In truth, he’s notthatfar off. Sure, she’s come up with a few songs like the football player–theater girl one. Plus a couple she has muddled together into something passable—good, not great—something that Gerald might rubber stamp, but something she would despise performing on tour. But shehastried. It’s simply that when Aria attempts to write the songs they’re asking for, it’s as if her body just won’t comply. Like her soul has decided that she’s ready to evolve, so it won’t let her fingers run over the piano in the same melodies it has for years. It won’t let her voice sing a song that doesn’t also come from the heart, one that it tells her she’s already done before.
“So, what do you say? When can we get something over? Nothing fancy, just something raw to show them you’re working, that they will be able to put out the album on time.”
“I’ll get them something by Wednesday.”
“You’re a queen,” Monroe says, then hurries off the line.
Aria slips her phone back into the deep pockets of her sherpa fleece coat. Bailey looks on curiously from beside her.
“Gerald starting nonsense already?” Bailey asks.
“No rest for the wicked.”
Aria picks up the pace, and Bailey matches her, the trees surrounding them left only with the barest of leaves, the ground firm below them. The sky is overcast, no hint of blue, despite the lack of rain predicted.
“Howisit going down there?”
Even though it’s Bailey asking, Aria keeps her work close to her chest until it’s ready to share. She doesn’t like giving play-by-plays or talking too much about the work. Maybe it’s a fear of “jinxing” it or maybe it’s the desire to allow herself to change her mind on things, but Aria prefers to wait until a full raw version of a song is ready before sharing it.
It’s another reason it was so unusual to have Griffin by her side that time in the studio.
“Not as well as I would like it to be going. I feel like I’m caught in between. In between what they want from me and what I want to do. But even what I want to do feels fuzzy.”
“I’m sure it only helps to have Gerald nipping at your heels.”
“Exactly. My voice is evolving—Iknowthat. But I need time to fully find it and mold it. Worldwide Records just wants me to be a pop music factory.”
Bailey rubs Aria’s back, and when their eyes meet, she presses her mouth into a concerned line.
“I feel like I’m starting to disappear.” It feels like a relief to admit it out loud. “Like I’m being lost inside this Aria Wilder persona that was once a version of me. The persona that fits me less and less the more time passes.”
“Surely there’s a way forward.”
Bailey doesn’t push, and in the quiet that follows, Aria wonders for the first time if maybe moving forward with musicisn’tthe way. Maybe all of this struggle is proof that she should quit while she’s ahead. She’d have to return certain payments that she received from the contract, but it wouldn’t make a dent on her lifestyle. Financially, she’s already set for life. It would mean creating a rift between her and the biggest music label in the country, however, and she’s constantly reminded that there are thousands of aspiring artists who would be more than happy to take her place.
Aria tries to imagine a life for herself without music, and the only thing she can see is a blank slate.
Admittedly, her heart does pinch at the thought of leaving the industry behind, never again feeling the roar of the crowd, the buzz of a new album release, the beautiful exhaustion of a tour completed. But then again, decoupling from the industry wouldn’t preclude her from making music. In fact, historically artists have gone off the map, then reemerged when they were ready to redefine themselves—some more successfully than others.
Aria can’t make sense of it, and even as her feet pound the dirt below her, she doesn’t reach any clarity.
She can’t help but think of “Until You Came Along” and Griffin. At two o’clock this morning, Aria awoke and had such a moment of clarity about the melody, she typed her idea into her phone. New lyrics poured from her, and she jotted everything down. That song is a light in the dark for her right now, but it’s also unlike any of her other hits. Those she could readily put together, shine up, and send off to Gerald and his cohorts with confidence. All of those were about an imaginary person, maybe who she thought she should be, maybe who they wanted her to be. Maybe they were just open-ended enough to let the fans superimpose themselves as the main character.
But this time, the song about Griffin is as good as the script of her heart read aloud. Aria says she wants to do this, be real and raw in her music, but it’s still not easy. She’s lived with walls around her for a reason—because when she’s let people close enough to all of her, they’ve hurt her. Not to mention Griffin is still MIA, and Aria hasn’t received so much as a text back. Maybe he doesn’t feel the same way, but is that reason enough to hold back?
Aria keeps walking. Considering all of these new and risky things is sending jitters through her, and the ground below her is a comfort. She breathes in the fresh air and reminds herself that she’ll find her way. Even if it takes a bit of fumbling around first.
Chapter 47
Griffin
If asked to estimate his aptitude for event planning and organization months earlier, Griffin would’ve chosen the lowest possible rating. He’d attended more than his fair share of events, but all of those were organized by true professionals—and often with the financial backing of major brands. But the South Shore High School football program, which fell so unexpectedly into his path, seems to have brought out the event planner in him. In only a week, Griffin has set up a picture-perfect senior luncheon in the high school gymnasium.
Along one side of the gym, a buffet sits atop long tables covered with linen cloth, two attendants helping to serve and refresh the platters. Griffin chose barbecue from a popular local place—a favorite among the team, according to Coach Pete—and the sweet scent of smoked meat has already permeated the place. Iced tea and fresh lemonade sit chilled in glass pitchers, and the cake has its own table at the end.
Griffin didn’t go too frilly on the decorations, and instead he had the senior portraits of each player printed in large scale and set up on a stand. Alongside, a table has been set up with memory books for each player—a collection of pictures the coaches gathered from the years—for each to sign for one another. The books were the trickiest component of the day to pull off. Getting them put together and printed on short notice wasn’t easy, but Griffin enjoyed the feeling of being tired from something—anything—other than his injury.
Between the food and the photo hall of fame, round tables have been set with quality linens. As centerpieces, Griffin set out footballs signed by the entire Wardens team, and there are enough for each player to take one home as a souvenir.
