Guitar Notes (10 page)

He sings:

He laughs. It’s a start.

Lyla tiptoes past Practice Room A and listens. Annie’s violin is loud and clear. Lyla shifts over to Practice Room B and listens. Tripp is singing! She grins and leans in, her ear close to the door.

Just after Lyla notices that Annie’s violin has stopped, the sound of Annie’s shriek comes. The door to Room A opens and Annie flies out.

“Lyla! I was coming to get you. My mom just texted about Coles. You heard, didn’t you?”

In a flash, Lyla knows what must have happened. It’s all over Annie’s face. Her mom must have texted her with the news that Coles has accepted her application and wants to schedule an audition. Annie must think that Lyla received the same great news and was coming to find her.

Annie grabs her in a hug.

The guitar playing in Practice Room B has stopped.

“I knew we’d make it, Lyla!” She grabs Lyla again and spins around, laughing.

Lyla tries to steady herself, noticing the door to Practice Room B is open a crack.

“Isn’t it great?” Annie says. “How come you’re not smiling?”

“I’m in shock,” Lyla says. “Yeah, it’s great.” She forces out a smile.

“I waited for you.” Benjamin Fick’s voice sounds like he swallowed sandpaper.

“My bad,” Tripp says into the phone. “No offense, but I will die if I get tutored.” There’s silence on the other end, so Tripp adds, “Best of luck helping other math-challenged people. Really.”

“Ms. Kettering knows you didn’t show,” Benjamin says. “She said that if you don’t show again, she’ll call you and your mom in for a conference.”

Tripp is in too good of a mood to let even this bring him down. He smiles. “Tell Kettering that we’re meeting in the cafeteria because I like the smell of rancid meat. I’ll study on my own and boost my grades to make you look good. It’s a win-win.”

There is a moment of silence while Benjamin considers becoming an accessory to this crime. “Fine,” Benjamin says, and hangs up.

Fine is fine is fine, indeed.

 OCTOBER 16. THURSDAY.

Annie has been talking nonstop about Coles ever since yesterday. Finally, Lyla’s time in the practice room arrives. When she closes the door, the silence is so peaceful, it makes her want to cry. She opens the guitar case and smiles to see another letter. Tripp wants to hear her song.

She calls up the recording program on the computer and plugs in the microphone. Last year, Ms. Peabody taught her how to make a recording so that she could analyze her progress on solos; she never thought she’d be using it to record herself singing and playing the guitar. She picks up the guitar and hits the record button and then stares at the screen, not sure if she can really do it.
Tripp might not like the song or the sound of her voice. She takes a breath and tells herself that she is just going to record it for herself, to hear what it sounds like. She starts again. Halfway through, she makes her first mistake and stops. It takes three tries, but she finally gets through it without making a noticeable mistake. Before she has a chance to regret it, she searches the web for Tripp Broody, finds his efriends page, and sends him a message.

She decides to add something else to the message, so that it’s not just the song. That way, if he doesn’t like the song, he’ll have something else to comment about.

Tripp’s afternoon classes crawl by. The thought of doing homework and spending the evening listening to the Termite drone makes him want to lie down in the middle of the hallway and be trampled by the herds. Why can’t the Winds of Fate blow something interesting in his direction, he wonders, to prevent him from succumbing to the slow death of boredom?

As soon as he is dismissed from his last class, he pulls out his cell phone. He can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. There is a message in his efriends in-box: Lyla Marks has sent him a song.

He’s desperate to hear it, but he doesn’t want the noises of the hallway to compete. Quickly, he grabs his books out of his locker and leaves.

He runs to the Metro, catches the subway headed uptown, and settles in a seat. He adjusts his earbuds and opens the MP3 file.

This pure sound streams into his ears: the guitar first, then Lyla’s voice dancing out neatly, line after line.

As soon as Tripp gets home, he downloads Lyla’s MP3 to his laptop, puts on his headphones, and listens to it again.

Tripp looks at himself in the mirror. She wants to hear one of his songs. What has he gotten himself into? He can’t do this. He makes a face. Then he grabs a pencil and holds it like a microphone. “
I’m going to sing a song for you
,” he sings. Then he stops. “No, I’m not,” he says, and chucks the pencil across the room. It bounces off the wall and lands on his pillow. He sounds ridiculous. He cannot do this. He goes back to his computer. Another message pops up.

She wants his cell number? Is she going to actually call him sometime and expect him to be able to talk? He runs his fingers through his hair. Then he sits down.
No problem
, he says to himself,
just type in your number and hit send
. He takes a deep breath in, does it, and lets the breath out. Why was that so scary?

 OCTOBER 17. FRIDAY.

Odd day. Tripp’s got the little room. From his pocket, he pulls a list that he made and sets it on the music stand, just in case.

He gets out his guitar and tries to concentrate. He
wants to finish his song. He wants to have the guts to record it for Lyla.

Lyla leans against her locker and looks at Tripp’s name in her contact list. All she has to do is press
CALL
.

Funny. She can play all the right notes on the cello in front of six Kennedy Center judges and she can’t get her finger to press
CALL
. Send a text—that’ll be easier.

She puts Tripp’s name in the “to” box and hits
SEND
just as Annie screeches behind her.

“Did I just see Tripp Broody’s name?” Annie tries to grab her phone.

“Don’t be so grabby.”

“You were sending him a text!”

“Is that illegal?” Lyla quickly pockets her phone.

“What’s going on with you and Tripp Broody?”

“Nothing.” She turns and busies herself putting folders she doesn’t need into her backpack. “He asked about a math assignment.”

“Why?

Lyla stands up and closes her locker. “We ran into each other in the hall and—I don’t know—he asked me about math and I said I’ll text you.”

“So you’re best friends with Tripp Broody?”

“I’ve had a total of one conversation. Stop making such a big deal about it.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Promise you’re not going to hang out with him.”

“Okay. Okay.”

“Good. Okay. What are you doing tonight? Hot date with Tripp? Just kidding. My mom said since we have to be back at school at seven, you can just stay for dinner.”

“What?”

“We’ll practice all our music and then we can make the poster and eat dinner. Then my mom can take us back for the bake sale.”

“I forgot about that.”

“What do you mean you forgot?”

“I mean I forgot.”

“We get beaucoup community service points for this. What’s wrong with you, Lyla? Our poster has to be better than Marisse’s. We’re voting for president next week.” Annie’s phone buzzes. “My mom is in the parking lot. Come on.”

“I’ll meet you down there. I left my science notebook in Sanders’s room. I have to run and get it.”

Annie shakes her head. “You’re officially losing your mind. Hurry up.”

Lyla heads toward the science hallway, turning to watch Annie run in the opposite direction. When Annie is out of sight, she opens her phone. He has texted back.