“The harmonica?”
She smiles a little, then shakes her head again. Her hair seems more tangled than yesterday, which does have me wondering if she has an aversion to brushes and combs.
“Want to sing something?”
Her face turns as red as Mrs. Dabbs’s hair.
I pat the bench. “Come.”
Her knees seem to wobble as she approaches. I half think she won’t make it all the way to me, but she does.
After she sits, I ask her, “What do you want to sing?”
“Um. I like Amy Winehouse.”
I smile, not surprised by her choice. From what I remember, Nev’s timbre is real close to Amy’s. “‘Valerie’?”
She nods enthusiastically.
I was so obsessed with that song when I first heard it that I spent hours at the piano mastering the tune. At first, Nev doesn’t sing. Only I sing and I butcher the song, because my voice isn’t deep, but I keep singing anyway, hoping Nev will jump in. I glance sideways at her, find her nibbling on her bottom lip.
Just as I’m thinking I’ve pushed Nev too hard too fast, she lets out a breathy sound that surges across the room like a gush of steam. She snaps her mouth closed, her cheeks two flaming dots.
Afraid she’ll clam back up, I let out a wrong note, then mouth,Help!She swallows, and then her lips part. This time the sound that comes out of her mouth is perfection. It ripples and sways through the air. As her singing gains power, goose bumps scatter over my arms, lend vigor to my frolicking fingers. The air becomes electric and jaunty, a jungle of violets, oranges, and blues. The colors tinge the piano keys and edge the pale furniture, highlighting every angle and curve around us.
Little by little, I lower my voice to a mere hum and listen as Nev gives a performance worthy of agreat… worthy of her mother. Possibly greater because there’snothingcommercial about Nev’s sound. The second the song ends, I segue into a new song—a recent hit by KellyClarkson. I’m afraid that if I stop playing, Nev will stop singing, and I don’t want her to stop. I could listen to her for hours.
I sing with her this time. Although an octave separates our voices, we somehow manage to braid them into something thick and dazzling. When I play the last chords, a low whistle sounds from the doorway. Mom’s leaning against the doorframe, hair slicked back and shiny like the gold hoops speared through her lobes.
“What a voice, Nev.” She slow-claps.
Nev smiles sheepishly at me, then at Mom, freckles ablaze.
Mom pushes away from the doorframe. “Your range is startling.”
The bright colors in the room darken. Mom’s right—Nev’s voice is startling, but what about mine?
It’s silly.
So silly.
But couldn’t she have said my voice was nice too, even if she didn’t mean it?
Nev wrings her hands. “Thanks, Jade.” Her voice is wispy and unremarkable again.
I lower the cover over the piano keys, trying to slug away my stupid jealousy. “Are we going to brunch?”
We usually brunch on Saturdays before I go off with friends. This weekend is a rare exception where I have no plans for the rest of the day. Rae is busy with Harrison, and Laney hasn’t answered my message, so I’m not sure where we stand.
Not that Laney and I ever made plans before…
“I booked a table at the country club,” Mom says. “I thought we could go swimming afterward since it’s so nice out. Nev, did you bring your bathing suit, sweetie? I told your daddy you might need one.”
At least she didn’t call herbaby.
I stand and stick my hands in the back pockets of my cutoffs. Seconds ago, I was surfing on waves of psychedelic colors and now I’m drowning in murky waters.
“It’s upstairs,” Nev says.
