Out of Tune Page 4

Bug gives me a shove in the back and scoots off the picnic table. “Hey, check out that girl over there. She has blue hair.”

  I pick up my humming again and follow where Bug’s finger is pointing across the dirt “yard” to the next RV over. Sure enough, there’s a girl about my age with blue hair, sitting in a canvas chair and wearing earbuds. And the best part—her RV is even uglier than Bertha the Beast. It’s brighter-than-the-sun yellow, and a faded smiley face leers from the side. I take a picture of it with my phone and text it to Kenzie.

  “I wonder if she knows if there are any poisonous snakes around here.” Bug races off across the dirt.

  “Don’t bother her,” I say to Bug’s back.

  Before I know it, she’s chatting away to the girl, who’s looking at Bug as if she has three heads. I sigh, pick up my sewing, and go to rescue the girl from my sister. So much for practicing.

  “. . . and down in the lake there are water moccasins. If you swim in there, they’ll swarm and drag you down to the depths, where they’ll bite you to death,” she’s saying to Bug when I arrive.

  Bug’s brown eyes are as round as the ones on that nightmarish spider she showed me earlier. “Really? I didn’t know that.”

  “She’s messing with you, Bugby,” I say. Bug loves creepy critters so much, she’s probably super disappointed to find out it’s all made up.

  The blue-haired girl stares me down. “How do you know it’s not the truth?”

  “Because snakes don’t do that?” I’m not entirely sure what water moccasins even are, but the whole thing sounds completely fake.

  “You don’t know.” She smirks at me and sticks one of her earbuds back in.

  “C’mon, Bug. Dinner’s probably almost ready.” I turn to walk back to the RV.

  “What is that thing? A possessed deer?” Blue Hair asks.

  I turn back. “It’s this stupid spare tire cover from the back of Ber—, I mean, our RV.”

  “So you guys are like, what, deer worshippers?” She looks again at the cover, and the corner of her mouth twitches up. “That’s . . . groovy.”

  “We’re not deer worshippers. That’s not even a thing. It’s just an ugly tire cover.” I want to tell her that her RV is way more embarrassing than our groovy headless deer tire cover, but I bite my tongue.

  “You’d be more interesting if you were a deer worshipper,” Blue Hair says.

  I don’t even know what to say. This girl is seriously weird.

  “Shiver, food’s done.” An older woman with crinkled skin and long gray hair emerges from their RV.

  “Your name is Shiver?” Bug asks.

  “Your name is Bug, so what’s wrong with Shiver?” the girl replies.

  Bug grins. “Nothing. I like it.”

  “Hi, girls.” The woman walks slowly toward us. “I didn’t realize Shiver had company. I’m Gert, her grandmother. You girls want to stay for dinner?” She holds out her hand like we’re grown-ups at a business meeting.

  I reach out and shake it as I introduce myself and Bug.

  “Are you the ones who backed your rig into the tree?” Gert asks.

  Shiver snorts.

  I restrain myself from glaring at her. “Yeah, that’s us.”

  “It’s hard learning to drive one of these monsters,” Gert says. “Is that your mother?”

  She’s pointing behind us to where Mom’s striding across the yard.

  “Hi there. Are you making friends already?” Mom beams at us.

  Ha. Like Shiver’s going to be my new bestie.

  Gert cocks her head. “You look familiar,” she says to Mom.

  “Lori Casselberry, from Nashville. Although I grew up in Louisville.”

  “Lori . . . Thomas?” Gert uses Mom’s maiden name. “Shelly’s friend from St. Rose’s?”

  A look of recognition moves across Mom’s face. “You’re Shelly’s mother. Wow, I read about how RVers run into the same people all the time, but I wouldn’t have ever guessed I’d see someone from back home! How is Shelly? I haven’t talked to her in years.”

  Shiver rolls her eyes and jumps up so fast you’d think she’d gotten bit by a red ant. She grabs a black backpack from the table, heads into the RV, and slams the door.

  Gert watches her, then turns back to Mom. “Not so great. In the middle of a divorce out in California. Shiver’s her daughter. I took her with me this summer to travel, get her away from all that.”

  “Shiver?” Mom asks.

  “Adalie, actually. She’s going through a phase,” Gert says, with the same look Mom and Dad use when they think something Bug or I like is silly.

  “Ah. Well, we’re here for a few days. Maybe we can catch up?”

  “That would be wonderful.” Gert squeezes Mom’s hand. “I should check on Shiver.”

  Mom waves, and we follow her back to the RV.

  “Who’s Shelly?” Bug asks.

  “My best friend from high school. I haven’t seen her for twenty years, at least. It’s so nice to run into her family here. It’s almost as if there was a reason for all of this—your dad losing his job and everything. . . .” Mom drifts off and doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then she looks at me. “Maybe you and Adalie can be friends, the way Shelly and I were?”

  “Sure,” I say in my most sarcastic voice. “That’s going to happen.”

  “You could be a little nicer, Maya.”

  Mom has a way of making me feel super guilty.

  She pulls open Bertha’s door to the scent of garlic bread and once-frozen lasagna. I shut the door behind us and lean back against it. Kenzie never missed a lasagna night at our house. We’d eat until we were so full we couldn’t move. Then we’d go up to my room and talk, or listen to music and pretend to do homework. Sometimes I’d sing her whatever I’d been working on with Marianne. It was after a lasagna dinner that we found out about Dueling Duets, and she convinced me that I had to try out.

  I stare down at my just-like-Kenzie’s cowboy boots. And I miss her more than ever.

  Chapter 5

  19 days until Dueling Duets auditions

  That night, Bug pounds on the door of the closet-sized bathroom. “Maya, get OUT already!”

  I spit toothpaste into the sink and rinse my mouth as I stare at my phone, willing Kenzie to text. It’s been a whole hour since I last heard from her.

  “Maya!”

  I open the door and stand in Bug’s way, just because.

  “Mo-ove,” she says as she tries to shoulder past me.

  “You move.” I wiggle back and forth in the doorway to annoy her.

  Mom’s face appears from their bedroom. “Maya, out.”

  “I’m getting out. Bug’s in my way.”

  Mom narrows her eyes.

  “Fine, I’m going.” I give Bug one last good push and walk the whole three feet to my cubbyholes.

  “And pick up those shoes on the floor. Your sister tripped on them,” Mom yells from her room.

  I toss my cute brown wedge sandals back into the closet. A few other shoes roll out, so I really shove them in there good. Then I run my fingers over my shimmery audition top, just to make sure it’s still there. I close my eyes for a second and imagine myself onstage with Jack at Dueling Duets, mesmerizing everyone with my voice.

  Up in my bunk, I have to push a mess of books and blankets out of the way to lie down. I stare up at Miranda’s face and wonder if she ever had to live all squished up with her parents and little sister. Or ever had to stuff all her shoes into a pint-sized closet. Or had to sew up a decapitated deer canvas.

  Probably not.

  Bug tromps through five minutes later. I yank my little curtain shut. Seriously, there is no privacy in this thing. Even with the curtain closed, I can hear Mom and Dad going on and on in their room. I close my eyes and belt out the first few lines to one of Taylor’s older country songs, “Fifteen.” It’s not exactly the same as standing in my room in front of the mirror, but it will have to do. I sing straight up to Miranda, Carrie, and Tay
lor herself.

  “Maya!” Mom’s voice echoes from all of ten feet away. “Shush. We’re trying to get some sleep.”

  Right. This isn’t my bedroom. At this rate, I’m going to be completely out of practice by the time I get back home. I settle for plugging in my earbuds and listening to Taylor instead.

  I don’t know when I finally fall asleep, but I wake up with a jolt sometime in the middle of the night. The tiny overhead light is still on, and my earbuds are in even though my music’s gone silent.

  I squint at my phone. 1:57 a.m. Plus there’s a text from Kenzie.

  Sry. Had to clean house with Mom.

  I click my phone off, pull out the earbuds, and strain my ears to figure out what woke me up.

  It doesn’t take long.

  Ow-ow-ow-owwwwwwooooo!

  “Holy potatoes, what is that?” It sounds like something out of the Halloween haunted house Kenzie dragged me through last fall. I scramble to get out of the bunk, shoving aside stuff I moved when I got into bed a few hours ago. Books crash to the floor as I make for the ladder. Poor Hugo just grunts and resettles himself onto some blankets in the corner.

  “Maya?” Dad’s sleepy voice calls from their room.

  “Dad, did you hear that?” I slip on a blanket and grab the doorframe for balance as I head for the back of the RV.

  Ow-ow-ow-owwwwwwoooo!

  “What . . . what’s going on?” Mom’s voice.

  I shove open the door to their room and climb onto their bed the way I did when I was five and scared to death of thunderstorms.

  Dad chuckles. “Just a coyote.”

  “Oh.” Mom rolls over and pulls the covers over her head.

  “A coyote?” My voice goes squeaky. “Like the one that chases the roadrunner and tries to eat him?”

  Dad laughs even harder. He leans forward and pats my knee. “Go back to bed, Maya Mae. Coyotes don’t eat people. Just think of it as the song of the wild.”

  “The song of the . . . yeah.” Dad likes to think he knows a lot about everything. But he doesn’t always. So I don’t really trust him knowing about coyotes.

  “I don’t like it either,” Mom says from under the covers. “But remember that it’s outside and we’re in here—safe.”

  That makes me feel a little better. I head back to my bunk.

  Ow-ow-ow-owwwwwoooo!

  Why does it have to keep singing? Why doesn’t it go to sleep like a normal animal? I clutch my arms to my chest as I stand between my cubbyholes. What would Kenzie do? She’d freak out. Kenzie’s not so great with the whole camping thing.

  Ow-ow-owwwoooo!

  Think, Maya, think.

  I reach into one of the mini-closets and find the tiny Louisville Slugger keepsake bat I got last time we visited Grandma and Grandpa. I climb back into bed, keeping the bat in my hands.

  You never know when you’ll need to conk a coyote on the head.

  T minus 18 days. I can’t really think of anything new to add to OMGH, and Kenzie hasn’t been a whole lot of help. I mean, her suggestions are things like Develop New Rare Disease That Can Only Be Treated in Nashville and Tell Parents Hugo Spoke and Demands to Return Home.

  Kenzie’s a little overdramatic sometimes. Which is why I’ve always told her she could produce all my future concert tours. But I wish I could think of something so I could text Jack with a real plan.

  So after an exciting day at the Texas Department of Motor Vehicles and a whole bunch of other boring offices, where Bug and I play nine thousand games of hangman and I read practically an entire book and eventually go outside to serenade the parking lot (who knew that people waiting at the Weslerville, Texas, DMV don’t really like hearing half a duet?), we head back to the campground. Mom immediately dives into her laptop to deal with work stuff, while Dad spreads a map out on the picnic table.

  “So, what do you girls want to see?” he asks, highlighter poised over the map.

  “What do you mean?” I ask as I flip through my favorite book ever. It’s called Everything Y’all Ever Wanted to Know About Country Music—And Then Some. It literally has every single fact and important person in it. I’ve studied this book way more than I ever looked at my science book last year. Also, it weighs about nine hundred pounds and would be an excellent weapon against attack coyotes. And it’s really good for inspiration, which I could use right now since I still haven’t figured out how to get home.

  “If you could go anywhere in the whole country, where would you go? Minus Hawaii because we don’t have a boat.” Dad must think this is hilarious because he starts laughing.

  Bug’s eyes light up. “Yellowstone. Because of all the animals. We could see a bear!”

  I eye my tiny bat, which is lying next to me—just in case. And my book. I’d need something much bigger for a bear.

  Dad marks Yellowstone on the map. “Good choice, Bugby. How about you, Maya Mae?”

  “Home,” I say without looking up from a picture of Patsy Cline, who is practically country music royalty. “To see Kenzie. And try out for Dueling Duets.” With Jack, but I don’t say that out loud.

  Dad touches my arm. “Besides home.”

  “I don’t know. Where’s the world’s biggest ball of string? How about that?”

  Bug giggles and grabs Dad’s phone. “I’ll look it up.” In about three seconds, she announces, “The biggest ball of twine is in Cawker City, Kansas.”

  And Dad actually marks it on the map.

  Wow. Great. Whoever heard of Cawker City, Kansas? I should’ve picked Hollywood. Then I could’ve sent pictures to Kenzie to show to Lacey, who thinks she’s all that because she sings in her dad’s furniture store commercials. Maybe that giant ball of twine will come loose and roll right over Bertha. Then we could go home.

  “Your mother requested mountains. How about Grand Teton National Park? It’s right next to Yellowstone. Two birds with one stone.” Dad makes another mark on the map while Bug leans forward to watch.

  I flip more pages until I get to Faith Hill, who has an amazing voice and equally amazing hair. And I imagine how much more I’d love Bertha if she was smashed flat from a giant boulder of twine.

  “Where do you want to go, Dad?” Bug asks.

  “When I was a kid, I loved watching old Westerns with my father . . . ,” Dad begins.

  I tune him out and wonder what Kenzie’s doing right now. While I was crammed into a room with half the state of Texas at the DMV, we texted up until her phone died at the pool.

  I close my book and text her now, hoping she’s home and her phone is charged.

  M! Bad news! she texts back.

  ??? I type. And wait really impatiently for the response.

  Ugh, don’t want to tell you.

  Tell me! What’s wrong? I text back.

  At pool today, saw Lacey & she . . .

  WHAT????

  Kenzie’s text comes a minute later. She had a box of Twizzlers & gave 1 to Jack. & then their hands touched for like 5 whole secs. :(

  My heart drops. This cannot be happening. And now I’m not there and—oh my God!—Lacey knows I’m not around and now she’s giving him Twizzlers! I knew she was up to something.

  The worst part of all of this: Lacey can sing. And if she knows I might not be there for the auditions, she’ll snag Jack as her own partner so fast his head will spin.

  So this Twizzler thing? Not good.

  You should be here, Kenzie writes.

  She’s right. If I was there, maybe I could’ve been talking to Jack and he wouldn’t have ever noticed Lacey and her stupid Twizzlers.

  “Maya Mae?” Dad says.

  “What?”

  He pulls my phone away.

  “Dad! This is important! It’s about Dueling Duets.” And about how Lacey is trying to June Carter my Johnny Cash. I reach for my phone, but he puts it in his pocket.

  “No, this is important.” He taps the map with his highlighter. “Don’t you want to know where we’re headed next?”

  “N
ot really,” I grumble as I rest my chin on my hands. What I want to know is whether Lacey and Jack were also gazing into each other’s eyes as they brushed hands. Or whether they said anything after the Twizzler exchange.

  “I wish you’d pay attention,” Dad says. He looks kind of . . . sad. Like me not being into this is personally hurting him. Then it’s gone, and he smiles and rambles on. “We’re going to see the big ball of twine in Kansas, and then on to Cody, Wyoming, where they have real live gunfights—”

  “If they’re real live gunfights, wouldn’t there be dead people all over the place?” I feel like picking a fight, Dad’s sad-face look or not.

  But he just laughs, like normal Dad. “Okay, replica gunfights. Then on to Yellowstone and Grand Teton. And from there, who knows? Wherever the road takes us. No deadlines, no limits.” With that, he pops my phone back onto the table, rolls up the map, and heads into the RV. Bug trails after him, going on and on about bison and snakes and something called a yellow-bellied marmot. I smile a tiny bit. As much as I hate it, this whole living-in-an-RV thing is a dream come true for Bug. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this excited all the time.

  I grab my phone and demand more details from Kenzie. But she doesn’t have much else to share, except that Jack said, “Thanks,” and then Lacey said, “You’re welcome.”

  You have to spy for me, I text her.

  Am so on it, she writes back.

  I click off my phone and set it on my book. I feel so . . . helpless. Like, what can I do from here? Lacey could be hanging out—no, singing—with Jack right this second and stealing my spot as his partner, and there’s nothing I could do to stop it.

  She’s got this light, soft yet strong voice, and she can do pretty much anything from country to Broadway to . . . I don’t know. Everything, probably. Not to mention that she’s practically perfect. She barely even has to study for tests, her parents have more money than mine could ever dream of, and she always knows what to say. I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t have just stood there the way I did when Jack complimented me on my talent show performance. Not to mention that she has hair that doesn’t instantly frizz out into a puffy cloud at the slightest hint of humidity (which in Nashville is all the time). This means that 1) I need to practice more and 2) I have to get home. Before Jack forgets all about me.