“Yeah, do you know them?” Abby ran a hand through her curls.
“No, I don’t think so. None of those names sound familiar. I don’t really get out of my ballet bubble very often, though. If they’re in the music program, we wouldn’t have crossed paths often.”
“Ballet bubble? You do have a sense of humor!” I bumped Tilly with my shoulder, and she bumped me back.
“I’m trying it on for size.”
Abby, Tilly, and I sat down in the middle row of blankets to stake our claim, falling into comfortable small talk. I was thankful for Abby’s ability to charm anyone, though Tilly held her own. Other music-lovers of all ages started showing up with picnic baskets and lawn chairs, spreading out in front of the stage to wait for the entertainment to begin.
I kept checking my phone, hoping for a text from Ashlyn, but nothing came. I convinced myself that she was still coming and that perhaps Blue Valley didn’t allow cell phones, or maybe her dad had confiscated it when she’d gotten in trouble. When a decent-sized crowd had gathered and multiple members of other bands had made their rounds of the stage, Hunter finally emerged from the house and made a beeline for us.
He plopped down so close to Abby, their hips touched. I saw her instantly melt in his direction, and resisted calling them out. I knew I shouldn’t laugh; they were cute in all of their awkward flirtishness.
“Are you nervous?” Abby looked at Hunter like no one else was around.
“Yeah, definitely. Last year we did this on a whim, but now we have legit fans. People are coming specifically to hear us. That’s a lot of pressure.” He ran his hands through his blond hair several times like he didn’t know what else to do with them. His foot jittered under his crossed legs. I hoped Abby would give him a hug soon.
She did the next best thing—distraction. Abby held up her reporter’s notebook next to her face and grinned. “So is there anything else I should know about this concert? You know, for the article and all.”
I rolled my eyes in Tilly’s direction, the ghost of a smile appearing on her lips.
“Owen, who owns the house, is this hilarious, former-hippie type. Except he’s loaded, hence the house and property. His son’s band, which started Sol Jam, is on after us. I just talked to Owen inside, actually. He’s going to come out and give a speech.” Hunter shook his head. “He’s a wacky dude, for sure.”
He adjusted his position to a crouch, knees jutting out like a frog’s. “I need to get back, actually. The other guys should be here soon, and we’ll need to warm up a little. We’re doing something new tonight for the first time.”
I saluted him. “Good luck and Godspeed, my friend.”
Tilly just smiled.
Abby grabbed Hunter’s hand and squeezed. “You’ll be fantastic. How could you not?” He winked at her and jogged back into the house.
“That’s it? No good luck kiss?” I mock-shoved her.
“Seriously? Do you think I should have? He wouldn’t have run away screaming?”
“Abby, I think Hunter would appreciate anything you offer him, be it a kiss or a grand gesture. That boy is smitten.”
Her cheeks colored, and she smiled shyly to herself. “Maybe you’re right.”
I shook my head and just laughed at her. Moments later, as Hunter predicted, a rather round man with a long gray beard stepped onto the stage and started tapping the mic. He wore an obnoxious Hawaiian shirt, long board shorts, white athletic socks, and black Velcro sandals.
“Is this thing on? Testing, testing.” Feedback screeched and crackled; I covered my ears until he backed up. The man took the mic out of the stand and smiled. “Great. Hi, everyone. In case you’re new here, I’m Owen. I live there.” He pointed to the house, and I couldn’t help but giggle. He welcomed us to the concert and thanked us for supporting young artists. “We’ve been doing this thing here for several years now, and I’m so proud of how it’s gotten bigger and better each summer. Some people ask me how I justify spending so much on this concert and keeping it free. I like to say I charge a finder’s fee when any of these talented groups of kids signs a recording contract.” He chuckled, and the audience erupted in laughter.
“You think I’m kidding. With the groups we have here tonight, I just might not be far off from that goal.” He winked, and encouraged us to roast the marshmallows and hot dogs he’d provided over by the fire pit.
“We’re totally doing that,” I said, rubbing my tummy. Owen waved at the crowd one more time and ushered five terrified-looking kids on stage.
The first three bands were decent, but nothing special or memorable. There were a million bands and singers just like them on the radio, pumping out millions-earning singles and then fading away. I was glad my friends had an original sound.
I turned backward and scanned the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ashlyn’s face, but all I saw was a sea of strangers—happy strangers, but no Ash. My good mood diminished a little bit.
“Are you ready?” Abby grabbed my arm and shook when it was time for the Frisson to play.
“Ab, calm yourself. It’s not the sixties, and they’re not the Beatles.”
“Oh, I’ve always been more of a Stones girl.”
I laughed. “Maybe Hunter will do some Jagger swagger.”
As if I’d called to him, Hunter took the stage. Any signs of nerves from earlier had fled, and in place of the anxious boy was a confident young man, ready to command the microphone. He’d slicked his floppy hair into a faux hawk and changed into a plain black T-shirt and jeans. He was barefoot, which I thought was a bold move on the wooden stage, but if he wasn’t afraid of splinters, more power to him. To his right, Kyle stood, surly as always, hand on his bass, scowling at the crowd.
Tilly leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I recognize the bass player. I think he used to go out with one of the dancers in my program.”
“Really? He seems like he doesn’t really like people,” I whispered back, and then smiled to myself. Whispering with Tilly was nice.
Paolo and his drum kit were elevated on a smaller platform at the back of the stage. He was the antithesis of Kyle, a big goofy grin on his face, wavy golden-brown hair sweeping his brows. I turned my eyes to the elusive fourth member, seated at the upright piano someone had wheeled out on stage, and sucked in a sharp breath. This time, I grabbed Abby’s arm.
“Ab, that’s Shay?”
She looked at me like I’d lost my marbles. “Yes,” she said slowly. “Why? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I kind of did. Do you remember that conversation we had about missed opportunities way back at the beginning of summer?”
“Sure.”
“That’s him. Shay is the guy from the showcase.”