Dedication Takes a Lifetime

I looked down at the plate that had once held an oversized banana nut muffin, but was now filled with crumbs and the white snow of six nervously shredded paper napkins. I couldn’t stop fidgeting. I took a sip of my hot tea, played with my straw, checked my watch, adjusted the table, scratched my head, took another sip, played with the straw. Repeat cycle until exhausted. I was at the Silver Lining café, just a few blocks away from Camellia Ridge, waiting for Kal to get out of classes and come meet me.

She’d sounded so excited when I called. “Holy crap, you actually called!” She’d practically shouted in my ear, “The way your brother looked at me when I gave him my number, I figured he’d probably trash it after I was out of view.”

“Nope,” I’d chucked awkwardly, Tomas still downstairs finishing his dinner the night before. “How are you?” We’d continued with the niceties for a while longer before I worked up my nerve, asking her to meet me for coffee the next day. I’d told her I had a favor to ask.

Now I was ticking all over the place, praying she’d show up, and that she wouldn’t say no.

Suddenly, the front door of the café swung open violently, a cold wind blowing through and scattering napkins and plastic lids around like a tornado as a green-bundled figure practically fell through the threshold. Had she not spoken, I never would have recognized her.

“Goddamn stupid Wisconsin weather!” She forced the door shut and adjusted the instrument case on her back, “I mean, really? Jesus!” I cleared my throat loudly and she turned, waving to me shortly and making her way to the back, where I’d picked a rather secluded table. On her way, her loud ramblings continued, “I thought this state was supposed to be all about cheese and, like…cows. Not freezing my tits in subzero temperatures in early November.” She put her case down on the floor, along with her backpack, before she started unraveling herself from her heavy winter attire. One coat, one jacket, two scarves and a hoodie later, I was graced with the presence of the modelesque woman I’d met just a week before.

I fought the urge to laugh and nodded to her cordially, “Kal.”

She nodded back, mimicking my expression, “Annette.”

I finally cracked a smile, my nervousness quickly melting away as her comfortable personality once again washed over me. “Did you walk here?”

She nodded, waving one of the baristas over, “My car wouldn’t start this morning. Can I get a hot chocolate and a glass of water, please?” She asked the man that shuffled over to the table, then thanked him as he walked away.

I felt bad. “You should have called me; I would have come to get you.”

“Nah,” she shrugged, digging under the napkins scraps on my plate to fish out a chunk of walnut and pop it into her mouth. “It may be balls cold, but being out in the weather kind of reminds me of home.” She raised an eyebrow at me, “Maine isn’t exactly the coziest of states, ya know.”

“I have heard that,” I nodded. “So how have you been? How’re classes?”

The barista returned with her order and she quickly downed half the glass of hot chocolate before answering, “Mm, not bad. Last year, my Junior year, sucked so bad because it was my first year at the academy and I wasn’t used to it. But now that I’m adjusted, it’s going pretty well. I really like Professor Hillman.”

I nodded, remembering Hillman well. She was the main vocal instructor and, while a total hard ass, was a favorite among the students for her effective lessons and genuine hopes for their futures. She’d been heartbroken when I dropped out of the academy, and even offered to pull some strings to get me back in. I’d turned her down; I didn’t deserve any special treatment.

“So are you a vocal major?” I eyed her instrument case curiously.

“Nope,” she said thoughtfully, “Guitar. But at the beginning of the year, they changed it to a requirement for all instrumental majors to take at least one semester of vocal development.”

“How much does that suck?”

She shrugged, “For me, not too much. I’m not tone-deaf--I mean, I’ll never be the lead singer of a headlining chick band or anything, but I’m okay--so it’s kind of cool to do the exercises, and see how I progress.” She finished her drink and started sipping her water, “What was your major?”

“I was split,” I informed her. I caught the barista’s eye and held up two fingers, then pointed to our table. He nodded and started preparing another hot tea and hot chocolate. “Vocal and violin. And I took the extended Creative Writing classes, so I was technically an unaccredited English major too.”

“Damn,” Kal leaned back in her seat, eying me incredulously, “I have a tough enough time balancing guitar and Intro To Chemistry; you, my friend, are insane.”

“I know!” I agreed, “Compared to that, GVH is like being back in kindergarten.” We laughed at this, going on to talk about the various colorful characters that served on the faculty at Camellia Ridge and Grey Valley High alike, breezing through two more drinks each as we went on.

“Oh, so guess who called me the other night?!” She said abruptly, almost an hour and a half later. She didn’t even pause for me to guess. “Jack Barakat!”

I almost spit tea across the table at her. I had to cover my mouth with my hand and force myself to swallow first. “You’re shitting me.”

“No,” she shook her head excitedly, “He’d asked me for my number before I left that night and I gave it to him, thinking he was just being nice, but would never actually call. But he called!”

I started bouncing slightly in my seat, her excitement contagious, and remembering how truly awesome Jack had been. “What did he say, what did he say?”

“He said,” she sighed dreamily, “’Hey.’” She trailed off and I stared at her until she laughed and continued. “He told me that he meant to call earlier, but they were swamped with photoshoots and finishing the last few shows in the tour, but now they’re back home and on a two-week break before they have to do anything else.” She leaned back and ran a hand through her hair, all smiles, “We talked for over an hour, just shooting the shit; he’s so cool. Really down-to-earth, you know?” I nodded. “And then he asked about you, and how you were doing; he said he really liked hanging out with both of us, because we were ‘real people.’ So imagine my sadness,” she pantomimed a huge frown, “When I had to tell him that I hadn’t talked to you since then!

“So he made me swear to get your number and check in on you, and then he said we’d all have to try very hard to keep in touch.” She giggled, and I found it slightly uncharacteristic of her, even though I admittedly barely knew her. “Can you believe this shit? Jack Barakat--the Jack Barakat--wants to be friends with us, two regular chicks.”

“Bizarre,” I agreed, but then put my hand to my chest and said smugly, “But who could blame him? We are very awesome.” Then, suddenly, I remembered why I’d asked her to meet me and the nervousness came rushing back.

I bit the inside of my cheek, “Actually, uh, speaking of Jack Barakat. That’s sort of why I wanted to see you today.”

She leaned forward so quickly that she pushed the table against my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. “If you’re about to tell me that you’ve decided you like Jack now, instead of Alex, I will jump over this table and gorilla punch you in the vag.”

I wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but I was certain she would do it, and even more certain that it would hurt me immensely. And the sound of his name from her lips stung enough that I didn’t needed any added torment. So I shook my head, “No, never. Actually, I, uh… Well, you see, the thing is…” I could tell she was fighting between curious and impatient, so I sighed and just spit it out, “Would you like to start a band?”

She looked around briefly, then raised an eyebrow, “Huh?”

I hung my head, licked my lips, and launched into the tale of Alex Gaskarth and Annette Vader on the All Time Low tour bus.

-- -- --

“Oh, honey,” Kal frowned at me from across the table, putting one of her hands over mine, “I’m so sorry. Wow, he is such a jackass.” I nodded, and she sighed, “But, Annette, what does any of this have to do with asking me to start a band?”

“He told me I couldn’t,” I told her stubbornly, “And I’m going to prove him wrong. It may be for all the wrong reasons, but now I’m determined to start something and take it all the way. I know I’m a good singer, and I know I can make it to the top, and I’d like you to come with me.”

She smiled, flattered, “That’s really sweet, hon, but--”

“Kal,” I interrupted, not wanting to hear her say no, “I have to do this. And I can’t do it alone.” I was aware of how desperate I sounded, but I didn’t care; I just needed her to agree to my plan.

She mulled over it for a long time, sipping on her current hot chocolate and tapping her cherry-red nails against the table. Finally, she sighed and said, “All right, I’ll do it.” I opened to mouth to thank her, but she cut me off before I could. “But,” she said sternly, pointing at me, “I don’t half-ass things; if we do this, we’re doing it right. And you’ve got to be in it completely, and not just to spite Alex Gaskarth. You have to love it, because I love music, Annette; it’s not a game to me.”

I prickled a little, “It’s not a game to me, either; that’s why it hurt me so bad when he said I wasn’t good enough. Music is the only thing I’ve ever truly wanted in my life.” I took a deep breath, calming my defenses, “You can trust that this is it for me, and I’m one hundred percent dedicated. You can count on me.”

She eyed me carefully, trying to decipher my sincerity. She must have found me worthy, though, because she cracked a smile, “So let’s do it then.”