Jesse's Girl (Hundred Oaks #6) (11 page)

I stand up from the couch and stare down at Hannah. “Tell the guys I said thanks but no thanks. I’m going solo.”

After I let Hannah out, I go to my bedroom. I swipe on my cell, take a deep breath, tap Jesse’s name, then type:
Thank you for the boots.

And leave it at that.

• • •

This afternoon, I napped for hours, and I feel a lot better after clearing my head. I glance over at the clock. It’s nearly eight.

I hear arguing, so I drag myself out of bed, quickly rinse my face in the bathroom sink, then head out to see what drama my family has cooked up for this evening.

Before I even make it to the kitchen, I smell it. Mom’s beef stew. I find my parents and Anna, Sam, and Jordan crowded around the breakfast table, spooning stew into their mouths, laughing at a story Anna is telling about how her friend named her new betta fish “Sam.”

My brother puffs out his chest. “I bet it’s a very good-looking fish.”

“I bet it looks just like you,” Jordan replies.

Dad makes a puckering fish face, and Mom and Anna laugh at Sam’s expense.

“You’re awake!” Anna squeals at me. “I want to hear about your day with Jesse!”

Like the ten-year-old she is, she bounces around the kitchen, waving the newspaper that features my picture.

“It was fun,” I say. “I learned a lot from him.”

“Is he cute in person? Did you get his autograph for me? Can I go with you to one of his concerts? Did you find out what his favorite color is?”

“Yes, yes, no, no,” I reply.

“Why can’t we go to a concert?” Anna asks as she pouts, clutching my arm. “He likes you! I can tell from the picture!”

“We just can’t,” I snap, and Jordan and Sam exchange a look. Thankfully, nobody presses me about what happened last night, even though I’m positive Mom told them I was upset earlier.

Gossipy. If I had to choose a second word to describe my family after sporty, it would be gossipy.

“Let your sister sit down, Anna,” Mom says. My sister collapses dramatically in her chair and shovels stew in her mouth, throwing me dirty looks.

Jordan stands up. “Want some stew, Maya?”

“Yes, please.”

I take a seat as Jordan spoons stew into a bowl for me and talks about the upcoming homecoming game. It’s her first year coaching at school, and she is very nervous and upset because her record is 4–1 so far. I don’t follow sports, but apparently the whole town is pissed we lost last night’s game, which hasn’t happened since the Stone Age or something.

“I haven’t lost a game at Hundred Oaks in…well, ever,” Jordan says quietly. “When I played here in high school, I mean.”

“Don’t let any of the nincompoops around here get you down,” Mom tells her. “Everybody knows you were the best person for the job. You just don’t have a strong quarterback and offensive line this season.”

“The team’s doing very well, considering,” Dad adds.

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Sam says, pointing at Jordan with his spoon. “You should start hunting for a new QB for next year. Like now.”

Mom looks over at me. “Maya, when Dr. Salter called to discuss your detention next week, he mentioned you might rejoin the choir. I’m so glad.”

“I’m not sure,” I say, shoveling the last bite of stew into my mouth. I was so starved, I finished in two minutes. “I think I might try going solo for a while.”

My family starts grinning, and Sam whoops.

Dad serves me another helping, and we move on to discussing Sam’s job as a scout for the Titans. Last night may have sucked, and my former band members are dicks, but at least I have my family. I am beyond lucky. I scoop another heaping spoonful into my mouth and smile around at everybody.

But when I imagine Jesse at his show in Atlanta tonight, a show his parents most likely didn’t show up for, I wonder if he’s okay.

I finish my second helping of stew, scraping the bottom of my bowl.

I’m sure he’s lonely.

• • •

I never sit alone at lunch, and if there’s a school dance, a guy or two will invite me. But I’ve never been one of those girls who gets elected prom queen, runs the student council, or has plans every Friday and Saturday night. But considering the reception I get when I walk into school with Dave on Monday morning, you’d think I’m the most popular girl of all time.

“Woooo, Maya Henry!” screams Alec O’Malley, the star wide receiver of the football team. He throws an arm around my shoulders. “Do you have a date for homecoming?”

My mouth falls open.

Justina Carr, the captain of the dance team, pushes Alec out of the way to walk beside me. “Tell me all about him!”

“Who? Alec?”

She laughs as if I’m Jimmy Fallon, not a girl she’s never spoken to. “Do you think Jesse could introduce me to True Balance?”

True Balance is a boy band that I can’t stand. Their biggest hit is called “I Love Your Saucy Sauce, Hot Mama.” Nuff said.

“I’ll get right on that and ask Jesse,” I tell her, just so she’ll leave me alone. It works—she skips off down the hall to brag to her real friends, who probably sing the saucy sauce lyrics in the shower.

As soon as she’s gone, Alec the wide receiver tries to Heisman his way through the crowd that’s formed around me. Dave blocks Alec, thank goodness. Jordan should recruit Dave as an offensive lineman for the football team, because Alec gets the point. He adjusts his shirt and strolls away as if he can’t be bothered with me any longer.

“That was enjoyable,” Dave says. “Alec has a nice chest.”

“Don’t let Xander hear you say that.”

Nate walks up and gives me a dirty look. If Hannah actually quit the band because of me, I bet he’s pissed. Whatever.

“Are you really not rejoining the band?” Nate asks me.

I shake my head. “I seem to recall you kicking me out. I’m going solo for a while.”

“When I told the metal clubs in Nashville you’re not with us anymore, they wouldn’t book us. We need you back.”

“I’m done with heavy metal.” I turn away just in time for a freshman girl to squeal in my face.

“Are you dating Jesse Scott?”

“Do you think he’ll come visit you at school?” another girl asks.

I have a sudden urge to spend the day hiding in a bathroom stall. I wish Jesse’s security guard were here, because I feel like I might get swept away any second. Unlike Jesse, I’ve only had to deal with two days of this nonsense. I can’t imagine dealing with this for eight years.

“Hey!” Dr. Salter separates the crowd. “If you aren’t in class in two minutes, you get a week of detention!”

Everybody scatters, and I swallow. I do not like people mobbing me like that.

“You okay?” Dr. Salter asks, patting my shoulder, and I nod. “Good. Drop by my office during homeroom later this morning so we can discuss your behavior on shadow day.”

Great. Just great. I take off for my first-period Crucial Life Lessons class, which I have with Dave.

I enter the classroom to massive applause, and I can’t help but smile. It’s all so ridiculous that it’s becoming funny. I take a bow, and the cheering gets louder.

“Okay, okay, settle down,” Coach Lynn tells the class. “Take a seat, Maya and Dave.”

As soon as everybody is quiet, Coach Lynn starts teaching. “What’s the number-one secret to financial success?”

“Shred all credit card offers the moment we get them in the mail,” the class drones.

“What’s the second most important secret to financial success?” Coach Lynn asks.

“Always balance your bank account.”

“Good,” she says. “Today, everybody is going to give a brief oral report on what they learned during shadow day.”

I groan under my breath. While the other students talk about how they spent the day—one guy helped a vet deliver a foal and another rode in a news helicopter—I sink farther and farther into my seat.

“Maya? Care to tell us about your shadow day experience?” The way Coach Lynn enunciates the world “experience,” you would think I’ve been riding roller coasters at a theme park.

I walk to the podium. “Um, I had the opportunity to shadow Jesse Scott.”

Suddenly, Dr. Salter appears in the doorway.

I go on, “During shadow day, I got to visit the studio where Jesse records his music, and he gave me some singing and guitar tips.” I lick my lips and take a quick glance at the class. “I had the opportunity to play a Les Paul electric guitar. I—”

“Did you fool around with him?” Zachary Painter asks, getting lots of laughs from other kids.

Dr. Salter’s face goes redder than his bow tie, and I wonder if it’s that obvious that I made out with Jesse Scott.

“Zack,” Coach Lynn reprimands. “Not in my classroom.” She focuses on me again. “What’s the most important thing you learned from Jesse, Maya?”

I think back to what he said when we goofed around on that playground. “I learned that I have to take chances if I want a chance at my dreams.”

That shuts the class up. Everybody, including Dr. Salter and Coach Lynn, seems to be thinking about my words. Jesse’s words.

Back at my desk, I pull my phone out of my pocket and search Jesse’s name. I stare at the cover of his greatest hits album. It’s him leaning against a blue pickup truck, staring at a field of sunflowers. If I had an album, what would be on the cover? How many tracks would it have? Would it be a mix of rock and pop?

That’s when I decide.

I’m going to take a chance. A big one.

“My name is Maya Henry, and I’m the next
Wannabe
Rocker
…I mean, winner of
Wannabe
Rocker
!”

I cringe and hit the stop button on my phone.
Wannabe
Rocker
audition videos are due in less than a week, and this is take #147. I am not exaggerating. I really have messed up that many times. Even with the singing tips Jesse and Holly gave me, my voice still cracks from time to time.

Anna pounds on the bathroom door. “I need to go bad, Maya! Let me in!”

“
God
, just use Mom’s bathroom!” I yell. Can’t she understand that the acoustics in this bathroom are necessary to my future success?

I adjust my guitar strap and get situated for take #148.
I’m doing this
, I tell myself.
I’m going solo. I can do it.

That’s when my phone buzzes. I read:
Hi.

Holy crap. It’s Jesse.

When I first thanked him for the boots, he wrote back:
NP
. No problem. I figured it was his parting gift for being an ass, and that would be it between us. I mean, besides our ongoing YouTube relationship where the number of views continues to rocket.

One day during lunch, Dave broke out the
People
magazine blurb about Jesse and me performing on the Belle Carol. Together we pored over the article, which talks about how Jesse made a young fan’s dream come true when he crashed her party. It also has a picture of us and notes that more than five million people have watched the video online so far.

But it’s been nearly two weeks since shadow day. Two weeks since I’ve heard from Jesse. And now he texts me?

Whatever. I don’t have time for this.

I fluff my hair, adjust my guitar, then reach over and press record on my phone. “My name is Maya Henry, and I’m the next winner of
Wannabe
Rocker
!”

I launch into “Somebody to Love,” and I make it through the song with no issues, but it still doesn’t feel special enough. Should I go for a more soulful performance, or should I rock it out? I slip in my earbuds and listen to the original Queen version, wondering if I should switch the melody up to make my performance more interesting. Maybe I should choose another song. I’m no Freddie Mercury.

Another message from Jesse pops on the screen. It’s a link to a YouTube video, along with a text:

been thinking of you

I take a deep breath and push play. It’s a video of him at one of his concerts. The stage lights dim, and he begins plucking an acoustic guitar. He stares at his fingers as he plays each note, and he licks his lower lip, concentrating.

Then he starts singing my favorite song.

Suddenly, my knees go wobbly. I grip the edge of the bathtub and sit as his rendition of “Killing Me Softly” plays. God, it’s beautiful, the way his tone crests and falls, making me teary-eyed one second and smiley the next.

He performed it just for me.

Do I respond? What do I say? I’m still pissed at him and embarrassed, but I can’t ignore how good the excitement feels, my heart hammering, my hands clutching my guitar for dear life.

The entire song goes by before I make a decision.
Hi.

Seconds later, he texts,
How are you?

Fine.

What are you doing?

Listening to music. You?

Just got home from Seventeen mag photo shoot

Exciting

They made me pose shirtless by my Harley. I felt like a piece of meat.

poor baby

And then I found Casper had unrolled a whole roll of toilet paper.

lol. good job, Casper.

Can we talk?

I stare at the blinking cursor on my phone.

Then I stand and go back to rehearsing in front of the mirror.

• • •

Jesse keeps sending texts over the next couple of days. I haven’t responded, because I didn’t know if I want to talk. I still don’t know.

Besides, I have a bigger problem I need to deal with: my audition video sucks ass! I haven’t been able to figure out which song I should sing, nor have I recorded a clip that I can stand behind. And it’s due by October 5. By midnight tonight.

In total crisis mode, I drive my bike a mile to Dave’s house, and when I get there, his mother lets me into the foyer.

“He’s upstairs with Xander, dear.” She must be the most trusting mom in the world, or she hasn’t figured out that Dave is seeing Xander, which makes no sense, because everybody knows Dave is gay.

I hustle up the stairs to his room, moving faster than I ever have in gym class, knock once on Dave’s door, and hurl myself in. Xander and Dave startle apart from kissing on the bed and scramble to sit up.

“Maya, what the hell?” Dave asks, flattening his mussed hair.

“Emergency! I need your opinion. And your MacBook.” I sit down at his desk, open his computer, and plug in my phone. The boys untangle themselves and come lean over my shoulders.

“What’s going on?” Dave asks.

“Tell me which of these videos you like.” We run through the best of the clips I recorded in my bathroom. There’s lots of shrugging and “hmmm-ing,” which does nothing for my self-esteem. I try to keep in my mind that I interrupted their hookup and they’d like to get back to it, but this is my life we’re talking about!

After watching my sixth video, Dave drums his fingers on his desk. “Can’t you use a real live performance? A video of you in the bathroom is just so…”

“Unhygienic?” Xander offers.

“Amateur,” Dave says.

“And unhygienic.”

I roll my eyes.

“Why don’t you send in your talent show video from last year?” Dave asks.

“Because my voice cracked!”

“But before it cracked, your guitar playing was so badass. People at school were talking about it for weeks.”

“What? All I heard was them calling me ‘the Siren.’”

“Only because they were jealous. Seriously, everyone was way impressed with your guitar playing. That’s the video you gotta send in. We’ll cut it before you start singing.”

“But I have to send in a singing sample too,” I whine.

“Can you send in two videos?” Xander asks.

“No,” Dave and I say at the same time.

“I mean, can you splice together sections of your different performances?” Xander asks. “Like, one where you sound good singing?”

I shrug. “It’s not a bad idea. But my audition video can’t be longer than three minutes…and I don’t really have any recorded live performances that are good.”

“You do with The Fringe,” Dave says, leaning over Xander’s shoulder to pull up my former band’s YouTube channel. “We can show you singing backup, and if we have to, we can use one of the unhygienic bathroom clips.”

“But I’m singing metal in our Fringe videos.”

“It’s what we have to work with,” Dave says.

“Here, scooch over,” Xander says, squishing into the desk chair with me. Over the next hour, the boys help me splice together my video. And by the end, I’m pretty happy with the result. With my talent show “Bohemian Rhapsody” performance making up most of the video, it screams eighties…with a small amount of metal. But it’s not terrible.

“I still think you should send the video of you on the riverboat,” Dave says. “Your voice was amazing.”

“Seriously,” Xander says, nodding.

I shake my head. “This audition is about me and me only. I don’t want any special favors because I sang once with Jesse Scott.”

I’m doing this on my own.

• • •

A few days later, a weird sound wakes me up. Th-dump.

I sit up straight and look around my room. Shimmering moonlight flows through the window and bathes the room in a soft white glow. Th-dump. Th-dump. That noise again.

Something’s in the yard. Maybe I should get Dad? I push my covers away and pad toward the window, then pause when a rock hits it. I look out into the yard and place a hand to my chest.

“Jesse,” I whisper.

When he sees my face, his hand falls to his side, and a few rocks tumble from his fingers. I stare into the caramel eyes I never thought I’d see again in real life. Not breaking eye contact, he walks closer. I struggle with the latch, then yank up the window up and lean out toward him.

“Hi,” I say breathily.

“Hi.” He smiles that wicked smile, and then he does the worst possible thing. He sings, “I’m a tiny swatch of quilllllllllt, and I want to be sewn into your hearrrrrrrrt.”

I cover my face and start laughing my ass off.

That’s when my bedroom door slams open. “Who are you talking to?” my dad demands.

“Nobody.”

He stalks over and looks out into the night. As my heart gallops away from me, I gaze into the yard. I see nothing but trees and grass. Where did Jesse go?

“I was looking at the stars,” I lie.

“Riiiight,” Dad says with a yawn. “Go to bed, My, and tell whoever’s outside to beat it. Now.”

He shuts the door behind him.

I whisper-yell, “Jesse!”

He pops straight up. I yelp and stumble back.

“Can you come out?” he asks quietly.

I shake my head. “I can’t walk through the house—Dad’ll hear me.”

He holds his arms out. “C’mere, then.”

For the first time in my life, I’m happy with my super-short, nonathletic body. Jesse lifts me out the window and drops me to the ground in front of him. He smoothes my bleached hair behind my ears and gazes down at me. I cross my arms over my chest. I don’t want to give him a show: I’m not wearing a bra. My tank top is thin, and it’s a chilly night.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“You weren’t answering my texts, so I came to serenade you.”

“With the worst song I ever wrote.”

“I got stage fright. I sang the first thing that came to mind.”

“Jesse Scott got stage fright,” I say in a monotone voice.

“That’s right.” His eyes twinkle at me.

“For real though,” I whisper. “Why are you here?”

A cricket chirps a few times, filling the silence. Then he replies, “I missed you.”

I have no response to that. I missed him too, but he’ll never hear that from my mouth. I hug myself harder, to protect my heart.

“I’m sorry about the way I acted that night.”

“Yeah, me too,” I say snarkily.

He takes a deep breath. “The way I was feeling…about you…it was all new to me, and I didn’t know what to do.”

I just stand here, because I have nothing to apologize for and too many things I want to say but shouldn’t.

“I was thinking,” he says quietly. “I don’t have a show on Friday. Do you want to hang out?”

I glance up. “What?”

“Friday night?”

I thought he said things couldn’t work out between us, and now he shows up at my bedroom window after midnight to serenade me with terrible lyrics and ask me to hang out? I swear.

“Like as a date?” I ask.

“I was thinking as friends… I’m not sure I’m ready for something more yet, but let’s see where this goes.”

It’s like with Nate all over again. He said we couldn’t officially be together because of the band, but he had no problem with hooking up on the side. And now Jesse Scott is saying we can hang out and “see where this goes,” but he isn’t offering any assurances beyond that. I don’t want to place my trust in a guy who doesn’t know what he wants.

“Jess, this is a bad idea. You freaked out because you thought I’d treat you like your ex-girlfriend did.”

He lowers his eyes. “I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

I worry my lip. Fold my arms more tightly around my body.

“We can do whatever you want,” he says. “I only want to spend time with you.”

The moon disappears behind a cloud, leaving his face in shadow. He’s scared I’ll say no. I
should
say no. I should use my Friday night to practice, just like I’ve been doing every other night. But I’m interested to know how far Jesse will go to spend time with me.

“I want to see a movie,” I announce.

“You probably want to see
Hot
Wired
, right? The car chases look awes—”

“I want to see
The
Commander
in
Chief
Who
Loved
Me
.”

His nose crinkles. I don’t blame him. I don’t have any interest in seeing it either—it’s a romantic comedy about political rivals who fall for each other on the presidential campaign trail. I just want to know if he
will
see it. Of course I would rather see
Hot
Wired
, which is about stealing fancy cars, explosions, sex, and stealing even fancier cars.

“I can probably get it,” he says.

“What do you mean you can get it? You mean tickets?”

“No, I mean I’ll have Gina or Tracy get a copy of the movie, and we can watch it in my home theater.”

Of
course
he’d be able to get a copy of a movie that hasn’t come out yet, and he doesn’t even have to download it illegally.

I appreciate that he drove to Franklin because he missed me. But if we’re going to see a movie, we’re gonna do it on my terms. If he wants a real life, I’ll give him one.

“I want to see it in an actual theater. And I want to invite Dave and Xander. We’ll double.”

Jesse swallows hard. “We can do that.”

“Text me with the details.” I turn on my heels and march toward the front door. My dad’s gonna kill me, but I won’t give Jesse the satisfaction of helping me get back in the window.