Being Henry David - By Cal Armistead Page 0,28
is something by the Beatles. A spark of memory snaps into place, like synapses repairing themselves. The Beatles. Of course.
I try to start the song again, but I’m flustered and forget how to play, unable to pick up where I left off. Then I make myself relax, return to that place where my fingers did the remembering. It comes back, and Hailey sings. She has a gorgeous voice, silky but with this raspy quality that makes it unique. Sexy. Here and there I miss a chord because I’m distracted by her singing, and she misses a few words, but while we’re playing, I feel like I’m on a different planet. A planet where only Hailey and I exist, like we’ve been making music together forever.
And as she sings, I listen to the lyrics and remember the name of the song. “Blackbird.”
The last notes of “Blackbird” hang in the air for a while after we’re done, and I hold my breath. “Wow,” I say at last. “You have the most amazing voice.”
She looks away from me then, shrugs. “I dunno,” she murmurs, but I can tell she’s trying not to smile.
“So explain to me why you’re not performing in the Battle of the Bands.”
Hailey plays with the zipper on her red sweater. “Couldn’t get a band together. I mean, I did it last year, but it didn’t work out this time.”
“When is the show?”
“Two weeks.”
“That’s enough time to pull your band back together, isn’t it? Maybe I can help.” Call me delusional, call me impulsive, whatever, but under the new influence of music, I feel like anything is possible. Plus, I’d grab any excuse to spend more time with this girl. There’s just something about her.
“I don’t know,” Hailey says. She won’t look at me. “Last year, there was this thing. But look, it’s no big deal. We can talk about this later. Even if we don’t enter the competition, we can play together for fun if you want. You still have my number, right?”
“Yes,” I say. “I’ll call you. Definitely.”
She nods and smiles this cool, really pretty smile. “I’d like that. Thanks.”
I set the guitar back in the corner, and together, we head back down the hallway and into the auditorium.
Later, I stand inside the front lobby of the school with the rest of the kids, pretending to watch for my parents’ car pulling up in front of the school to fetch me. After Hailey leaves, giving me a wave and flashing that dimple, I excuse myself to go to the boys’ room, but nobody seems to hear me, or even notice I’ve slipped away. Perfect. I hang out in the bathroom until all is quiet, and I’m pretty sure the last kid has left.
Blending into the hollow silence of the school, I set out to explore. Walking down the empty hallways is kind of creepy, like being the last person left alive after a nuclear attack. But then I start thinking, hey, if there was a nuclear attack and I was the sole survivor, everything I need to keep myself alive is right here at Henry David Thoreau Regional High School.
Clothing? All set. Not just the clothes I already own, but when I investigate the boys’ locker room, I find a big cardboard box shoved up against a wall in the corner, marked Lost and Found. It’s full of T-shirts and gym shorts, collared shirts and jeans, even sneakers and jackets, and some look like they’re my size. How rich are the kids in this town that they can completely forget to bring home all these clothes? I’m sure Thoreau would have plenty to say about that.
As for food, the cafeteria has all the food I can eat, if I can get past the locked door. Through the window in the kitchen door, I see enormous cans of food like applesauce, tomato sauce, and peaches stacked on the counters. I’d never go hungry.
Turning away from the kitchen door, I’m trying to figure out where I can lie down and get some sleep. All the classroom doors are locked, the nurse’s office is locked, the library is locked. I’m thinking maybe the best I can do is head back to the auditorium and try to curl up in one of those red seats, when a woman in a plaid flannel shirt and jeans comes bursting out of a closet clutching a mop. We collide right into each other and she tumbles backward, landing on her butt on the floor. The