I inhaled with relief. “Thanks,” I said shyly.
“I think I like this one for us.” He gestured to the poster in my left hand. I’d superimposed a fun, vintage-looking font with the band’s name and the information about Sol Jam over a close-up photograph of grains of wood. It looked like a weathered barrel or the floor of an old-timey saloon. Now that I’d heard the Frisson’s sound, I had to agree with Paolo that it was a good fit.
“I’m glad you like it.” I smiled so wide, I thought my cheeks might explode with the force of expansion.
“Can I hang on to these?” He reached for the posters again. “We can talk about them together when Shay gets back, and then we’ll let you know.”
“Definitely.” I craned my neck to see if Abby and Hunter were still engrossed in their private conversation, and caught them just in time to see him squeeze her shoulder and stand up to go back to his guitar.
“Looks like they’re getting started again,” I said to Paolo. “You guys are really good, by the way.”
He looked genuinely pleased at my compliment. “Thank you. We have a lot of fun. Wait till you hear us when Shay’s back. The piano really kicks it up a notch.”
“I hope I get to hear it one day,” I said, a string of sadness stitching its way into my voice.
“What does that mean?”
“I’m not really here,” I admitted, putting air quotes on my words.
“Say no more. I understand. Parent trouble?”
“You have no idea.” Paolo raised his fist, and I brought mine to meet it. We shared a knowing smile between us as Abby approached. “Did you get everything you needed?” I asked her, trying desperately to hold in the wink that wanted to bust out.
She blushed. “I did, thanks.” She waved at Paolo and kept on trucking to the car.
I shrugged at him and followed. “See you . . . sometime . . .” I trailed off. He waved back and went into the garage.
Moments later, Abby joined me at the car with pink cheeks and a silly grin on her face. She was still smiling as we slid into the vinyl seats and she revved the engine.
“So what were you and Hunter talking about all secret-like over there?” I poked Abby in the shoulder as she backed out of the Hansens’ driveway.
“He, uh, wanted to see the notes I’d taken about their songs.”
I tried not to laugh at her and her nonexistent notes. “And what did he think of those notes?”
“I sat on them and told him I had everything I needed up here.” She tapped on her forehead.
“Smooth.”
“Right? So we talked about doing a small piece on each band member, their background and inspiration, that kind of thing. Then a longer piece on how they met, how they work together, who does the arranging and all that. And obviously a lot of pictures and a bit on Sol Jam itself. Hunter was pretty psyched. He gave me his phone number so we can collaborate.” By the time she said “phone number,” her smile had increased threefold and was creeping dangerously close to her ears.
“Took him long enough,” I said. She just kept on smiling.
When she dropped me back off at the Schmidts’ house, it was right when I would normally be leaving from my “job.”
“Perfect timing.”
Abby gave me a sly look. “I had the best time tonight.” She looked me square in the eyes when she said best. A lightbulb went off as I realized she was poking fun at Ashlyn’s use of the worst valediction known to man.
“Oh, I heard what you did there. You are definitely the best,” and I returned the pointed gaze. We both cracked up and I sucked in a breath, feeling relaxed and something that felt suspiciously like happy. Abby and I high-fived, then I ducked in the house to double check on the animals and headed home.
When I stopped in the kitchen for a drink before going to bed, I jumped as I turned away from the sink to find Belén sitting silently at the kitchen table, staring so intensely at me that I thought I might combust. Her long fingers were wrapped around a mug of tea, and she spoke in a low, dangerous voice.
“Did you have a nice evening with the Schmidt girls?” She’d never once asked me about Kate and Maya in all the years I’d been sitting for them.
“It was fine.”
“Perhaps, since you had a fine evening, Tatum, you’d care to explain why you were at an address that is not the Schmidts’ house for quite a long time.”
I froze. “Excuse me? Are you having me followed now?” The frustration—and embarrassment at being caught—that exploded in my chest threatened to knock me down, or fly out of me in the form of molten lava or lightning. I did my best to lock my knees and purse my lips instead, so she wouldn’t know what was going on inside my head.
“There’s this wonderful invention called a Global Positioning System. The nice people who sold us your cell phone had the foresight to install one in every model for occasions such as lost phone, lost child, things like that.” Belén was being sarcastic, something she only did when she was really angry. Dad got quiet; Belén thought she was a comedian.
My arms and legs buzzed with adrenaline. “You GPSed me? Why would you do that?” I was almost crying. I knew without looking that my face was red, and I hoped that Blanche and Tilly couldn’t hear us arguing.
“I’ve been keeping track of you each time you leave the house. Someone needed to make sure you were following the rules.”
“Did that awful parenting blog you love recommend it?” I lashed out.
Belén pursed her lips tightly. A twitch at the corner of her right eye gave me my answer. Hurt bubbled up in my throat, that she would think so little of me, and was quickly replaced with shame because I’d proven her right.
“That is so wrong,” I whispered, mostly to myself.
Belén didn’t respond with words, but by picking up the phone and dialing slowly, each button sounding its low beep. She paused and then spoke in her professional, clipped voice. “She’s home. Yes. I did. Sure, here she is.” She handed the cordless to me and said, “It’s your father.” Of course it was.
I took the phone without looking at her, wiped my angry-tear eyes, and brought it to my ear. “Hi, Dad.”
He said nothing for a moment, and I knew I was in real trouble. “Tatum, did you lie about where you were tonight?” I’d already been caught, so trying to get out of it was pointless.
“Yes.”
“Where were you?” I could barely hear him, and I knew it wasn’t the long-distance connection, but his disappointment making his voice fade away.
“I went with my friend Abby Gold to see our classmate Hunter Hansen and his band practice.”