Jesse's Girl
Page 79
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With a final wave at the crowd, I jog offstage. Hannah rushes up to me. “You were great!”
“Thanks! You were too.” She performed a Mozart sonata on piano tonight. I love that she took a chance at going solo and played what she wants to play. She’s still a part of The Fringe, but I don’t think they’re getting as many gigs these days. They all seem to be trying their own thing now.
As I’m blotting the sweat off my forehead, I feel fingers poke me in my sides. I whip around. Jesse’s standing there in his beige cowboy hat, his cowboy boots with the flames, and torn jeans. He runs his hands over my hips and touches me through the back of my black leather skirt. He always has a hard time keeping his hands off me. I love it. I grip his black T-shirt, lift up on tiptoes, and give him a long, slow kiss.
“You did great,” he murmurs in my ear. “Your voice was full, your pitch was perfect, and I could feel the emotion. I wish your skirt had been a little shorter though.”
I slap his chest. “You ready for this?”
“I think so.” He rubs his palms together. A few of my classmates ask for his autograph. “Sure,” he replies. “Right after I do my thing.”
“Good luck,” I tell him, and he squeezes my hand. He walks onstage, and the audience goes insane when they see him.
“Thanks for coming out tonight,” Jesse tells the crowd, pulling a sheet of paper from his jeans pocket. The cheering quiets to where he can speak. “The reason I’m here is ’cause I want to talk to you about music.”
Everyone is focused on him.
“My name is Jesse Scott, and I’m sure many of you know that music is my life. For a long time, my music was all mine. I let other people listen to my music, but I never let anyone share it with me. Then I decided to quit.
“But then somebody told me that I have a gift, and I should use that gift to make other people happy… So if Rêve Records will still have me, I’ve decided I’m gonna take it one day at a time. For now, I’m not going to retire.”
The crowd whoops for him, and the press take pictures. Click, click, click.
Jesse gazes offstage, finding my eyes. Then he looks down toward his uncle and Mr. Logan. “God’s been so good to me. He’s given me great friends. A good friend of mine—Maya Henry—told me how she couldn’t afford music lessons growing up, and it got me thinking. I want to help as many kids as I can learn music.” Jesse pauses to clear his throat. “Maya and I came up with an idea together. I’m starting a music program in Nashville called the Agape Center. It’s a place where kids can make appointments for voice, piano, guitar, and drumming lessons. All lessons will be free.” The crowd cheers again.
Jesse continues, “I’m gonna work on expanding my program over time, but it’ll always be free of cost. We’ll be advertising for it soon, so keep a look out. Thanks.”
Music begins playing over the loudspeakers. I figured he would perform “Second Chance,” because it seems most appropriate, but of course he had to do “Ain’t No City Boy,” because I applied to Vanderbilt’s music school in Nashville for next year, and Jesse’s staying here with me, and “Ain’t No City Boy” is about making love on a tractor, after all. Not that I’ve agreed to do it on a tractor.
At the end of his song, he waves and walks offstage to massive applause. After the curtains shut, he picks me up and twirls me in a circle. “I love you,” he murmurs.
“I love you too.”
He lowers me to the floor. “Okay, who wants an autograph? I gotta leave soon to get ready for my pool party.”
“Who throws a pool party in February?” I ask.
He points at me. “Don’t forget, clothing is optional.”
• • •
My family takes me to dinner at the Roadhouse to celebrate my talent show performance, but we don’t spend a whole lot of time talking about me, because Sam keeps going on and on and on about wedding plans. Mom loves hearing about them, but he discusses the wedding so often the rest of us want to put on earmuffs. Even Jordan wants him to shut up, and she’s the one with a glittering diamond on her left hand.
“Carter said his restaurant would cater the dinner for us,” Sam says. “And I’ve already got the cake picked out—Jordan said I could be in charge of the cake. It will have three layers: one raspberry, one coffee, and one vanilla. And it will have the Detroit Lions logo on it.”
Jordan hurls a french fry at his head.
“Do you think Jesse would sing at our wedding?” Jordan asks. “He’s so sexy.”
“Thanks! You were too.” She performed a Mozart sonata on piano tonight. I love that she took a chance at going solo and played what she wants to play. She’s still a part of The Fringe, but I don’t think they’re getting as many gigs these days. They all seem to be trying their own thing now.
As I’m blotting the sweat off my forehead, I feel fingers poke me in my sides. I whip around. Jesse’s standing there in his beige cowboy hat, his cowboy boots with the flames, and torn jeans. He runs his hands over my hips and touches me through the back of my black leather skirt. He always has a hard time keeping his hands off me. I love it. I grip his black T-shirt, lift up on tiptoes, and give him a long, slow kiss.
“You did great,” he murmurs in my ear. “Your voice was full, your pitch was perfect, and I could feel the emotion. I wish your skirt had been a little shorter though.”
I slap his chest. “You ready for this?”
“I think so.” He rubs his palms together. A few of my classmates ask for his autograph. “Sure,” he replies. “Right after I do my thing.”
“Good luck,” I tell him, and he squeezes my hand. He walks onstage, and the audience goes insane when they see him.
“Thanks for coming out tonight,” Jesse tells the crowd, pulling a sheet of paper from his jeans pocket. The cheering quiets to where he can speak. “The reason I’m here is ’cause I want to talk to you about music.”
Everyone is focused on him.
“My name is Jesse Scott, and I’m sure many of you know that music is my life. For a long time, my music was all mine. I let other people listen to my music, but I never let anyone share it with me. Then I decided to quit.
“But then somebody told me that I have a gift, and I should use that gift to make other people happy… So if Rêve Records will still have me, I’ve decided I’m gonna take it one day at a time. For now, I’m not going to retire.”
The crowd whoops for him, and the press take pictures. Click, click, click.
Jesse gazes offstage, finding my eyes. Then he looks down toward his uncle and Mr. Logan. “God’s been so good to me. He’s given me great friends. A good friend of mine—Maya Henry—told me how she couldn’t afford music lessons growing up, and it got me thinking. I want to help as many kids as I can learn music.” Jesse pauses to clear his throat. “Maya and I came up with an idea together. I’m starting a music program in Nashville called the Agape Center. It’s a place where kids can make appointments for voice, piano, guitar, and drumming lessons. All lessons will be free.” The crowd cheers again.
Jesse continues, “I’m gonna work on expanding my program over time, but it’ll always be free of cost. We’ll be advertising for it soon, so keep a look out. Thanks.”
Music begins playing over the loudspeakers. I figured he would perform “Second Chance,” because it seems most appropriate, but of course he had to do “Ain’t No City Boy,” because I applied to Vanderbilt’s music school in Nashville for next year, and Jesse’s staying here with me, and “Ain’t No City Boy” is about making love on a tractor, after all. Not that I’ve agreed to do it on a tractor.
At the end of his song, he waves and walks offstage to massive applause. After the curtains shut, he picks me up and twirls me in a circle. “I love you,” he murmurs.
“I love you too.”
He lowers me to the floor. “Okay, who wants an autograph? I gotta leave soon to get ready for my pool party.”
“Who throws a pool party in February?” I ask.
He points at me. “Don’t forget, clothing is optional.”
• • •
My family takes me to dinner at the Roadhouse to celebrate my talent show performance, but we don’t spend a whole lot of time talking about me, because Sam keeps going on and on and on about wedding plans. Mom loves hearing about them, but he discusses the wedding so often the rest of us want to put on earmuffs. Even Jordan wants him to shut up, and she’s the one with a glittering diamond on her left hand.
“Carter said his restaurant would cater the dinner for us,” Sam says. “And I’ve already got the cake picked out—Jordan said I could be in charge of the cake. It will have three layers: one raspberry, one coffee, and one vanilla. And it will have the Detroit Lions logo on it.”
Jordan hurls a french fry at his head.
“Do you think Jesse would sing at our wedding?” Jordan asks. “He’s so sexy.”
