Jesse's Girl
Page 65
“Slow down, Sam!” Mom cries, covering her eyes, and I pat her knee.
Then I see it.
The city.
I smile at the bridges in the distance and the twinkling lights and the skyscrapers. We find our exit, and Sam says, “I need more cash. There’s another toll.”
“I don’t understand why we have to pay to drive on the interstate,” I say, rooting through my bag for more money. “I wish I’d known we’d have to pay all these tolls. I would’ve taken out a loan.” Driving north is a lot more complicated than in the south, where we have wide-open roads and fields for miles and miles.
After sitting in traffic for the length of six songs—including “Bohemian Rhapsody,” which is, like, the longest song ever—we finally make it to Sam’s friend’s apartment in Hoboken, and not a moment too soon. I really thought my brother was about to throw my iPhone out the window if he had to hear one more Queen song. We circle the block a few times to find street parking, then climb a set of brick steps to a building that’s taller than most in Franklin. Inside, we take a staircase to the fourth floor, where we meet Sam’s friend Robert, and they immediately disappear out to a bar where they can catch up and my brother can recover from what he calls the road trip from Hades.
Mom collapses onto the couch and dozes. Not wanting to wake her, I take my phone into the bathroom and shut the door behind me as I sit down on the bathtub rim and push Jesse’s name to call him. He doesn’t have a show tonight, so he should be relaxing at the Four Seasons in Philly.
He picks up after one ring. “Hi, you.”
I love it when he says that.
Even though I have to get up early tomorrow morning, I talk to Jesse until late in the night. I started biting my fingernails the minute I rolled into New Jersey, but just hearing his calm, cool, country voice draws the nerves right out of me.
• • •
It’s 6:15 a.m., and I’m making myself a cup of coffee in Robert’s kitchen.
I’m wearing my itty-bitty black dress and some sparkly bangles. Mom pulled my hair up into a high ponytail. Total camp. I also put on my purple cowboy boots. They don’t really go with my outfit, and kids would laugh me out of school if I wore this back at Hundred Oaks, but they’re comfortable, and I hope they’ll be good luck.
I die laughing when I see how my brother’s dressed to support me: Sam is wearing a rainbow headband, a purple tracksuit, and high-tops. Given how stressed I am, he knows I need a laugh.
After we’ve eaten and pulled on our winter coats, we trudge up the slush-covered sidewalk to catch the train to Manhattan, carrying my electric Fender, sheet music, and my application. It takes us several minutes to figure out how to buy tickets and how much money to put on them. Then another minute to learn how to use the turnstiles. I’m trying to stay pumped for today’s audition, but I feel totally off my game here. We stand beside the tracks, waiting for the train to arrive. I stare down the dark tunnel.
“What if it doesn’t come?” I cry.
“It will,” Mom says soothingly.
“When? I can’t be late!”
Sam squeezes my shoulder.
Two minutes later, it comes, and I feel silly for freaking out.
On the train, I’m shivering like crazy, but not because it’s freezing outside. My brother throws an arm around me, and I lean my head back, close my eyes, and breathe in as much air as I can. The speeding train rocks back and forth on the tracks.
“You okay?” he whispers.
“So, so scared.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “Relax. Any time you feel nervous, just pretend you’re singing with Jesse on the Belle Carol, okay?”
I adjust my bangles and chew on my nails all the way to Herald Square, where we get off the train. Here, people walk super fast. Some people are sprinting through the subway station like they’re trying to get the last hot dog at the barbeque, but a few are going slow, taking their time. Everyone is dressed differently—glamour, goths, jeans and T-shirts, suits and ties, skaters. I bet it’s easy to fit in here, which is cool.
It takes a while to get out of the station, because there are so many signs to make sense of and people to squeeze past, but finally Mom, Sam, and I step out into the bright sunlight. The noise hits me first. Cars honking, music blaring, people talking, buses rumbling by. And the smell—I shouldn’t even try to describe it, but it’s a mix of chestnuts and car exhaust and fried foods. It’s weird, and I love it. I twirl around in a circle, smiling up at the soaring buildings.
Then I see it.
The city.
I smile at the bridges in the distance and the twinkling lights and the skyscrapers. We find our exit, and Sam says, “I need more cash. There’s another toll.”
“I don’t understand why we have to pay to drive on the interstate,” I say, rooting through my bag for more money. “I wish I’d known we’d have to pay all these tolls. I would’ve taken out a loan.” Driving north is a lot more complicated than in the south, where we have wide-open roads and fields for miles and miles.
After sitting in traffic for the length of six songs—including “Bohemian Rhapsody,” which is, like, the longest song ever—we finally make it to Sam’s friend’s apartment in Hoboken, and not a moment too soon. I really thought my brother was about to throw my iPhone out the window if he had to hear one more Queen song. We circle the block a few times to find street parking, then climb a set of brick steps to a building that’s taller than most in Franklin. Inside, we take a staircase to the fourth floor, where we meet Sam’s friend Robert, and they immediately disappear out to a bar where they can catch up and my brother can recover from what he calls the road trip from Hades.
Mom collapses onto the couch and dozes. Not wanting to wake her, I take my phone into the bathroom and shut the door behind me as I sit down on the bathtub rim and push Jesse’s name to call him. He doesn’t have a show tonight, so he should be relaxing at the Four Seasons in Philly.
He picks up after one ring. “Hi, you.”
I love it when he says that.
Even though I have to get up early tomorrow morning, I talk to Jesse until late in the night. I started biting my fingernails the minute I rolled into New Jersey, but just hearing his calm, cool, country voice draws the nerves right out of me.
• • •
It’s 6:15 a.m., and I’m making myself a cup of coffee in Robert’s kitchen.
I’m wearing my itty-bitty black dress and some sparkly bangles. Mom pulled my hair up into a high ponytail. Total camp. I also put on my purple cowboy boots. They don’t really go with my outfit, and kids would laugh me out of school if I wore this back at Hundred Oaks, but they’re comfortable, and I hope they’ll be good luck.
I die laughing when I see how my brother’s dressed to support me: Sam is wearing a rainbow headband, a purple tracksuit, and high-tops. Given how stressed I am, he knows I need a laugh.
After we’ve eaten and pulled on our winter coats, we trudge up the slush-covered sidewalk to catch the train to Manhattan, carrying my electric Fender, sheet music, and my application. It takes us several minutes to figure out how to buy tickets and how much money to put on them. Then another minute to learn how to use the turnstiles. I’m trying to stay pumped for today’s audition, but I feel totally off my game here. We stand beside the tracks, waiting for the train to arrive. I stare down the dark tunnel.
“What if it doesn’t come?” I cry.
“It will,” Mom says soothingly.
“When? I can’t be late!”
Sam squeezes my shoulder.
Two minutes later, it comes, and I feel silly for freaking out.
On the train, I’m shivering like crazy, but not because it’s freezing outside. My brother throws an arm around me, and I lean my head back, close my eyes, and breathe in as much air as I can. The speeding train rocks back and forth on the tracks.
“You okay?” he whispers.
“So, so scared.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “Relax. Any time you feel nervous, just pretend you’re singing with Jesse on the Belle Carol, okay?”
I adjust my bangles and chew on my nails all the way to Herald Square, where we get off the train. Here, people walk super fast. Some people are sprinting through the subway station like they’re trying to get the last hot dog at the barbeque, but a few are going slow, taking their time. Everyone is dressed differently—glamour, goths, jeans and T-shirts, suits and ties, skaters. I bet it’s easy to fit in here, which is cool.
It takes a while to get out of the station, because there are so many signs to make sense of and people to squeeze past, but finally Mom, Sam, and I step out into the bright sunlight. The noise hits me first. Cars honking, music blaring, people talking, buses rumbling by. And the smell—I shouldn’t even try to describe it, but it’s a mix of chestnuts and car exhaust and fried foods. It’s weird, and I love it. I twirl around in a circle, smiling up at the soaring buildings.
