“Hey, hey.” Pa takes a seat beside me in front of the piano, blocking my view of the crowd. “Don’t mind them. It’s just the two of us.”
“I’m s-sorry.” My voice cracks at the thought of me falling apart in front of my dad.
Then my insides steady when I feel his grip on my wrist, right above my hair tie.
“I used to get so nervous before performing too, Superstar.”
My eyes widen at the implausible idea that Pa ever felt nervous.
“You know my trick?” he asks. “Other musicians, they get so distracted by looking at everything. But me? I only focus on the people I want to see.”
I hear Seph restart the song in the background and Pa’s hands fall on the piano, playing the opening notes for me. When I slowly join him and my fingers start to find the keys, he lets go bit by bit until suddenly, I’m taking over. As we reach the song’s bridge, I feel Pa bobbing his head and smiling right next to me. I laugh when he even starts clapping along to one of the cheesiest songs in the world. For a moment, I close my eyes, not wanting the outside world to ruin whatever’s happening.
My heart feels like it’s lodged in my throat when we get nearer to the final chorus. Seph sings the lyrics about being part of someone indefinitely and how time can’t erase something so strong between two people.
I hope Pa knows this is what I’ve been wanting to tell him for the past five years.
Pa reaches for me during the song’s last few lines and Ibrush the scar above his left eye. He leans closer and the mic catches Pa’s voice when he sings to me that I’ll always be his baby.
It’s only later on that I find out that my sister heard his voice too.
25
I don’t consider myself a sore loser. It’s not sore losing when we wererobbedfrom winning.
The Battle of the Bands judges wanted audience participation? Check. The whole auditorium was singing along during every chorus of our set.
Stage presence? Check. Did they not see how breezy and dreamy Kayla’s doo-doo-doos were?! I bettheycouldn’t learn how to sing in tune if they were given a week.
It factor? We had a literal ghost join us onstage. We had an it factor from a different dimension!
The judges not only deprived us of an award, they also had the audacity to rationalize why we didn’tdeservean award. When they declared the band after us as the winner, one judge added, “We actually had a hard time picking between Mercury Retrograde and The Band. But since The Band had to redo their song, it was obvious who our champion tonight should be.”
He wagged his finger in our direction before saying, “Lesson for all you kids: Life doesn’t give you any redos.”
If Mariah Carey had to clear her throat and redo the beginning of a song before delivering an otherworldly vocal performance, would these judges also rob her in broad daylight?!
“Didn’t you say we could just ‘wing’ the performance?” Kayla asks after she dragged us back to this forsaken auditorium.
“I’m not upset,” I tell her again.
“Then why are you stabbing the mango?”
She glances at the spoon I’m holding with a death grip. Ismile and let go, showing Kayla that I’m calmly enjoying the fruit basket she brought for our “celebration.”
But really. Why are we even celebrating right now?! Last night, Kayla sent a message that we should meet at the Saint Francis auditorium before class since it’s our last school day before Christmas break and we should celebrate a “great performance.” She also brought another one of her parents’ fruit baskets with her for us to all share. I was going to reply that I wasn’t in the mood or some BS excuse about catching up on all the work before Christmas break when I saw Seph’s message.
sounds good. see you guys then!
Keep in mind: This is the first time he’s messaged me since we held hands. Actually, no. I’ve decided that I remembered that moment incorrectly. Seph and I never held hands! We barely make eye contact as it is. Honestly, the next time I run into him in the condo elevator, I can’t promise that I’d recognize him.
And as I’m trying to relax and enjoy a mango while we’re seated on the stage, Kayla whispers to me.
“Is this because of your dad?”
The mango skin breaks when I jab it too hard with my spoon. “It’s not!” I snap. Was I disappointed that my family still couldn’t see my dad after the performance? When Achi and Ma woke up this morning without any mention of Pa’s spirit? Of course I was. But the key to success is pushing through disappointment. I also expected the performance to havesomeeffect on Ma, yet she was on the phone with Dr. Derrick all night talking about scheduling some appointment, most likely something wedding-related.
When Pa told me that he wanted to stay home today to look through more of the photos and letters that were stashed in his piano bench, I was completely calm. I’m definitely notpanicking that it’s mid-December, which means we only have mere weeks until his forty days are up.
