Blackbird Fly (13 page)

“And there's that other song too, the one about a girl named Penny.”

“‘Penny Lane.' Except it's not about a girl. It's about a street by John Lennon's house. John Lennon was another one of the Beatles. He's my second-favorite.”

“He's the one who wore those little glasses, right?”

“Right.”

“So why is George Harrison your favorite? I've never even heard of him.”

“That's because he was more in the background. But that's why he was the best. He wrote all these great songs, but he didn't make a big deal about it. He wrote one of my favorite Beatles songs of all time—‘Here Comes the Sun.' ‘Blackbird' is my number-one favorite, even though it's not written by George Harrison, but ‘Here Comes the Sun' is almost just as good. One day I'm gonna learn how to play both of them on the guitar.”

“My mom tried to get me to take music lessons once. She also tried to get me to paint. But I'd never want to do what my mom does. She has all these paintings of shapes that are all different colors. Big deal. It's stupid, if you ask me.” He leaned way back in his chair and chewed on his fingernail. “I'll show you what I
really
want to do.”
He opened his backpack, reached deep inside, and pulled out a model airplane. He set it on the table between us.

I leaned forward and looked at it. It could have fit in my hand, but I didn't want to risk touching it. It was completely painted. Even little details.

“I want to build things like airplanes and trains and stuff. Real airplanes, not little ones like that,” Evan said.

“Wow,” I said. Through the tiny, little windows I saw tiny, little seats and there were even tiny, little instruments in the cockpit. “You built this?”

“Yeah.”

He returned it to his backpack.

“I've been building a lot more of them since there's not much to do around here,” he said.

“I bet you miss your friends in California.”

He nodded. “Especially Bon-Bon. He taught me how to say five different curse words in Filipino. Do you know any?”

I smiled. “No.”

“I'll teach you one.” He cleared his throat, then blurted out:
“Atsara!”
He said it with gusto, like he was really angry and cursing. He beat his fists in the air and said it again,
“Atsara! Atsara!”

“What's it mean?”

He shrugged. “I have no idea.”

By the time lunch was over, I knew at least one of Evan's IFs: He wasn't afraid of anything. Not that I could tell, at least. When I asked if he'd been scared of Braden at the dance, he looked surprised, like it never occurred to him.

“No,” he said. “Why would I be? He might be bigger than me, but he's dumb.”

“He might be dumb, but he could have knocked you out.”

Evan shrugged. “Let's say he broke my nose. Big deal. My nose will recover, but he'll still be dumb.”

“Weren't you embarrassed?”

“No.”

“If someone had pushed me down in front of the entire school, it would have been the most embarrassing moment of my life.”

“You shouldn't care so much what people think,” he said.

“I don't.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Okay, maybe a little bit. But everyone cares what people think.”

“You're right. Everyone cares. But if you waste too much time worrying about Evil Dorothy and her zombie bride, your brain cells may never recover.”

The bell rang, and we gathered our books. We walked out of the library in silence, but just before we split up in the hall, I said, “Did you really think my mom was cool?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Don't you?”

I shrugged. “If you ever want to come over again, she said it was okay.”

“Okay,” he said. “Well, see you later, three-point-six.”

“Three-point-six?”

“Yeah. It's the size of your head, remember? In kilograms. Normal size. I'm still calling you Apple though.”

I didn't argue.

A
fter spending two nights flipping through
Teach Yourself Guitar
, I decided to implement Guitar-Getting Plan A: Strike up a bargain with my mom. I had a feeling it wouldn't go my way, because it never had before, but you never know. Sometimes parents surprise you. Well, moms do. I wouldn't know about dads.

After a night reading about chords that I couldn't
practice and watching online tutorials that I couldn't imitate, I carried my book into the kitchen, where my mother and Lita were playing cards at the dinner table.

The kitchen smelled like fried egg rolls. There was a plate of them in the middle of the table. The paper towels were wet with grease.

“Hello, Apple,” said Lita, without looking up from her cards. “I hear you went to a school dance with a nice boy.” She smiled. “I remember my first dance.” She swayed in her chair like she'd gone back in time. “What about you, Glo?”

My mom shrugged. “Only the dances that mattered most,” she said. A strange look came over her face. It was the remembering look.

“I hear the boy is nice
and
smart,” Lita said to me.

My mother's face cleared. “Better to have a smart man than a handsome one,” she said.

Lita nodded. “Yes, yes. Handsome boys are much more trouble.” She shuffled her remaining hand. “Is he your boyfriend then, Apple?”

“Her name is Analyn now, remember?” said my mother, glancing at me.

“Oh, yes. I keep forgetting.”

“No, he's not my boyfriend,” I said. “Just a friend.”

“Olivia had her first boyfriend when she was your age.” Lita tapped the corner of her eye. “I kept my eye on them, though.”

I watched them play a few hands, wondering how best to put my plan into action. My mother seemed like she was in an okay mood. Now was as good a time as any.

“Hey, Mom?”

She glared down intently at her cards.
“Mmm?”

“I was wondering if there was anything you needed done around the house. You know, like chores you keep putting off or whatever. Something that I can help with.”

Lita raised her eyebrows. “Maybe your daughter isn't so American, after all, Glo!” she said, laughing.

“Mmm,”
said my mother.

“You wouldn't even have to pay me in cash or anything,” I said.

My mother concentrated on her cards. “Why would I pay for something you should do anyway?” she said, without looking up. “All children should do chores.”

Lita nodded approvingly.

“What I mean is, if you maybe get me that guitar, I could do some extra work. Anything around the house. Even if it's scrubbing the floor. It's only twenty dollars.”

“Not after what happened,” my mother said. She shook her head and clucked her tongue, as if to say
shame-shame
.

“I apologized to Mr. Z. He not only accepted my apology, he offered to give me lessons.
For free
.” I figured that would get her, but her expression didn't change. “If you get me a guitar, you don't have to get me anything else ever. That's the only thing I want.”

“No,” said my mother.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because I say.”

“But I can't be a songwriter if I don't have a guitar.”
And I can't run away without one either. I'll never get out of Chapel Spring. This will be my life forever. But this can't be it. It just can't.

“Music is a waste of time,
Analyn
. How many times do I have to tell you? Tell her, Lita. Tell her she needs to spend more time on books and less time worrying about guitars. I came here so she could have a better life—go to college, make money.”

I put my book on the table. It landed with a loud thud. “This is a book about guitars, Mom. See? I've been studying for days.”

My mother played a card. She didn't look at the book. “You're a smart girl. No need for things like this. They don't get you anywhere. They don't get you money. They get you stuck.”

“I'm already stuck.”

“That's enough now. Get your elbows off the
table and put the egg rolls in the refrigerator.” My mom likes to end conversations with a chore and criticism.

“You don't understand anything,” I said. “All I want is a guitar.” I looked at Lita. “I've been studying this book. I can have lessons for free. She won't even listen.”

Lita glanced at the book and shrugged like,
What can I do?

I went back to my room without putting the egg rolls in the refrigerator.

There's a saying in the Philippines that my mom used to tell me when I was in elementary school and she wanted to make sure I made honor roll: “If you persevere, you'll have stew.”

In other words: If you don't give up, you'll get what you want.

In other words: I was getting a guitar whether she liked it or not.

A
fter I found out about the Dog Log, I was convinced that people were staring at me, but when I went back to school the following week, I definitely felt like people were giving me strange looks. It started right after third period. I walked out of science class as usual and got a weird vibe, like everyone was talking about me behind my back.

Evan met me at my locker. I told him about it, in case he'd heard something.

“What do you mean, a vibe?” he asked.

“Don't you ever get a weird feeling that people are talking about you? Like, you can't really figure it out, but something seems off?” I put my science book away and took out English and math.

Maybe people were still talking about the Dog Log, but that didn't seem like the answer.

“Yeah, sure. But that's because people usually
are
talking about me. They're like, ‘Who's that handsome lad in our midst?' And then I'm all—”

“I'm serious, Evan. It's really bugging me.”

Two kids who played trumpet in the band walked by and glared at me. When they were out of sight, I nudged Evan's arm.

“Did you see that?” I said.

He looked around. “See what?”

“Nick Preston and Colby Matthews just looked at me funny.”

“I'm sure it's your imagination,” said Evan.

It wasn't.

During English, the PA system buzzed, and the secretary asked me to report to the office. As soon as she said “Analyn Yengko,” everyone turned and looked at me. My heart plummeted. I hadn't done anything wrong. I'd been on my best behavior since the incident with the twenty dollars. But when you get called to the office unexpectedly after weird hallway vibes, it can't be good.

When I got to the office, the secretary told me that Principal Earnshaw wanted to see me. Another really bad sign.

It got worse.

Gretchen and Alyssa were sitting next to each other across from Principal Earnshaw's desk. I sat in an empty chair next to them. Mrs. Hill, the school counselor, was in the office too, but she was standing with her arms crossed. She smiled at me, but it wasn't a cheery, hello smile. It was more like
an uh-oh-I-wouldn't-want-to-be-you smile.

Principal Earnshaw leaned forward. His chair creaked.

“Analyn,” he said. “Gretchen here has misplaced her purse, and I was wondering if you knew anything about it. She says the last time she saw it was in the gym.”

I looked at Gretchen. When my eyes met hers, she turned away.

“I haven't seen it,” I said. “I don't go to gym until after lunch, but I can look for it when I get there.”

Alyssa snickered.

“Alyssa said she saw you near the gym after second period,” said Principal Earnshaw.

“I got some chips from the vending machine. But I didn't go inside.”

Alyssa stomped her foot. “She took it! I know she took it!”