Golden Girl (11 page)

I stared at her, startled by the offer. When they'd said it last night, I'd assumed they were joking around. But now she'd asked again, and this time she looked serious. I had to admit the idea was pretty tempting. Leave all the stuff I was dealing with up on the mountain and do something completely fun and frivolous for once in my life.

But as alluring as the idea was, I knew there was no way I could say yes. Even in a good year I wouldn't have had enough free time for band practice. And this year was going to be tougher than any I'd had before, if my dad had anything to do with it. (And, of course, he did.) I'd dedicated my life to snowboarding a long time ago, and I knew full well the sacrifices I would have to make.

I realized the two girls, along with Roland, were currently staring at me with hopeful expressions on their faces. I sighed, hating to disappoint them. But what else could I do? It was better to come clean now than get their hopes up for something that could never happen.

“Sorry,” I said. “But my training keeps me pretty busy. I don't have a lot of free time.” I screwed up my face, imagining what they must think of me. I mean, talk about lame.

“No worries,” Lulu said in a forced cheerful voice. “It was a silly idea anyway.”

“Yeah, you've got way more important stuff going on. It's cool,” added Scarlet. She turned to Roland. “Come on, bro. Let's get back on the set. Break's been over for ten minutes now.”

The three of them scrambled up on the platform and grabbed their instruments, gearing up to play. As they launched into their first song, an energetic alternative rock number, Roland belted into the mic, while Lulu hopped around the stage, fingers dancing quickly over her sparkly bass guitar. In the back Scarlet pounded on the drums with perfect precision. They were good. Really good. They would have been great with a real singer. Maybe even record-contract great.

I watched them, unable to move and feeling guilty. This band was important to them, I suddenly realized. As important to them as snowboarding was to me and my friends. This was their dream. Their ticket to fame. And I'd just inadvertently made it sound like a hobby.

I turned to Logan and held up one finger, telling him to wait a minute. Then I took a cautious step up to the stage, my heart pounding in my chest. The music cut short, and the three of them looked down at me with questioning eyes.

“I can't join the band,” I told them. “But I'd be honored to join you for just one song.”

O
ne song turned into three. Then three more. Before I knew it, two hours had passed with me on the mic. Sure, I started out kind of rough. I didn't know the songs, and singing with a live band was a lot more challenging than belting out to a karaoke machine like I always did with Mom. But something compelled me to keep going, and by the end of the session I was sounding pretty good, if I did say so myself. Sure, I was no Adele, but truthfully, most of the band's punk rock songs required more well-tuned screeching than actual singing talent. That and dancing around the stage like a crazy person was something, it turned out, I was naturally awesome at.

When I finally stepped off the stage, swiping the sweat from my brow, Logan approached, clapping his hands. I couldn't help the wide grin that spread across my face.

“That was amazing!” he declared, giving me a huge hug.

“I'm all sweaty!” I warned, laughing. But he didn't let me go, which made me grin even more.

Scarlet and Lulu bounced off the stage, making it a group hug. “You were awesome!” cried Scarlet. “So, so good!”

“We were
all
awesome,” Lulu agreed. “In fact, that was, like, the best session ever. Take that, Carla!” she added loudly, waving her fist.

Breaking from the hug, she headed over to the soundboard. She returned a moment later, a small silver object in her hand. I realized it was a thumb drive. “Here,” she said, pressing it into my palm. “I recorded the session. Something to remember us by.” Her voice was teasing, but held no hint of sarcasm. I'd won their respect, fair and square. A warm happiness settled in my stomach.

“Thanks,” I said, slipping the drive into my pocket. “I can't wait to hear it. And thanks for letting me sing. It was amazing. I only wish . . .” I trailed off, not able to voice what we all already knew.

“Hey, it's all good!” Scarlet assured me, patting me on the shoulder. “And if you want to come back—even for just an afternoon—the door's always open.”

“Absolutely,” Lulu concurred. “You're like an honorary member of the band now.”

I beamed at them. An honorary member of the band. I liked the sound of that.

I said my good-byes and then headed back over to Logan, who was at the bar, paying our coffee tab. As I sidled up beside him, he looked over at me fondly. “You were really great,” he reaffirmed. “I hope it was fun.”

“It was the best,” I declared, finding myself grinning like a loon all over again. “In fact, I couldn't think of a better way to spend my Saturday. Thanks for bringing me here.”

“Anytime.” He grabbed his change and stuffed it into his pocket. “Do you need to head back now? I don't want to get you in trouble.”

I considered this. Truth be told, at that moment I never wanted to go back. Not ever, ever, ever. I wanted to live down here in Littleton and sing and dance and forget there even was a school at the top of the hill to begin with. But, of course, that was impossible. At some point someone would realize I was gone. And then they'd tell my dad. And then . . . Well, I didn't want to think about that.

I glanced at my watch. Still, I was pretty sure I could get away with escaping reality for another couple hours. And I really didn't want to say good-bye to Logan just yet.

“I'm good for now,” I told him. “But all that singing has made me super hungry. Is there someplace around here we can go grab some food?”

“Actually,” Logan hedged. “I kind of told my mom I'd be home for dinner. It's her one day off this week, and I wanted to keep her company.”

“Oh,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed. Of course Logan should spend time with his mom. That was really sweet of him, in fact. And I could always meet up with him another time. At some point anyway. When I could next sneak away. . . . “That's cool. I can just grab the bus back and—”

“Do you want to join us?” Logan blurted out. Then his cheeks colored. “I mean, it's kind of lame, I know. But she does make really good sandwiches. And I think she might even be—”

“I'd love to,” I cried, perhaps a bit too eagerly. Logan laughed.

“Well all right then,” he pronounced. He held out his arm gallantly. “Shall we, madame?”

I took it. “After you, my good sir!”

“Oh my gosh, you guys are so cute you make me sick!” Lulu called from the stage, making an overexaggerated gagging noise. Logan gave her a playful wave as we danced out of the coffee house, still arm in arm. I could feel my face flush as the two girls serenaded us out. They obviously thought we were a couple. But in truth, I had no idea if Logan really liked me or was just being nice.

We trudged through the sooty snow a few blocks over and a few more down. About five minutes later we stopped in front of a light blue, triple-decker apartment building with a chipped-paint exterior and a rusty chain-link fence. Not exactly luxury accommodations and yet I found myself gazing affectionately at each crumbling brick. Run-down or not, this place was part of Logan's life. Which made it as awesome as him.

After Logan unlocked the front door, we headed inside, up three flights of stairs, and into his family's apartment. As I stepped inside, I looked around, curious to see the place he called home. It was small, but at the same time clean and cozy and inviting, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the air. The carpet, though threadbare in spots, looked recently vacuumed, and the walls were covered with family photographs. My eyes fell upon a school portrait of Logan as a child, complete with two missing front teeth. It made me smile.

Logan caught me looking at the picture. He groaned. “She insists on keeping all those up,” he told me. “It's so embarrassing.”

“Aw. I think it's cute,” I teased. He shook his head and kicked off his shoes. I followed his lead and accompanied him through the living room.

“Hey, Mom, I'm home!”

I turned the corner into the kitchen just in time to see Mrs. Conrad, wearing an apron adorned with frolicking kittens, reach down to pull a puffy loaf of bread from the oven. She glanced over at her son.

“You're late,” she scolded playfully. Then her gaze fell to me. “Though now I see why.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Mom, you've met Lexi, right? From Mountain Academy?”

“Of course!” Mrs. Conrad set the bread down on the stovetop and pulled off her oven mitts. She walked over and pulled me into a huge, pillowy hug. She was soft and warm and smelled like French bread. “It's so good to see you, sweetie. My son has talked of nothing but you since he got home last night.”

“Mom!” Logan hissed. I noticed his ears had gone bright red again. I felt my own face flush as well, while a pleased tickle spun down my spine. Logan had talked about me? He had talked about me to his mother? That had to be a good sign, right? Like a “maybe he likes me” sign?

“You two sit down and relax,” his mother instructed, waddling back over to the stove. “I'll bring over the bread and soup in just a minute.”

I joined Logan at the small kitchen table as his mother bustled around, preparing our dinner. He gave me an embarrassed smile, and I grinned back at him to let him know it was all okay. The last thing I wanted was for him to think he'd made a mistake bringing me home.

“Here you go!” Mrs. Conrad ladled a huge helping of her famous chicken noodle soup into my bowl, then Logan's, then set a basket of the freshly made bread on the table. I grabbed a slice, buttering it heavily before biting into the crusty goodness. It was probably the best bread I'd ever tasted in my life. And the soup was just as good as the kind she made at school. Maybe even better.

Logan's mom pulled a folding chair up to the table, setting a small green salad at her place. After taking a second slice, I offered her the bread basket, but she shook her head.

“None for me,” she said reluctantly. “Doctor says I've got to lose weight.”

“And get your blood sugar in check,” Logan added, giving the mini Snickers bar she'd half hidden under her napkin a critical look. He turned to me. “My mom seems to think random chocolate bars are cool for people with severe diabetes.”

His mom waved him off. “I have one tiny little piece a day,” she protested. “What harm could there be in that? A candy a day keeps the doctor away!” She reached for her Snickers. But Logan grabbed it first, ripping it open and popping the whole thing in his mouth.

“For your own good,” he told her, his mouth full of chocolate.

His mother sighed, staring dismally down at her plain salad. “Yeah, yeah,” she said. “It must be nice to be so young and healthy. To be able to eat anything you want and never gain an ounce.” She looked up at me. “I bet you can eat five thousand calories a day with your training schedule.”

I blushed. “Something like that.” At least when I actually had a training schedule. I set down the half-eaten slice of bread a little guiltily.

“Speaking of snowboarding, have you seen my Logan ride yet?” Mrs. Conrad asked, thankfully changing the subject. “He's the best on the mountain. Better than some of the Mountain Academy kids even.” She paused, then added, “No offense.”

“Mom,” Logan groaned. “Please don't start.”

“What? It's true!” Mrs. Conrad rose from her seat, salad apparently forgotten. She grabbed my arm. “Come,” she instructed. “I want to show you something.”

“Let her eat her soup, Mom.”

“It's okay,” I assured him, giggling as I allowed his eager mother to drag me through the living room and into a small office at the other end of the apartment. Like the rest of the place it was humbly furnished but meticulously clean. Unlike the rest of the place, the walls were covered with trophies, photos, plaques, and ribbons.

“Wow.” I whistled, impressed. “Are these all Logan's?”

Mrs. Conrad nodded, a fiery pride in her watery blue eyes. “He'd have a lot more, too, if we could afford to get him into the competitions. He's such a natural talent. And totally self-taught, too.”

I sobered, considering her words. Since our tuition paid for all our entries to the various races, I had never really thought about the fact that the hefty fees could end up deterring some of the potential competition. How many naturally talented snowboarders and skiers like Logan were left out of the running solely because of their parents' bank accounts? While other countries scouted out talented athletes early on, putting them in government-funded programs to train them for the Olympics, in the US you basically needed to have gold to go for the gold.

“That's awesome,” I said, picking up a trophy and reading the inscription. First place in the half-pipe in some competition from five years before.

Before she could answer, Logan burst into the room. “Come on, Mom,” he groaned. “I promised the poor girl dinner. Not a full-service tour of your Logan Conrad metropolitan museum.”

“Okay, okay!” Mrs. Conrad threw up her hands, her face a mask of innocence. “So sorry that I have the nerve to be proud of my youngest son!”

Logan groaned, and I followed him back into the kitchen, trying not to laugh. I knew I liked her for a reason.

As we sat down in our chairs, Logan shook his head in the direction of the office and mouthed the word “sorry.” I grinned.

“She's proud of you,” I scolded him playfully. “And it looks like for good reason, too. That's a lot of trophies in there.”