Know Your Heart: A New Zealand - Tracey Alvarez Page 0,62
good. The thought of Glen spending years on something that was at best a stubborn delusion, made her feel like she’d swallowed a pound of wriggling earthworms.
“No.”
The earthworms went crazy until she spotted the curve of Tom’s mouth.
“Not just good, great. And I’m not just saying that because he’s my uncle,” he added. “I read lots. Not fantasy like he writes, but sci-fi, adventure stuff. Books I don’t have to read for school. So I’m qualified to know he’s not writing bullsh—er, bullcrap, like Granddad said.”
Savannah froze in the middle of gathering Tom’s script. “Glen’s dad said that?”
“I overheard him and Dad talking. Granddad said Glen must be having an early mid-life crisis. Said he was wasting his time on his stupid book instead of putting that energy into the firm.” Tom kicked the ground again, his fists clenched at his sides. “I know what my dad thinks about me playing the guitar—that it’s just a hobby.”
“Doing something you love, something you were meant to do isn’t wasting your time,” Savannah said quietly. “But in the end, it’s your decision, your passion and your deep-down grit that determines whether you make music a career or a pleasurable hobby. There’s no shame in either.”
“I know one thing.” His lips thinned into a terse ribbon. “I don’t want to be a lawyer.”
Savannah held out the script. “Well, let’s run through this scene a couple of times, and then you can show me your skills.”
An hour later, Tom strummed along to an old U2 song, his voice strong and pure. The kid was talented. A good voice, and clever fingers skimming the guitar’s frets, picking out the melody. Whether it was enough to carry the boy through the cut-throat world of music unscathed, she didn’t know. But for now, at fifteen, his talent was enough to see him through his high school years with confidence and joy in the simple pleasure of music. She’d hate to see him denied that experience because of performance anxiety.
Something she’d been intimately familiar with herself, at his age.
He finished playing, the last notes shimmering away to silence in the barn’s cavernous inside. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
“You weren’t exaggerating,” she said. “You’re good.”
“That’s because it’s not a packed hall.”
Savannah nodded. “No nerves playing in front of me?”
“You wouldn’t laugh. Not like if I screw up at prize-giving.”
“Rough crowd, you think?”
“Nah. Not with the other parents there to make sure their kids don’t act like assholes. But it’ll be rough if my dad doesn’t come.”
“And it’ll be rough if he does too, I’m guessing. You’ll have something to prove.”
“Yeah. Then I’ll be even more nervous.”
Savannah hopped up on the workbench to sit beside him. “First thing, you need to accept that anxiety is part of performing. Everyone—singers, actors, musicians, dancers, street buskers—everyone who puts themselves in front of an audience, big or small, suffers from nerves to some degree. You’ll learn to work with those nerves, not against them.”
“Okay. So teach me how.”
“Tell me what it’s like for you? Describe the worst its felt.”
“Like hands are around my throat, choking off my air supply.” Tom picked a few random strings on his guitar. “All I can hear is blood thumping in my eardrums, and I know when I open my mouth to sing, all that’ll come out is a raspy croak.”
“Worst feeling in the world, huh?”
He nodded. “First time we played in front of the school in assembly, I couldn’t remember the chord changes for the chorus. Thank God I wasn’t playing lead or singing since I’d only just joined the band, but I’d practiced that song heaps, and it was gone the moment I looked up at the crowded hall.”
“What happened when you got to the chorus? Did it come back to you?”
“Yeah. My fingers remembered even though my brain had gone AWOL. I bummed a few changes, but I don’t think anyone noticed.”
“You’re still in the band, so it can’t have been that bad.”
Tom heaved out a huge sigh. “I’m doing lead and vocals at prize-giving. I’ll suck.”
“Not if you take step one in kicking stage fright’s ass.” She nudged his arm with her elbow. “Which is to remove the focus from you and put it onto the music. You’ve got the skill, and more importantly, the heart for it, you just need to learn how to make it all about the music, not all about Tom Cooper.”
“And how do I do that?”
“You learn to breathe diaphragmatically.” She held up a hand and counted