Turns out, my backyard is an exact replica of a tropical paradise.
Not that I’ve ever been to a tropical paradise, but it’s the kind of backyard you’d expect to find in Hawaii, Tahiti, or even L.A.
But I could just as easily be smacked down in the middle of Antarctica, and I’d be just as happy.
With Tinsley sitting beside me, her feet dangling in the water, a pile of potential songs resting between us—well, the grove of palm trees, the giant pool with the lazy river, the three waterfalls, the swim-up bar, the Jacuzzi, the fake beach, and the grotto all pale in comparison.
I try not to stare, to just focus on the pile of songs. But it’s hard to concentrate on much of anything when Tinsley’s eyes go all pretty and squinty and her voice lilts in this adorable way as she hums the tunes to herself.
“What do you think of this one?” She looks up just in time to catch me staring, so I quickly shift my focus to the sheet of music she’s holding.
“Um, yeah,” I say, not wanting to let on that here, like in Greentree, I have no idea how to read music.
“Should we try it?” she asks. “You know, just for fun?”
“Sure, but you start and I’ll join in,” I’m quick to say, hoping to cover the fact that I have no idea how to begin.
The second she starts singing, it’s like everything else ceases to exist. Ezer was right. Tinsley’s “pipes” are incredible. Her voice is soft yet strong, mesmerizing and sure. Which is strange, because that is the one flaw of the Greentree Tinsley. If the last few years of talent shows and school plays are anything to go by, her singing voice is the worst.
She shoots me a sideways glance, waiting for me to join in. While I’m not really sure how this will go, I clear my throat, hope for the best, and join her.
And the truth is, I sound awful.
Like really, truly awful.
So awful Tinsley actually loses her place, and I’m pretty sure this is the moment when the dream falls apart.
Except I keep singing, keep plowing through, and after a bit, while it’s nowhere near great, it’s good enough to finish the song and not ruin it completely.
“That was a little rough.” She laughs. “I guess we should’ve warmed up.”
Nice of Tinsley to include herself in the blame, but I think we both know I sounded like a frog dying of heatstroke.
“Still, it has potential—don’t you think?” Her eyes get all gleamy as she reaches toward me and places the tips of her fingers on the top of my knee. “But it’s really up to you, Nick. What do you think—should we try it again?”
What do I think?
I think: Tinsley Barnes has her hand on my knee! Tinsley Barnes is actually, on purpose, engaging in physical contact with me!
What I say is “Yeah, I can see its potential,” in a voice so hoarse I have to clear it three times to get it back to normal.
Still, it doesn’t seem to stop her from keeping her hand on my knee and giving it a little squeeze.
It’s all I can do to keep my cool as I wipe my palm discreetly down the leg of my jeans, making sure it’ll be nice and dry when I place it over Tinsley’s hand.
Which is exactly what I’m about to do when someone creeps up from behind and says, “Lisa told me to bring these to you.”
The hand that was veering toward Tinsley’s falls limp to my side as my vision goes in and out of focus, barely comprehending what I’m seeing, despite the alarm in my head. Plum!
Even in my one perfect dream, in my one perfect moment, Plum Bailey manages to show up and ruin everything.
And the weird thing is, she looks just as out of place as the old Plum—only different.
Instead of being blond and tan like everyone else around here, she’s as pale as ever and dressed mostly in black, with hair dyed to match. Also, the braces are gone, leaving a set of perfectly straight white teeth in their wake. She’s like an edgy, alternative version of Plum, and yet she’s still clearly Plum.
Tinsley starts checking her cell phone while Plum lifts two frosty glasses of lemonade from her tray and places them beside us.
Her stubby, black-painted nails impatiently drum the side of her leg as she meets my gaze long enough to ask, “Do you need anything else?”
The question is simple. One I should be able to answer without hesitation. And yet I’m so upset by her appearance, not to mention the possibility that she might actually work for me, that all I can do is sit there and stare.
I can’t afford to have Plum hanging around, fawning all over me.
She’ll only get in the way.
But I must’ve stared for too long, because the next thing I know, Tinsley’s getting to her feet, saying, “Um, I think I should leave,” as she shoots an unreadable look between Plum and me.
“What? No, don’t go!” I say, veering so far from cool, I would be embarrassed if I wasn’t so desperate. “She’s just—” I jab a thumb toward Plum, having no idea how to finish that thought. I know who she is in Greentree, but I have no idea who she is here.