Every Little Piece of Me Page 8
“No!” yelled Mags, her extremities going numb, her vision starting to blur, voices fading in and out—that old feeling she thought she’d contained, the fire in the depths of her. “You do not do this to me, Sam.”
“Do what?!” Sam yelled back. “What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing! There is nothing wrong with me!”
“Okay, okay.” Sam’s face changed suddenly, softening. He reached out an arm for her, pulling her into him, into the spot where she fit, her body rigid under his arm.
“There is nothing wrong with me,” she said again, softer.
“I know.” Sam laced his fingers through her hair. “Christ,” he said, bringing his other hand up to his nose. “Great, now I’m bleeding.”
“Oh my god,” said Becca, her eyes glued to Sam’s bloody nose, her face draining of colour. She doubled over and vomited on the ground.
“Dammit,” said Sam.
“Oh, awesome,” said Mags, shaking her head. But the tension was draining out of her, the fire fizzling out, the universe back on course.
“It’s okay,” said Becca, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, raising her head, her face blotchy, ruined. Then she vomited again, half-chewed Junior Mints spraying across the sidewalk. On the other side of the street, a group of kids started cheering. Becca hiccupped. Then she started to cry.
I hate to be right about these things, Mags thought. But really, she didn’t.
* * *
—
When they got to the bar, Paul and Zac were already there. They tried to clean Becca up as best they could, talking Mags into taking her into the washroom to try to fix her makeup.
“We can reapply it, but I’m not sure it’s going to help,” she said to Becca as she sat on the edge of the counter, tears streaming down her face.
“You hate me,” she wailed. “Why do you hate me?”
Mags sighed. “I don’t hate you, Becca. I just don’t know you.”
Becca wiped at her face, but it only made it worse, eyeliner smudging out to her hairline. She swayed a little on the counter as she stared at Mags. “We go to school together, remember? We’re in Mr. Whatshisface’s math class.”
Mags half-heartedly rubbed at the eyeliner. “I mean, I don’t know who you really are. Seriously, this? This isn’t you. This is just something you’ve tried on.”
“Are you talking about this dress?” Becca asked. “I got it at a thrift store. I thought it was cool.”
“Never mind,” Mags said.
Becca started sobbing again. Mags turned away from her and started fixing her own makeup instead, darkening her lids with the same slate grey shadow that was currently running down Becca’s cheeks.
“She can’t do this,” Paul said, after Mags dragged Becca back to the green room, still splotchy and mascara-streaked, a dribble of vomit down the front of her dress. “This is a disaster.”
“Well, that’s it,” Zac said, throwing his drumsticks on the ratty couch. “Our one shot and we fucking blew it.”
Mags sucked in a breath. It had never occurred to her to ask for what she wanted. But thinking about the way that Becca decided who she wanted to be and became that person—why couldn’t Mags do that? Why couldn’t she just be the person she wanted to be?
“I can do it,” Mags blurted out. “I can sing.”
The three boys turned their faces to her. “You?” said Sam, staring at her as if she were a stranger. She glared at him. Yes, me, she thought. Why not me?
Paul shook his head. “You don’t even know the songs.”
“I can figure them out.”
“This isn’t the time or place for figuring stuff out, Mags. This is a real show, in front of a real audience, opening for a real band, and you don’t know the songs, you haven’t rehearsed with us once. Hell, I don’t even know if you can actually sing! Do you have any musical talent at all?”
“I do,” Mags said, feeling her confidence waiver. “I mean, I think I do.” But suddenly she wasn’t so sure. Anyone could sound good singing in front of the bathroom mirror, or belting out along with the radio in the car. But Mags had never tried to sing with a band before. She had never even held a mic in her hand.
The four of them stood in a tableau, Zac with his head in his hands, Paul with his guitar hanging limply around his neck, Sam staring hard at Mags, working something out.
“She does,” Sam said suddenly. “She can sing. I’ve heard her. And she knows all the lyrics. She wrote them.”
“I thought you wrote them,” Zac said.
“Nope. She did.” Sam kept his eyes fixed on Mags. “She was being modest. But I should have told you the truth from the beginning.”
Everyone was silent. Paul and Zac exchanged a glance. Mags felt her heart speed up in her chest, so full of love for Sam in that moment she thought it might explode.
“Okay,” Paul said finally, shrugging. “We’ve got nothing to lose.”
It wasn’t the enthusiastic response that Mags had been hoping for, but she would take it.
The boys went out first, and Mags followed. The stage lights were so blinding that she momentarily stumbled, then regained her footing as she stepped up to the mic stand and wrapped her hands around it. The band kicked in with the opening bars of “White Lies”—one of the first songs she had written, one that she knew like she knew the contours of Sam’s face. She stood there, liquefying. She felt everything soften: her limbs, her thoughts, her field of vision. She knew before she even opened her mouth to sing: this was where she was meant to be.
And then she sang.
The quietness surprised her. The inward calm, the way it settled the chaos inside her, the music a protective layer between the disharmony of the outside world and the stillness of her thoughts. Nothing could disturb her, nothing could touch her—in this room full of strangers she was free, and in that freedom she felt buoyant, as though she had never felt free in her life before. She could have been a different person, standing there in the middle of the stage. She didn’t have to be Mags—lonely, scared, angry Mags. Mags who couldn’t say the things she needed to say. Mags without a voice. She could be anybody.
And then it was over. It was over. Nietzsche’s Watering Can was leaving the stage and Mags couldn’t remember a single moment of the show, couldn’t even remember the time passing, could only remember the calm. And people were talking to her and she was talking back: an outer persona had somehow manifested itself, taking care of the mundane details of navigating real life, while inside she floated languidly in an endless galaxy of stars, oblivious.
In the green room, the boys were jubilant. Sam picked her up and swung her around, but all she could think about was the next time, about when she’d get to do it again.
“So, you’re going to stay in the band then?” Paul asked.
“Yeah,” Mags said. “But Jesus Christ, guys. We have to come up with another name.”
“What, then?” Zac asked.
Mags tilted her head back. “Align Above,” she said, the words coming from deep within that universe inside her.
Deer Carcass
May 27 at 11:24 AM
Thanks for the magic last night Halifax! We had a blast. And huge shout out to Nietzsche’s Watering Can for warming up the crowd!
Terra McLeod You guys rule! Please come back soon!
Like • Reply • 4h
Megan Marie Anyone know anything about the opening act? They KILLED IT!
Like • Reply • 3h
Hailey Hsai They’re called Nietzsche’s Watering Can! The guitarist and the drummer go to my school!! They rock so hard.
Like • Reply • 3h
Joshua Crabtree The singer chick was hot.
Like • Reply • 3h
Keegan Cowie Yaaa nice ass
Like • Reply • 3h
Jenelle Yacuba I thought she kind of looked like a dog. Like what are those dogs with the weird long faces
Like • Reply • 2h
Joshua Crabtr
ee Greyhound lol
Like • Reply • 2h
Jenelle Yacuba Yesssss she’s a greyhound.
Like • Reply • 2h
Keegan Cowie Nice ass tho
Like • Reply • 2h
Paul Van Ness Hello Megan, thanks so much for your interest in our band. Just to let you know, we are now called Align Above, and you can find all our info on our MySpace page. Hope you check it out!
Like • Reply • 2h
LIFESTYLE NETWORK
Your Life. Your Style. Your LifeStyle.
Memorandum
To: LifeStyle Network Executive Producers Date: Monday, June 7, 2010
From: Bob and Tess Axelrod Extension: 00676
Re: Cancellation—Home Is Where the Hart Is
As you are likely aware, Home Is Where the Hart Is has been averaging a 0.4 rating among adults 18–49 in the first half of its second season. Even after the shifted focus, the show continues to disappoint in key demographics. Following this week’s episode, which sunk to a 0.12 rating, we have decided to put the show’s production on hiatus. The fifth and final episode, which is wrapping production in two weeks, will air on July 8 as planned, but no more episodes will be produced at this time. We will be meeting with Jane later this week to discuss recouping our advertising revenue and any of our assets still tied up in the show.
It is imperative that you not discuss this with any member of the Hart family without first speaking to Jane. We have heard through our channels that David Hart may have already retained legal counsel, and we therefore request a moratorium on communication with him without our lawyers present.
Please direct any media requests to Maria.
Bob Axelrod, President and CEO Tess Axelrod, CFO
LifeStyle Network LifeStyle Network
cc: Maria Nunes, Jane Burton-Brown, Antonio Rivera
Ava
June 2010
HIWTHI S02E05:
Change of Hart
“Her name is Julia, okay?” Antonio said from the front seat of the van. “Julia. Can you remember that?”
Ava rolled her eyes and rested her head against the window in the backseat as they inched down the main street in downtown Gin Harbour. The same trundling middle-aged couple had passed them three times as they waited in the world’s dumbest traffic jam, caused by a gaggle of Canada geese wandering down the centre of the road.
“Ava?” Antonio said, catching her eye in the rear-view mirror.
“Brooklin, I got it,” said Ava, smiling sweetly at him.
“Julia.” He exhaled slowly. “Jesus Christ, Ava, you’re going to send me to an early grave.”
They were on their way to a shoot at Gin Harbour Junior-Senior High. Of course, Ava didn’t actually go to GHJSH—all of the Hart kids were home-schooled by a rotating roster of teachers flown in from New York. Still, the premise of this episode was that Ava was trying to convince David and Bryce to let her go to a friend’s cottage for the weekend. But first they had to convince the viewing public that Ava had a friend. They were filming at the school on a Saturday, with some actors they’d brought in from Toronto, kids with dumb names like Brooklin and Jax that the network had to change to something less dumb for the scene. Ava had been pretending to forget that, just to rile Antonio up. Riling him up had become her one little way of feeling in control during the times she wasn’t. Like when she was literally being taken somewhere against her will.
The first season of Home Is Where the Hart Is had been a slowly unravelling mess, with a long line of unlikeable guests and dropped storylines, including David fighting a city bylaw infraction (fake), a storm that took off part of the roof (completely fake), and Bryce’s awkward friendship with a semi-bigoted neighbour (mostly fake). The show had failed to capture the hearts and minds of viewers, according to Bob and Tess. The show had not engaged the key demographics, according to the market research. The show sucked all the air out of the room like a gaping black hole, according to a random commenter on the show’s Facebook page. No one had thought the show would be renewed for a second season, but it was, if unenthusiastically. Now, the network planned to focus more on the family, and for the first time ever, Ava was going to have her own episode. Bob and Tess had finally put their foot down, telling her (or telling Antonio to tell her) that she either did the episode or they would do it for her, lacing together candid footage to make it appear that she was doing what they wanted. So Ava capitulated, resigning herself to this episode with all the stoic grace of an early Christian martyr being burned at the stake.
Antonio pulled into the empty school parking lot and switched off the van. When Ava got out, she saw a group of kids around her age hanging out on the bleachers by the soccer field, two boys and a girl, dressed mostly in black even in the heat. For a tiny, glorious second, Ava imagined herself going over to them, saying something cool and inscrutable, and tumbling wildly into one of those quick, bright summer friendships that she read about in novels, all tanned, salty skin and breathless secrets. But then she watched them for a few minutes—laughing, smoking, pushing each other, drinking Slurpees that were probably mixed with stolen liquor—and she realized that would never happen.
“Yo,” one of them called over to her, a boy with long, stringy hair wearing a Slipknot T-shirt. “What’s going on? You guys making a movie?”
“Something like that,” she said, leaning against the side of the van.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re on that reality show, right? The one with the two gays?”
“American Idol?” the other boy asked.
The girl pushed him. “There’s no gays on American Idol.”
“Fuck there isn’t. What about that British guy?”
“Not all British people are gay, dickwad.”
“It’s not American Idol, Derry, you piece of shit,” the first guy said. He grinned at her, jumping down off the bleachers. “There’s a bunch of them and they all live up at the old Mariner’s Inn. She’s got an adowable widdle sister and a Chinese brother. She’s supposed to be the hot one, I guess, though I can’t really see it.”
“He’s not Chinese, he’s Cambodian,” Ava said, anger pulsing in her chest. “Also, fuck you.”
“Here that, Bo?” the girl said. “She wants to fuck you.”
“Yeah, she does.” He moved closer. “On second thought, maybe she is kind of hot.”
The door to the back of the van slammed shut and Antonio appeared, with Javier behind him holding the video camera. “How you boys doing?” he asked.
“Hey, is that thing on?” Bo asked.
Antonio smiled. “Yep, and we’re sending all this footage to your mom.”
The kids all turned and ran, scampering across the soccer field like deer being chased by a dog.
“My hero,” said Ava, keeping her head down so Antonio couldn’t see her reddening cheeks.
“You see why we don’t want you mixing with the locals now? Why we hired actors to play your friends?”
“Yeah, heaven forbid we strive for any level of authenticity,” she fired back, pretending not to feel the sting of the words he’d strung together: hired and friends.
Antonio raised an eyebrow at her. “I can call Bo and Derry back if you’d like.” Ava walked away, pretending not to hear him. She just wanted to get this over with so she could go back to staying under the radar, hiding away from the cameras until the show finally crashed and burned.
* * *
Ava had locked herself in her room after the pilot aired, having discovered that she could pull the doorknob out on the inside, which made it impossible for anyone to come in. Thirty-six hours later, David came at the door with a screwdriver, taking it off its hinges and replacing it with a shower curtain, declaring her door privileges officially and permanently revoked.
The following week, they all gathered in the family room to watch the second episode—David in his recliner with his tablet and clipboard, Antonio pacing th
e room behind them, Bryce with his hands folded in his lap, the three kids on the floor.
“You’ll like this,” Bryce said to her as she sat down, her back rigid against the coffee table, only there under threat of having all her devices confiscated indefinitely. “I hear they’re starting with you.”
“Fantastic,” Ava said. But as the opening sequence started playing, Ava felt her insides squirming, a mixture of anxiety and a perverse kind of pleasure. She was only human, after all. And this was national television.
The episode started and Ava saw herself standing at the kitchen sink, washing dishes, her back turned to the camera. When did this happen? she thought. I don’t remember this at all.
“Have you made any friends in Gin Harbour?” an off-camera voice asked.
“I don’t really know how to make friends,” Ava heard her own voice say, on screen.
“With vampires,” Ava said, leaning forward on the floor, the words sticking in the back of her throat. “I said ‘with vampires.’ And I wasn’t washing dishes, I was in my room!”
“I mean, what movies do people even watch, you know? Do they like Twilight or High School Musical?”
Ava jumped to her feet, gesturing wildly at the television. “I didn’t say any of that!”
Val grinned. “It sure sounded like you did.”
“I mean, I did, but not like that. I said the words, but they changed them all around.”
“Ava, honey, it’s okay,” said David. “I’m sure you just forgot that you said it. It was a few weeks ago already, and we’re all under a lot of pressure.”
“I didn’t forget! I never would have said any of that.” She spun around to glare at Antonio. “You did this!”
Antonio raised his hands. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I just shoot it and send it in. Take it up with Bob and Tess.”
“I will! I will take it up with Bob and Tess!” She crossed the room and yanked the electrical cord out of the wall, the television screen flickering out to a chorus of protests. “They want to mess with my words? Fine. Have fun messing with nothing.” She kicked the television stand for good measure, then stormed off to her room, her family’s laughter following her up the stairs. When she got to her room, she tried slamming her shower curtain, but it only fluttered with an unsatisfying plastic whoosh.