The Funeral Singer (15 page)

I signed the last few posters and put the cap back on my Sharpie. “I agree, it’s very a cool photo, but Bruno, Zed … none of them seem to like it.”

“Of course they don’t,” Lana said.

“What do you mean, of course they don’t? What’s wrong with it?”

Lana stared at me like I was an idiot. “Have you not noticed the composition?”

I held one up and studied it. “Seems good to me.”

“Look at you, and then look at the rest of the band.” Lana raised her eyebrows. “Anything jump out at you?”

I was sitting on a boulder with the five guys standing behind me. We all stared straight at the camera, except for Zed, whose face was turned up toward the sky, a hint of wistfulness lightening his usually dark expression. Jon, Ty and I were all smiling, J.B.’s face was kind of neutral—serious and thoughtful—and Bruno gave the camera his signature sneer. We look like … well, like a real band.

“I’m the only one wearing shorts?”

Lana laughed. “No. Though I meant to tell you, you look great in those shorts. No, the problem is, they’re all behind you.”

“So?”

“So it looks like you’re the star.”

“Don’t be silly. The only reason I’m sitting in front is because I’m the only girl. And because I have nicer legs than them.”

Again with the eyebrows. “Have you ever seen a shot of Daughtry with Brian Craddock standing in front of Chris?”

I snatched the poster from her. “That’s different.”

“How?”

“It just is.” I grabbed my wallet. “I’m getting a soda. Need anything?” I walked off without waiting for her answer. I hadn’t really thought about it before, but what if Lana was right? When we did our radio interview, Tex had made sure most of the questions were directed at me, and in the video, I had more close-ups than Bruno even though he sang lead. I guess I kind of knew Tex was playing up my “vibe,” whatever that meant, but it hadn’t occurred to me the rest of the band would care.

I eased a dollar bill into the soda machine and hit the Diet Coke button. Nothing. Shoot. I checked the light. It wasn’t sold out. I pulled the change lever, but nothing happened. I hit the button again, and this time the can dropped, but it jammed halfway down.

“Stupid machine.” I kicked it. “Ouch!” Note to self: Do not kick inanimate objects while wearing open-toed sandals.

“Need some help?”

I turned to see Pete standing behind me, amused. We hadn’t spoken much since that day on the phone. I’d managed to make it to every single chorus rehearsal in the past two weeks, but I’d arranged for other rides to Ty’s ever since our argument.

“My soda’s stuck.” I looked down at my big toe, which was getting more swollen by the second. “It’s okay. I’m not that thirsty.” I started to walk away, but he stepped in front of me.

“Hold on. I’ll get it.” Pete tilted the machine and banged it a few times. The can dropped, and he reached down to fish it out of the slot. He held it up, just out of my reach. “So how are you doing?”

“Good. Busy. You know.” Every time I looked at him, I could hear him saying,
She’s good. And she works hard.
And it still pissed me off. I reached over and grabbed the can. “Thanks.”

I headed back to my table, trying to ignore my throbbing toe. As I sat, I glanced back at Pete, and I gasped. He was holding hands with Sadie. I blinked and turned to Lana. “Do you see what I see?”

Lana swiveled around. “Whoa. Pete has a girlfriend?”

“Yeah. And it’s the girl who stole my All State solo lines. Can you believe this? What a traitor.”

“What’s with the eyeliner? And that huge silver zit-looking thing on her lip?”

“It’s a piercing. And I love you.” Lana would always take my side.

“How long do you think they’ve been going out?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Pete and I haven’t had too many sharing moments lately.”

“Do you think he’s taking her to prom?”

“I said I don’t know what’s going on with him.” I realized she was as pale as a corpse. “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

“What? No.” Lana turned back to her lunch tray. “I’m just not used to seeing Pete with someone, that’s all. I’m happy for him.”

Right. She seemed thrilled.

“Speaking of prom … ” Lana gave me an expectant look.

I groaned. “No.” As in, no, I hadn’t asked Zed yet. Lana had decided to make it her mission in life to harass me until I did. She wanted to ask Bruno, and she figured he would be more likely to go if he knew Zed was going. Which was probably true, but it also made me more nervous than ever about asking him. What if he said no? I knew what those guys considered a good time, and prom didn’t necessarily fit the profile. Not to mention Zed’s whole we-have-to-wait-until-just-the-right-moment-to-be-seen-together-in-public rule.

“Tick, tick, tick. We have three weeks. Nineteen days, actually.”

“I know. I’m sorry. There just hasn’t been a good time. Zed and I haven’t had two seconds alone together.”

Lana sighed. “You suck.” She handed me one of my posters. “Give me your phone and hold this up. I want to take a picture.”

I pulled my cell out of my pocket and handed it to her. I grabbed the poster and forced a smile.

She took the shot and then turned away and started typing on it.

“What are you doing?”

“Sending the photo to myself.”

“Why don’t you just take one with your own … ?” Before I finished the question, I realized what Lana was up to. I grabbed for the phone, but her grin told me I was too late. “You didn’t.”

I glanced at the screen and groaned.

To: Zed

“Prom?”

MESSAGE SENT.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The next hour was the longest of my life. Mr. Moore had a zero-tolerance policy toward cell phones, so I had to keep it zipped in my bag all through health science. As he droned on and on about genetically modified foods, I said a thousand prayers.
Dear God, please let Zed say yes. Or let the world end before he gets that message. Either one.

When the bell finally rang, I grabbed my stuff and bolted out the door. My phone showed a return text from Zed: “Call me.”

Holy wow. I ran down the hallway and, glancing around to make sure no teachers were watching, slipped out a side exit door. My hands shook as I hit Zed’s number.
Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes.

He answered on the second ring. “Mel?”

“Hey.”

“I got your text.” Something in his tone made me nervous. He was about to turn me down, I knew it. And I didn’t want to hear whatever lame excuse he’d dreamed up.

“Yeah, about that. Funny story. Lana grabbed my phone at lunch, and—”

Zed interrupted me. “I’d love to.”

“It’s no big … wait. What? Seriously?” My heart raced. “I didn’t … I thought …” Easy, Mel. Use your words. I leaned against the wall of the school. “That’s great,” I finally managed. “It should be fun.”

“Definitely. We have to be careful how we do it, though.”

“Okay. Meaning?”

“Meaning no one can know. It’s still too soon.”

My relief, which had for one brief, shining moment been on the brink of turning into excitement, made a sharp detour toward annoyance. “Um. Zed? Usually at prom, you do things like eat together and dance together. People are going to know.” Unless … My heart sank even further as the thought struck me. “Or are you saying we’ll just go as friends?”

“No, no, of course not.” Zed’s tone was apologetic. “What I’m saying is, this’ll be a much bigger story if we keep it on the DL until then. We surprise everyone by showing up together—our first time in public as a couple.”

Surprise everyone? “If you say so. Only … Zed, I think you might be overestimating the scope of my prom. It’s one high school.”

“Don’t worry about that. I have some ideas.”

I had a feeling his ideas involved a call to Andrea Little and maybe even some of the national entertainment shows, but I didn’t have time to think about that right now. The late bell was ringing. “I have to go. One question: Can I tell Lana? She kind of needs to know.”

“Okay. Lana. But no one else. And tell her to keep her mouth shut.”

“Got it.”

When I walked back inside, the hallway was empty, which worked out well because I was bursting to tell everyone my news. I was going to prom with Zed Logan! We were a couple! How the heck was I supposed to keep that a secret for nineteen days?

I pulled out my cell and texted Lana: “All systems go.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Zed’s condo overlooked the Potomac River, with the U.S. Capitol and the Washington Monument across the way, but were it not for the amazing view and the Grammy displayed on a shelf in the living room, it could have been any nineteen-year-old guy’s place. It had a big-screen TV and beat-up leather couches and a bunch of electronics spread across the dining room table.

Lana, Bruno, Zed and I were on a double date. Only we weren’t going anywhere—too much risk of being spotted by fans and having our photos plastered all over the Internet. I was glad. I wanted Zed to myself tonight. I didn’t need a bunch of fan girls climbing all over themselves to talk to him.

“How about ‘High Fidelity’? That has five stars.” Lana was flipping through the “romantic comedies” section on Netflix.

“Ladies choice,” Zed said, as he opened a steaming container of kung pao shrimp from The Big Wok.

“Works for me.” I didn’t care what we watched, as long as I could curl up next to Zed.

Bruno filled a plate with ginger beef and sat down beside Lana. “That’s a classic. I insist we watch it. In fact, I can’t imagine going to prom with a girl who’s never seen ‘High Fidelity.’”

Lana grinned and gave him a playful kiss on the cheek. “’High Fidelity’ it is, then. Because you are not backing out of prom now.”

Zed poured Lana and I each a glass of red wine and held up his beer. “What should we toast?”

“To having the best prom dates ever,” Lana said.

“To John Cusack and Jack Black,” Bruno said.

“To the 9:30 Club,” I said.

Zed sat down and put his arm around me. “To having the most beautiful back-up singer in the history of rock and roll.”

Wow. We clinked glasses and I took a sip. The wine warmed my entire body. I gave Zed a light kiss and settled in beside him.

Bruno was right. The movie was really good, even though the John Cusack character was a total jerk.

At the end, as the credits rolled, Lana stood and stretched. “Not a fan,” she declared.

“What?” Bruno asked.

“I mean, it was funny, and the music was good. But they were all such posers.”

“Exactly,” I said. “That’s the point. What was it Cusack said? ‘What really matters is what you like … ’”

“‘ … not what you
are
like.’” Bruno completed the quote. He was standing now, pointing at the television. “Don’t you see? It’s what so many people believe. They might not come out and say it, but they believe it.”

“It’s more than that,” I said. “Most people don’t know the difference. They think what you like
is
what you’re like. They think it defines who you are.”

Bruno turned and raised his eyebrows at me. “For instance, they might think someone who likes classical music is somehow a better person than someone who doesn’t.”

“I … that’s not true. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

Lana and Zed looked back and forth between us. “Clearly this has hit a chord,” Zed said.

Lana sniffed. “Well, I didn’t like this movie. And if you want to judge me for that, maybe you’re the ones being posers.”

I laughed. “There’s a difference between judging your taste and judging you. I would never judge you.” I thought about that for a moment. “Or rather, I often judge you, and I judge you to be a wonderful person.”

Lana walked over, gave me a big kiss on the top of my head, and picked up my wine glass. “More?”

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

She headed into the kitchen, and Zed followed her with a collection of empty beer bottles.

Bruno sat down beside me. “Admit it. Finding out that I liked classical music changed your opinion of who I am.”

Was Bruno right? Was I no better than those guys in the movie? I shook my head. “No. Just like with Lana, it changed what I think of your taste. It may even have changed who I think you
could
be. But it didn’t change who I think you are.”

Bruno leaned closer. “And who do you think I am?”

I wanted to say, “You’re an arrogant jerk.” Whenever I thought about Bruno, I always imagined him wearing that practiced, hardened sneer, but now, sitting inches away from him, I couldn’t help but notice how gentle his eyes could be, how soft his lips seemed. I turned away. “What do you care? I’m clearly not your favorite person in the world.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?”

“Maybe because you ignore me at rehearsals. And when you do acknowledge me, it’s to diss my singing.”

“But that’s what rehearsals are for. You can’t take that personally.”

I turned back to him, stared him in the eye. “How can I not take it personally? It’s my
singing
.” Didn’t he understand? That was what I did.
That
was who I was. I sang.

“Pros don’t take criticism personally.” Bruno leaned in closer, an accusatory gleam in his eyes. “No one is perfect. Not even the Funeral Singer.”

“Ahem.” Lana stood in the doorway. “Hope I’m not interrupting something.”

“Not at all,” I said, still holding Bruno’s gaze. “This conversation is over.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Lana’s grandfather came dress shopping with us. Her mom had insisted because she wanted to clean up his town house and she didn’t want him in the way.

I stepped out of the Bliss Boutique dressing room in a shimmering pink, knee-length dress. “What do you think?” I twirled, sending the bottom of the dress fluttering out in soft waves.

Lana gave her chin a light tap. “Pretty. But I still like the purple one best.”

Her grandfather, sitting in the chair beside her, nodded. “The purple one.”

The two of them had given me the same answer for the past six dresses. Part of me knew they were right, but purple seemed so … funereal. The only reason I’d even tried that one on was because Mr. Waldron had picked it off the rack and handed it to me. I wanted to wear light pink, or aqua, or maybe even yellow.