Blackbird Fly (20 page)

“Let's go out on the quad today,” I said.

“Good idea,” said Evan, already stepping in that direction. “I need to find those bright yellow high-tops.”

Heleena hesitated. “You two go.” She looked at her feet. “I'm gonna finish up some homework in the library.”

Evan was already drifting out of earshot.

“Come on, Heleena,” I said. “It's an awesome day.”

We always spent our lunch in the library or the band room. It was time to step into the daylight with the others.

Heleena looked like she wanted to protest again, but she didn't.

As we made our way outside I wondered if Alyssa would be standing by her usual tree, eating chips and gossiping, and if so I wondered who would be with her now.

I pointed to an empty spot on the grass.

“Let's sit there,” I said.

I expected something to happen. I wasn't sure what, but not much did. Instead we just sat in the grass. Evan wandered around for a few minutes looking for Brian Watkins, then finally gave up and sprawled out next to us as we enjoyed the sun.

The sounds of the quad seemed louder than they'd ever been. Dozens of conversations, laughs at jokes I couldn't hear, boys shoving one another, sodas being opened, people walking around to find a place
to sit. The quad felt like a foreign land, but here we were. Back in business.

“We should sit together on the bus,” said Heleena. “Only if you want to.” She put her hands in her lap. “But there's only two to a seat usually. So I can sit by myself. I don't mind. Or maybe on the way there, one of us can sit with someone else and on the way back we can switch. But I understand if you two would rather just sit together the whole time, since you're best friends.”

The field trip. My city bus schedules were printed out and neatly tucked in my red notebook, inside my weekend backpack, under my bed.
On the way back
, Heleena had said. But I didn't plan on making the trip back.

Evan toed me with his shoe. “Quit zoning out.”

I leaned back next to Evan and felt the warmth on my face. I squinted toward the clouds and watched a bird fly overhead. I wondered where it was going. I wondered if birds started new lives too.

Heleena also looked up. It was strange to see her sitting there, quiet and shy, with her hands in her lap. It was like she had a secret, but the kind of secret that needed to be shared. My mom used to say that once you said something out loud it became more true. I think that's why she always said “after what happened” instead of “after your dad died.”

If that goes for the bad things, it must go for the good things too.

I sat up and brushed the grass off my hands. “Let's perform something,” I heard myself say.

For a second I wondered if someone else had said it. Like Evan. But no, it was me. Every cell in my body hummed, but I picked up the guitar like it was nothing.

“Let's do what?” Heleena said.

“You remember. Our new life.” I checked the strings. Who was I? My voice was cool and calm, but I was ready to burst out of my skin.

Evan's face lit up like a bulb.

I scanned the quad. Everyone was doing their usual thing. Just another day at lunch.

“What do you mean?” asked Heleena. Her eyes were two terrified circles.

“Let's do ‘Here Comes the Sun.' Just like we did in the park.”

Evan immediately jumped up. “This is gonna be epic.”

I stood up too. But Heleena shook her head back and forth, back and forth. “There's no way I can do that in front of all these people.” She scanned the quad. “I can't.”

Evan chewed a nail and shifted from foot to foot.

I looked down at Heleena, who was shrinking into the grass. I motioned for her to stand up, but she was still shaking her head back and forth and rubbing her hands together like crazy.

“We sounded awesome in the park, right?” I said.

Her eyes darted around the crowd. “Yeah, but—”

“And we know ‘Here Comes the Sun,' right?”

“Yes, but—”

I craned my head back and squinted. “And the sun is out.”

“Okay, yeah, but—”

Evan chimed in. “And you're the best singer in the entire freaking universe, right?”

“Well, no, I don't think I'm—”

“Come on,” I said, slipping the guitar strap over my head. I set up my fret hand. It was like I'd been possessed by someone else. “Everyone thinks we're freaks anyway. What difference does it make? Let's just start singing. It'll be fine. I swear. If people start laughing, we'll just play louder.”

Possessed Apple was right. They already thought we were weirdos. And maybe we were. What's so wrong with that?

Evan didn't give Heleena any time to think it over. He clapped as loud as he could and hollered like he
was at a concert and the main act had just stepped onstage. Eyes turned toward us. Some seemed confused, some irritated, and some amused. The more Evan hollered, the more kids quieted down and looked our way to see what was going on. Some of them looked like they were ready for a good laugh. That was the face Jake and his friends gave us, along with Alyssa, who was standing among them wearing more makeup than usual.

I wondered if Heleena would faint. She looked like she might. I couldn't blame her. Evan was cheering like a maniac, and he hadn't even waited for her to get ready.

But all eyes were on us now. We had to do something.

“I can't do it alone,” I whispered to Heleena. “You're the voice. Come on.” I glanced across the quad over all the eyes staring at us. Evan quieted down, and a few people laughed. I looked back at Heleena. “I'll sing backup.”

At that she locked eyes with me.

“Okay,” she said.

There was more laughter as she pulled herself to her feet.

Then there was only silence.

I adjusted my guitar. The tips of my toes and fingers tingled. I think my science teacher once said this kind of thing happened in a fight-or-flight response. Your body fills up with adrenaline and tries to figure out if it should run and hide or stay and fight.

I decided to stay and fight.

I counted off under my breath: four, three, two, one. Then I started playing. The sound seemed to fill the entire quad. I half expected Heleena to bolt, but then she opened her mouth and sang.

We'd practiced the song a dozen times under the red canopy in the park, but her voice was different here in front of all the people. She started off shaky, but so did I. At first I wasn't even sure I was hitting the right chords, and I didn't know if it sounded
okay, because my ears were full of the sound of my heart beating. It must have though, because Heleena's voice evened out and strengthened. She sang louder, even though no one was laughing. My fingers cramped and ached from all the practicing I'd done since I'd borrowed the guitar, but I played through it. Sometimes, when you have pain, that's what you have to do—just keep playing until it goes away.

I got louder too.

The crowd stared and listened.

Even Evan didn't move. He'd never heard us play together.

And still, no one laughed.

When the song was over, we stopped playing and stood there like two mannequins. Unfortunately, Possessed Apple hadn't thought to come up with an encore plan. I didn't know what to do. Neither did Evan or Heleena. It was so quiet that I heard a bird chirp.

But then it wasn't so quiet anymore.

Someone cheered. Just one person. Loudly. Not making fun—a real cheer.

Gretchen.

She jumped up and down as if she were at an actual Beatles concert.

Other people did too. First Claire Hathaway. Then Danica Landry and Marie McCarron. Colby Matthews, Nick Preston, Elora Sullivan, Caleb Robinson. Then more, and more. They all gathered up in a big group around us. Brian Watkins was in the crowd too—when I saw him, I mouthed,
High-tops
, to Evan, and pointed him out. Evan gave a thumbs-up before his moppy head blended into the growing mob. Jake and Braden tried to throw a few barks our way, but they were drowned out by the applause. There were a million questions. Danica wanted to know where Heleena had learned to sing, and Marie asked why she never tried out for swing choir. Everyone wanted to look at my guitar. Even Alyssa.

“That was amazing, Apple,” she said. “It reminded me of how we used to sing together in fifth grade. Remember?” Kids bumped into her, this way and that, all wanting to see if they could hold the guitar. “Maybe you could teach me to play and I could be in the group too.”

She tried to say more, but the crowd swallowed her up, and she disappeared into it. I realized that's how she would always be: going where the crowd goes and then getting lost.

I
had a performance buzz for the rest of the afternoon. It's weird how something can be so scary and awesome all at the same time. Heleena and I were the talk of the school. Especially Heleena. No one could believe her voice.

The buzz was still there when I got home. My mother was making her way to the yard with her garden gloves when I came through the door.

I was just about ready to tell her everything when she motioned to the guitar and said, “You need to return that to wherever you borrowed it.”

“I don't have to. I get to keep it as long as I need.”

“Yes, you do have to. Because I say.”

I ignored her and decided to tell her about my day. And once I started talking, I couldn't stop.

“Today me and Heleena made our performance debut together in the quad at lunch. Everyone cheered for us. We sang ‘Here Comes the Sun.' Do you know that song? Everyone loved it. It was so amazing, Mom. I can play other songs too. Like ‘Blackbird,' which is my favorite, and ‘Come Together.' I learned so fast, Mr. Z said I was a prodigy. He even asked if my dad was Jimi Hendrix. Can you believe that? I bet Dad was like Jimi Hendrix, probably. Was he, Mom? Was he good at guitar? I bet he was, wasn't he?”

She put up her hand. Her face was like stone.

“You sound like an American now, the way
you're talking to me,” she said. “I said you need to give it back. So give it back. Tomorrow.”

“No.”

I saw the muscles in her jaw tighten. She tossed aside the garden gloves, took a step toward me, and put out her arm.

“Give it to me then,” she said. “I'll return it to the school. I'll give it right to the principal.”

She snapped her fingers and pointed at the guitar strap.

I pressed my lips together, tight. All the leftover good feelings from the afternoon morphed into something else, and I was ready to scream, cry, and explode all at once, right there in my mom's face. I yanked the guitar off my shoulder so hard that a sharp pain shot down my right arm. Then I shoved the neck into her open hand.

“Take it!” I said. “It doesn't matter. You know why? Because all I need is five more dollars, and I can buy one of my own. So you can bring it to
school tomorrow, and I don't care!”

She pulled the guitar toward her. My body felt light now, without it on my back.

My eyes were wet. My skin was on fire. “Why do you hate music so much anyway? What kind of person doesn't like music? How could someone who loved the Beatles as much as Dad did be with someone who doesn't even have a favorite song?”

She set the guitar next to her and held it gingerly, like a cane.

“How did you know that your father liked the Beatles?”

“I'll show you.” I stomped to my room, snatched
Abbey Road
, and walked back into the living room. Maybe she would try to take it away from me and throw it out, maybe she'd say it was from another life and I shouldn't have it, but I would take the chance. But even if she tried to destroy it—stomp on it, rip out the tape, burn it—it didn't really matter, because I would always be able to see my dad's name written
in black marker, even if just in my mind. And
Abbey Road
would always belong to me, no matter what. Especially now.

My mom held the guitar with her right hand, so I pushed the tape into her left. She studied it. She ran her thumb across his name. “I told you to not take anything when we left.”

“You took your Bible.”

“That's different.”

“How?”

“That Bible is mine.” She looked up. Angry. “This doesn't belong to you.”

“Maybe not before,” I said. “Before, it belonged to my dad. His name was Herminio Yengko, and he listened to the tape so much that it's all cracked and worn down. He even wrote his name on it.” The tears were here. I could feel them, warm on my face. “But that was before he died. Now it belongs to me. It's mine.”

“It's not yours,” she said.

“Fine! You can keep it too,” I snapped. “I know all the songs anyway. And one day I'll play all of them!
Every single one!
And one day I'll write and play my own songs, and people'll write their names on
my
music, just like my father wrote his name there! So you can just
keep it, throw it away, or burn it
for all I care!” My voice kept getting louder and louder—a big, heavy rain cloud releasing all of its thunder. My mom wasn't ready. She didn't expect it. She looked at me with dark eyes. When I was done yelling, she stood there and let out a deep breath, like a deflated balloon. She hung her head. Her black hair fell around her face.