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  My amp was really loud and so were the other instruments but nothing was louder to me than Joey’s voice in the microphone.

  “Look at this,” he yelled to the crowd. “We’ve got ourselves a white boy who can play!”

  The audience started cheering and yelling for me to “play that funky music white boy!” As they danced to my beat, I felt appreciation and emotion radiating off of them, overwhelming me. I felt higher than I did when I hit Eric’s joint. I looked at Paulie who gave me a thumb’s up. Then I glanced at Joey, standing behind his microphone, guitar in hand and following me! I felt one thing…

  Validation!

  Chapter 6

  I relived every single second of my ten minutes on stage at the Tybee Island Blues Festival during the flight home, during the walk to baggage claim, and to the walk to my mother’s waiting car. I only stopped thinking about it long enough to give my mom a quick hug and put my bags in the trunk.

  For ten minutes I stayed on the stage and played like my life depended on it. In a way, it did.

  I was good. After I was done, people kept coming up to me and telling me how good I was. Most were surprised but nonetheless, they appreciated my talent.

  I am not happy to be home, that’s for sure. My irritation at being forced to come home from the beach early was only compounded by the fact that my mother hadn’t even met me at the gate. Whenever Sara comes home from Princeton, it’s like the second coming of Christ. I always expect my parents to roll out a red carpet and make me play “All Hail the Queen” at the gate.

  “How was your trip?” my mother asked once we were safely on the interstate, away from the frantic activity of the airport.

  “Mom, it was awesome! We have to go there next summer! Dee-Lee and Sara can go to the beach every day!”

  “Speaking of your sisters,” her voice quivered.

  I looked down at her hands. Her knuckles were turning white. She was clenching the steering wheel so tightly that I thought she was going to break.

  Shit! She was having a panic attack!

  My mother cannot drive on the freeway. It terrifies her. Dad knows this. He shouldn’t have made her pick me up. How in the hell did she get here safely?

  “Mom, pull over,” I told her. “I’ll drive.”

  She didn’t even check for other cars before she pulled the car over to the shoulder and we switched places. Once we were back on the highway, she started to breathe regularly again.

  “Speaking of your sisters,” she began again. “Delilah can’t wait to see you. She missed you like crazy. Sara was extremely disappointed to come home and you weren’t there. You’ll be happy to know that she and Roger broke up.”

  “Oh, that’s so terrible,” I laughed. “Whatever will we do without Roger in our lives?”

  My mother laughed loudly. Her bell-like laugh made me smile. I haven’t heard that laugh in months.

  “I knew you’d be so disappointed. I know how much you enjoy having him around.”

  We both laughed then. I thought that I’ve been doing a pretty good job at keeping my feelings to myself, but my mother read me like a book. I should have known. My mother actually pays attention to her kids, unlike my father. Maybe it’s because she carried us for nine months that she’s closer to us than he is.

  “So tell me about this jazz festival.” I felt her eyes on me and I glanced over, surprised to see her smiling. I didn’t even bother to correct her.

  “You know about that?”

  “My God, yes,” she sighed. “As soon as you told your sisters, they told everyone in the neighborhood. They are really happy for you.”

  She did not say that she and dad are happy for me though. My father is still pissed that I’d missed two weeks of football camp and like always, my mom is on his side.

  Two hours after a panic attack and near death by semi on the highway, we pulled into our driveway and Delilah ran up to the car. She had the door open and was yanking on my arms before I had even cut the engine.

  My baby sister had changed in six weeks! My little blonde haired, cute as a pixie, sister didn’t look the same. Taller and…curvier? Geez-us! She’s going to be thirteen in a few weeks and looks like she’s about to turn fifteen. What the hell had she been eating while I was gone?

  I got out of the car and pulled her into a bear hug. She laughed hysterically while I swung her around.

  At least her laugh hasn’t changed. She still has the loudest bubbly laugh I’ve ever heard.

  “Aiden! Put me down,” she squealed. She straightened her shirt when I let her go. A thin pink strap caught my attention.

  Wait a minute! Is that a bra?

  “Are you wearing a bra?”

  “Aiden!” my mother shouted, clearly appalled by my question.

  “What?”

  “Don’t ask your sister about things like that.”

  Delilah giggled while my mother disappeared into the house. “It is. I grew two whole inches too. Pretty soon I’m goin’ to be five-seven like Sara.”

  Speaking of the devil, my dark haired sister stepped gingerly onto the front porch, squinting in the sunlight.

  I originally thought that going to Princeton would turn Sara into one of those tree-hugging yuppies who hated the “establishment” and wore nothing but ratty jeans, t-shirts, and Birkenstocks. I was so wrong.

  Now that she’s college, she cares more about her appearance than ever before. It’s barely afternoon and she was in full makeup and a swim suit.

  “What’s up, bro!” Sara hugged me when I stepped on the porch. “Missed you.”

  “What did you do to your hair?” I touched her thick chestnut hair.

  “I dyed it. People up north take me more seriously than they did when I was a blonde,” she explained. “Please tell me you like it!”

  “I think it looks great.”

  “Aiden, tell me about the Blues Fest,” Delilah interrupted. “Who was there? Did you meet anyone famous?”

  “I met Gavin Lantana,” I answered, waiting for her delighted giggle.

  “Really?” Sara said in awe. “Is he as cute in person as he is in his videos?”

  I groaned. “I don’t know. He looks the same to me.”

  “Gavin’s okay,” Delilah said, “but he can’t play like Aiden. Who else was there?”

  I hadn’t had a chance to talk to my sisters after the Blues Fest. I wanted to tell them in person anyway. They’d appreciate it more. If it weren’t for my sisters, I’d probably go crazy in my house since my parents don’t like my guitar. Sara and Dee-Lee love to hear me play. Delilah still comes in my room every night and listens. Sara even studied in there before she went to college.

  “You’ll never believe what happened,” I told them.

  “What? Did you meet that Joey guy you told us about?”

  I nodded. “That’s not the best part though. Remember how I said there might be jam session?”

  Both girls smiled and nodded.

  “Well, halfway through the show, they let some people come up on stage and jam with them,” I paused as we walked into the house. My mother went straight to the kitchen while her kids piled into the family room.

  “And I got to play in front of everyone!”

  Sara’s eyes lit up and Delilah actually started to jump up and down.

  “Oh My God! That’s so cool!” she yelled.

  “Were you nervous?” Sara asked.

  “Not at first. But some dude said something about me not being at a Coldplay concert. I got a little nervous then. But then guess what.”

  “What?”

  “Joey Clausen said that I was good!” I grinned from ear to ear, reliving the moment in my head as I told the story. “He said if I’m ever in Atlanta, I should look him up.”

  “Oh man...wow, Aiden...that’s...oh man,” Sara gushed. “That’s awesome! What else happened?”

  I told them about playing on the beach and playing at night with Aaron. They were genuinely fascinated. Their eyes were bright a
nd my sisters were practically sitting on my lap as they listened to my beach tales.

  “Me, Paulie, and Aaron are thinking about staring a band,” I said in a low voice in case my mom was eavesdropping. “Aaron lives in Chicago so we could make it work.”

  “Totally,” Delilah agreed. “You guys could get a lot of gigs, like weddings and stuff. I’d totally let you play at my birthday party.”

  “Yeah, and maybe you could come up to visit me and play at some college parties,” Sara added.

  “Sara! Delilah! Aiden!” Mom called from the kitchen. “Wash up for dinner. Your father’s home!”

  “We’ll finish this later,” I promised my sisters.

  My dad didn’t even acknowledge my presence until we were all seated at the dining room table and dinner had been served. Then he just stared at me. I ignored him until he finally spoke up.

  “I spoke with your coach today. He said you can come to camp in the morning. I told him I’d bring you myself; after we make a stop at a barbershop so you can cut that mess you call hair.”

  I rolled my eyes and touch the ends of my hair. I haven’t cut my hair in months. Now it’s past my shoulders. I don’t know why I grew it out. It’s not like long hair is more manageable than short hair. But I like it. I look more like a musician instead of an athlete.

  “I like my hair the way it is. I’ll pull it back under my helmet,” I told my father.

  “My son is not going to be walking around looking like a hippie,” my father snapped. “You’re cutting it.”

  “But Dad, I like it,” Delilah complained. “He looks like a surfer, not a hippie.”

  “No one asked you, little girl,” was my father’s response.

  “Seems like we no one asks us anything anymore,” I grumbled. “You just tell us what to do and that’s it.”

  “That’s right!” he shouted. “None of you pay any bills in this house. When you pay for your clothes, your food, or anything else, then you can have a say!”

  “So what else are you going to order me to do?” I asked. “Since you’re making me play football. You’re making me cut my hair. I’m sure you have something else you’re going to make me do.”

  My dad dropped his fork on his plate with a loud clang that startled my mother out of whatever world she’d entered when my dad started yelling at me.

  “I tell you what you’re not going to be doing,” my father said. “That’s playing your silly little guitar. Your lessons are over until I say so. How’s that, smart ass?”

  “Yeah, that hurts my feelings,” I said sarcastically. “Do you really think I still need lessons? All I need is practice and you can’t stop me from doing that.”

  I pushed my plate away from me and stood up from the table. “I’m done. I’m going to take a shower and practice.”

  “You’re not excused,” my mother finally spoke. “Sit down and finish your dinner.”

  My plate of spaghetti was half finished but the idea of putting one more forkful in my mouth made my stomach gurgle.

  “I’m done,” I repeated. “Let him eat it, since he paid for it.”

  I stormed out of the dining room and went to my room. I slammed my door so hard that the room shook. I hope the frame cracked. Let him pay for that, too.

  I plugged in my amplifier and turned it up loud to make sure my father could hear whatever I chose to play. I turned my stereo on and put on a tape I’d made of blues instrumentals. I listened briefly to Johnny B. Goode then I started playing along with the song, humming the words.

  I didn’t hear Sara knock on my door so when it cracked open, I was sure it was my mom coming to check on me. Another rule in this house is that the parents don’t have to knock.

  There’s no such thing as privacy in a house where the kids don’t pay the bills”

  I’m so sick of hearing that. It’s not like I’m in my room snorting coke. I’m usually just playing my guitar.

  Sara sat on my bed and listened to me finish the song. I paused the CD and looked at her. She looked like she had something to say; something I wouldn’t like.

  “What?”

  “Dad’s really pissed at you, isn’t he?”

  “He’s always pissed at me. What else is new?”

  “Well, you have changed, Aiden. You’re not the same kid you were a couple of years ago.”

  “A couple of years ago, I was fifteen. I’m about to turn eighteen soon. I’m going to be an adult.”

  “Eighteen isn’t really an adult, especially if you’re still living with Mom and Dad and they’re paying for your education.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Aiden, I know you’ve been doing your own thing, but have you noticed something going on with Mom and Dad?”

  Mom and Dad have always been strange. Sara’s worried about nothing. They are not fighting. They barely even speak.

  “Dad’s a prick and maybe Mom’s sick of it,” I guessed.

  “Don’t you think it would be a good idea not to stress them out if they’re already having problems?”

  “Mom and Dad stress themselves out,” I told her. “If Dad would just stop riding my ass, maybe he could focus on making his wife happy again.”

  “Aiden,” Sara moaned. “What if they get a divorce?”

  I laughed out loud. That’s crazy. No matter how bad things get, Doug and Dina Tyler are in it for life.

  Or for as long as we live in Mount Vernon.

  Appearances are everything here and we are the All-American family. Doug and Dina aren’t going to do anything to tarnish that image.

  “Mom and Dad are not going to get a divorce, no matter what we do. They have a reputation to uphold. A divorce is out of the question.”

  “At least, try not to make things so difficult. What harm is there with you going to camp?”

  “I’m going to camp!” I snapped. “I’m going to cut my hair! I’ll do whatever Dad wants me to do just to keep him off my back for now.”

  “Well, that’s all I’m asking. What were you playing when I came in?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “A little tune by Chuck Berry. Wanna hear some more?”

  “Sure, if you don’t mind me being in here.”

  I never mind. My sister has good intentions. She supports me and will always have my back. Sara just cares about everybody, maybe a little too much.

  Chapter 7

  “Hey Mom, what ya doin’?”

  I’d just walked in the house from my second football practice of the day. Thank God summer camp is over. Now we’re doing two- a- days before school starts. This sport sucks.

  Every morning that I have to wake up before the crack of dawn just to be on the field before the sun makes it too hot to practice, I hate football even more than the day before. At least my dad hasn’t been on my ass about anything.

  “Hi Aiden.” My mother looked up from the stack of papers on the table and smiled softly at me. “How was practice?”

  It sucked big fat monkey balls is what I want to tell her but I know well enough not to say that.

  “It was fine,” I answered instead. “What’s all this?”

  “Oh, I’m just working on some things for the cookout.”

  Every year the subdivision throws The Annual Labor Day Neighborhood Cookout and my family is hosting this year. Delilah’s thirteenth birthday is the same day as the cookout and my parents have gone nuts planning this thing, especially my mom. I know they spent more money on this party than they did on my car.

  “What’s left to do?”

  My mother glanced up from her lists, surprised by my question. “Do you want to help, Aiden?”

  I laughed loudly. She’s hilarious. “Nope. Do you need me to do something?”

  Mom closed her eyes and began rubbing her temples. I know this look. My mom gets it when she has to make a decision that she is uncomfortable with.

  “Sit down, Aiden,” she told me. I sat.

  When she opened her eyes again, I noticed th
at the strain of whatever she and my dad were going through, the pressure of planning such a huge event, and the stress of having three teenage kids is wearing on her. She looks tired.

  “The only thing that’s left is,” she paused, “the entertainment.”

  “Doesn’t DJ Rob do the cookout every year?” I asked. “Did he die or something?”

  “No,” she chuckled. “He didn’t die, but your sister wants something else. And I’m not sure that what she wants is the best choice.”

  “Mom, it’s her thirteenth birthday. Give her whatever she wants.”

  “She wants you, Aiden,” my mom finally said after a long silence. “She wants you and your friends to play at the cookout.”

  “If Dee-Lee wants us to play, we’re playing,” I told her. “This will be great exposure for us!”

  “I don’t know, Aiden,” Mom replied. “Are you really comfortable playing for the entire neighborhood? You’ve haven’t been playing that long.”

  She wasn’t saying what she really wants to. The doubt in her eyes was clear. She doesn’t think I’m good enough!

  She’s never even heard me play!

  My mom may have walked past my closed door once or twice and heard a snippet, but she has never even asked me to play for her. Even after telling them about Tybee Island and how good I was, she still has her doubts. That hurts.

  “If Delilah wants me to play, then I’ll play,” I looked down at the table. “I’m good enough to entertain our uppity neighbors. I won’t embarrass you.”

  “Honey,” she reached for my hand but I pulled it away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  “Whatever Mom. Like I said, I won’t embarrass you.”

  I walked back into the garage and started my car. Even though I wanted to take a shower, I was to upset to be in the house with her. I might say something that will really hurt her feelings and I don’t want to do that to my mother.

  I decided to go over Paulie’s and tell him the news. At least at his house someone would be happy about this opportunity. Eric won’t be worried that we’ll embarrass him. Eric doesn’t give a shit about what people in Mt. Vernon think about him.