the first person he felt
comfortable
singing in front of.”
“That was some pretty quick analysis, Darce. I don’t know,” I say. “No wonder you bolted out of the AP lit exam after one hour.”
“I had to pee, so I rushed the last essay. But I still got a five,” Darcy informs me. “But seriously, Kelly! The song!”
It’s intermission, and the auditorium lights come on. Darcy and I stand up to let the sophomore girls get out of our row. When we sit down, I tell Darcy, “You can just write a song to write a song. Songs don’t always have to be
about
someone.”
Aviva hurries up from the orchestra pit, frantically flipping the sheets of her yellow notepad.
“Everyone’s trying to figure out who the song’s about,” Aviva reports, out of breath. As soon as she sits down, she starts scribbling messy notes.
“I told you it was about someone!” Darcy tells me. “You can tell by the way he sang it.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was so… emotional,” Darcy explains, soundingawed. “I mean, think about Hunter Fahrenbach in class. He just, like, sits there, huffing Sharpies. But tonight he was…
deep
.”
“Pam thinks it was about a fat girl,” Aviva says, not even looking up as she fills the last line of her notepad.
“What?”
“Because it goes”—Aviva removes the pen from her mouth and uses it to flip her yellow pages back to where she jotted down lyrics—“ ‘
You’re the soft place that I fall.
’ ”
“Oh, that is so dumb, Pam,” Darcy says, rolling her eyes. “It’s a
metaphorical
soft place. It’s a comfortable place. It’s a supportive place. Or a supportive person. It’s Kelly!”
“It’s Kelly?” Aviva says, her voice going an octave higher than usual. Then she looks up, confused. “But Kelly’s not fat.”
“Stop!” I say. “It’s not about me. It’s definitely not about me.”
But part of me wants them to keep saying that it
is
about me.
“I never see Hunter with any other girl,” Darcy says.
“Except Diva Price,” I suggest miserably. “Remember homecoming?”
“That wouldn’t be a soft place to fall.” Aviva snorts. “That girl is built like Michael Vick.”
“Diva sat in his lap, but they didn’t actually talk to each other,” Darcy says. “The only other person Hunter talks to is pervy Eugene. So unless the song is about Eugene, it’s about you.”
I look from Darcy to Aviva. They’re both completely convinced.
“Okay, okay!” I say. “What do I do about it?”
The lights in the auditorium are flashing on and off, which makes me feel like time is running out.
“Go backstage!” Darcy tells me.
“What do I do?” I ask them frantically as the lights flash for the last time. “I mean, what do I say? I can’t just go up and ask who the song was about!”
Aviva doesn’t answer, because she’s trying to push my boobs up.
“That’s as high as they go,” I tell her, and she looks disappointed.
“Stop that!” Darcy slaps Aviva’s hand away. “Kell, congratulate him. Tell him you loved the song. Then he might—”
“No.” Aviva shakes her head. “You won’t even have to say anything! He’s gonna make out with you.”
The lights go out, and I hurry up the darkened auditorium aisle. But backstage, things don’t go so well. The wings are so crowded, it takes me a minute to even spot Hunter, who looks ridiculously good wearing a guitar… and hanging out with freshman girls. They’re freshman twins who did a mime act during the first half of the show. They still have their white mime makeup all over their faces and hands, and it’s rubbing off on the water bottles they’re holding. Their mime act was totally bizarre, and not very good—Aviva reviewed it as “Not even the best miming I’ve seen in Whitefish Bay,” which is pretty sad.
But it looks like they’re pretty entertaining right now, because Hunter is laughing loudly at something one of them said. Then he stands up, takes his guitar off, and puts
comfortable
singing in front of.”
“That was some pretty quick analysis, Darce. I don’t know,” I say. “No wonder you bolted out of the AP lit exam after one hour.”
“I had to pee, so I rushed the last essay. But I still got a five,” Darcy informs me. “But seriously, Kelly! The song!”
It’s intermission, and the auditorium lights come on. Darcy and I stand up to let the sophomore girls get out of our row. When we sit down, I tell Darcy, “You can just write a song to write a song. Songs don’t always have to be
about
someone.”
Aviva hurries up from the orchestra pit, frantically flipping the sheets of her yellow notepad.
“Everyone’s trying to figure out who the song’s about,” Aviva reports, out of breath. As soon as she sits down, she starts scribbling messy notes.
“I told you it was about someone!” Darcy tells me. “You can tell by the way he sang it.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was so… emotional,” Darcy explains, soundingawed. “I mean, think about Hunter Fahrenbach in class. He just, like, sits there, huffing Sharpies. But tonight he was…
deep
.”
“Pam thinks it was about a fat girl,” Aviva says, not even looking up as she fills the last line of her notepad.
“What?”
“Because it goes”—Aviva removes the pen from her mouth and uses it to flip her yellow pages back to where she jotted down lyrics—“ ‘
You’re the soft place that I fall.
’ ”
“Oh, that is so dumb, Pam,” Darcy says, rolling her eyes. “It’s a
metaphorical
soft place. It’s a comfortable place. It’s a supportive place. Or a supportive person. It’s Kelly!”
“It’s Kelly?” Aviva says, her voice going an octave higher than usual. Then she looks up, confused. “But Kelly’s not fat.”
“Stop!” I say. “It’s not about me. It’s definitely not about me.”
But part of me wants them to keep saying that it
is
about me.
“I never see Hunter with any other girl,” Darcy says.
“Except Diva Price,” I suggest miserably. “Remember homecoming?”
“That wouldn’t be a soft place to fall.” Aviva snorts. “That girl is built like Michael Vick.”
“Diva sat in his lap, but they didn’t actually talk to each other,” Darcy says. “The only other person Hunter talks to is pervy Eugene. So unless the song is about Eugene, it’s about you.”
I look from Darcy to Aviva. They’re both completely convinced.
“Okay, okay!” I say. “What do I do about it?”
The lights in the auditorium are flashing on and off, which makes me feel like time is running out.
“Go backstage!” Darcy tells me.
“What do I do?” I ask them frantically as the lights flash for the last time. “I mean, what do I say? I can’t just go up and ask who the song was about!”
Aviva doesn’t answer, because she’s trying to push my boobs up.
“That’s as high as they go,” I tell her, and she looks disappointed.
“Stop that!” Darcy slaps Aviva’s hand away. “Kell, congratulate him. Tell him you loved the song. Then he might—”
“No.” Aviva shakes her head. “You won’t even have to say anything! He’s gonna make out with you.”
The lights go out, and I hurry up the darkened auditorium aisle. But backstage, things don’t go so well. The wings are so crowded, it takes me a minute to even spot Hunter, who looks ridiculously good wearing a guitar… and hanging out with freshman girls. They’re freshman twins who did a mime act during the first half of the show. They still have their white mime makeup all over their faces and hands, and it’s rubbing off on the water bottles they’re holding. Their mime act was totally bizarre, and not very good—Aviva reviewed it as “Not even the best miming I’ve seen in Whitefish Bay,” which is pretty sad.
But it looks like they’re pretty entertaining right now, because Hunter is laughing loudly at something one of them said. Then he stands up, takes his guitar off, and puts
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