Taylor Hanson
“Yeah, you know how easily Zac gets motion sick,” Isaac commented jokingly. “And then what would we do? Not perform again?”
“Imagine how upset the big wigs would be,” Zac added.
I sighed. “Okay, point taken,” I said, flopping into a chair and beginning to fidget restlessly.
“Are you okay?” Isaac asked as I began to incessantly tap on the arm of the chair.
“Yeah, I’m just...nervous,” I replied, folding my hands in my lap in order to stop the tapping.
“Aren’t you always?” Zac commented.
“It’s different this time,” I said. “I don’t know why, it just...seems like it’s so much different this time around from the way it was the last time we did this...the right way. Without Parker passing out on the stage.” I couldn’t help but smirk a little bit at this thought, remembering how it really hadn’t been funny at the time. None of it had been funny at the time, particularly since neither of us had any idea of what the hell was going on.
Isaac nodded his agreement.
“Like something’s changed,” Zac said softly.
Again, Isaac nodded and this time I nodded with him. It was a word we had all been struggling to keep from our vocabularies for the past few weeks, but it didn’t seem to be working anymore. We all felt it. We all somehow knew it. Something had changed. Something had changed in us and the audience was bound to notice.
“And then there’s this,” I said, pointing to the long bandage that was peeking out from under the light, long-sleeved shirt I was wearing. “I mean, if they don’t notice the bandage, they’ll still notice the absurdity of a long sleeve shirt on such a hot night under lights that only intensify the heat.”
“Is absurdity a word?”
“They probably won’t notice,” Isaac tried to reassure me, though he didn’t seem too sure himself.
“How could they keep from noticing?” I retorted. “It’s going to be like an oven under those lights. I’m going to have to take this damn thing off some time.” I indicated the undershirt I was wearing. “Either that or pass out and, well, that wouldn’t go over too well.”
“Taylor, just relax, okay? It’s not a big deal that you have a bandage on your arm. If they notice, like if you have to take the long-sleeved shirt off, then they’ll ask questions and we’ll have to make up an excuse or something. It’s not that big a deal. Personally, I’m not even sure why they’re making you cover it up in the first place.”
Probably because I still hadn’t told anyone what had happened to me, not even the people close to me. I still couldn’t find it in me. The courage to just tell them. I had managed to avoid all their questions about it, but I wouldn’t be so lucky when it came to the press and they wanted to know what happened and wanted to know the truth about it. I had been extremely lucky already with Lyle not really hanging around that much while my family stayed with the Lowells. I didn’t expect to be that lucky two times in a row (or, rather, three times in a row since I still had the use of my arm...).
“Yeah, sure,” I said distractedly, knowing that Isaac was waiting for my agreement. He did that sometimes.
The only thing that saved me from pressure for further comment was our father entering the room once again after he had left to go consult one of the stage managers about something. By that time I was expected to be quiet around him and he quiet around me. Everyone had kind of figured out that something had happened between us and decided just to leave us alone to make up with each other ourselves. Though it was obvious they had expected us to apologize to each other for whatever it was we had done a lot sooner. But that was another thing I just couldn’t find in myself. Admitting that he had been right. And she hadn’t come back.
“You guys about ready?” he said.
“Yup,” Zac answered for all of us.
“Good,” he said, nodding. “Nervous?”
“A little,” Isaac admitted.
“A lot,” I added.
“Ah, there’s nothing to be worried about,” he said. “Pretty much everyone is in their seats about now. They seem like a friendly crowd. At least, most of the seats are filled and there aren’t any signs about how a make up concert isn’t going to make it better.”
His comment was meant to be light-hearted and though it went over that way with Isaac and Zac, it didn’t with me. Something in his tone of voice when he said that a make up concert wasn’t going to make it better.
“That’s good,” Isaac said. “That means I can shorten our apology speech by about two paragraphs,” he added jokingly, taking a piece of notebook paper with Parker’s handwriting all over it that had been deemed our “apology speech.” Once he had heard that it would be “appropriate” for us to say something about what had happened, he had jumped at the chance to help write what we should say. He said that it was his partly his fault anyway. It didn’t say much, but it was somewhat amusing since Parker had managed to work in some of his dry humor in there. All I can remember of it, really, is that it began with the words “Once upon a time” and went from there. The only thing it lacked, ironically, was the truth.
“Now, remember we’re going to have to really hurry when this is all over with,” our father added while Isaac and Zac made some last-minute revisions on the speech. “We’ll probably have just enough time to make it to the airport and get on the plane by the time this thing ends, so, you know, don’t dawdle or anything.”
In other words, avoid the fans who snuck backstage as much as possible.
“Yeah, yeah, we know,” Zac said tiredly.
“Just making sure,” he said, holding up his hands defensively.
None of us chose to point out that he had just been making sure all day long. About a thousand times. If we weren’t sure by then, we’d never be sure of anything.
“Five minutes,” a stagehand said, popping in and out of the dressing room like a bolt of lightning with a Darien Lake logo printed on it.
“All right, guys, good luck,” our father said, following us as we filed out of the room to take our places.
Really, I don't mind if my inbox gets too full. :-)
Index
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Five