheeler, shooting straight for the hangar. Everything laid out. A perfect plan. My drums. The band. The thrill of playing in Austin at Texapalooza in front of me.

And Paradise. He leaned against the outside of the hangar in the spotlight of the April sun.

“Wow.” I turned the engine off and swung my right leg over the handlebars, sitting sideways on the seat. I counted the trucks. “The closer we get to the contest this weekend, the earlier you all seem to want to get going.”

“Can’t start without you.” Paradise glanced across the pasture. L. V., a distant hum. Paradise leaned down, his hat casting a shadow across my face. The sun had warmed his chest, and I wasn’t sure if he’d pulled me to him or I’d gravitated there on my own. His lips were as soft as the flannel of his shirt.

A chain swinging from the flagpole in front of L. V.’s house clanged with every steady breath of wind. A dull
tink-tink, tink-tink
.

“I guess this means you’re over being mad,” I said.

He held me tighter, so I took the hug as a yes. I could’ve stayed cuddled in his arms. But this was the last week we had to practice. Not even the dizzying possibility of being wrapped up in Paradise could fog my vision of Texapalooza. I wasn’t about to let anyone or anything slow us, the band, down.

I let go of Paradise and pulled my sticks from my back pocket. We had a summer ahead of us to spend with each other, but less than a week to be perfect in Austin. “Get moving.” I drummed on his chest. “We can’t risk sloppy squeezebox playing.”

Paradise stared at me long enough for me to weigh a warning in his eyes. “Speaking of risk.” He held up a set of keys. Keys with a plump silver heart chain. Lacey’s keys. “Your sister’s been here. Awhile.” He jabbed the toe of his boot at a tire on the four-wheeler. “I saw her car from the road before I ever crossed the cattle guard. Thought I’d better move it before someone else sees it.”

I gripped my sticks in my fist.

Paradise grabbed my upper arm, squeezing as I bolted for the hangar. “Easy,” he said. “Levi was as surprised as the rest of us.”

“Don’t worry about moving the car.” I snatched the keys from his hand. “She’s leaving.”

Inside the hangar, Lacey sat sideways in a lawn chair with her legs draped over one arm. The place reeked of nail polish. Waylon must’ve broken a string because his guitar lay on its back while he worked with the intensity of a surgeon. Cal sat cross-legged on the floor with his journal across his lap. Levi stood helpless with his hands on hips and his bass guitar hanging around his neck like a coach’s whistle.

I dropped Lacey’s keys in her lap. “Leave.”

“Chill out, Paisley.” She twisted the cap on a bottle of pink polish. “I’m just watching.”

“You’re not just watching. You’re stealing time with Levi.” I gritted my teeth. “The band’s time.”

Waylon and his labored breathing huffed beside me. No one wanted her here. Lacey was a weed in the garden.

“There are lots of reasons why you are leaving. None of which I’m covering now.” I was embarrassed for her. Embarrassed for me. “Just go. We don’t have time for distractions.”

Lacey spun around in the chair. “Then maybe you should get yourself to drumming and not make a scene.” She crossed her legs and wiggled the toes on her right foot so that her flip-flop slapped against her heel.

Waylon threw up his hands. “If your mother sees your car and gets curious, then you’ve killed this for us.” He sucked in a deep breath that shook his entire body. “W-w-wiped out everything we’ve worked for. No Texapalooza. No band. No drummer.” Waylon was losing his grip on whatever confidence he’d gained at the campfire.

Lacey kept swinging her foot and popping her flip-flop.
Wap. Wap. Wap.
More concerned about drying her toenail polish than Waylon’s drama. She knew him too well to be moved by his dismal prediction.

Getting Lacey to leave would take more than trying to lay a guilt trip on her. This was after all my sister who never even tried to stop or slow down when innocent squirrels darted in front of her car. The best consolation after the thud was a “whooopsee” and a giggle. Sympathizing with others wasn’t her strong suit. Lacey needed incentive.

I leaned over Lacey where only she could hear me.

“With one word from me, you don’t go to Austin. The rest will say you can’t go. Levi will tell you to stay home.”

Lacey blinked and looked away.

“You can leave now and we’ll go as planned.”

The hum from L. V.’s tractor buzzed the hangar as he rounded back down the runway. “If you don’t leave on your own, I’ll get Uncle L. V. to move you.”

Lacey knew Uncle L. V. had zero patience for drama. She stood up, grabbed her giant purse, and mumbled something that sounded like
pissy
.

Paradise chuckled as he rolled his shoulders under the accordion straps.

Levi tried to say good-bye to Lacey at the doorway to the hangar.

She slipped between him and his guitar. Lacey kissed him. And kissed him. For a long time she just dangled from his lips like a ripe peach about to drop in L. V.’s orchard.

Performance kissing was Lacey’s style, not mine. I wanted to crawl under the tarp covering my drums until she finally had both feet on the ground and disappeared from the hangar.

“Think what y’all want to”—Levi stretched his guitar strap over his shoulder—“but that was worth it.”

“Unless my mother shows up.” I gathered the tarp. Before I could lay it to the side, I noticed Waylon sitting in a chair with his hands cupped over his face. I wasn’t sure if he was hyperventilating or praying. “You all right, Waylon?”

Waylon rubbed his face. He reached into a backpack sprawled at his feet and pulled out a few sheets of paper, handing us each one. The top of the page read,
ITINERARY.

“It’s our final schedule for Texapalooza,” he said. “They had some bands drop out so they’re starting later. They changed our time.”

Paradise threw his fist in the air. “We’re at night now.”

Levi picked a couple bass strings and sang, “Primetime.”

Cal and I watched as Paradise and Levi performed some shoulder-bumping man ritual. Waylon sank back into the chair.

I sorted through it all. Night meant a much bigger crowd, bright stadium lights, a big stage in one of the biggest music towns in the country. This was the dream. I was up for it. I even thought about shoulder bumping Cal. Unfortunately, I took one look at Waylon with his head buried in his hands and my throat began to ache. Choke.

“Waylon, c’mon.” I squatted beside him. “This is the best thing that could’ve happened.”

Waylon shoved an itinerary at me. He pointed at our time slot. “What does that say?”

“Nothing.” I didn’t see anything wrong. “‘Six o’clock, The Waylon Slider Band.’”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing?” Waylon stood up and kicked the tarp mounded on the floor by my drums. “If we blow this, I’ll be the biggest embarrassment my family’s ever known. My dad told me not to use my name, but I did it anyway. And he told me I wasn’t ready for this and he was right.”

“Maybe you’re not ready.” Paradise half ignored Waylon and started riffing on his accordion. “But the rest of us are. Man up. Get on your guitar.”

“Don’t be so rude,” I snapped, feeling like I was trying to hold water in a sieve.

Paradise pounded the heel of his boot against the concrete. “I could use a beat here.”

I didn’t budge. I couldn’t believe Paradise would just ignore Waylon like that. But then Cal started playing, and Levi. It was like I was the only one concerned about Waylon. However, whatever methods the guys were using delivered. Waylon got his guitar and went hard at the chords.

I hustled back to my drums. We’d lost too much rehearsal time already. But if Waylon was playing, I was too. Paradise stepped behind the drums and whispered in my ear, “Let him work it out on his guitar. Just keep drumming.”

I settled down. Playing was the one thing I could handle. Control what I could control and feel the clock start to tick on Texapalooza.

26

CATCHING WIND

By Thursday afternoon, we were just forty-eight hours shy of taking the stage at Texapalooza. It was one of those intense spring days when green pine tops and full leafy peach trees and pure white clouds contrast with the blue sky, surreal in the bright sunlight.

The hangar doors pulled the full width open. The guys stood outside watching Uncle L. V. race
Miss Molly Moonlight
down the grass runway, catch the wind under her belly, and rise off the ground—her engines roaring into the blue sky.

None of us said a word, but we all sensed it. A sweet reality that, like
Miss Molly
, we were reaching out and up and grabbing for our own dreams far and away from Prosper County.

Paradise pressed his hand against his stomach.

I jabbed him with a drumstick. “If you take a deep breath right as the wheels leave the ground, you won’t lose your lunch.”

“Get serious, Paisley.” Waylon had his skull cap on as if this practice were a dress rehearsal. “Somebody get the doors.”

“Oh, leave them open.” I looked out at the acres of rolling pasture and deep green thickets, and pointed a drumstick outside. “Imagine a whole bunch of folks waiting to hear the Waylon Slider Band.”