The thing about walking out of the basement was that Sawyer didn’t actually have a way to get home. Meaning she was standing out in the oppressive Memphis heat with her bag and her violin case, fighting tears and fumbling in her purse for her sunglasses. She saw the tour van in the driveway and lost the battle with the crying, which made finding her sunglasses harder.
“God, really?” She gave up and glanced around wildly, wiping at her eyes and trying not to look like she’d been crying when a car turned down the street. It slowed as it got closer, and Sawyer sniffled and tried to look perfectly normal, standing there crying with a musical instrument, an overstuffed duffel bag, and a purse.
“Take a picture,” she muttered as the car kept slowing, then she realized it wasn’t any car—it was Jeff’s. The car stopped in front of her, and he rolled down the window.
“Hey. You need a ride?”
She did, but she didn’t know if she could take talking about what had happened. Still, if she was going to be a professional about this, then she was technically still in the band for one last show. “Home. Yeah, if you don’t mind.”
Jeff popped the trunk without a word, and Sawyer put her bag and violin case in and snapped the door shut. She climbed in the blissful air conditioning of Jeff’s Hyundai and slouched in the seat. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.” Jeff turned the car around. “But can you tell me where you live, at least?”
She gave him a half smile and her address, and he set off for her house. They were two minutes into a silent drive when Sawyer said, “I wish she would have told me she didn’t want me in the band before she asked everyone else.”
“I thought we weren’t talking about it,” said Jeff.
“We’re not.” She peeked over at him. “Was it bad? When you two broke up, I mean.”
He sighed. “Yeah, I mean . . . it did almost end the band. Not so much the breakup, though. The part before, where we weren’t getting along and were pissed off and sniping at each other constantly.”
Sawyer wondered how to point out that they all did that with each other, but it made her heart hurt. “Um.”
“And I know,” he said with a wry smile. “Yes, we do that now. But it wasn’t . . . it wasn’t good-natured. It was tense all the time, and it affected a lot of shit. I think we were worried that breaking up meant the end of the band, but really, it’s the only thing that saved it.”
Sawyer sniffled again.
“There are some napkins in the glove compartment,” Jeff offered.
Sawyer yanked it open and pulled out a stack of napkins. “I feel like she’s not giving us a chance.”
“Look, Sawyer, I don’t know what to say. This band is Vix’s life. It’s all she’s ever wanted and it’s everything to her. And I think the idea of something going wrong, again, with a bandmate . . . I think she can’t think past what happened before.”
She nodded, wiping at her eyes with the abrasive cotton. “All I wanted was for her to tell me that, you know? Up front. Not . . . try and make it sound like someone didn’t want me.”
“I think she’s afraid,” Jeff said, simply. “She sings to an audience every night, but it’s easier when you don’t know who you’re talking to. When they don’t matter.”
He cursed at a car that cut them off and swerved to avoid a collision. Sawyer gripped the side of the door handle, relieved she wasn’t ending the worst day of her life with a car accident. Someone would probably rear end them and destroy her violin.
Sawyer thought about what Jeff said, but said nothing. Jeff didn’t seem entirely comfortable with the conversation, and that made sense to her. They were quiet until he pulled up to her house, and he surprised her by getting out of the car and going around to get her stuff out of the trunk.
“I always knew you were a gentleman,” she said with a watery smile.
He deposited her stuff next to her feet and drew her into a surprisingly tight hug. “I’m glad we get to play one more show with you. And for what it’s worth, I think it’s badass you’re going to follow your heart and play the music you want to play.”
“Thanks,” Sawyer choked out, and hugged him back. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the show. Thanks for the ride.”
Jeff saluted her and got back in his car, and Sawyer went in to talk to her parents. Just because Sawyer wasn’t going to be a member of Victoria Vincent wasn’t changing her mind about her plans.
When Sawyer had gotten the call from the admissions staff member at Juilliard telling her that not only had she been accepted, she’d received a substantial scholarship, she’d been finishing up a history paper in her room. The words had barely been out of the woman’s mouth before Sawyer’d been flying down the stairs so fast she was surprised she hadn’t tripped and broken her neck, heading for the living room where her parents had been watching television after dinner.
The conversation after that phone call was a lot different than the one they were having now. About the only thing that was the same was the location.
Sawyer sat perched on the edge of the ottoman, knees pressed together and ankles crossed like she was at a sorority rush party, fingers laced tightly together. Her parents sat across from her on the couch, staring at her like she’d lost her goddamned mind.
“Sawyer,” her father said carefully. “We’re . . . I think your mother and I understand, no, I know we understand that you don’t want to return to Juilliard.”
Her mother nodded emphatically. “Absolutely.”
“And we—we’re fully supportive of you transferring, of course, but honey . . . you can’t be serious about dropping out of college altogether. It’s out of the question.”
Sawyer had always been a fairly obedient child, and yet the urge to say, You can’t tell me what to do! was nearly overpowering. Maybe because she’d never gotten to say that as an actual teenager. She took a deep breath. “It’s my decision, Dad.”
“Sawyer,” her mother said, again, as if repeating Sawyer’s name would turn her back into the child they thought they had. “You— Honey, you have one year left.”
“I have one year left in Juilliard’s violin performance program,” she said. “It’s not what I want to do. Even transferring with my general education requirements will put me back a few years.”
“We understand that,” her father said, though she doubted either of them did. She barely understood it herself—the Juilliard website didn’t really make it easy to figure out transferring. As if they couldn’t believe anyone who’d gotten in would want to. “And that’s fine. We know this is going to take some time to think through, sweetie. If you want to stay home and get some of your credits you’ll need for a different degree, you can do that. What you absolutely can’t do is give up your entire education and . . . join a band.”
Her father put his face in his hands. “I can’t believe I just said that to my daughter. I always thought that was something your aunt Bev would have to say to your cousin Rachel.”
To Sawyer’s surprise, her mom made a little noise like a laugh.
“I’m going to find a job as a professional musician,” Sawyer said. “That’s not the same. I’ll be working, recording and playing music, and performing.”
She concentrated on her parents’ faces, determined not to cry in front of them. She couldn’t do that, not if she wanted them to understand that this part, at least, she was sure about. Her failed relationship—yeah, not the time.
Her mother exchanged a glance with her father. “This is a serious decision about your future, Sawyer. You’re not asking to borrow the car for the weekend.”
“Which you’re not, if you’re going to run off in it to play music in bars,” her father muttered.
“Look,” Sawyer attempted. “It’s not like this is something I can’t ever go back to—my education, I mean.”
“Did you like living in a van that much?”
Sawyer felt a surge of annoyance at her father, but what had she expected? They were practical people. This was the most impractical thing she had ever done in her whole life. Except it wasn’t, and she wished they could see that.
“I auditioned for Juilliard because I love playing music. I spent three years being miserable, and now—now I’m not. I’m finally happy playing music, and that’s all I want to do.” Sawyer realized she was starting to sound like a tenth grader and made herself stand up. She exhaled. “I’m not saying it’s forever, I’m saying I want to take this chance and see what happens.”
Before they could say anything, she continued. “And I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I wanted to go to Juilliard too. And that I spent three years being miserable and trapped. That’s true, absolutely. I know that. And I’m not going to lie and say that I might not hate this too, because that’s what got me into trouble the last time. I want to try and see what happens. Good or bad.”
“Sweetheart,” her mother started.
Sawyer looked her mother in the eyes. “I had to run away to learn how to walk away, Mom. Can’t you trust me that I’ve learned my lesson?”
There was silence in the room, the only sound the ticking of the grandfather clock in the entranceway.
“Wow,” her dad said. “How long did it take you to come up with that one?”
Hanging out all summer with a girl who wrote music would do that to you. Sawyer didn’t want to think about Vix, though. “I meant . . . I learned a lot about myself. About what I wanted. I was—I was too afraid at Juilliard to admit that it wasn’t it. And maybe this won’t be it! Maybe I’ll make a huge mistake and I’ll have to live with that. But isn’t that what life is all about?”
“In coming-of-age movies, maybe,” said her dad. “Not real life.”
“I have practiced for years to become a musician,” Sawyer said, chin raised. “I’m done practicing. I’m ready to play.”
“Put you in, Coach?” An echo of a smile traced her father’s mouth. “We can’t talk you out of this, can we?”
“No.” Sawyer shook her head. “You can’t. And if this turns out to be a mistake, I’ll stand in this room and admit to it. I won’t let myself be miserable or unhappy. But that means . . . I have to try and be happy, even if it’s not how you’d want.”
Her parents looked at each other, then back at her. “We think this is a mistake, Sawyer. At the very least, you should consider some online options for school.”
“I will. I’m not putting college off forever, just for now.” She smiled at her dad fondly. “Like Uncle Tupelo says.”
“This is my fault for having good music taste,” her father groused. “I should have let you listen to Nickelback.”
Sawyer shuddered. “Never. And I want you to know that . . . I want you to support me—not monetarily, I know that isn’t going to happen and honestly, I don’t want you to. I hate the fact that you might be disappointed in me, I really do. But I’m doing this anyway.”
“Well, then I suppose there’s nothing we can say.” Her father rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “How about this. You look into some online classes at the very least for getting a business degree, or something that will help you manage your own career. I don’t want you to end up like those girls who have a manager that runs off with all their money.”
“I’m not a teenage pop star,” Sawyer said.
Her father’s stubborn expression didn’t ease. “Suggesting you get a college education in which you learn something practical to help your career doesn’t sound like I’m being a monster who’s trying to crush your dreams, does it?”
Sawyer had to admit that, no, it didn’t. She gave a brief nod. That wasn’t a bad idea, actually. “I think I can do that. Based on my performance schedule, of course, and if I’ll be on tour and when.”
“Your band doesn’t have this tour stuff all settled in advance?” her father asked, frowning. “Do they have a manager? Because maybe they need one.”
“I’m not . . . um. Staying with this band.”
Her parents stared at her. “Wait,” her mother said, slowly. “You’re not staying with the band you’ve been playing with all summer?”
“Not after this show, no.”
“Sawyer, if you’re so determined to play music because of this experience with this particular band, then why would you want to join another one?” He sounded dubious, and Sawyer knew why. He was thinking about how she was unhappy at Juilliard, and how this was one more instance of her not being happy playing music.
“Because they—they didn’t want me.” She tried to say it calmly, professionally, as if it were only a job and she would be able to find another. She should tell them about the contacts she’d made, the in she now had to the industry.
Instead, she burst into tears so hard her shoulders started shaking.
“Sawyer!” Her mother hurried over and put an arm around her. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
“There’s— I sort of . . . fell in love and got my heart broken,” Sawyer said. It came out garbled but she didn’t care. “And so I have to—I have to . . . find a different band.”
“Who broke your heart, sweetie?” her mother asked, rubbing at her back with a gentle hand.
“Vix,” she said, and then went still. Sawyer wiped at her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. “Um. So, something else I should probably tell you. I’m a lesbian.”
Her mom patted her back, and Sawyer peeked over her shoulder at her mom. Then at her father. They were silent, but they didn’t look upset, or . . . all that surprised. “You knew?”
“Well, we did watch those YouTube videos of your performances,” her mother said. “And I might have suspected, before.”
Sawyer glanced at her dad. “You’re not mad, or disappointed, or . . .?”
“I’m upset someone hurt you,” her dad said, gruffly. “But never about that, Sawyer. No.”
Sawyer leaned into her mother’s gentle touch on her back. “I’m sorry if I’m not . . . you know. Doing what you want.”
“What we want is for you to be happy.” Her mother smoothed Sawyer’s hair back from her face. “I think we still have some valid concerns about how you’re going to make this work, but one thing I know for sure is the girl I saw playing the violin on those videos was happier than I’ve ever seen her. And that’s what we want for you.”
“I’d prefer it if you weren’t living in a van, though,” her father said, and Sawyer gave a little hiccup of a laugh.
Drained, Sawyer knew she had to have some time to recharge before playing tomorrow night. The thought that it was the last show she’d ever play with Victoria Vincent—not only Vix, but Connor, Kit, and Jeff too—made her stomach hurt. She excused herself so they could worry over her future in private, then went upstairs to her room. Sawyer remembered standing in this spot earlier in the summer, suffused with excitement and nerves over the upcoming tour.
Now she was standing here, heartsick and dreading the end of it.