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Paxon gave me a warm smile as he straightened out his hair. “Calvin’s been chattier since meeting you. He’s opening up to women again.”
“He’s a sweet kid. How could I not want to talk to him?”
Paxon’s smile turned wistful. “I know.”
We walked into the school quietly, content to watch the others goof off and tease each other as they bickered in a way only childhood friends could.
It took an insane amount of focus to pay attention through my classes. My gaze kept flickering to the clock, counting down the seconds I had to go until musical analysis. It was during fourth period, and yet it kept haunting me all through calculus and literature class. The others picked up on my distractedness and left me alone.
This would be the first time I sang about Dad. Since this summer and everything that had transpired, he had been plaguing my thoughts over and over again. I hated not knowing where he was, what he was up to. If he were healthy. Or happy. Did he find someone else to love? Did he have a new family?
Was I really so easy to forget about?
The song I wrote made me feel raw just thinking about it. And I was expected to sing that song in front of a whole class of strangers. And Mrs. Odera. There weren’t many people that I sought approval from, Mrs. Odera being one of them. Before settling down in the area and becoming a teacher, she used to be a songwriter too. And did some performances as a singer. I had some of her music on my MP3 player, and still listened to her songs, though I was never going to tell her.
I had a deep respect for the woman. It was part of the reason I had taken so many of her classes once I realized she taught at the high school.
Even as I walked to class, my stomach twisted with nerves. The other students didn’t seem as bothered with having to sing. We should have been used to it at this point. Normally, I would be fine. But it was my dad and one of the most personal songs I completed as a school project. Keeping my eyes on the floor, I beelined for my seat and took it, wishing there was a way to hide myself. Maybe I should have skipped.
Mrs. Odera was at her desk, so I knew that would be impossible.
Toby came bouncing in with a big smile. “Are you ready, Candy Cane?” he asked as he flopped into his chair and stretched out.
“Of course not,” I replied. “Are you?”
He smirked. “Yes, I’m ready to watch you perform. Remember, no giving anyone your autograph when you finish.”
I cocked an eyebrow at him. “You know you have to perform too, right?”
“Pfft.” He waved his hand around in the air. “I’m good. Easy-peasy.”
“Really?” I asked, sensing maybe it wasn’t. There was a small sense of panic in the way he kept looking around the room, not really focusing on one thing. There was an edge. “What’s going on?”
Toby’s smile was strained. “Maybe I should ask you?”
Good point. I pressed my lips together. He was right. Why would he have to share with me if I hadn’t shared anything with him?
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling like I overstepped my bounds on that one. I shifted to face forward, now wanting class to start so I didn’t have to talk anymore.
“Cadence,” Toby whispered, unease slipping into the way he said my name, his voice going a pitch higher than normal.
Luckily, Mrs. Odera saved me as she stood up and moved to stand in front of the class as the last bell rang. “Great, no one is late. Well, we only have so many minutes in a period, so we will jump right into the performances. I hope everyone is prepared because I’m drawing names out of a bowl to pick the order.”
She pulled a bowl out of her desk drawer and drew the first name.
The class went by just like that. She picked a name. Someone went up, gave us a brief introduction, and then sang. When they finished, they sat back down and Mrs. Odera moved on to the next student.
At least we weren’t getting public feedback. That was always an extra layer of nervousness. I once had to witness her rip into a student for daring to turn her class into a joke. The student ended up dropping the class.
The songs were pretty good. Everyone knew what they were doing at this point, and were able to write cohesive songs that were emotional in their own ways. Some were innocent, others were darker, some fun.
“Cadence Wiles.” Mrs. Odera called my name. My head snapped up from the little daydream I was in. “Your turn.”
I stood up with my music notes and set them up on the stand. I grabbed one of the school’s guitars, quickly checking the strings and making sure they were tuned correctly.
Good.
“Any day now,” Mrs. Odera said. While her words sounded like she was impatient, there was a soft smile on her face as she waited.
