Addison Blakely: Confessions of A PK (32 page)

“I hate to admit it, but Jessica is the most talented performer of the night—even if she does know it. Without her finale, this show is beyond amateur. Any donations we get will be pity money, and I’ll be embarrassed to report back to the Let Them Read Foundation.” Embarrassed wouldn’t even come close. I’d already shown Debra my shocking level of irresponsibility with deadlines. Handing her fifty dollars in donations would be the arsenic icing on the cupcake of my reputation.

Wes frowned. “If Jessica is so great, why does she even need music?”

“She’s terrified to do it a cappella. Who knows, maybe the queen of divas actually has a weak spot.” I shrugged. “I don’t have time to psychoanalyze the girl. I just need a piano player.” I hesitated. “A
good
piano player.”

“I’m not that good.” He looked away, toward the doors leading to the parking lot.

My heart clenched. I was losing him. This was partly his fault in the first place—if he hadn’t dragged me out to the middle of nowhere for a scandalous picnic, I wouldn’t have forgotten to send the advertising e-mail in the first place. Who did he think he was?

The lid of my temper clanged in warning then shot off the pot before I could catch it. “Okay, Wes! I know you’ve done a lot for me already, and I appreciate it—those stupid trees look amazing. But can’t you put aside your ego for one night and bail me out when it really matters? Do you really think anyone here cares that you can play an instrument?” My voice shook with anger. “Being talented is not being a nerd. I know you’re all about appearances and image, but are you going to be
that
superficial?”

I held his gaze, refusing to look away and make his rejection easier. I hated when women used tears to get their way, but the ones building in my eyes weren’t conjured. They were real.

And that just made me even madder.

“You really don’t understand.” Wes gestured helplessly toward the auditorium. “This isn’t image, PK. I haven’t—”

“Whatever. No is no; I don’t have time for excuses.” I flung the sheet music at him and dodged the hand he reached toward me. “Just forget it.” I took off down the side hall as paper rained around me.

The drumbeat of all things Wes that played a nonstop beat in my head abruptly stopped, cutting off the rhythm of indecision. I’d made the right choice in backing off, even if he wasn’t involved with Sonya. He could break into a school and help me when no one knew, but the minute I needed him in public, all bets were off. I couldn’t trust someone like that. I needed someone I could depend on. Someone without excuses. Someone who loved me enough to do whatever it took. I needed the whole package.

And the leather-wrapped one outside those double doors was obviously not it.

“Jessica, your dress looks great.” I forced a smile as our local diva turned in the backstage room and flashed me a hopeful smile. “Good as new.”

She fiddled with the strap on her gown. “Is it straight?”

No. But there wasn’t time to care. I grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the stairs. “You’re up next, after Claire finishes her fashion presentation.” Thankfully my former best friend’s voice rang out strong and clear as she narrated each of her designs onstage. Still, I couldn’t imagine the pretty ice-blue gown she wore could have possibly been worth starving herself for weeks.

“Who’s going to play for me?” Jessica turned expectant eyes toward me, and behind her Marta raised her eyebrows as if wondering the same.

“Actually, I was doing some thinking.” I patted Jessica’s arm, wishing I were a better actor. My only weapon was that of flattery, and I felt a few rounds short. “You were so great during rehearsals on those afternoons that your friend couldn’t make it that I thought you should just do it a cappella.” I smiled bigger as Jessica’s brows wrinkled into a frown.

“I can’t. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. You’re a rock star. Just like when you auditioned for
American Idol
, remember?” My stomach churned with all the gushing, but I’d officially reached the end of my fraying rope. “If you can sing without music for those judges, you can do it here.” And if she couldn’t, well, at least the student body would have an entire week off school to forget any mishaps. Lucky girl.

“What if I choke?” Jessica pressed one hand to the pearls at her neck, and I honestly didn’t know if she meant literally or figuratively.

“You won’t.” I hoped not anyway. Paramedics and stretchers rushing up the main aisle during the middle of Jessica’s song somehow wasn’t the grand finale I’d pictured. Speaking of choking … I squinted at her. “Are you chewing gum?”

She opened her mouth, revealing a hint of bubblegum pink between her teeth.

I cupped my hand under her lips. She spit it out. I handed the gum to Marta, who winced and twirled a slow circle, searching for a trash can. “Listen to me, Jessica. You can do this. Everyone is counting on you. But no pressure, okay?”

“Isn’t that an oxymoron or something?” She nibbled her lower lip. “Like jumbo shrimp?”

“Forget the shrimp.” I grabbed her shoulders and forced her to focus on me. “Okay, I lied. There’s some pressure here. A lot, actually. But honestly, there is no other choice short of scratching your name from the agenda, and I don’t think either of us wants to do that. Right?”

She nodded, sparkly earrings catching the fluorescent lights above. “I mean, no. We don’t want that.”

I shook her a little. “Good. Now go line up in the wings. They’re about to call your name.” They probably already had, but just like with Tripp, I’d told our volunteer emcee earlier in the evening to stall if needed. Hopefully we still had an audience for Jessica to perform to. The memory of our emcee’s eager knock-knock jokes sent a rush of panic through my gut. “And hurry.”

Jessica wobbled off in her high heels, head high, shoulders back.

Dress strap dangling.

“Wait!” I grabbed the gum Marta still held, ran to Jessica, stuck the bubblegum on her dress, pressed the strap against it, and then shoved her toward the wings.

I turned back to Marta, who was pouring hand sanitizer into her palms. She looked up with a too-bright, innocent smile. “I do not sew well.”

I sank to the floor and covered my face in my hands. “We are so doomed.”

I
should have stayed on the backstage drama room floor in the fetal position, but some carnal instinct for conflict took over and propelled me toward the wings.
Sort of like those worst-accidents videos they sometimes played on TV. You didn’t really want to watch the train smash the car or the stunt biker crash into the lake, but you couldn’t help it.

“She will be fine. She is better than she thinks.” Marta joined me on the side of the stage, her voice hushed.

I shook my head. “No, trust me, she knows how good she is. Just doesn’t seem to realize her voice can be the same with or without music.”

“I will pray.” Marta took her commitment seriously and closed her eyes right there beside me. I felt inclined to join her, but at this point, a flat-out miracle seemed more necessary and just as out of reach.

Jessica took the stage, and the applause from the audience slowly faded as they waited for her to begin. She cast a nervous look toward me, and I gave her a quick thumbs-up sign. I did pray then, begging God not to let her dress fall apart onstage.

She offered a weak smile, shot a glance toward the empty piano that sat to the left of the stage, then turned toward the audience. I winced, wishing I had remembered to tell the prop guys to forget wheeling the piano onstage for the last number. That empty bench would probably just make her more nervous.

Microphone raised, Jessica opened her mouth and shakily sang the first few words of her song.

Flawless piano music joined her for the second line.

I gasped, and Marta squeezed my arm. We both craned our heads, desperate to look around a surprised Jessica to the piano.

Wes sat on the bench, jacket off, fingers flying over the keys. His dark eyes stared without wavering at the sheet music on the stand before him, brow pinched in concentration.

“Wow.” Marta’s soft voice said it all, and I couldn’t even breathe around the lump in my throat. What had convinced Wes to play? The guilt trip I’d packed his suitcase for? His feelings for me? Obligation? …

To her credit, Jessica never missed a beat, despite the sudden change in plans. Confidence high, she engaged the crowd in her up-tempo song, voice effortlessly hitting every note as she performed. She and Wes made a great team, as if they’d been practicing together for months. By the time the song ended perfectly on pitch, the crowd was on their feet, offering a standing ovation. Even the judges had put down their pens and were clapping.

Jessica eagerly dipped into a bow, one hand thankfully protecting her dress strap. She waved and blew a kiss to her adoring fans, and while that once would have made me groan or want to throw up, all I could do was exhale.

Pride, lingering shock, and relief all battled for first in line in my exhausted spirit. I closed my eyes against the fading adrenaline rush, soaking in the moment. It was over. We’d survived. I’d done the best I could. So had Jessica and the other students.

And somehow, so had Wes.

I owed him big-time. I couldn’t help but hope this gesture meant what I thought it did. My eyes flitted open, hoping Wes would be able to see my gratitude from across the stage.

But the bench, once again, sat empty.

“We did it!” Marta squealed and threw her arms around me, dancing sideways and nearly knocking me against the stage wall, where a large group had gathered to celebrate. I laughed and hugged her back before pulling away to accept the yellow roses my dad presented to me.

“Good job, honey. There should have been an award for best director.” He stepped back, one arm around Ms. Hawthorne’s shoulders, and for the first time, it didn’t bother me. Maybe because I was too giddy with relief that this enormous task was behind me. Or maybe it was because Marta had already gotten a quick tally of the funds collected by our carefully chosen doormen, and the number was double what I’d hoped.

Or maybe because for a moment I’d felt I’d actually done something worthwhile.

“Thanks, Dad.” I breathed in the aromatic tang of the roses and buried my face in the soft blooms. He’d never gotten me flowers before. I couldn’t help but think Ms. Hawthorne maybe had something to do with the gesture, but I’d take it all the same.

“Excellent work.” Ms. Hawthorne smiled, and I shot her an appreciative look that she didn’t try to hug me at school in front of all the other kids. Maybe at home—because I was sure Dad had already invited her over.

“We’ll clear out of here…. Just wanted to say we’re proud.” Dad offered an awkward hug, and I patted his arm, wishing he hadn’t addressed himself as “we.” That would take some getting used to, my tentative acceptance of his new dating status or not. “We’ll wait for you in the foyer.”

Ugh. In front of everyone? No thanks. I bit my lower lip. “I’ll walk home.”

Dad frowned. “Nonsense. It’s getting late.”

“Dad, you said yourself, this is Crooked Hollow. Not Chicago.” We hadn’t had a crime since—well, since Wes broke into the school. I snorted. He’d probably love to add that claim to fame on his growing résumé. Speaking of Wes, I needed to find him. I hadn’t seen him anywhere since his sudden disappearance from the stage after Jessica’s song. When the judges had awarded Jessica first place, they’d asked who her accompanist had been, and the entire room seemed shocked when she sheepishly announced she didn’t know.

“I’ll walk her home,” Luke offered, stepping up to my side. He smiled hesitantly at me and extended a single red rose surrounded by tufts of baby’s breath.

My heart clenched at the sight of the bloom, and I hesitantly took it as Dad nodded his agreement with Luke’s offer. “See you at the house, then. We’ll have ice cream.”

Figures Dad turned all mellow-parent on me now. I just nodded, staring at the rose and then at Luke as a hundred different thoughts roared through my head at once. The one I managed to pluck out as the loudest screamed
NOT NOW!

But Luke’s timing had never been convenient. He wrapped me in a hug, and I indulged him for a moment before pulling away under the pretenses of smelling my second flower arrangement of the night.