A List of Best Intentions

Alright.

You gotta give me props for trying to make something on a computer that I hardly ever touched. I mean, c’mon. It was ’99. I had better things to do.

And it was better than nothing.



I printed out about 50 of those suckers and hit the town with Cody and Tungsten. (Mom said she needed to go for a walk, anyways.) Cody scoffed at my attention-grabber the whole time.

“I mean, she’s gonna kill you,” he had groaned.

“Oh yeah? You got anything better?” I challenged.

He rolled his eyes and motioned across the air as though signifying a name in lights, like I had done on the phone with her. “How about, ‘A Beautiful Girl Who Sings the Blues’?”

I snickered and elbowed his side. “You’re totally diggin’ on her, I swear.”

Cody scrambled for a comeback. “B-but…she’s…she is pretty.”

“Keisha told me you guys talked the other day,” I said casually.

“Really? Did she say anything else about me?”

I just chuckled to myself and watched him blush, all while Tungsten barked at poles and yanked me forward.

At every telephone pole, we stapled a flyer to it and hoped for the best. And as we dipped into every strip mall lining the roads, we slapped them onto each wall; Tungsten made sure to sniff everything to make sure it was safe; she even peed on one. (We fled the scene.)

Keisha’s phone number, along with mine, was everywhere in Tanglewood. We were careful to put them in the most high-traffic places, so that everyone could see them, and Cody and I left feeling confident.

I had high hopes for Keisha. I knew she’d go far, and I tried my hardest to help her make it. She was an off-the-heazy awesome singer.

I had faith in her, and she had the same faith in me. Something good had to come out of it.

~~~~

What took me off guard was the fact that I’d went a short five hours before hearing anyone who wanted to hire Keisha. I was expecting a day or two, tops, but then again, knowing how successful her performance was mere days before, my surprise wasn’t totally warranted.

When the phone rang, I looked at the caller ID; the number was unfamiliar. Still, I picked it up.

“Y’ellow?” I chirped.

“Are you Keisha’s manager?” someone on the other line asked. The voice sounded familiar.

“Yeah, um…who’s calling?”

The kid cleared his throat. “Robert Cohen.”

The gears in my head clicked. “Robert? From I Am You Are?”

He gasped. “Stalker! Holy shit!”

“No, no! It’s Kevin! Slater! Dude, we played together at that party one night!” I assured him in a panic.

He paused, then went, “Ohhhh…oh yeah. Wait. Kevin? You’re Keisha’s manager? Wha…why?”

“Yep. She’s gonna get famous ‘cause of me,” I boasted.

Robert’s laugh sounded like a frog. “Dude, you gotta get her to play with us sometime. Seriously, bro.”

“Did you see her sing at History Through the Decades?”

“Hells yeah! She was awesome,” he said. “Me and the band wanna have her open for us one night at the next gig we’re gonna do.”

“Are you serious?! That’s awesome!” I shouted, flailing like a wet cat.

Robert added, “Well, she’s got…she’s got somethin’ we like. We could hook her up with someone, too – Alyssa knows the guys at the pop radio station.”

This couldn’t be real. All I could think of was, Wow, this is crazy! “Are you for real?”

“I’m hella real, bro. Why’re you getting all wacked about this?” he laughed.

“I mean, I…I got faith in her and I told her I’d help her out,” I told him.

Robert whooped. “Lemme guess – it’s part of your list?”

“’Make someone famous,’ yeah.”

“So do you think she’d be up to open for us if we did a gig at the rec center for the hell of it?”

I nodded like a maniac, then remembered that he couldn’t see me. “Yeah, totally!”

“Sweet,” he smiled. “I’ll call her and talk. Maybe we can set something up by the end of the week.”

“Awesome! Do it!”

My hands were shaking by the time the conversation ended and I hung up the phone. I was just itching to get things underway and working in my favor.

~~~~

The calls had been made.

Keisha and I Am You Are had a gig at the recreation center that Friday.

I was in control of planning stuff (with Cody, of course). And when I say planning, I mean, like, publicity and stuff. Didn’t have a problem with that.

Matter of fact, everything was good. I was super anxious for that night; I’d spread the word across the school and everyone knew about it. That meant there’d be a full house at the center. Even though people heard the name “I Am You Are,” and instantly wanted to come, there was still a good chunk who wanted to come because of Keisha.

Cody, Keisha, and I had met one day at school during lunch to talk about a setlist for her – she didn’t write her own songs, but she explained that didn’t wanna be stuck doing covers she didn’t like.

“You know what I mean?” she had said.

Cody nodded. “Yeah. What songs did you have in mind?”

She stared at the ground bashfully. “Well…I have a CD of all the songs I wanted to sing, but they still got the words on ‘em.”

I tilted my head. “Like, they’re not karaoke?”

Keisha shook her head. “No. But if I…if it’s like, a capella, then it’d be weird…”

(I never bothered to ask her what “a capella” meant.) “We could ask I Am You Are to help,” I suggested.

“Well, what kind of music were you gonna sing?” Cody asked.

“It’s a bunch of Motown and such,” she replied.

“Oh,” I mumbled. An alternative band playing Motown? As if. But what else was there? “Well…maybe…”

“The gig’s Friday. We could find someone to play…piano, or something,” Cody threw out there.

Keisha’s eyes went wide, and she put her hands up. “Guys, no, that’s too much. Where are ya’ll gonna find a pianist by Friday?”

I went, “Pffft,” and smirked. “No biggie. That’ll be easy.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

Cody shrugged and smiled at her. “Hey, we’re on a mission.”

“From God?” she joked.

Neither of us got the joke.

Keisha blushed. “Um, so…a piano player?”

My brain lit up all of a sudden. “Hold on,” I grinned. “A lightbulb just went off.”

Cody scrunched his eyebrows together. “Kevin, are you sure it’s not just two cavemen trying to make a fire?”

“No, it’s better than that.”

In the midst of lunch in the cafeteria, I stood up with the loud squeak of my chair and stepped up on top of it. I cupped my hands around my mouth and made a big announcement, regardless of any possible negative consequences – hey, I didn’t have my megaphone with me, so I had to make do with what I had: my own louder-than-hell voice.

“ARE THERE ANY PIANO PLAYERS IN THIS ROOM?”

From my view, I saw a simultaneous reaction of everyone turning their heads toward me. The entire student body went quiet.

Then, a blonde girl hesitantly raised her hand.

I pointed at her and smiled. “Sweet! What’s your name?”

“Jackie Este -”

“Great! Sounds good to me,” I said out of nowhere, cutting her off out of habit. “Um…sorry. What grade you in, Jackie?”

She looked around; everyone was staring at her. “I’m…I’m a freshman.”

I motioned for her to come over to us, and I got down off the chair. People started chatting amongst themselves again. And meanwhile, Cody and Keisha were cracking up about something I decided not to ask about.

Jackie flipped her hair and asked me, “So, why do you need me?”

I looked at Keisha and answered, “Well, we have a gig on Friday and Keisha here needs a pianist…”

They made eye contact; Keisha waved like a princess would and Jackie gave a little confident half-smile.

“What kind of music do you listen to?” Keisha inquired.

“Showtunes,” Jackie replied almost instantly.

Silence.

I slapped my hand on the table. “Hell, it’s a start! Jackie, if we paid you, could you learn a bunch of 50s stuff by Friday?”

She smiled slyly. “I’m listening.”