Stacy's Song (3 page)

“I'm not sure I do.”

“The music gives Michael an outle
t for his feelings, for what's
inside of him. It's also his chance for some success. That's why we need you. Hearing you and Michael together convinced me that I was right. If he's ever to have a chance, he's got to be outstanding, someone they can't ignore. With you, our group will be exactly that.”

For the second time today I felt embarrassed and uneasy.

“I'll come to the practice sessions,” I promised her. “Let's see how it goes.” I still felt uncomfortable though. I thought Liz was expecting too much, hoping too hard, but I knew I couldn't let her down.

“You won't regret it,” Liz said with enthusiasm. “We'll make it work.”

I wasn't as certain. All I knew was that I fou
nd being around Michael Norris
disturbing.

Maybe it was his blindness that made me uneasy. I don't know. I never had contact with a handicapped person before. And yet I could empathize with him.

The truth
was
in spite of any musi
cal talent I might possess
I always felt unsure of myself. My appearance was kind of a handicap as far as I was concerned. I felt insecure about my height as well as being gawky and skinny.

I wasn't pretty enough to be admired by boys or asked out on date
s. Things were getting better
but old feeling
s die-hard. So in a real sense
I could understand how Michael Norris felt, but he still infuriated me.

 

“Without a doubt, Greg Lawson is the most gorgeous guy I ever laid eyes on!” We were at Sal's Pizza place where a lot of kids hang out after school when Karen made her declaration, a tad too loud for my tastes. I quickly glanced around to see if anyone ha
ppened to be listening to Karen
but no one paid the slightest attention to either of us. I wasn't certain whether to be relieved o
r disappointed. “Come on
,
Stace
,
admit it: isn't he an awesome piece of work?”

“Karen!” I threw her a warning look. But I couldn't help glancing sideways toward Greg's table.

As always
other jocks and some of the cheerleaders surrounded him
—all
juniors
like
him
and even a few
seniors
. He seemed to be at the hub, the cente
r of the group. Karen was right
,
he was a hot hunk. But it was more than just looks. He had a self-assured attitude about him that reflected in the way he walked and talked, the erect posture and jaunty smile. I studied his wavy blond hair, cut short, and his dazzling blue eyes, sparkling like mountain lakes suffused in sunshine. He was telling a story at the moment and everyone listened in a relaxed manner. Then t
hey laughed together. He had a
nice laugh, I decided. His teeth showed even and white and he had a way of jutting his
angular jaw that made him look
macho. I let out a deep sigh. Watching him was like going to a museum and looking at a Greek statue.
Yeah, he was an Adonis for sure.

“Imagine how great it would be to be part of that crowd,” Karen said. Her eyes took on a dreamy expression.

I watched Cindy Ellis, the pretty co-captain of the cheerleaders place her tapered hand possessively on Greg's muscular forearm. “Imagining is as far as we're going to get.”

Karen shot me an annoyed look. “I think Greg is smiling in our direction right now.”

“No
he's not,” I observed. “One of his friends just walked through the door.”

Karen frowne
d at me. “Don't be such a grouch
! One of these days, it
will be us. We're going to be
popular. Just wait until we make the cheering squad! Everything will change.”

“You want to be like Cindy Ellis?”

Karen tossed her head. “Why not? Everybody treats her like she's special. All the guys want to date her; they practically salivate over her.” Karen leaned over and whispered
,
“She's got cleavage.”

I studied Cindy, narrowing my eyes. “Yep, considerable cleavage.”

“Wish I had that,” Karen sighed.

“You've got more than I have,” I noted.

“You're fine,” Karen said, telling what wa
s
clearly a whopper
.

My figure could be described as an example of plane geometry. Mom referred to me as a late bloomer.

“Maybe we ought to go bra s
hopping
,
Stace. I think they're
having a sale
at the mall
.”

“You think we should
look
for push-up and padded?”

“
I guess a little micro-fill wouldn't hurt. Come on, it's still early, let's go back to the gym and practice some more cheers on our own.” The green in Karen's eyes shone with a zealot's intensity.

“I've got a big French
test to study for. I better go
home.”

Karen twisted a strand of her curly hair unhappily. “Come on, Stace, just an extra half hour, okay? We can take the late bus from school and study together at my house.”

I agreed grudgingly. I
needed to clinch my B in French for the year. My dad expected me to maintain a good scholastic average. He'd drilled it into me that I have to go to a first-rate college and that I'll never get in if I don't at least maintain a B average throughout high school. I can't let Dad down. But lately it was becoming harder to keep up with everything. There were extra practices called for orchestra in the last few weeks. The concert was only five days away and Mr. DeCamp's left eye had developed a noticeable tick. Still, I could never refuse Karen, French test or no French test. Helping Karen achieve her goal was important to me. Isn't that what friendship is all about?

The gym was empty now and the school itself seemed deserted. It gave me sort of an eerie feeling. But I went through the cheers with Karen trying to rouse the necessary enthusiasm. I did enjoy the ph
ysical activity just for itself
and when Karen went out to the cafeteria to buy us ea
ch a can of soda at the machine
I continued to work out on my own.

“We're from Wilson, we couldn't be any prouder, and if you can't hear us, we'll yell a little louder!” I loved that cheer. My mother told me they used the same one when she attended high school. So it's totally ancient. The next one I did belonged in an antique shop too and ended with: “Cause when you're up, you're up, and when you're down, you're down, and when you're up against Wilson, you're upside down!” I ended the cheer with the required cartwheel. As I returned to my feet, I could hear footsteps behin
d me. Breathlessly, I looked up
expecting to see Karen re
turning with the sodas. Instead there stood Ms. Gladstone
,
our gym teacher who also acted as cheerleading advisor, her tall, slender frame poised before me.

“Excellent
,
Stacy, real improvement! It's rare that I see a student staying so late and working out with so much vigor. I must say I'm impressed with your enthusiasm for cheering. You're showing the kind of dedication and determination necessary to make the squad.”

I
found myself blushing. “It was
Karen Rainey's idea. She's here with me.”

“I'm pleased,” she responded, beaming. “Keep up the good work. But I'm afraid that's it for today. They're closing the gym now.”

I followed Ms. Gladstone out into the corridor where I waited for Karen to return. While we stood watching for the arrival of the activity bus, I told Karen what had happened.

“That's great! Now Ms. Gladstone knows we're serious. See what that means? We're sure to make it next time. It was smart to come back today, wasn't it? She probably thought we were there the whole time.”

“Just don't get your hopes too high,” I told her. “We still suck.”

“Speak for yourself,” my friend said, preening. “I'm terrific.”

***

By the time school ended in late June, I was bone tired. There had been a great flurry of work and activity toward the end of the term. Final exams were grueling. I nearly th
rew up during my geometry final
I was so sick to my stomach from nerves. But then finally it was all over. I waited for the grades to arrive imp
atiently. Two weeks after exams
we got the results. I had better than a
B average overall for the year.

My dad seemed sa
tisfied and I felt relieved. I
didn't want to even see another textbook for the rest of the summer. When I told my dad that, after presenting him with my report card, his behavior was predictable. “Stacy, you promised me you were going to study for the PSAT exam in the fall. I expect you to work on it an hour every day.” I didn't argue. My dad's severe expression said it all. His heart was good but he demanded a lot.

I seemed to be surrounded by determine
d
,
obsessed people. There was al
so Michael Norris. During exams
I wouldn't even consider going to band practice, and before that, there had been the orchestra concert to practice for. But now that
school had ended for the summer
Michael was making demands on my time too.

“We can get down to some serious work now,” he told me. “Time we started to think of getting some professional equipment if we're going to have a quality sound. That means we need to pick up some work.”

“Easier said than done,” I told him. I wasn't so sure I wanted to become professional anyway. Being an amateur musician appealed to me a lot more.

“With school out,” Jimmy said, “there aren't any school dances and practically no parties.”

“We could advertise, put up signs on the bulletin boards at the supermarket and the library,” Liz suggested.

“That's a good idea,” Jimmy agreed.

Michael shook his head. “It won't get us much.”

They all looked so discouraged that I found myself coming up with my own suggestion. “The swim club my family joins every summer has this night club. Actually, it oper
ates year round. It's not a big fancy place
but it uses live entertainment. Ev
ery Wednesday during the summer the club sponsors a teen night
;
at least they've always done it in the past. I know the own
er
Mr. Kemp. He's a pretty nice guy. I could ask him if he would hire us. I doubt he's gotten anyone else yet. He's the kind of person that puts things off. My mom says the adult pool isn't even ready for the summer yet. That's typical of him. Anyway, I can find out if he'd be interested.”

“That would be fabulous,” Liz said. Her eyes lit up like a Fourth of July fireworks.

“I don't know,” Michael said. “We don't have a track record. Why would he hire us for the job?”

“I'll tell him we're terrific. I'll also tell him we work cheap. Besides, we'll never get
any experience if we don't try.

***

W
e decided that I would
approach Mr. Kemp. I
didn't expect to get us a j
ob, but I did speak to him the
next day. And no one was more surprised than me when Mr. Kemp agreed to give us a try-out. When I told the others that evening, they were ecstatic—except for Michael.

“How are we going to get our instruments and equipment over there?” he said.

“No problem,” Jimmy said with a cheerful grin. “I got my driver's license last Thursday. My dad's offered me an old van. No one else wants to use it anyway. My mother can'
t drive a standard transmission
and now that Pop is do
ing pretty good with the garage
the old wreck is beneath him. I've b
een working on it at the garage and
got it running like a clock. It's perfect for transporting our stuff around.”

Liz threw her arms around Jimmy's neck and hugged him; he turned a
n amazing shade of red,
like a rare roast beef.

“Oh
,
Jimmy, you're wonderful! Now all we have to do is be stupendously smashing for our audition.”

***
*

Clu
b Paradise isn't much of a club and it certainly
was no paradise. But that hardly mattered to us. We were all uneasy. We might as well have been performing for the President. Micha
el kept worrying how we hadn't
practiced enough. Jimmy was pale and silent. He kept wiping his clammy hands against his coveralls. Liz bit down on her lower lip. The coloring in her face reminded me of a peeled
squash. Strange as it may sound,
I think I was the calmest of the four of us.

Mr. Kemp met us and came up to shake my hand after we had set up. He took a seat up front and we began. “Bring it on,” he said.

Michael should have introduced us or said something about what we were about to play but he was too nervous. Our first number sounded subdued and Mr. Kemp didn't look impressed.

Jimmy tugged at his copper hair,
which reminded me of a freshly minted penny. His timing on the drums was just a little off and it was hurting my concentration. I looked over at Mr. Kemp again. His jowly face set in a hard frown. He studied his fingernails. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see we were losing him.

“Michael, let's do Corona of the Sun next, okay? I'll sing it with you.”

We were always better when we started things off with a vocal instead of an instrumental arrangement. Sure enough, Mr. Kemp's face brightened with the song. That made Jimmy and Liz relax enough so their playing improved quite a bit. By the time we ended our third n
umber, Mr. Kemp actually smiled
and we were at the top of our form. Mr. Kemp stopped us there.

“Okay
kids, I've heard enough. You're hired. Starting this week and every Wednesday, we're going to have teen night here. If it works out, the job will be yours for the summer. So tell your friends to come around. I s
erve the best root beer and cola
in town. Spread the word.”

Jimmy let out a loud rebel yell and hugged Liz. I looked over at Michael, but I couldn't tell how he felt. His face was a mask that betrayed no emotion.