“And that’s pretty much what happened. That guy didn’t hurt me or anything, but it was terrifying and that’s why I’ve been so shut down for the last couple of months. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, Catherine.”
We were sitting in the library on the blue reading chairs by the card catalogs. It was near the end of the day, during our final-period English class. I decided that this would be the time that I finally let her know everything that happened to me: the band, the attempted assault, and why I’ve been so withdrawn. Catherine had listened with rapt attention.
“No, Maya, I’m sorry. I had no idea that happened to you, and I wish I had known so you didn’t have to go through that alone.”
I shrugged. “I didn’t tell anyone, except for Jake a few days ago. I was so ashamed and guilty. I know I shouldn’t have been sneaking off just to play in some band, but I just enjoyed it so much.”
“I’m just glad that they were nice about it. Roger always seemed a bit dramatic and edgy, but I guess he’s not such a bad guy.”
I nodded. “They may look a little sketchy, but they’re alright. I just got so excited about playing in front of an audience that I just got carried away.”
“Oh, come here,” Catherine said as she reached over to give me a hug. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I’ll always have your back.”
I wiped my eyes a bit as I hugged her in return. “Just, you know, don’t tell my parents. They’ll be furious if they found out I had been sneaking out for this long.”
Catherine pulled away. “I know you’re not going back to that place, but are you still with the band? You could still perform, just not be so secretive about it.”
I shook my head. “That was our regular gig. We only ever got occasional jobs outside of that, and even less now that it’s so cold out. It’s been two months since we played anywhere outside of the band room.” I glanced at the clock. “In fact, we talked about meeting up after class today. I haven’t played with them in weeks, but I told Barry yesterday that I would come.”
“You know,” Catherine smirked, “It would be cool to hear you play. I have French Club today, but maybe I could watch one of these days?”
“Absolutely!” I replied, as the bell rang and the day ended. After putting our notebooks into our bookbags we hooked arms and went to our lockers. It was affirming to clear the air with her, and I should have known that she would be nothing but supportive. We hugged one last time before I headed off to the band room where I had dropped off my guitar. Roger was already in there, plucking away at a chord progression to warm up. He probably skipped the last period, as he often did, to come in early.
“Hey, Maya,” said Roger, not looking up from his instrument.
“Hey, Roger,” I replied, unzipping my Fender from its case and joining him. I started strumming a counter-melody to what he was playing, and wordlessly we fell into a rhythm. Roger perked up a little bit as I kept pace with him, and not for the first time did we sync up quite smoothly. I always thought he had some natural talent, and I think we both recognized our mutual abilities. We were playing like this for a while before Barry and Carl shuffled in and started setting themselves up.
The four of us fell right back into our familiar cadence, and it was as if we hadn’t been on break for two months. We started by tinkering with “Static Kiss” since I had an idea for how to stretch out the intro that Barry seemed to like. One note after another melded together, and while the music itself was frantic and edgy, the four of us were focused and in harmony. My fingers were buzzing by the time the last note hung in the air.
I looked at Roger. Meeting our eyes, he gave me a nod and I returned it. I saw a bit of the fire that he had always had spark back into his eyes, a sheer love of the craft that transcended all of the mundane band politics. It was several beats before Barry started adjusting his bass and Carl popped open another bag of chips.
“Let’s do ‘Exit Strategy’ next. Cool?” asked Roger. I nodded curtly, and away we went.
***
The rest of February was a breath of fresh air. I felt clear-headed for the first time in weeks, and I started socializing and enjoying myself again with my friends. For one thing, I was a lot more affectionate towards Jake, always hanging off of his arm and stealing kisses when I could. Jake was always shy about it, but we could always make each other smile. I think that Catherine spread the word around to the other girls about my experience, and I noted that a lot of the girls on the squad were extra nice to me even if they didn’t know the specifics. I felt like I had a support system in place again, and just holding Jake’s hand made me feel safer.
During the first week of March, I was scheduled to visit the counselor in the front office, a plump older woman named Mrs. Donovan. She welcomed me into her office as I sat down, smoothing my skirt under me.
“Good morning, Miss Brown. How are you today?” she greeted.
“I’m good,” I answered. “Am I in trouble or something?”
“Oh, of course not,” assured Mrs. Donovan. “We schedule meetings with all of the juniors in the spring, especially students who show a lot of promise, to discuss their upcoming last year of high school and what their future plans are. I must say, you have the most impressive grades of anyone in your year. At this rate, you could easily be valedictorian next spring.”
I gave an awkward smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Donovan,” I replied simply. I was usually very humble about my grades, since technically I had Matthew’s memories of high school, college, and graduate school rattling around in my head. It’s easy to get A’s if it’s your second round of high school.
“What I wanted to discuss with you today are your plans for the future. You may think that it’s too early to start thinking about college, but you know that graduation will come faster than you think.”
“I’ve actually thought a lot about it,” I confirmed. “I really want to study economics and investments, and I’ve wanted to live in Chicago for the longest time.” I cleared my throat, thinking about Matthew’s life working in an office in the Loop and missing it terribly. “I…have a friend who used to live in Chicago and it’s sort of my dream to move back. Er, move there.”
“I think that’s a wonderful goal, Maya,” said Mrs. Donovan cheerfully. “There are many excellent schools in Chicago. There’s Roosevelt, DePaul, Loyola…”
“I want to apply to the economics program at the University of Chicago.”
Mrs. Donovan exhaled sharply. “That’s quite a difficult school to apply to. You certainly have the grades for it, but you’d be competing against many other students who have straight A’s from across the country.” She opened up the folder on her desk with my name on it, and briefly scanned it. “I know you’ve been class treasurer since freshman year, and you’ve been on the JV cheer squad for the last two years.”
“I’m going to be on the varsity squad next year.”
Mrs. Donovan nodded absently. “That’s very good. If the University of Chicago is your goal, you’ll need to demonstrate that your activities are on par with your academic standing. Something that makes you stand out.”
I spoke cautiously. “What if I was a successful investor, with a portfolio worth millions of dollars?”
Mrs. Donovan laughed quietly. “Even if that was the case, you couldn’t put something like that on your transcripts. While I think that the University of Chicago could be a very good ‘reach’ school for a student like you, I think it would be prudent to perhaps consider other schools. You would do very well at any school in the Chicago area.”
When I left Mrs. Donovan’s office, I couldn’t help but be pensive about my goals. While I would eventually be able to write a check for my tuition, it didn’t change the fact that I would still have to have a killer application. It was all part of what I outlined in the Butterfly Manifesto: become a model student and make my way back to my beloved Chicago. What’s more, I wanted the school with the best prospects. After all, college was only the first step.
As I was being kept busy with treasurer duties and acing the varsity cheerleading tryouts that were held in April, I hadn’t even noticed that our band practices were becoming more and more sporadic. While I saw Carl regularly in AP Economics, I rarely ran into Barry or Roger, and I assumed it was because with graduation approaching they were busy preparing for it. Or maybe they were skipping class a lot, since Senior Syndrome was contagious and they weren’t exactly model students.
After one of our classes, I noticed Carl was carrying some of the gear he had stored from his drum kit to bring home with him. The school had given notice that we had to clear out all of our stored equipment by the end of the day, since school was ending in a little less than a month. I offered to help transport the rest of his stuff to his car, so we headed into the band room with a cart.
Barry was already in there, wrapping up cords from his amplifier. “Hey Maya, hey Carl. I guess you’ve been putting off hauling our stuff out of here until the last possible minute too, eh?”
I shrugged. “No, my guitar’s been at home for weeks.”
“Figures you’d be the responsible one,” Barry laughed. “Might as well start packing it all up. Bring the cart over.”
Carl quietly started dismantling his kit, while Barry attempted to joke his way through the silence. We smiled politely, but I think it hit us all at once that this would be the last time Tempest would be in the same room together. It was sadder that we wouldn’t even be able to have one last jam session. We had loaded everything onto the cart when Roger finally entered the room.
“Sup, everybody,” he muttered. We could tell he was pretty low energy as he ran his fingers through his tousled hair absently.
“Hey, man,” answered Barry, still trying to be upbeat. “I put your cords on your amp over there. Didn’t know if you’d be here or not.”
Roger nodded absently. “I guess this is it, gentlemen. And lady. It was a good run.”
It was a few quiet beats before Carl finally spoke up, and for once wasn’t talking through food in his mouth. “You guys have any plans for after graduation?”
“I’m just a lowly junior,” I said. “Plus I’m a goody-two-shoes, and I’ve still got a year of schoolwork left.”
“Hey, you were always cool to me, Maya,” assured Roger. “Never seen a girl play the way you do. Or a guy for that matter.”
“Gee, thanks!” joked Barry. “And as for my plans, I’m probably just going to work for my dad this summer. He wants me to take some classes in the fall, but I think I’m done with school. What about you, Carl?”
“Oh, I got accepted into the math program at Augsburg,” Carl casually stated. “I got the letter weeks ago.”
I was surprised. “I didn’t know you were a math guy, Carl.”
“Oh yeah. Always have been. Might even go into investments, since it’s booming right now.”
“Well, the market fundamentals are showing an unhealthy divergence from growth projections, and that kind of speculation—" I stopped, catching myself going into business mode and sensing Barry and Roger zoning out. “Sucks. But, um, you know, keep in touch. You’ll do well, I think.”
Carl smiled tightly. “What about you, Roger?”
Roger crossed his arms, leaning back against a nearby pillar. “After graduation, I’m heading west. I got a cousin in LA that is gonna let me crash with him. All I need are a few lucky breaks and I can do something with music.”
All four of us nodded knowingly to each other. There were a few moments when we said nothing, and I couldn’t resist breaking the silence. It was that, or else I’d start tearing up.
“I just want to say thanks, guys, for letting me play with you. For letting me be a rock star, at least for a little while. For thinking I’m cool.”
“Maya, you always were,” assured Roger. “And hey, if you ever find yourself in LA, look me up when I’m rich and famous.”
I saluted, sarcastically. “Roger, Roger!”
With a final exhale, Barry and Carl started pushing the cart out the door, while Roger grabbed his equipment and slung his guitar over his shoulder. He gave a dramatic wave, and soon I was alone in the band room. I took in the room for a moment, my ankles hooked together and my arms crossed under my breasts. I reflected on all of our practices and jam sessions, and how good it felt to let go and not be Maya Brown: Model Student every once in a while.
From Matthew’s memories I recalled how he felt just before graduation, and how lost he was. I knew exactly how the guys felt as they went off into three different directions. I suppose I was fortunate in that I wasn’t in their place, but in less than a year I would be. Not exactly like them; I was already setting myself up for post-graduation and had been for years. I had a lot more prospects than Matthew ever had, and it was because I was aggressively planning it out. Not something the average high school student does seriously.
The wealth I had acquired was inconsequential for now, as I wistfully remembered being the Masked Maiden and the electricity of the stage. Time to let go, I told myself. I’d still have a lot of things I needed to do, and an entire summer of the fun things that seventeen-year-old girls get to do before they needed to worry about being an adult. With that, I jumped to my feet, and walked to the door, turning off the lights behind me.