Jesse's Girl
Page 62
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—J
Shaking my head, I smile and go hang the postcard on my bedroom mirror.
I change clothes and ride my old bicycle over to the Baptist church, where I’m meeting Holly. She’s nice enough to drive to Franklin two days a week to give me voice lessons in the church’s music room. I had to cut back on the number of hours I work down at Caldwell’s. Taking the voice lessons is worth the time. Holly says I’m getting better and better, and even though she’s preparing me to sing a duet with Jesse, I’m getting the experience I need for my auditions in New York too.
With two weeks left, I’ve saved one thousand dollars. Sam’s friend said we could stay with him for a few nights, but my brother said we need to buy him a nice dinner to say thanks. Sam’s truck isn’t new by any means—it’s a 2002 Dodge. It needs a tune-up and oil change before the trip. Sometimes I can’t believe this is really happening. I’m so close to my goal.
I still haven’t told Jesse I’m going to New York. I want to show him—want to show everybody—that I can do this on my own. And I know I can. Just me, my voice, and my guitar.
But I still have a problem: Casper.
I can’t leave her with my little sister, because she would tell the entire world that she’s caring for Jesse Scott’s cat, and Access Hollywood would probably show up at our house. I can’t leave her with Jordan, because she’s allergic.
So one week before the trip, I head over to see Dr. Salter, and the office assistant with Marge Simpson hair tells me to go on in. I knock on the door and find him poring over a pile of paperwork. He invites me to sit, so I plop down on the ratty couch.
“I need to ask a favor.”
“Go ahead,” Dr. Salter says, taking a seat across from me.
“Jesse asked me to watch his cat while he’s on tour.”
“Did he?” Dr. Salter asks, leaning back and crossing his arms. “He must really trust you.”
I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “Cats can take care of themselves. It’s no big deal.”
“Did he tell you where Casper came from?” I shake my head, so Dr. Salter goes on. “When Jesse was about sixteen or so, he was on tour. One night after a show in New Orleans, he walked out the back door of the Superdome and heard Casper crying.”
“Aww.”
“She couldn’t have been more than four weeks old. Jesse took her to his hotel and bottle-fed her, and she’s been with him ever since. I think the cat makes him feel good about himself. Everyone coddles him, so it’s good he has someone to take care of.”
I fidget in my seat, adjusting my bracelets.
“I think he feels the same way about you,” Dr. Salter says.
I close my eyes for a moment. The last thing I want is for Jesse to take care of me. I want us to take care of each other.
“Um, anyway, I’ve had something unexpected come up, and I was wondering if I could leave Casper with you for a week.”
“Sure.” He narrows his eyes. “But what’s going on?”
“I sent an audition tape to Wannabe Rocker. And I got into the semifinals in New York City!”
A smile stretches across his face. “Excellent. Congratulations, Maya. What did Jesse say?”
“You can’t tell him! I want to surprise him.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
“I’m going to be out of school for a week, but I’ll make it up. If I get past the semifinals, I’ll need more—”
He waves a hand at me. “We can work the details out as we need to. What made you decide to do this?”
“Jesse told me that I have to take chances to reach my dreams.”
• • •
I am in a serious turducken coma.
This was the best Thanksgiving ever. My family went to Jordan’s parents’ house for dinner, where, I kid you not, they had three huge turkeys and a turducken! After gorging on pecan pie and green bean casserole, I’m now back at home, lounging on the couch, watching Miracle on 34th Street with my parents, Anna, and Casper.
My cell rings at about 10:00 p.m. Jesse.
“I gotta take this,” I tell Casper, moving her off my lap. “He’s probably worried about you.”
I step out onto the front porch to answer. The chilly air makes me shiver, but I like being outside when we talk on the phone. It makes me feel closer to him—the same stars hang in the sky, even if he’s in Vegas and I’m in Tennessee.
“Jess?”
“Happy Thanksgiving, My.” His voice cracks. “How’s Casper?”
Shaking my head, I smile and go hang the postcard on my bedroom mirror.
I change clothes and ride my old bicycle over to the Baptist church, where I’m meeting Holly. She’s nice enough to drive to Franklin two days a week to give me voice lessons in the church’s music room. I had to cut back on the number of hours I work down at Caldwell’s. Taking the voice lessons is worth the time. Holly says I’m getting better and better, and even though she’s preparing me to sing a duet with Jesse, I’m getting the experience I need for my auditions in New York too.
With two weeks left, I’ve saved one thousand dollars. Sam’s friend said we could stay with him for a few nights, but my brother said we need to buy him a nice dinner to say thanks. Sam’s truck isn’t new by any means—it’s a 2002 Dodge. It needs a tune-up and oil change before the trip. Sometimes I can’t believe this is really happening. I’m so close to my goal.
I still haven’t told Jesse I’m going to New York. I want to show him—want to show everybody—that I can do this on my own. And I know I can. Just me, my voice, and my guitar.
But I still have a problem: Casper.
I can’t leave her with my little sister, because she would tell the entire world that she’s caring for Jesse Scott’s cat, and Access Hollywood would probably show up at our house. I can’t leave her with Jordan, because she’s allergic.
So one week before the trip, I head over to see Dr. Salter, and the office assistant with Marge Simpson hair tells me to go on in. I knock on the door and find him poring over a pile of paperwork. He invites me to sit, so I plop down on the ratty couch.
“I need to ask a favor.”
“Go ahead,” Dr. Salter says, taking a seat across from me.
“Jesse asked me to watch his cat while he’s on tour.”
“Did he?” Dr. Salter asks, leaning back and crossing his arms. “He must really trust you.”
I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “Cats can take care of themselves. It’s no big deal.”
“Did he tell you where Casper came from?” I shake my head, so Dr. Salter goes on. “When Jesse was about sixteen or so, he was on tour. One night after a show in New Orleans, he walked out the back door of the Superdome and heard Casper crying.”
“Aww.”
“She couldn’t have been more than four weeks old. Jesse took her to his hotel and bottle-fed her, and she’s been with him ever since. I think the cat makes him feel good about himself. Everyone coddles him, so it’s good he has someone to take care of.”
I fidget in my seat, adjusting my bracelets.
“I think he feels the same way about you,” Dr. Salter says.
I close my eyes for a moment. The last thing I want is for Jesse to take care of me. I want us to take care of each other.
“Um, anyway, I’ve had something unexpected come up, and I was wondering if I could leave Casper with you for a week.”
“Sure.” He narrows his eyes. “But what’s going on?”
“I sent an audition tape to Wannabe Rocker. And I got into the semifinals in New York City!”
A smile stretches across his face. “Excellent. Congratulations, Maya. What did Jesse say?”
“You can’t tell him! I want to surprise him.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
“I’m going to be out of school for a week, but I’ll make it up. If I get past the semifinals, I’ll need more—”
He waves a hand at me. “We can work the details out as we need to. What made you decide to do this?”
“Jesse told me that I have to take chances to reach my dreams.”
• • •
I am in a serious turducken coma.
This was the best Thanksgiving ever. My family went to Jordan’s parents’ house for dinner, where, I kid you not, they had three huge turkeys and a turducken! After gorging on pecan pie and green bean casserole, I’m now back at home, lounging on the couch, watching Miracle on 34th Street with my parents, Anna, and Casper.
My cell rings at about 10:00 p.m. Jesse.
“I gotta take this,” I tell Casper, moving her off my lap. “He’s probably worried about you.”
I step out onto the front porch to answer. The chilly air makes me shiver, but I like being outside when we talk on the phone. It makes me feel closer to him—the same stars hang in the sky, even if he’s in Vegas and I’m in Tennessee.
“Jess?”
“Happy Thanksgiving, My.” His voice cracks. “How’s Casper?”
