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It would be the biggest birthday surprise thus far. Their parenting pièce de résistance. It had been in the works since long before the incident. Bria was a straight-A student with a lot of responsibility, and she was handling it all with grace. They wanted to reward her.
Marcus was supposed to be finding her something dependable and safe. It needn’t be too flashy, but it should be something she would feel proud to ride around in. But also—and Ladonna didn’t like to belabor this point—it needed to be affordable. Marcus didn’t like it when she made a big deal about money, so she tried not to bring it up too often. It was just…he had a tendency to overspend, especially when it came to the girls.
“We’re on track," he answered. "I’ll have some pics for you to see soon. Once we narrow it down, I’ll have my mechanic look at it."
“Okay, good. She’ll love that. We can put a big red bow on it.”
Marcus smiled at the thought. “She’ll be okay. If we can just get her through the end of the school year, she’ll be okay.”
“But what if—”
“Baby, you know I don’t deal in what-ifs. I’m not gonna let anything happen to that girl. I’ll do whatever I have to do. You know me.”
She did know him. Well. And she didn’t know how, or when, but something told her that side of him would be the death of their marriage.
CHAPTER THREE
Dr.RobertGordonalwaysscheduled practice on the first day of school, and none of the students ever complained. It’s just the way life is for marching band kids. The first game was a week away, and the halftime show waits for no one.
“Jace, I need you to get them warmed up,” Dr. Gordon said. “I have some business to attend to, but I’ll be out in about ten minutes.”
Jace nodded, grabbed his mace and whistle, and exited his father’s office.
He found the band room bustling with activity. Most of the kids were already seated with their instruments, playing haphazard notes between conversations and giggles. The percussionists had their sticks out, beating on any hard surface they could find. Tariq Bell tripped over a music stand and set off a domino effect. Five other stands fell, one after the other, the clanging metal making its own music. Most of the other kids laughed at him, but Jace just smiled. For him, this was home.
He was one of three drum majors, but he had a certain level of responsibility, and certain expectations, that Wayne and Denard didn’t have to worry about. For one, he was part of the Twelve, so he had to keep a 3.75 GPA at all costs. Good grades didn’t come naturally to him, and most of the time, in the tug-of-war between schoolwork and music, the latter won the battle. And two, there was the matter of his famous father.
Robert “Bobby” Gordon wasn’t a household name. Nobody had posters of him on their wall, and nobody would recognize him at the grocery store. But in the world of show bands, he was a giant.
And it was only natural. Music was in their blood. Jace’s uncle Ramone Gordon played trumpet in Mansa Malcolm, a jazz band out of Memphis, and his grandmother Malina Sykes-Gordon was a modestly successful gospel singer who had toured throughout the country during Jim Crow. Grandfather Thaddeus Gordon was a celebrated bass player turned composer, and great-grandfather Parrish Gordon was the first black trombone to play in the Jacob Wilburn Orchestra. And then there was Jace's father. Bobby Gordon, famous trumpeter turned jazz artist turned music theorist, now director of the best high school show band in the south. Not even a minor scandal at his old school could dim his light. He was in demand.
“Alright, y’all, check up,” Jace said as he stepped onto his father’s podium. “Let’s go through the scales.” The kids, all 216 of them, settled down and brought their instruments to their mouths, and Jace took them through some basic warm-ups. He lived for this. There was nothing on this earth sweeter than the sound of a live band playing in unison.
A child born into the Gordon family doesn’t get asked what he wants to be when he grows up. He gets asked what instruments he’s going to play. There’s no pressure to play this instrument over that one—although brass versus woodwinds was always a lively debate whenever the Gordons got together. Music was simply a way of life, and it was prescribed and expected of you until the day you left this earth.
Jace chose the trumpet when he was six years old, wanting to follow in his daddy’s footsteps, and eleven years later, he’d already won numerous awards. He'd even snagged a prestigious summer fellowship at the Academy of Arts in New York. His father was proud, of course, and Jace was glad they had music to bond them. Nothing else did.
He eventually wanted to follow in Bobby’s footsteps. Teaching was a maybe, but jazz band was an absolute certainty. And Bobby could talk for hours about that. If you ever had the desire to get him all riled up, all you had to do was bring up jazz and then sit back as he ranted about the slow death of African American classical music.
The band room door opened, and Jace saw Reagan out of the corner of his eye. Drum majors are supposed to appear serious and focused at all times, but he was happy to see her, and he couldn’t manage to hide his goofy smile. She had been out of town during the last month of summer, and he’d felt empty without her. Practice wouldn’t be over for three hours, but he hoped she’d stick around.
Dr. Gordon exited his office. Father and son were practically identical, facially, with full lips, deep brown eyes, and jet black hair, but the elder Gordon was handsome. According to all the girls, anyway. The younger was more so cute in an awkward, gangly way. Jace stepped down from the podium so his father could take his rightful place, and an odd thought struck him; it seemed to Jace that he was often a placeholder, and his father was always there, close by, waiting to enter, the main attraction, therealdraw. The displacement felt so natural and so normal that Jace wasn't bothered by it.
“As you all know, we lost a family member recently,” Dr. Gordon announced, his booming voice silencing the chatter around him. “Nyleah Faust was to be our dance team captain this year, but she…passed away tragically this summer. In order to honor her memory, I’ve put together a field show, which we will perform in two weeks. I’ve spoken with her mother and she’s agreed to attend.”
There was murmuring from the students as they processed the information, but Jace simply looked at his father in surprise. He had been trying so hard to forget what happened that night, and now he would be forced to not just think about it but to…pay tributeto it. It was almost cruel.
Dr. Gordon looked over at his son and smiled. The crinkling of his eyebrows made it look like a sad smile, and possibly an apology, but Jace knew better. He averted his eyes, wondering how his father could do this.
“Jace!Imissedyouso much.” Reagan hugged his neck, pulling him into her, smelling like lavender. Jace inhaled deeply, breathing in every ounce of her. They’d only been together for two months, but when you’re 17, it feels like forever.
Reagan was thin like him, but she was all muscle and sinew thanks to years of running track. She looked more like a freshman than a senior, but she was a cutie pie, always smiling, always upbeat, deep brown skin always glistening. She was also a virgin, or at least that’s what she told Jace. He hadn’t yet figured out if she was telling the truth or just avoiding sleeping with him. You could never tell with girls.
“I missed you, too,” he said. “I hated being away from you.”
She smiled at that and kissed him softly on the lips. Kissing was all they ever did. He didn’t understand how girls could get all worked up and then just shut it off without going further. Kissing was supposed to be the appetizer, not the meal.
“I won’t do it again, I promise,” she said, and he kissed her again, slow and deep. There were students milling around them in the school parking lot, eager to get home from band, cheerleading, and football practice, but he didn’t care. Let them see.
