Read Online Eternal Heat (Firework Girls #3) by J. L. White - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J. L. White
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people, since he’s “such a sweet boy”—my mom’s words. My mom has been pestering us about meeting his folks. The longer this goes on, the worse I feel about sneaking around. But Erik and I are enjoying our freedom too much to willingly give it up.
When the big day arrives, Erik picks me up and drives me to the big church downtown where Music Fest will be taking place. We’re there early for the preliminaries. Since I knew his parents wouldn’t arrive until closer to start time, I didn’t give the preliminaries much thought.
That was before I had to go into a little room and play in front of a panel of judges all by myself. I don’t realize until after they announce who’s going forward to the Honors Recital that I understand what the preliminaries were all about.
It seems so obvious in hindsight, and only demonstrates how out of my league I am. Yet, here I am, sitting with Erik in the rows of the nave reserved for the final performers. There’s only two steps leading up to the front part of the church, the stage area. A rather intimidating black grand sits in the center. I’m distracting myself with the church’s interior architecture and wondering how old the building is, because they don’t make churches like this anymore.
Erik’s keeping an eye out for his parents, and goes to say hello when he sees them arrive. I stay put. We both know the day is coming that he needs to introduce me to them more formally, but today is not that day. Some other time we’ll let them know Erik and I have moved beyond the “friend” stage they think we’re in. I have enough going on to make me nervous without worrying about that.
I’m curling the ends of my hair around and around my finger. I’ve styled the hair on top in a braided crown with a slender braid that hangs down the back, but the rest of my hair is loose and wavy and kind of in the way. I’m wearing an orange summer skirt that looks fancier with the white heels I swiped from my mom’s closet, and a plain white top. I’m pretty sure it’s too late in the year for these light colors, but it was the best I could do. We don’t have a whole lot of dress-wearing occasions in the Morrison household.
When Erik rejoins me, he takes my hand and exclaims, “Hey, look at what you’re doing to your finger!”
He unwraps my hair to reveal deep red marks around my left index finger.
“Keep that up and you’ll cut off the circulation and won’t be able to play.”
“A valid excuse,” I say, considering.
He takes my hand firmly in his. “You’ll be fine.”
I’d protest about him holding my hand knowing his parents are here, but I also know they can’t see our hands from where they are. Besides, holding his hand is helping.
“Just remember to smile, bow, and don’t look at the audience directly,” he instructs me. He’s already told me the trick to making it seem like you’re looking at an audience even when you’re not. You look just above the head of the person in the last row. That way, you don’t have to see them looking back at you with expressions that say, We think you’re a big idiot .
Which is exactly how I feel right now. How did I let him talk me into this?
I look around at the other performers. They’re all different ages, and all wearing their Sunday best. Some of the male performers have button-down shirts and ties but a few, Erik included, are wearing suit coats.
That’s something I didn’t know about Erik before today: he’s impossibly handsome in a suit coat. I wish we could skip the whole thing and just go make out somewhere, but since that’s not an option...
“Hey, cut that out,” he says softly, pulling my hand down from my mouth.
I didn’t realize I’d started chewing on the end of my hair. Good lord, I haven’t done that since I was a kid. I take a deep breath. I need to pull myself together.
“Ashley.” His soft but firm tone draws my eyes to him. “You know your piece. Just play what you
When the big day arrives, Erik picks me up and drives me to the big church downtown where Music Fest will be taking place. We’re there early for the preliminaries. Since I knew his parents wouldn’t arrive until closer to start time, I didn’t give the preliminaries much thought.
That was before I had to go into a little room and play in front of a panel of judges all by myself. I don’t realize until after they announce who’s going forward to the Honors Recital that I understand what the preliminaries were all about.
It seems so obvious in hindsight, and only demonstrates how out of my league I am. Yet, here I am, sitting with Erik in the rows of the nave reserved for the final performers. There’s only two steps leading up to the front part of the church, the stage area. A rather intimidating black grand sits in the center. I’m distracting myself with the church’s interior architecture and wondering how old the building is, because they don’t make churches like this anymore.
Erik’s keeping an eye out for his parents, and goes to say hello when he sees them arrive. I stay put. We both know the day is coming that he needs to introduce me to them more formally, but today is not that day. Some other time we’ll let them know Erik and I have moved beyond the “friend” stage they think we’re in. I have enough going on to make me nervous without worrying about that.
I’m curling the ends of my hair around and around my finger. I’ve styled the hair on top in a braided crown with a slender braid that hangs down the back, but the rest of my hair is loose and wavy and kind of in the way. I’m wearing an orange summer skirt that looks fancier with the white heels I swiped from my mom’s closet, and a plain white top. I’m pretty sure it’s too late in the year for these light colors, but it was the best I could do. We don’t have a whole lot of dress-wearing occasions in the Morrison household.
When Erik rejoins me, he takes my hand and exclaims, “Hey, look at what you’re doing to your finger!”
He unwraps my hair to reveal deep red marks around my left index finger.
“Keep that up and you’ll cut off the circulation and won’t be able to play.”
“A valid excuse,” I say, considering.
He takes my hand firmly in his. “You’ll be fine.”
I’d protest about him holding my hand knowing his parents are here, but I also know they can’t see our hands from where they are. Besides, holding his hand is helping.
“Just remember to smile, bow, and don’t look at the audience directly,” he instructs me. He’s already told me the trick to making it seem like you’re looking at an audience even when you’re not. You look just above the head of the person in the last row. That way, you don’t have to see them looking back at you with expressions that say, We think you’re a big idiot .
Which is exactly how I feel right now. How did I let him talk me into this?
I look around at the other performers. They’re all different ages, and all wearing their Sunday best. Some of the male performers have button-down shirts and ties but a few, Erik included, are wearing suit coats.
That’s something I didn’t know about Erik before today: he’s impossibly handsome in a suit coat. I wish we could skip the whole thing and just go make out somewhere, but since that’s not an option...
“Hey, cut that out,” he says softly, pulling my hand down from my mouth.
I didn’t realize I’d started chewing on the end of my hair. Good lord, I haven’t done that since I was a kid. I take a deep breath. I need to pull myself together.
“Ashley.” His soft but firm tone draws my eyes to him. “You know your piece. Just play what you
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