Travis Starnes
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Fanfare (Country Roads #2) - Chapter 40
🕑 Added 2022-01-10 14:20:45 +0000 UTCThe next morning I was feeling every hit I took at the competition. As much as I wanted to make Chef proud, trying to roll out of bed without touching any of the parts that hurt made me definitely sure it wasn’t worth it to go again. The whole point of learning from Chef to defend myself had been to keep from getting hurt like I had at the beginning of the year.
I made my way to the bathroom and was a little horrified at what I saw in the mirror. I hadn’t taken any serious shots to my face, so it was okay, but my body had a whole series of deep purple bruises. It looked like I’d been in a car wreck. I poked at a few of them and winced. This was going to be inconvenient. We had an extra-long practice that afternoon to get the set we would play for the music scout completely ironed out. Now, every time I moved my arm, I felt a jolt of pain go up my shoulder and down my side. It was going to be hell to play guitar.
Luckily, we were still a week out from the audition, so it should be mostly healed up by then. It was just going to make practice a special kind of hell for a while. And by a while, I meant all week. Since I’d finished with the competition and Chef knew what this meant for us, he’d put off any training for the rest of the week and talked some of the guys in Willie’s band into putting up Seth and Marco for the week, so we could practice every day. Lyla, ever the schemer, had convinced Hanna to let her stay with them.
I wasn’t sure she had thought this through. Hanna’s mom being pissed about Hanna changing her major to work with us might not go well with one of those band members staying with them. I’d suggested that she just say she was a friend, and not that she was in the band, but Lyla had very poor impulse control and tended to run off at the mouth sometimes, so the odds of that working were pretty slim.
Still, the setup would let us practice every day and really get ready, so it was worth it. Or at least it had been until I’d made myself a walking punching bag.
I got dressed and double-checked that none of the bruises were showing. I knew Mom would freak if she saw them and I didn’t want to send her after Chef for getting her kid hurt, so it was best she just never knew how badly I was bruised up. It had started to warm up a bit, so the long sleeve shirt I’d have to wear until they started to heal would be noticeable, but I was planning on playing the teenager card. Parents expected us to go through weird fashion phases, so this could be one of mine, for a bit.
“Mrs. Phillips asked if you’d go over there and have breakfast with them,” she said when I came out of the back of the trailer towards the kitchen.
“Really? Why?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing. I noticed you’ve been here a lot earlier every night this week, instead of going over there after your practices. Is everything between you and Hanna alright?”
“Yes, but she’s mad at Hanna about something, and I got caught in the middle of it.”
“You and she didn’t …” she started to say and then paused.
It wasn’t hard to work out what she would have said next.
“God. No. We aren’t like that. Hanna changed her major to things she might want to do in ‘talent management,’ and Mrs. Phillips thinks she’s making a mistake. She wanted me to stay away while she tried to convince Hanna to go back to some kind of regular business management degree program instead.”
“You didn’t try to talk her into it, did you?”
“No. I actually tried to talk her out of it. I know how bad my chances are of ever making it in the business after watching Dad. Hell, I’ve already decided that, even if I do something with music, I’ll have a plan that doesn’t rely on my making it. I don’t want to also have her future career choice rely on me. That’s too much pressure.”
“But she decided to switch her major anyway?”
“She said she found the whole business end of it interesting, and that she wasn’t putting all her hopes on us making it big. If we did, she’d love to work with us, but she’s going to go in looking to end up working at one of the big talent agencies. Her mom isn’t convinced and thinks that’s just an excuse.”
“I see. Well, hopefully, you’ll figure it out. I am glad to hear you’ve given some thought about what you want to go to college for.”
“I do listen to you sometimes, and a promise is a promise. Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to take my shot, but since I already promised you I’d go to college, I figure I could get a degree in music theory, or education or something. It gives me band or choir director as a fallback and still lets me do something music-related that could be a steady career. I won’t get rich, but I’ll enjoy it at least.”
“Good. You know that I’m always rooting for you to achieve your dreams. I just want you to be smart about it. I don’t want to see you having to travel from dive bar to dive bar to make enough to stay barely fed.”
“Trust me, I don’t want that either. Okay, I better head over and see what Mrs. Phillips wants. We have practice in a few hours.”
Mom hopped up and gave me a big hug on the way out, and it was all I could do to keep from screaming. I ended up biting my lip so hard I could taste blood.
“Everything okay?” she asked, probably seeing the expression I couldn’t suppress on my face.
“Uh-huh,” I mumbled, grabbing my guitar, and hurrying out the door.
The first thing I noticed when I made my way across the creek and up to Hanna’s house was that her car was missing from its normal spot. It seemed unlikely that she’d suddenly start parking it in the garage, and added another question as to what exactly was going on.
Mrs. Phillips must have been waiting on me, because she opened the door as soon as I knocked.
“Charlie, come on in,” she said, giving a small wave to follow her.
“Where’s Hanna?” I asked, mostly making small talk as I followed her into their kitchen.
“I sent her and Kat out to get lunch. I wanted to speak with you alone.”
“Okay,” I said, nervously.
“Before we talk, I’d like for you to read this,” she said, handing Charlie what looked like an essay.
“What is it?”
“It’s Hanna’s admissions essay. She sent in her allocation late last year, mostly because I pressured her, and I didn’t have time to look at it then because she was doing it so ‘last moment.’ She left a copy of it on the table when she left for school on Friday, and I’ve kind of been digesting it ever since. I wanted you to read it before we talked.”
“Okay,” I said, sitting down at the table across from her and starting to read.
One of the prompts we were told to write our essay about was why I wanted to go to UNC. My answer is probably going to be surprising, since I didn’t. At least not at first.
When I started to apply to colleges, I was just doing it to get away. I wanted to find a place where no one knew me and no one knew about what had happened to me. When I was a sophomore, I was the victim of a sexual assault. I know, it’s also not something that people usually write about in their college essay, but please bear with me, I promise it applies.
I blamed myself for what happened, and I blamed everyone else for it. It was a really bad time in my life. And then I met a guy. Not in a ‘and we fell in love’ kind of way, but in the ‘he saved my life’ kind of way. He’s my best friend and closer than any brother I could ever imagine, and I love him with all my heart. He helped bring me back out of the place I’d been in and showed me I could be me again.
Now to the part of how this applies to going to UNC. He’s a musician and I think he’s going to be big one day. I’ve heard him talk about his father, who was also a musician, and all the problems he had with the music business, and I’m worried my friend will have the same problems. He’s a great musician, but he’s too kind-hearted for his own good. He always tries to see the best in people and assumes they will do what they promise to do. He needs someone to look after the business side of things, and that’s where I fit in. I want to learn business, so I can help run his and make sure he’s as successful as he can be.
What that means for me, as a prospective student is that I have both an end goal and a powerful motive to see me through. Not unlike students who go into finance because they want to work at the biggest bank in the world or students in engineering whose entire goal is to work at NASA, I will succeed because I know what I want to do, and I can’t imagine not succeeding. I’m going to get a degree in business management at UNC or somewhere else, and I am going to play my part in making sure my friend, and maybe others, succeed along the way.
So why do I want to go to UNC? Because I think they are the best option I have at reaching my goals. UNC has a great business program and some of the best people in the industry are among its graduates. When I graduate and find my place at the top of my field, UNC will be proud to have me as one of their alumni.
I wasn’t an expert on what was or wasn’t a good college essay, since I hadn’t had to learn how to write a good one yet, but this didn’t seem like it. I guess in general terms it was, since they’d want to know why you’d want to do whatever career you’d be studying for. This just seemed both more personal and less professional than I’d imagined a college admissions person would want.
She’d gotten accepted with it, though, so what did I know? I did wonder why Mrs. Phillips had wanted me to read it, though. It basically showed everything she’d said about not wanting to do this specifically because of me was a lie. She’d laid out, pretty clearly, that I was the reason she’d wanted to go into business. True, this was written before she learned about the talent management program, but I’m not sure that really mattered.
I braced myself for Mrs. Philips to yell at me and was surprised when she reached across the table after I set down the essay and held my hands.
“First, I want to apologize for how abruptly I threw you out of here the other day and for keeping the girls from socializing with you. Both of them have made it clear multiple times that you at no time pressured her into any kind of decision and even argued against her decision several times. I was upset at the choices she was making and took it out on you instead of the person I was actually upset with. For that, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I understand why you’re worried and I can’t blame you for targeting me, especially since this proves you were right,” I said, gesturing at the essay. “Even if I didn’t push it.”
“No, it’s not okay. You didn’t do anything to deserve it. As for the essay; I know you’ve heard us mention it, but I don’t think you realize how bad of a place Hanna was in last year. I was really worried she might end up hurting herself there for a while. She’d started getting better over the summer, and Sam being here had been a big help. Hanna’s always been crazy about him ever since he was born, which is why he stayed with us until basically the last possible day before he had to head home. Even then, she was a lot … meaner than the Hanna I used to know. Then she met you and after even a couple of days, everything seemed to change. She’s smiling again. She’s excited about college. Heck, she even started dating again, which I wasn’t sure would even be possible. You’ve been a great friend to this family and I’m ashamed I repaid that by throwing you out. So please accept my apology.”
“Okay, I accept it.”
“She has also told me that she isn’t putting all of her options on you. She’s actually done a lot of research into this and she’s been corresponding with some professor you kids met when you visited the school. She gave me a really impressive presentation on the career options this degree path had and the things she’d be looking at. She did explain that, while she thinks knowing you will give her a potential leg up in her career, she is positive she can make it even if you decide to have nothing to do with the business.”
“I think she can. When we went to the festival, she was all over it. She’s smart, clever and from what I’ve seen, has a good head on her shoulders when it comes to business stuff. I might have been young when we were traveling, but the last few years - before Dad went away - I saw both good and bad managers come through the green rooms. I was paying attention, because I didn’t have much else to do. I’d also hear their bands talk about them when they weren’t in the room, because people don’t seem to notice a kid, so I have some idea of what it takes to be good in the industry.”
“I think you’re right,” Mrs. Philips said. “It’s really hard, as a parent, to think you’ve made a mistake with your child; and it’s even harder to admit that you were wrong and they were right. I’ve already told Hanna this, but considering how you were caught up in it, and the way you were treated, I thought you had the right to know. I was wrong. I should be supporting Hanna having a goal, and I didn’t do that. I am going to support her decision to change her major and I won’t stand in her way of working with you guys as long as everyone involved agrees, and as long as it doesn’t affect her studies.”
“Agreed. I would hate to be the reason she doesn’t do great in school.”
“Good. I’m glad we agree. You are officially out of the dog house and are allowed here any time you want. More than that, I want you to think of yourself as a part of the family.”
“Thanks. You’ve been really great to me; and from my point of view, you and Hanna have done more for me than I’ve ever done for you. If she hadn’t taken me to get a job with Chef, I wouldn’t have met Willie, and without Willie, I’d still be just a kid who liked to play guitar from time to time.”
“Well, let’s just agree that we all appreciate one another. Now, I know you have a long practice today for your audition or performance or whatever, so I won’t keep you. I just wanted to make sure I cleared the air between us.”
“Consider it cleared,” I said, standing up.
Thankfully, she didn’t pull me into a hug. She and Mom didn’t talk often, I didn’t think, but it wasn’t out of the question that she’d call Mom if she found out how bad I was bruised.
I walked out the front door and was turning to go back across the creek when Hanna came pulling back up. I veered away and towards her car, leaning over and putting my arms on Kat’s rolled-down window.
“I hear you love me,” I said, grinning.
“What?”
“Your mom had me read your college essay, and you told the school admission people you loved me.”
“Shut up,” she said, rolling her eyes and getting out of the car.
I stood up and took a step back, letting Kat out.
“No, really. It was very sweet. I’m touched.”
“I’m going to touch you with my fist in a second,” she said, shaking it at me.
“Okay. I’ll drop it. But I still know you love me.”
“Idiot,” she said, walking towards the house, ignoring me.
I gave Kat a grin and jogged back to my car, feeling like a million bucks.
Considering how much was left to do, the week practically flew by. This was the last week before finals, and I had the extra test I needed to do for Mrs. Seidel to show her I could get on level with everyone else next year.
Kat was back and tutoring me, and because she no longer had the early curfew and we lived so close, I was there every night after practice until very late. Between studying with Kat and the end of the school day I had baseball practice and band practice.
We had regional on Sunday, and the coaches had put practice into overdrive. We were playing a much harder team than anyone we’d played before, but Coach Cooper had scouted their district win and thought we had a real shot. They had solid but not unbeatable pitchers and their batting lineup didn’t have the power ours had, so we wouldn’t have the same problem we’d had in the last game. The big challenge from them was their fielding. They’d turned three double plays in their last game and Coach Cooper said their fielding was incredibly tight. The team they’d been playing against was known for stealing bases, and they’d been tagged out on every attempt. He said we couldn’t count on them making any mistakes in the field, and we could guarantee they’d exploit any mistakes we’d make.
The coaches spent the next week making sure we didn’t give them anything to work with.
After baseball practice, I went straight to band practice, which was just as much in high gear. Willie and Mr. French were there every day, mostly listening but occasionally offering comments, and Rowan even showed up once, which sent Marco into a tizzy. Of the four of us, Marco was the one who tracked the music industry the most, and he knew exactly who Rowan was. Thankfully, he was cooler around him than Hanna had been around Linda Chapman, but it was still pretty obvious how star-struck he was.
By Tuesday, we locked in the last of the changes we were going to make and started practicing like our lives depended on it. We wanted everything to be as tight and polished as it could be. It wouldn’t be up to the standards of major bands, but Rowan said for a new band getting their first look from a scout, we were in really good shape. The biggest thing we had to worry about was nerves.
We’d all played shows before, and the festival had been a good chance to step things up a notch. We’d done well at it and hadn’t let the bigger crowds and higher stakes get to us, but that also wasn’t the same as knowing a record label scout was in the audience. There was no real way to test for that, since it wasn’t the kind of experience you could duplicate, but I felt pretty comfortable we could manage it.
Ever since Hanna’s mom had taken them off lockdown and let us hang out again, the two of them had been at both of my practices supporting me, although Kat spent a lot of time at both studying, since she was in all advanced classes and her finals would be harder than ours. Hanna had serious senioritis and she’d run the numbers. As long as she didn’t bomb on any of her tests, she was going to pass all of her classes and graduate with a solid B average, which was good enough for her. She’d already been accepted into UNC, so barring some major disaster, she was fine, and she knew it. Which meant she wasn’t taking any of her finals too seriously.
The only exception to this schedule was Friday. Kat had her appointment with Dr. Rothstein on Fridays, and since my schedule was too packed to go with her for moral support, Hanna was going to go instead. They’d be done by the time band practice started, and both were planning on meeting me there, but it meant I was on my own after baseball.
I was in a hurry, but we’d pulled out extra equipment and Coach Cooper asked if I would stay behind and help clean up. Coach Dean had something to do, so he’d had to take off right after practice. David had family coming into town to see the game on Sunday, and he’d promised his mom he’d be there to see them when they got in.
That meant that I was more or less on my own getting all of the equipment in. I was in a hurry, but Coach Cooper had always been a real stand-up guy to me, and he was getting a little too old to be dragging bags of equipment back himself.
I was a little annoyed that none of the other guys stayed to help me, especially since I really needed to get going if I was going to make band practice, but I wasn’t going to leave him out there all by himself.
I was rushing out the door, my backpack and the duffle bag I carried all my clothes and baseball stuff held, one over each shoulder. Normally I strapped them together to keep one arm free for opening doors and stuff, but I was in a hurry and just grabbed them. I felt bad for the rest of the band which was going to have to smell me all through practice, since the only thing I changed out of was my cleats, but this was one of our last practices and I didn’t want to push it off anymore.
I pushed through the locker room doors that lead out towards the football and baseball fields into the parking lot and was so focused on getting to my car, that I didn’t notice how much danger I was in until it was too late. Standing on either side of the locker room exit were guys in pullover ski masks, the kind with just the eye hole, and dark clothing. Weirdly, the only reason I saw them at all, since I hadn’t been paying attention and they were in my peripheral vision, was because of the dark clothing.
Had it been twenty minutes later and a week earlier, before daylight savings time, it would have been dark already and they would have been hard to spot, but it was still an hour and a half before the sun went down and they stood out pretty badly.
That was my first clue as to who they were, aside from the fact that they held baseball bats and were already moving at me threateningly. Only Harry and his friends would have been so dumb as to screw up how dark it would be when practice finished.
I whirled around to face them, but my arms were wrapped up in the straps of my two bags and they had been practically on top of me as soon as I saw them. I’d practiced how to deal with this exact situation with Chef, and had I not had my arms full, I was sure I could have dealt with these two idiots. Somehow, despite all their stupidity, they’d managed to catch me on the one day that I’d set myself up to be unprepared. It was bad luck on my part, but that was enough.
I still tried, turning and trying to block the first shot from the left with the meat of my upper arm, where I could absorb enough impact, but my backpack was pulling down on my arm and it hit just above the elbow. I was close enough that it didn’t feel like the hit broke bone but it hurt like hell. The real killer was on my other side. He’d swung for my head, intending to do real damage, but my move in towards the guy on my left side had made him miss. He’d tried to correct his swing downward, and succeeded in hitting me square on the shoulder, causing the arm to go sort of numb and still hurt like hell all at once, causing me to drop my duffle bag at my feet.
I let out a scream of pain as the guy on the left, instead of winding up for another swing, grabbed the fat end of the bat with his free and used it to try and smash me across the chest. My arm was in the way and he still hadn’t stepped back, which made it a weak attempt, but luck remained on their side. I was partially off-balance and stepped back to try and recover, although I couldn’t drop my backpack because he was pinning my arm back with the bat. Unfortunately, the step back was right onto my duffle bag, and the shoe inside. My ankle rolled slightly as I stepped on the edge of the cleat, sending me tumbling backward.
On my back, with two guys holding bats above me, my ankle screaming in pain from where it had just gone almost sideways as I’d put weight on it, I didn’t have any options but to pull my arm up and cover my head as best I could. Thankfully, that pulled my backpack half on top of me, which meant my school books took a lot of the shots that would have gone straight into my ribs.
It wasn’t enough, though. Several shots landed solidly in my ribs, on my hip, and on my arms. Both guys paused at the sound of shouts in the distance. I half looked up and started to yell for help when the guy who’d been on my right teed up like it was a golf club and swung hard. I dropped my head flat against the pavement as fast as I could, successfully dodging most of the shot, although I felt the end of the bat connect with just the end of my nose.
I could feel a hot, wet sensation as my nose exploded in a gusher of blood, followed by a bolt of pain. It only lasted a second, however, since stupidly, in my haste to keep from getting my skull cracked open by the baseball bat, I bounced my head off the concrete sidewalk incredibly hard. I’m not sure if it was the pain in the back of my head and my face all at once or bouncing my skull off the ground, but it was like someone threw a light switch.
Everything just went black.
Comments
Idaho Spud56
yeah, what he said.
Travis Starnes
I think, if you stick with it, you'll find not everything is as bad as it seems. I think, for a characters success to count, they have to struggle to reach it. Things are always darkest before the dawn, and all that.
Idaho Spud56
What's the link to your channel so I can see how good your stories are?
Gary R. Hovatter
I've mentioned before that I don't like these public forums for commenting, but as I have never found a one-to-one communication method on Patreon, I've decided just to lay this out there. I think I've made my admiration for your ongoing body of work clear. I think my previous comments about this particular story make it clear that -- with some previously stated reservations -- you have really sucked me into Charlie's world and I'm invested emotionally. I don't think writing or writers that accomplish that can do much better. So all that said, I think this chapter is the most disappointing thing of yours I've ever read, but probably not for the reasons you may suspect. In fact, it surprised me when it suddenly gelled for me: The reason I think I actually loathe this chapter is because it snapped into stark focus the fact that, in the world you have created, there is NO ONE who unequivocally has Charlie's back, NO ONE he can count on without reservation, NO ONE that, when the chips are down and he's all alone with the pain and the uncertainty and the fear, that he KNOWS with absolute certainty he can turn to for support . In fact, is there anybody in his life that doesn't take him for granted? Before this chapter I might have almost put Chef in that category, but not now. Charlie's coach, the man who gained his trust and used that trust, in part, to pressure him to compete, the man who KNOWS the physical toll such competition can take (Charlie certainly doesn't know what to expect . . . it's his first competition), a man who knows that Charlie could have been injured seriously enough to jeopardize the single most important event in Charlie's musical hopes -- playing for the music scout --, the man who should be there afterwards to help Charlie assess his physical condition (Coach wouldn't know how badly bruised and strained Charlie was going to be?), and yet . . . nothing. No advice to him about soaking, or hot/cold compresses, or over-the-counter pain relief, or massages/stretches . . . I mean, WTF? My son's T-Ball coach took better care of his kids when he passed out a sheet telling parents what to watch for and things to do if they were feeling the strain. So coach just lets him drift and, clearly, Charlie is hurt enough to where he is worried about being able to play the audition. Who's got his back? Of all the folks in his life, Hannah seems to be the closest thing to the confidant he needs, but he knows the stresses she is dealing with, so he can't burden her. His mother clearly loves him, but she really doesn't like his musical aspirations and he doesn't feel he can trust her with his fears or injuries. Kat would probably do anything she could, but she is too fragile, to many of her own demons to battle to be reliable. The music teacher is good, but the scope of his investment in Charlie is very narrow. None of his teachers other than the music teacher have proven reliable. His bandmates are in this for what Charlie can do for them, and their relationship is till too new to carry this kind of load. His coaches are a mixed bag, one seems clearly an aider and abettor for the brutal bullies in the school. Law enforcement, the county prosecutor, local government have been consistent only in their corruption. But, until this chapter, I thought it was starting to level out for Charlie: In school, in baseball, and with the impending audition, he was starting to stack some successes, some wins. And so we get to the attempted first degree murder. I don't know how you intend to characterize it, but from your other work I know you have to know you have described a premeditated act of attempted murder -- the masks, the weapons, the unrestrained blows (the broken nose was the result of a blow aimed at his head that, if it had connected squarely, could easily have killed him), and the planning. Ah, the planning. And how did the attackers know the would have this brief period when they would have Charlie all to themselves. Granted, his being encumbered by the equipment bags was a gift, but to bring the masks, the bats and themselves to that place and time was not a target-of-opportunity, they had a pretty good idea he would be alone at that time and place. How did they know that? Of course, if his coaches and teammates hadn't simply taken Charlie for granted -- equipment to gather, hell, Charlie will take care of it, I've got more important things to do than help one of my players, to help a teammate. And finally -- with closing in on 100 chapters in the two books to date -- the world you've created has consistently let Charlie down at his most challenging moments. Now, you have delivered us an attempted murder (and, by inference a long list of acts of brutal bullying and sexual abuse/rape that has gone unpunished) that will be dealt with by a school administration, county prosecutor (whose son was almost certainly one of the attempted murderers), law enforcement agency, and local government that has repeatedly proven corrupt and aggressively dismissive of Charlie's situation. There is no one he can turn to for help -- everyone in his life is too weak (hell, you even had Chef back away in an earlier chapter over his fear that those abusing Charlie might cause his business trouble), or, when it comes down to the wire, too ineffectual, to really offer Charlie anything but moral support. Charlie and his mother's poverty preclude them buying justice or medical care, the audition is toast, his hopes and dreams are just so much dust in the wind. . . hell, will his injuries will he ever be able to play music again. If I wanted a litany of the powerless abused by the powerful, of crushed hope, I'd have dug out my Dostoyevsky. I don't get this, I can't make it make sense. I am obviously passionate about this, but, per usual, I still neither request nor expect a reply. I'm just baffled.
Idaho Spud56
Yeowza, what a chapter. Fergit them other stories, don't leave us hanging! :)
Jim Coburn
Great chapter.
