Tonight, We'll Light Up the Stars
by: singyourmelody
Author's Note: Don't own Austin & Ally. Title is from Goo Goo Dolls' "All that You Are." The song mentioned is Jenny & Tyler's "Song for You," which is completely amazing, and embodies everything I think Austin and Ally would be a few years in the future. The song lyrics included in this chapter are from Katie Herzig and Matthew Perryman Jones' "Where the Road Meets the Sun," which is one of my favorites. I highly recommend.
The last day comes.
And of course it's a Wednesday. It always has been the worst day of the week, she concludes, stuck somewhere in the middle, neither holding the promise of a fresh, new week nor opening the door for the exciting possibilities of the weekend.
She's zipping her suitcase shut when he knocks on the frame of her bedroom door.
"Hey."
She looks at him, leaning against her door as if he's always been there and in some ways, he has. Even when he was on the outskirts of her life, the cocky blonde boy playing a trumpet within a trumpet and trying to make her face her stage fright on national television, he has always been present in some aspect. And he wasn't the only one changed by that first day they met.
He walks over and kisses her like they have become accustomed to doing. But this kiss tastes different and they both know it.
"All packed?" he asks.
"Yes. You?"
"Of course not. I don't leave till tomorrow afternoon," he says and she opens her mouth to scold him but stops herself.
"So what's the plan then?"
"Well, what would you like to do?"
"Record some more?" she asks. Despite their best efforts, their album isn't completed.
"I don't think we're gonna finish it," he says and it's a realization they both knew was coming, but it still hurts to hear.
"I know," she says quietly.
"We could go to the beach?" he suggests.
She nods. "Call Trish and Dez? Unless you want it to be just us?"
"Nah, let's call them. It's gonna be a while before we're all back here again."
A couple hours and two bags of marshmallows later, she watches her three best friends toss a frisbee as the sun lowers in the distance. It's one of those moments that she places in her permanent memory as she notices the lyrical sound of Trish's laughter and the impressive technique of Dez's sand dives that he somehow manages to execute perfectly and the warmth and intensity of Austin's smile when he looks at her.
After a while, Trish and Dez decide to go for a swim, so he joins her at the campfire.
"You okay?" he asks.
She nods. "Perfect."
"Good."
"Do you remember when you taught me how to drive?" she asks.
"Yeah," he snorts. "One of the most terrifying experiences of my life. What brought that up?"
"Nothing. It was just the day I realized that I might feel something more for you than I had before."
"Really?"
"Yeah. You were yelling at me to keep the wheel straight and to slow down and I was panicking a bit, but then you stopped yelling, because did you honestly think yelling would help me? and you said, 'Ally you can do this. Eyes on the road and even breathing.' And so I kept my eyes on the road and focused on keeping my breathing steady and everything just clicked. The wheel was straight and I stopped jerking the pedal so much and I recognized that you have this effect on me. I'm not even sure you realize it. When everything is moving around me and it's blurry and confusing because I'm not moving, I'm just standing still . . . it's then that I realize you're standing right next to me. And that because you're there, I don't want to be anywhere else," she finishes.
He stares as the water for a minute. "That day feels like a long time ago."
"Yeah it does."
"What if we didn't have to leave tomorrow?" he says quietly, turning his body to face her.
"What?"
"I mean, I don't want to be hundreds of miles away from you."
"Me either," she says.
"And our album isn't done."
"I know."
"And I have this crazy, seriously all-out insane, idea," he says, excitement sneaking into his voice.
"Okay. . ."
"What if we just didn't go?" he asks, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"Didn't go? To college," she asks, not even masking her skepticism, her voice enunciating every word carefully.
"Yeah, at least right now."
"You want to defer college? Eastman. Berklee. Our whole future careers?"
He nods, but his serious face has returned. "Yeah," he says quietly, before looking down at his hands. "Crazy, right?"
"What would we do instead?" she asks, biting her lip.
"Finish our album. I want to go on tour and I want to get these songs on the radio and I don't know what else . . . And I get that this is last minute and, like I said kind of insane, but it just feels like the right thing to do." She looks at him and realizes that she actually knows him as well as he knows her. And that even though he may say that he knows this is the right thing, he is still a bit unsure.
She's unsure, too. Could she seriously be considering this?
Think, Ally, she wills herself. She needs clarity because this is probably one of the biggest decisions she will ever make and she needs to stop focusing on the sand between her toes or the way the smoke from the fire dances around them and the fact that they are eighteen and shouldn't be trusted to make big life decisions.
Although.
He's always been a big life decision for her, hasn't he? Becoming his partner, writing his material, performing with him, being in a relationship with him, and now . . . now becoming his musical counterpart in every sense of the word. These things are big and important and she knows she should stick to the plan, but in all of the ways that matter, the plan just doesn't matter.
The plan just doesn't matter. It's a difficult discovery, one that will take a while to get used to as all of the preparations she has meticulously made, all of the glossy brochures she poured over for months and the pro-con lists she scripted delineating differences in student life and dorms and program offerings suddenly seem like not enough. Because if she's honest, really honest with herself, she knows that this foreign idea that has invaded her mind and lodged itself deep in her brain, somewhere between her common sense and her emotional core, is true.
"Okay," she says, so softly he doesn't hear her at first. "Okay."
He looks quickly at her. "Okay?"
She nods and notices that his face, a mixture of poise and also trepidation, mirrors hers. This is the quickest she's ever made a decision, meaning there's a very good chance it is completely the wrong one, but when she looks at him and thinks about what this next year might mean for their music and for the connection between the two of them, she decides that this, all of it, it's worth it.
"Okay, okay. We do this. Skip out on college for a year, just a year. Finish our album and try to get signed and just make this music thing happen." He exhales loudly and she does too (she hadn't realized she was holding her breath). "Also, there's this," he says, pulling a white letter from his back pocket.
She is momentarily confused until she sees the "USA Songwriting Competition" insignia in the upper left hand corner of the envelope.
"What did they say?" she asks.
"I didn't read it yet. I wanted to read it together." He places his finger under the flap and slides it open before taking out the letter.
"'Dear Mr. Moon and Ms. Dawson,'" he reads aloud, "'It is my pleasure to inform you that your piece, "Song for You" has placed second in the folk category of our competition. We were impressed with the depth of your lyrical prose and'—Ally," he says, trailing off, "we placed. In an international song competition." He stands up and his eyes are shining and she stands too.
She should have more words, she knows this. This is a really big thing and it's taken them a long time to get to here and she is fully feeling the significance of this situation, so much so that she just stands opposite of him and can't look away. Her grin is so wide it almost hurts and shakes her head just a little because of course he would make this happen for them. Of course. He's always seen the possibilities of what if before she could even dream of them.
He doesn't look away either, but hands her the letter and she finishes reading it. "'You are cordially invited to attend our annual concert, where you will have the opportunity to perform your award-winning song. Enclosed you will find more details. Congratulations again, Edward Hoffster, USA Songwriting Competition Chair.'"
He still doesn't say anything, before quickly closing the distance between them, picking her up and spinning her around.
"Austin!'' she shrieks. "Put me down!"
"Can't. We're spinning."
"I know that," she says and she trying so hard to sound stern, but really, she's laughing.
Trish and Dez finally join them on the beach and say "What's going on?"
"Spinning," he says, finally setting her down.
Dez looks over at Trish, opens his arms and says, "Wanna hop on?" for which she shakes her head and replies, "Not even if spinning with you meant the difference between a long and successful life and a torturous and excruciating death."
Dez looks back at them, "Yeah, she loves me."
Trish doesn't deny it but Ally can't dwell on that for too long because, like everything in her life since that day in Key West, there's change coming and his arms are wrapped around her and they have won. And even though the next twenty-four hours are probably going to be terrible (disappointed faces, disappointed tones, minor chords surrounding and threatening to overwhelm her), she knows the sun will set and rise again and that everything will look more real in the bright morning light.
She's right. The next hours are pretty much some of the worst of her life.
Together they refund their plane tickets and email their respective colleges and save their parents for last.
Around four a.m., he texts her. Are you awake? Come outside.
She finds him in her driveway leaning against his car and he looks like she feels: as if they've been to hell and back.
She doesn't say anything, but just stands in front of him and he rests his forehead against hers as they listen to the crickets chirping and the quiet hum of the thruway, a couple streets over.
"We're really doing this, aren't we?"she whispers.
He smiles a bit and says, "Yeah, we really are."
"My dad is so mad at me."
"My parents, too."
"He doesn't care that we're only deferring for a year. He says I am going to forever regret giving up my dreams for some boy," she quotes and sees him wince at her words. "And he likes you. I can't even imagine what your dad must being saying about me."
"I'm not going to repeat it," he says, pulling back. "He can be one of the most horrible human beings on this planet and yet I don't know how to stop wanting him to be proud of me."
She knows his relationship with his dad is strained at best, a dysfunctional mix of stress and approval-seeking, and not at all how it should be.
Which makes her feel even worse about what she's doing to her dad. Her dad who has worked so hard to make her dream of Berklee a reality and has loved her unconditionally and has tried, has at least made an effort to understand her visions of a musical career.
Austin hasn't even had that support and yet he's still willing to make these sacrifices for their music, for her really, and right now, she knows she needs to give everything that she possibly can to him.
They drive back to the beach, the one where only hours before they made these life-altering choices and they lay on the hood of his car, her head resting on his arm, as the easy rhythm of the lapping waves provides the soundtrack of the moment.
"We're gonna be okay, you know," she says, surprised as the words come out of her mouth. He's the encourager, not her. He's the one who believes anything is possible, not her. But maybe, maybe she can be that for him now.
"I know," he says. "It'll blow over."
"You told your dad about the songwriting contest, right?" she asks.
He shakes his head.
"He didn't deserve to know," he says quietly.
"But maybe it would help?"
He pauses for a moment before stating, "I don't think anything will really help, Ally. He needs time to accept that this is what I'm doing. I can give him that at least."
She doesn't know how to fix this; there's nothing she can do really and she hates that feeling. So, she lifts her head up just a bit and kisses him softly and he responds instantly.
"I am so glad that we aren't saying goodbye right now," he says, between kisses.
"Me too." She doesn't say how she never really found it within herself to let go of him. Because together, they've effectively removed that option, taken it off the table, changed the direction of everything. She leans more fully over him and her feet intertwine with his and she can feel him smile against her mouth and everyone may be disappointed and honestly, they might be making the biggest mistake of their lives, but she's positive she's supposed to be right here.
"You ready?" he asks.
"Um. . ."
"You are," he reassures her. "It's just you and me and this small piece of technology."
"And me!" Dez says from behind the camera lens.
"Not helping," he states. "It's not live, so no one's even going to see you perform until after we're done. Not a big deal; you can do this."
"Ready?" he asks again after a short moment.
She's nervous and kind of feels like she can't breathe, but they've given up everything for this, so she has to be ready. There's no going back now. She nods and Dez hits 'record.'
"Hi guys. I'm Austin Moon! Welcome to my newest video. Before we start, I wanted to let you guys know about something I'm really excited about. I've been singing by myself for a long time now, using songs written by my partner Ally Dawson. She writes amazing songs and has an even more amazing voice and so, starting today, we will be singing together. We'll still be performing some of the songs she's written the past couple of years, ones that you guys know well, but we're also going to be working on some new songs that we've written together. Which brings me to the next thing I am excited about: Ally and I have just completed the last song on our new album. We're working on recording and producing it for you and hope to have new music to you very soon. In the meantime, we thought we would sing one of our new songs," he says, before turning to look at her. He winks and she knows it's going to be fine.
"This one is called 'Where the Road Meets the Sun.'" He starts playing the first few chords and she knows Dez has turned the camera on her because she sings first, but she doesn't look at it, instead focusing on the way the music makes her feel and that she is singing, she is singing, with her best friend.
So she opens her mouth and her voice comes from somewhere deep inside.
Angel wings spread over water-worn wishes
Guarding the dreams and the things left unsaid
Here we are wandering, aimlessly roaming
Lovers who linger and never forget
He joins in, his voice a little bit rugged and an octave lower.
And when it's done,
We will walk where the road meets the sun
She loves the way this song feels like a waltz, a private dance between the two of them, as their voices trade off melodies and harmonies. The piano part reminds her of a music box she had when she was a little girl; the twinkling sound of the keys a perfect counterbalance to the smooth circles the tiny ballerina danced when the box was opened. She spent hours listening to that melody, a melody that has now matured and evolved into something new. Just like she has.
Don't disappear
She sings by herself.
Darlin', I want you
He echoes behind her.
Don't leave me here
She begins again.
And when the day comes
He follows.
I'll meet you here
She sings, looking right at him, a promise of the place they've always been able to find each other.
Their voices come back together now.
'Cause I know that wishes come true
Finding my way back to you
Angel wings spread over water-worn wishes
Guarding the dreams and the things left unsaid
And when it's done,
We will walk where the road meets the sun
She starts playing louder now. The music swells around them, as the melody builds and builds.
And when it's done,
We will walk where the road meets the sun
He sings alone as she echoes, one, two, three times, their voices moving and overlapping as if they belonged to only one person.
Where the road meets the sun
He finishes as she holds her final chord.
Neither of them moves until Dez says, "Done."
She gives a small shrug and he nods.
Dez is watching the playback so they join him and when it finishes, he says "Guys, that was really good."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I mean I've made a lot of videos for you the past couple of years and although this one is completely lacking in overall narrative plot and special effects and props, my man, props! I actually don't want to change a single thing about it," Dez concludes.
"Really?" she asks.
"Yeah," Dez says, scratching his head. "I don't get it either. There's just something about it that works. We should post it just as it is."
He reaches over and squeezes her hand then and she suddenly really wishes that Trish hadn't managed to talk her way into UCLA so that she could be here to tell her that Dez is right, that this is just how it is supposed to be (and so they could watch girly movies while talking about Austin and whether or not Trish will ever admit to whatever is going on with her and Dez).
Twenty minutes later the video is uploaded and Dez suggests ice cream.
"Don't you have class?" Austin asks, reminding Dez that he had started classes at the nearby community college.
"Nah, it's Tuesday. I don't have classes on Tuesdays."
"It's Monday, Dez," she says as he eyes grow wide and he takes off running, taking out a mall palm tree in the process and dragging it with him out the door.
They are both still laughing as they arrive at the ice cream store.
"Well, you did it," he says as they stand in line.
"Mmhmm. Who knows what else I'll be able to do? Maybe sing at a certain songwriting concert. . ."
"Really?" he asks, his voice hopeful.
She had been very hesitant about singing in the songwriting competition concert, since most of those in the audience would be seasoned performers and she is the opposite of that. But she also knew he wasn't going to go without her and that this was important to him and that it would be a big step for her in overcoming her stage fright.
"Peanut Butter Chip," she orders. "And he'll have a Panda Paws."
"How'd you know that?"
"You're my boyfriend. I know what your favorite kind of ice cream is," she states.
"And what if I was going to get something crazy like White Lightening or Bittersweet Sinphony?"
She shoots him a look. This really is too easy. "You hate dark chocolate, so there's no way you'd order White Lightening. And you drink coffee but you don't like coffee flavored things. So Bittersweet Sinphony is out too."
The waitress hands them their cones and she pays quickly before they sit down.
He narrows his eyes. "What do I like on my hot dogs?"
"Depends. If it's summer time you usually like the works: mustard, ketchup, relish. If it's fall or winter you're a straight-up ketchup kind of guy," she answers.
"Favorite basketball team?"
"Miami Heat."
"When I was six?"
"Um, Chicago Bulls?" she questions. She knows that before moving to Miami, his family had lived in Chicago.
"Hmm. Well played," he says.
She leans forward a little bit and teases, "Let's face it, Moon. I know you." She scrunches her nose up at him quickly before settling back down in her seat and working to stop all of the ice cream canals burrowing down her cone.
He leans forward too. "And let's face it, Dawson. I love you."
"What?" she says, looking up from her ice cream at him.
He's staring at the table. "Sorry. I didn't mean for that to come out—um like that, because it—um I just. . ."
And he looks so adorable, stumbling over his words and she knows that he just used three really important ones so she leans forward again and grabs the tie hanging loosely around his neck and kisses him. He tastes like fudge and vanilla and his mouth is a little bit sticky and his tongue a little bit cold. The table is pressing into her middle and she can't seem to get close enough to him, so she moves back and slides out of the booth grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the store. She dumps her cone in the trash on the way and is practically running back to the store and up to the practice room, leading him, pulling him.
She shuts the door quickly behind them and presses him up against it and he looks a little bit nervous because she's not usually like this, but that's just it. She's not usually like this and she likes this new side of her that he has brought out. This person who is willing to take risks and postpone college and chase after her dream and actually find ways to get it. This person who is pressed completely up against her boyfriend and kissing him so hard that he's kissing (but really almost fighting) back and his hands are everywhere at once and hers are tracing small patterns on the skin of his lower back beneath his shirt. And they've never gone this far before (his hands directly on her skin, electrifying every part he touches and her mouth on his neck and his chest pressed so closely up against hers that she can feel his uneven and erratic breathing, so irregular and unpredictable that it actually matches her own) and she can't for the life of her figure out why they've waited this long to just let go.
After a few minutes, his shirt is discarded somewhere and so is hers and they're on the couch and she can't help but think about those songs they always sing. The ones about love and that feeling that overwhelms and consumes and is everything.
Because she thinks that she finally understands the things she had always been writing about. They had always been there, wrapped up in the mop-headed blonde boy who is whispering I love you against her collarbone as her eyes flutter closed.
Eventually they stop (because even though she is changing and become more fully herself, she's not sure she's ready for that step yet) and instead she uses her fingertips to draw a melody on his stomach, eighth notes and syncopated rhythms and he kisses her forehead and just smiles.
They start preparing for the concert the next day.
He pull up outside of her house and she leaves in the middle of her dad's rant about how she's wasting her time/life/dreams/fill in the blank, she's heard it five hundred times before in the weeks since she deferred Berklee.
She gets in the car and the look on his face reminds her that he's seen her almost half naked and she's momentarily embarrassed until he kisses her and then she realizes that she really doesn't have to be, because it's him.
"Did you check YouTube?" he asks as he turns off of her street.
"No, I didn't want to know what they were saying about it."
He smirks at little. "You should. Let's just say that I'm not Ally Dawson's only fan anymore." He hands her his phone and she starts browsing through the comments on their video.
This is amazing.
Wow, I love the new sound.
This is different, but I like it.
You guys sound really good together.
Who's the hot brunette?
"What?" she exclaims out loud.
He chuckles. "Got to the hot brunette comment? There's a few more like that on there."
"It's just weird."
He shakes his head. "No, it's accurate."
She blushes a bit then and bites back a smile as he drives.
They spend the morning practicing "Song for You" and video chatting with Trish, who is on her third business at college, perfecting the art of "scamming young co-eds out of their parents' money" she says proudly.
They play the song for her and she nods and says, "That really is it."
"What is?" she asks.
"That's the song I always knew you guys could write. I know I kind of freaked out before when you played it, but it really is perfect. I wish I could be there to see you perform it," she looks at Ally then. "On stage. In front of thousands of people. Watching you. " She laughs, well cackles really.
"Trish!" he exclaims.
But she just shakes her head at her best friend. "Nice try, Trish. I am getting better about this you know."
"I know. I was just teasing. Just remember who gave you your first big break. Well, I should probably go. I have a class to skip."
"Trish . . ." she says, her motherly tone creeping into her voice.
"Okay, okay. Maybe I'll go. Tell Dez I want my monkey back."
"Huh?" he says.
"He'll know what it means. Bye guys. Love you!" she shouts as she clicks her video feed off.
"Oh, Trish," she says.
"She's still Trish," he replies and she can tell by the way that he says it that he is missing the spirited energy that Trish brought to their group. She is, too.
Trying to shake off her momentary sadness, she walks back to the piano and says, "Run it again?"
He nods and they practice the song several more times before branching out to their more recent songs and getting lost in the musical world they have built together.
They go to the concert alone.
Dez has a group project and Austin's parents are still in denial about the whole situation and she left the flyer announcing the show on her kitchen table in hopes that her dad might find it, but he never said anything, so yeah. This whole thing started during one extremely long night in the Sonic Boom, when they were fifteen and kind of stupid and it was just the two of them, so it's somewhat poetic that now, when they've grown up and made adult decisions and are learning to live with adult consequences (and some advantages), that it would come right back to the two of them.
(She still wishes her dad was here to see them.)
He hugs her tightly when their names are called and doesn't let go of her hand until he absolutely has to and the first strokes of his guitar make her pulse speed up and her heart race but she begins to sing like they have practiced so many times before and it turns out to be their best performance of the song that has come to mean so much to both of them.
For I have loved you
Open your heart, open your heart
For I have loved you from the start
She sings the final line and as the applause rises up from the audience below her, she only sees him, beaming brighter than any stage lights. He really was born for this and when he turns to look at her, she realizes that maybe she was too.
And that all of their crazy adventures in the mall and the early musical squabbles that threatened their blossoming partnership and all of the growing together they have done has lead them to this stage, to this moment, to this place where she realizes that she does love him. That she has loved him for a long, long time now.
It's a simple moment, really, and she recognizes that the two great loves of her life, music and him, are actually only one great love, so intertwined and tangled together that they could never be separated. That she would never want them to be.
They walk calmly off the stage and save the freakouts for the offstage wing as they silently scream and dance and he kisses her and she mouths the words Thank you as she places her hand over his heart.
"Ally," he says then quietly, as to not disrupt the next onstage performer, nodding in the direction behind her.
She turns around and sees her dad standing there.
"Ally-cat," her dad says softly, before she launches herself into his arms.
The doorbell on his house is shrill and lasts far too long, but she rings it anyway.
His mom answers. "Oh, hello Ally."
"Hi Mrs. Moon. Is he home?"
Mrs. Moon sighs. "Yes, I think he's up in his room. Do you remember which one is his?"
She can't help but wince at his mother's words. Of course she knows which room belongs to him. She hates thinking about how far removed from his life his parents still consider her and how easily they dismiss her as just a passing phase. It makes her homesick even though she's only a short distance from her house.
She knocks on his door and enters when he calls "Come in."
"Hey."
He gets up off his bed and walks over to greet her, tossing his phone aside. "Hey yourself. What's up?"
She looks back at the door and he sighs, just like his mother did earlier. Although he may resemble his dad, he has more of his mom's mannerisms. It makes her sad that she is only now discovering this.
He's always been good at reading her expressions, though, so he asks, "What'd she do?"
"Nothing," she says, shaking her head. "I just know she doesn't like me very much."
"She does, Ally," he says, running a hand down her arm and finding her hand.
"No, it's okay. I'll make her like me. Eventually." She must have a determined look on her face because he begins laughing and says, "Whenever you set your mind on something. . ."
She grins at him and says after a beat, "That's not why I came." She sits down on his bed and reaches for her bag, pulling out her well-worn, well-loved brown journal.
He sits next to her and says, "Did you write a new song?"
"Not quite." She opens the book to a page near the very end (because three years of partnership and poetry capturing her every thought have caught up with her and even though her book has undergone several page transplants, it is still nearing the end). Slowly, she hands it to him, but he doesn't move.
"You want me to touch your book?" he asks.
"Yes."
"But it's your book."
"Yes," she says encouragingly.
"But you never let anyone touch your book."
"I know."
The expression on his face is a mixture of excitement, amusement and terror (she must have trained him well after all these years to never. touch. her. book.).
Finally she reaches out and takes one of his hands, placing it on the soft left side cover and letting go.
She points to a certain passage. "Start here."
He looks down and reads aloud,
Crazy, I'm crazy for feeling so lonely
I'm crazy, crazy for feeling so blue
I knew you'd love me as long as you wanted
And then someday you'd leave me for somebody new
Worry, why do I let myself worry?
Wond'ring what in the world did I do?
Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you
I'm crazy for trying and crazy for crying
And I'm crazy for loving you
Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you
I'm crazy for trying and crazy for crying
And I'm crazy for loving you.
"Ally, those lyrics are so, so . . . sad. Did you write those?" he asks.
She smiles a small smile. "No, those were written by Patsy Cline. This was my mother's favorite song. Whenever I'm stuck trying to write a line or I feel like I want to be closer to her, I read these words or I sing this song and it just helps me. And you're right, the lyrics are terribly sad. But they're also beautiful in a way. Knowing something is completely insane and crazy and yet being willing to do it anyway. It's kind of how I feel about us and everything we've done the past couple of months."
She grows quiet then and looks down at her hands.
"Ally—"
"The thing is—" she clears her throat as she moves so that she is standing in front of him. "The thing is this. I love you Austin. I have for a long time and I know I've never told you before, and I should have because you've always been so open with me about your feelings." She reaches out and touches the book he is still holding. "But this is me. All of me. There's some pretty weird stuff in there, songs about my bird and the latte I had for breakfast two years ago that just really hit the spot and the way I refuse to wear green unless it's Earth Day or St. Patrick's Day and the fact that I think it would be really great to see the world's largest ball of yarn . . . and yeah, it's weird and kind of ridiculous but there's some really honest stuff in there too. Stuff about how much I still ache for my mom and how it seems like my dad will never return to the dad I knew before. Stuff about how I am terrified about the future and about how I have never felt the way I feel when I'm singing with you."
She steps closer to him. "And if you read between the lines, in between all the drama of the store and my stressing over schoolwork and my accounts of Trish and Dez's harebrained ideas and my struggles to write you the perfect song, you'll see me falling in love with you, little by little, day by day, lyric by lyric."
He reaches down and traces her cheek with his hand and she leans a little bit into his touch and they spend the rest of the afternoon reliving the past through her carefully crafted words.
And this time when she goes to leave, he says I love you and she says it back.
They get the call a week later.
Her name is Marlo ("with an 'o'" she is quick to tell them) Wilkins and she works for Volume Volumus Records and she saw them at the songwriting competition and she wants to sign them.
Her dad goes with them to sign the contract and the ink is barely dry when she feels like she wants to cry.
Because they are real artists now. With a recording contract and studio time and she doesn't know what to do with any of it, but then again neither does he, so they stumble through it together.
Two months later, they have rerecorded their album with a producer and studio production values and a string quartet on two of their songs and she barely blinks when they take photos for the album cover (okay, she blinks a couple times. Maybe more than a couple. The photographer gets quite frustrated with her for a while, but eventually they land on the perfect shot and he gets so excited that he tells her all of her blinking is forgiven).
Marlo books them a tour and they get to bring Dez along for technical support and it's small clubs and tiny, tucked away pubs and she still feels like she's going to throw up every time they play a show but when she gets on stage and begins singing, all of that is forgotten.
They keep on like this for several months until their final show, near Phoenix. Trish drives up to see them, and after they finish playing, the four of them split appetizers and talk about the Sonic Boom and the summers they spent trying to help him make it big.
"Guess we were approaching it the wrong way," Trish says.
But he shakes his head. "Nah, we needed to do that to get to here."
She can't argue with that and she leans a little closer to him as his fingers play with the ends of her hair.
"What are you guys doing now that the tour is over?" Trish asks.
He looks at her and she looks at him.
"College, come fall," she says finally.
"You're going back to school?"
She nods and he looks away as Dez and Trish begin comparing their respective basket-weaving classes.
Later, she pulls him outside and says, "We have to go, you know."
"I know," he says quietly.
"That was the deal we made, with each other, with my dad."
"I need to tell you something."
"Okay. . ." she says, trying not to sound nervous.
He pulls out his phone and opens his email before handing it to her to read.
"'Dear Mr. Moon,
Congratulations on your acceptance to the Berklee College of Music. We look forward to welcoming you to campus in August. . .'"
"You transferred? What about Eastman?" she says, so surprised she's not sure how the words are even coming out.
"Did you really think I'd be going anywhere you aren't going?" he asks, stepping closer to her. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."
"Are you kidding me right now?" she says, before clutching onto him so tightly that it's hard for him to breathe.
"No, I'm not," he says, holding her back.
"So we'll be together."
"Mmhmm."
"And we can keep recording."
"Yeah, Marlo said we might have to take a lighter course load to keep up with a few gigs and recording and promotional stuff, but yeah, we can keep doing all of it."
She thinks of what all of it has come to mean: the melodies and harmonies that she has come to find in his even breathing in the early morning and the way he moves his toothbrush in rhythm with hers as they stand side by side at the bathroom sink and the curve of his mouth when he says her name and the way that nothing in her life has turned out the way she expected it to, but that everything in her life has turned out the way it should.
She pulls back a bit and stands next to him as they look in the window of the pub at Trish and Dez laughing together.
"Do you think they are going to be some great story?" he asks.
She reaches out and takes his hand and she knows they aren't really talking about Trish and Dez.
"I think they already are."
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