Chapter Twenty-Three
IF ALICE DIDN’T KNOW BETTER, SHE WOULD HAVE SWORN THE PEA Pod sailed out of Houston on a cloud. For the past two hours, the mood in the van had been giddy delirium, interrupted only by their own spontaneous screams. In the middle of a sentence, one of them would see a sign for Austin and remember where they were going, how they had won.
“You guys, we’re making great time.” Summer fiddled with Coach Quigley. “It’s only another hour till Austin.”
Tiernan leaned her head halfway out the window, even though she was driving. “‘Don’t tell me I’m gonna be late,’” she sang into the wind. “‘Your p-p-parade will just have to wait!’” A guy in a pickup blasted his horn as they whizzed past.
Driving into Houston, the flatness of the landscape had looked boring to Alice. Now the big Texas sky seemed wide open, full of possibility. She leaned down and rooted around for the Scotch tape in her craft box. Their map deserved a place on the wall, a permanent Pea Pod decoration. As she affixed her tape donuts to the back, she reread Tiernan’s note. It was her third time reading it, but it still brought tears to her eyes.
“Tiernan, this letter is brilliant,” Alice said. “It’s so convincing.”
“Whatever.” Tiernan kept her eyes on the road. “I think it had more to do with that dog taking a whiz on Kai’s leg.”
“No way,” Summer said. “It was all you, T-Bird.”
Tiernan shook her head. “It was all of us.”
Alice stuck the map in its designated spot, admiring her own handiwork on the collage for their final destination. Austin was the most straightforward of all the collages on the map—a photo of the band performing live, with cutouts of the three girls (age twelve) pressed up against the stage. Hours from now they’d be living this picture.
Looking at their smiling middle-school faces, Alice felt a pang of sadness for all the years of friendship they’d missed out on between then and now. There was so much catching up to do, so many blanks to be filled in. But for once she wasn’t in a hurry. They had the rest of their lives to catch up. They had five hours to get to a show that was only an hour away.
Tiernan pulled off the exit. “Sustenance,” she said, before Alice had the chance to ask.
It wasn’t until she walked into the Mexican joint and inhaled the sweet corn smell of homemade tortilla chips that Alice realized how ravenous she was.
“You have the tickets, right?” she asked, sitting down next to Tiernan.
“OMFG! Stop asking me that!” It was a kindhearted tirade. Tiernan shot Summer an exaggerated eye roll. Summer smiled back at her. Another one of their familiar dances.
“What? Do you want to see them?” Tiernan challenged her.
“No!” Summer and Alice both shouted. But it was too late, Tiernan had already pulled down her scoop-necked shirt, revealing the little white envelope tucked inside of her little black bra.
“I’ll come back,” the waiter said, tossing their basket of chips so fast, half of them scattered across the wooden table. He was a dark-haired boy, their age, with braces and a Spanish accent.
Before he was two steps away they burst into laughter. The tiny bowl of salsa lay capsized in the sea of chips, and Alice picked it up and placed it on the table.
She could live forever right here in this moment, laughing with Tiernan and Summer, double-dipping their corn chips. It was allowed.
Suddenly she was overcome with a longing to talk to MJ. She’d missed her during the trip, but never so much as right now. She wanted to share the good news about winning the tickets, to tell MJ how much she loved her. And after she was done talking to MJ, she wanted to call her parents, too. She wanted to share this feeling with everything and everyone—the bird sitting on that tree branch outside the window, the old man in the cowboy hat drinking alone at the bar. Heck, she’d probably even learn to love UVM once she gave it a chance.
She pulled her phone from her bag. Better just to text MJ, since it was likely to be two a.m. in China, tomorrow or yesterday—she was too tired to remember which. But when she opened her phone, she saw that there was a text message waiting for her.
She didn’t realize she’d gasped until she noticed Tiernan and Summer staring.
“Quentin sent me another text,” she said, flinging the phone onto the table, like there was a chance it might detonate at any second.
“And you’re not going to open it?” Tiernan looked dubious.
“I can’t,” Alice moaned. “One of you has to do it.”
Summer pulled the phone toward her, sighing. “I may as well, seeing as how I am the resident expert on heartbreak around here.”
It took Summer so long to read the message, Alice half-wondered if Quentin had forwarded her a copy of War and Peace.
“You’re gonna want to read this,” Summer finally pronounced.
Alice reached for the phone, her whole body turning to mush.
A, sorry bout that last message. Cell phone confiscated. Tried to sneak it then mom came back. ;) Meant to say I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t. Don’t try to make me. Q
I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t. Alice read those words again and again as her whole body screamed with happiness. And to think she’d spent the last two days torturing herself, thinking she was the only one who’d felt that way, instead of believing what she’d known all along, instead of just trusting her heart.
“Oh, come on,” Tiernan whined. “Hand it over already.”
The waiter came back and took their order without making eye contact. Alice’s excitement over Quentin had stolen her appetite, but as a gesture of apology to the waiter, she ordered the daily special.
“So, what are you gonna do?” Tiernan asked.
“Tell him we’ll stop by on the way back,” Summer said, with authority.
“But not at his house,” Tiernan added. “You’ll need a rendezvous point. Like a motel.”
“No. No motels. Too sleazy,” Summer said. “Someplace public, yet romantic. Like a park by a river.”
“I don’t remember seeing any rivers around there,” Tiernan said.
“You guys, I’m sure Quentin and I will figure something out.”
“Yeah, right.” Summer sighed.
“Alice,” Tiernan said with a smirk. “Even the president has cabinet members.”
“So, if I’m the president, what does that make you guys? Undersecretaries of Love?”
Tiernan wrinkled her nose. “I prefer Chief Booty Call Strategists.”
By the time their food arrived and Alice saw the slices of avocado stacked like a little green staircase, her hunger found her again. They had a long slow lunch, giggling over Quentin, speculating about which song Level3 would open with tonight. Tiernan had her money on “Unadulterated,” their first big hit. Summer was sure it would be “Natural Causes.” But Alice had a feeling it would be “Parade.” Not that she needed more proof that the universe was back in flow.
An hour later they checked into a cheap motel on the outskirts of Austin. The room was small and worn, and no matter how much they cranked the AC, the temperature remained a steamy eighty-two degrees. Alice tried to fight off her post-lunch lethargy, but between her lack of sleep last night and the letdown from this morning’s adrenaline rush, she was crashing hard.
She sprawled out on the bed next to Tiernan (already deep in a Jersey Shore coma) while Summer headed for the shower. Normally Alice would be too wired to kick back and relax before a big show, but she had to give herself a break sometime, didn’t she? Plus, it was only 4:14. The concert didn’t start until 7:00. And after thousands of miles and one disaster after another, things were finally going right for once.
But, just to be on the safe side, Alice hauled herself out of bed and lay out her outfit for the concert on the armchair in the corner—her favorite floral tank top, brand-new skinny jeans, and the gold dangling earrings she’d worn that night with Quentin. Then she set the alarm clock for 5:30 as a final precaution. On the slight possibility she actually did manage to drift off, that would still give them plenty of time to get ready. According to Coach Quigley, the Frank Erwin Center was less than five miles away from their hotel. But they were way too close to seeing Level3 to take any chances.
Alice woke up to the sound of Cartman screaming. It took her a full five seconds to realize that the noise was coming from the TV, where South Park was on, and not the alarm clock radio she was hitting repeatedly.
Then her eyes focused on the time. 8:05? No, it wasn’t possible. Alice lifted the clock to her face and pressed the alarm button. It didn’t make sense. The alarm was still set to 5:30 p.m. , just as she’d left it, a little red dot glowing next to the words “Alarm On.”
That’s when she saw the tiny white letters below it—p.m. Strangely, there was no red dot glowing next to them.
It hit her all at once—the alarm hadn’t gone off because some jerk had set the clock to a.m. when it should have been p.m. A flutter of panic flew through Alice’s chest as the clock blinked to 8:06 in her hand. She threw it down, leaped out of bed, and ran for the window, tearing open the curtains to reveal a sky washed in orange and pink. Sunset. At least it wasn’t actually morning. Which meant they still had a shred of hope.
“Get up!” Alice shouted, but Summer was already sitting, her hair damp and curly from falling asleep with it still wet. She stared at the clock distrustfully, like she was about to hit it.
“What the hell?”
Tiernan pulled her pillow over her face and groaned, but Summer yanked it off of her.
“Dude!” Tiernan whined, opening just one eye. “There’s a gentler way to—” But as soon as she saw the sunset through the window her mouth instantly shut and the other eye popped open.
“We need to move,” Alice said with forced calm. “Now.”
They flung on their clothes in a haphazard manner. There were no touch-ups of makeup, no tiny rhinestone barrettes, no shimmering lotions applied to bare arms.
“Do you have the—?”
“Got ’em.” Tiernan thumped her chest and they were out the door.
“In eight hundred yards, turn left,” Coach Quigley commanded. Damn his computer voice for being so tranquil. The speed limit was thirty-five. Alice drove fifty.
“Maybe there’s an opening act,” Summer offered quietly from the back.
“It’s not on the tickets,” Alice said, hitting the gas so hard that the engine whinnied.
“Stop sign!” Tiernan shouted, and Alice jammed on the brakes.
“Let’s just get there alive,” Summer said coolly.
Let’s just get there, Alice thought. To miss the show after everything they’d been through . . .
“Up ahead, bear right,” Coach Quigley barked.
It was 8:15 p.m. The stadium was three miles away.
“I don’t know.” Tiernan sounded skeptical. “This doesn’t seem like the right way, Alice.”
“How do you know?” she snapped.
“I’m just saying, that road looks sketchy, doesn’t it?”
But Alice followed Coach Quigley’s directive and turned onto it anyway. The road led them through a brand-new industrial park—low concrete buildings on either side, dirt lawns sprayed green with grass seed.
“Alice, slow down,” Summer said, this time more forcefully.
They’d reached the dead end of a cul-de-sac—where more identical buildings were in the process of being constructed.
“In six hundred yards, turn left,” Coach Quigley said.
“There is no left!” Alice shouted back.
“I think this road’s too new to be in his system. He didn’t know.” Summer defended Coach Quigley like he was a real person, with actual feelings.
“Turn around when possible.” Coach Quigley answered back.
“Bite me!” Tiernan yelled, poking at his buttons. “Okay, he’s going to find an alternate route.”
Alice took a deep breath and held it. Her yoga teacher told her to use the image of her lungs filling slowly, like a balloon. But when 8:17 gave way to 8:18, Alice’s balloon nearly popped. Why hadn’t she double-checked the stupid alarm clock? Why had she let herself eat that huge greasy lunch? Why had she let herself get comfortable? Constant vigilance—that was the difference between success and failure, the difference between the Ivy League and UVM.
“Up ahead, turn left.” Alice turned around and followed Coach Quigley’s new instructions, even though she didn’t trust him anymore.
“Grab the map,” she directed Tiernan. “We need backup.”
“Our map?” Tiernan asked.
“No, the map. The original map. My map.”
Tiernan dug through the box that had started off as a snack bin and somewhere along the road had turned into a junk drawer, full of hair scrunchies, flattened Kashi granola bars and trashy celebrity magazines with the covers ripped off. She pulled out the map and handed it to Summer.
“This map isn’t detailed enough,” Summer said. “We just have to trust Coach Quigley. We have no other choice.”
By 8:26, they crossed onto the University of Texas campus, where the stadium was located.
“Look! Concert parking!” Tiernan gestured toward a yellow sign with an arrow pointing left.
Alice followed it, but when she pulled up to the parking garage another sign read LOT FULL.
Tiernan called out to the man in the little white booth at the entrance. “Excuse me, sir! Is there another place to park around here?”
The man looked up slowly, like he needed the time to process her words. “Keep going straight,” he said in a thick, indeterminate accent.
The second garage was three blocks away, and the only spaces left were all the way up on the fifth floor.
Alice ripped the keys from the ignition and jumped out of the van as though she were fleeing a burning building, racing across the polished concrete floor of the garage, the hollow thwack-thawck-thawck of her flip-flops echoing off the walls. Of course, these weren’t the shoes she’d planned on wearing.
Together, they flew down five flights of stairs and burst through the garage’s green metal door, breathless.
“Which way to Frank Erwin Center?” Tiernan yelled to a boy skateboarding down the sidewalk.
He pointed. “End of the street, take a right, and it’s about a half mile up.”
They ran off without even thanking him, charging down the smooth, empty sidewalks of the summertime college campus. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving only a watermelon slice of sky.
By 8:38, they could see the Erwin Center in the distance—round, bare concrete, illuminated by a halo of sun-yellow lights. They flocked to it like moths, slowing down only when their feet touched its perimeter. The place looked empty except for a homeless man muttering to himself and a couple of college kids loitering outside smoking cigarettes. Alice strained to hear to the music inside, but the only noise that came back was the thrum of the highway.
She was only fifty feet away from the glass doors when they opened with a sharp squeak and a boy and girl emerged, holding hands, the faint sound of applause and screaming in the background. The couple walked off as the doors shushed closed behind them and the night grew silent again.
Alice walked closer, Summer and Tiernan at her side, the Erwin Center looming before them like an undiscovered planet. They were almost at the doors when they swung open a second time. A group of boys exited, all in jeans and stiff new Level3 T-shirts; behind them, an older couple, then a dozen or so college kids.
Summer slowed to a stop. “I think . . . maybe . . .” She let her voice trial off.
But Alice kept on marching. She wasn’t about to stop just because some people were leaving early to avoid traffic. They could probably still make the encore. Springsteen’s encores were sometimes longer than his shows.
Alice lifted her hand to reach for the door handle when the mass exodus began in full—increasing in force and noise by the second, like a human avalanche. Since there was nowhere to go, Alice just stood there, letting the mob surge past, all gleeful chatter and careless elbows. By the time she remembered to look for Summer and Tiernan, she couldn’t find them anywhere. Not that she was ready to face them yet.
Instead, Alice just stayed put, getting jostled by the crowd as they passed, as if it would take all fifteen thousand concert goers shaking her by the shoulders to finally get her to accept the truth.
“HOME”
KNOCK ON MY DOOR,
I’LL ANSWER.
RING MY BELL
AT TWO A.M.
AND IF I’M NOT AT HOME,
YOU CAN USE MY SECRET KEY,
’CAUSE IT’S STILL HIDDEN IN THE PLACE
WHERE IT USED TO BE.
—from Level3’s third CD, Natural Causes