Breakout (24 page)

I … but what about ruining the band? Is this seizing the moment or blowing it up?

But the end is stampeding toward me from the horizon, through the dark auditorium like the Grim Reaper on horseback. I blink at the sweat stinging my eyes and every beat that my sweaty fingers slide across the fret board is bringing us closer—

Get down to the E … barely, okay, got it.

Have to be in the club, in the dream—
it would’ve rocked either way
, Valerie said—but
no!
I’m not changing the words for
them
, this is about us, who cares about the consequences, I—

Closer …

I try to turn my head to see Keenan—what does he think I should do?—but there’s only blue light and he’s somewhere beyond that and it’s up to me, alone here, and I can’t see and it’s time

it’s time

oh God

can

can’t …

But then suddenly I have an incredible idea.

An idea that jumps out of the static of crazy shouting and insanity in my head.

This unbelievable idea.

I remember what Skye said:
because it will be all of us …
 And if all the kids out there in the crowd are really going to sing …

Going to scream the lyrics …

Then what if …

What if
I
just don’t? What if I let
them
do it?

Then we wouldn’t get in any trouble. No suspensions, no getting kicked out of Rock Band Club. And Ms. Tiernan can’t punish the entire middle school!

I know, I wouldn’t be singing the words like I said I would, but I recorded them! The rest of the world knows the song in its true way, and I can sing it like that on the world tour with our new management!

I mean, maybe, to really bust out of the stalag, I
don’t
sing them,
don’t
fall into the trap,
don’t
take the bait from Mein Herr because maybe that’s what this is, a trap where Anthony thinks he’s being the hero but really becomes the framed leader of the rebellion, the martyr, and then
they
have someone to punish, to make an example of. Maybe that’s what this has been all along and I’ve been just about to walk right into it.

And so instead, I could get us right to the moment, all the way to the edge, and let everyone take it over from there,
like a mass of freed POWs rushing into the sun past their exhausted leader.

It will seem spontaneous, like a force of nature, rising up from the crowd. It will be more than just me. And because it’s all of us,
they
will have to understand that these words matter, that they
have
to be sung.

Almost there … My hand slides up to A.…

The last line is coming, and I am feeling all of this and shaking and I sing with all the force that took me over when I wrote it. The next line screams out of my throat.

And then here it is, okay, everybody, here’s what you wanted! I gaze at them, my crowd, my commandos out there in the dark.

Come on, everybody!

This is it!

Take a deep breath and get ready to take it from here! Let’s show them all!

The moment arrives.

Now! This is it! Break out of the stalag! Here we go!

I hit the A to start the bar and open my mouth, but instead of singing, I thrust my fist to the sky just like Jake Diamond or Bono would, the international sign to sing along.

Now!

Now …

…

Distantly, from the back of the auditorium, my eye catches two silhouettes, Skye and Meron, jumping up and I hear the sharp squeal of them starting to shout, “Fu—” but then immediately it dies to nothing like a match flame being squashed between two fingers, snuffed out in the silence as they notice that …

No one else has jumped up.

No one else sings.

And the moment has passed.

My hands move to E like they are on autopilot.

Then to D.

Even as I am staring wide-eyed into the crowd.

What happened?!

But I have to jump on the next line before it’s gone and my guts explode with nerves and I’m confused and my hands are like flopping fish and they lose their spots again. I look down and try to get them back in the right places but then the words too, have to sing them—

It comes out garbled and then here is the next moment, the next chance. I raise my fist again …

Everyone!

Silence. Not even Skye and Meron get up this time.

Then we’re past it again and I can’t get the next line out at all and my fingers slide all over the fret board and everything is just noise and panic.
This plane is going down! Going down!
Have to get to the E chord … and somehow I barely do and then we hit the final A and that’s it and I’m missing the last line again, not singing, my head thrashing around looking at the crowd, still silhouettes, then at Keenan, who’s looking back at me. His eyes are wide like “Come on!” or maybe “What happened?” I can’t tell.

And then the last chance has passed and that’s the end, we are at the end of the song and I manage to sing the final words

and Valerie smashes the cymbals and we hold the chord and everything vibrates and rumbles and I slam my hand against the strings

slam my hand against the strings

take it all out on the strings

so that they hear the sound they need to hear the sound

they need to hear the sound of what it felt like

need to hear it

hear it hear it hear it

and one or two more times

the sound of how it felt because I couldn’t say it

and my hand is stinging and Valerie has paused and Keenan too and I look up and find them both staring at me, and though I will never know, never understand what exactly they are feeling about me right then, what I do know is that this is serious and we are a band of brothers and we have been through hell and now

it …

Keenan jumps, kicking his feet up behind him, and when he lands we stick the chord tight one last time. Hands on strings. Sticks crash.

is …

Valerie chokes the cymbals dead.

over.

There is applause.

It takes a second for me to actually notice that it’s happening.

I don’t know what to think but then the first thing I think is …

Oh no
.

I blew it. I look out at the crowd. People are clapping. Ms. Tiernan is clapping. She meets my gaze and raises an eyebrow.

Oh no
.

Mr. Darren appears on the stage and walks over to the
mic. I step out of the way. I can’t look at him, just at Merle. My high E string is busted, swaying in the stage lights.

“Let’s give another big hand to the Rusty Soles!” he says.

People do. There are some whooping shouts too. Most of the crowd probably just thinks I made a mistake, forgot the words, got jumbled.

We’re just eighth graders, after all.

“Also,” Mr. Darren says, and the crowd quiets, “I wanted to mention that most of the song you just heard was written by Mr. Anthony Castillo here.” Mr. Darren glances at me and the crowd claps again. He’s kind of smiling but it’s maybe a stage smile. Then he turns back to the mic. “I can tell you from experience how hard it is to write your own music and perform it, and this was Anthony’s very first time. I’m sure there will be many more.” There is a final round of applause.

I hear it, but like from far away.

“Thanks for coming, everyone.” Mr. Darren pats my back. I figure he’s going to say
Good Job
or
You Did the Right Thing
, but all he says is “We’ll talk.” Then he jogs offstage and turns up the houselights and the crowd starts to murmur and leave.

I spin around and unplug from the amp and start rolling up my instrument cable, keeping my eyes on the floor, trying to look busy and not look out at the crowd. A minute ago feels like a year. Like I was inside some kind of bubble world and now I’m outside it and everything that seemed like it made sense doesn’t anymore.

And still all I can think is
Oh no
.

What was I thinking? How could I have
not
sung the lyrics?
I had my chance. I blew it. But I thought everyone was going to sing along.… What about everything Skye said? Why didn’t they sing? Why didn’t I? I was going to. It was my chance … and I missed it.

Did I do the right thing? I have no idea. All I know is that I don’t feel right. Not at all.

My moment. My big chance … it’s already in the past. I am never getting it back.

No restarts.

No do-overs.

I wrap my cable and put Merle in her case and then unplug the vocal mic. I roll that cable too, fold up the stand, and then I finally glance over my shoulder at the crowd and I’m glad to see that most everyone is gone. I roll my amp off the stage, the sound of the squeaking wheels echoing across the empty auditorium.

Back in the band room, Valerie is stacking the drums. Keenan is on the top level pushing the bass cabinet against the wall. I lug the Marshall up and do the same. Our heads are down.

“Here,” I say to Keenan, holding out my hand for his power cable, because the strip is on my side.

He passes it over but doesn’t look at me. He’s probably
mad. He was counting on me. I had the spotlight. Our spotlight. And I failed the big mission. But I thought …

I don’t know what I thought.

When that’s done, I stand up and see Valerie’s dad at the lounge door. “Hey, Val, ready?”

“Yeah,” says Valerie. She starts toward the door but pauses. “Great job, you guys. I thought we were really good.”

“Thanks,” we both mumble. I think back and realize that despite the mess I made of the lyrics, of the chords, of the end, of everything, Keenan and Valerie both nailed it out there.

“You too,” I say. Then our eyes meet and I wonder if she is glad I didn’t sing the words, but she doesn’t smile or anything. She just kinda shrugs and I don’t know what it means. “See you tomorrow,” she says, and then she leaves.

I turn to Keenan. He’s standing there staring at the floor, like he does.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

He doesn’t say anything for a second, and then finally, “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” I start to unzip my sweatshirt but stop. My T-shirt is soaked and stuck to my body, a big dark stain down its front. I zip it back up.

“Why didn’t you sing the words?”

“I—” I feel like I can’t make eye contact with Keenan so I just stare at the floor too, then the stupid couches, the amps. And I try to explain myself. “I just started freaking out, and … I tried to check in with you, but I couldn’t really see you. Tiernan was right there, and then I thought that since everybody
in the crowd was going to sing the words I could just let them do it. And then maybe it would be this amazing moment.”

Keenan doesn’t say anything.

“I wasn’t … scared about getting in trouble,” I say, and I think I mean it but I’m not sure. Maybe I was. “I just felt like, I don’t know … It was all too much. And then there was the crowd and it wasn’t, like, some cool club or anything. It wasn’t New York. It was just a bunch of grandmas and kids in a stupid school auditorium and …” I don’t know where I’m going so I stop. I’m not sure if any of that is really true. It feels like some of it is, but I barely know which parts. Then I add, “I guess I tried to have it both ways. Or something. Sorry,” I say again.

Keenan is quiet for another second and then finally he kind of laughs a little to himself and shrugs. “That would have been cool.”

“What?”

“If everybody sang for you. That would have been amazing. Like an uprising.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” I say, and I’m relieved to at least hear that it makes sense to somebody else. “But then nobody did, and it ended up lame.”

Keenan nods like he’s made up his mind. “They were scared,” he says. “Everybody’s a bunch of babies. Stupid school.”

“Yeah,” I say, but I feel like I am too. Even just having all these worries and issues is so
not
rock and roll.

Or maybe it is. Maybe this is why singers end up at spas in Sedona. Because singing your words, expressing yourself, is hard.

But I don’t think Ty from Sister’s Secret would ever have this problem. Maybe that’s why he’s in high school and I’m still here. And at least what happened tonight didn’t happen somewhere like Vera. That would have been way worse.

“You really rocked it, though,” I say to Keenan.

“Yeah,” says Keenan like he knows he did. “Thanks.”

The door creaks open again and there are my parents. It’s hard to tell what they’re thinking from their blank expressions. Did they catch that I was really going to sing the words?

All Dad says is “Ready?”

I grab Merle. “See you tomorrow,” I mumble to Keenan.

Keenan nods. “I’ll send Rain City Talent a message,” he says.

“Cool.” And I am glad he’s going to do that. I want nothing to do with music tonight.

I walk out into the night between my parents. Erica is next to Mom. Mist coats us.

“Great job,” says Dad, like of course he’s going to.

On the drive home, I expect them to ask about the ending, but maybe sometimes parents actually know when to be quiet because they don’t say a word.

I stare at the lights and the rain and the dark and I remember thinking about what it would feel like to be up onstage playing my song and now I just feel like I died or something back there, and that motor that was inside me speeding up and up is shut off now and I’m hollow and empty.

Or maybe I’m just really, really tired.

But there’s not going to be any sleeping for a while. Back home, I fire up
Liberation Force
and log in. I don’t text Keenan, but then there he is online, anyway. And so together we head into Level 23, the assault on the Reichstag. I wonder what he is thinking about tonight, but luckily we don’t have to talk about that.