Page 91 of Never Over
“Me either,” Misha agrees, bumping my shoulder with hers.“No offense to you three. I’m just not interested in my empty yogurt cups getting sold on eBay.”
Penny snorts. “That was one time. But fair.”
“If they’re anything like what you riff on during sound check, I’d love to help work on your songs, Paige,” Gretta says. “My favorite cowriting experiences have been when I’ve gotten to work with friends.”
“Mine too,” Penelope agrees softly.
Friends. As in, multiple. Musicians who understand me, and who I trust.
This is exactly what I wanted for my songs even though I couldn’t articulate it to Paul Friedman in the moment, why I hated his suggestion of an unknown lyricist. I wanted my songs touched by my own community. I just had to go out and develop one.
“Tomorrow, during sound check,” I promise them. “We’ll run through a few.”
I glance at Liam near the top of the amphitheater, a lone body doing something with a measuring tape against nature’s rocky backdrop. While the others keep talking, I reach up to the keyboard and start playing “Good Day.” Just the first few notes, so he knows I’m thinking about him. From high up in the stands, Liam pauses whatever he’s measuring and fakes like he’s swinging a bat. I laugh under my breath.
“What was that?” Penelope asks.
“It’s Liam’s walk-up song from college,” I explain.
She frowns. “Like, baseball?”
My eyes narrow. Is it possible no one here knows? Not even Penelope?
What a shame.
And then the irony of that thought smacks me between the eyes, just as a memory pushes forward:Paige, for the record, I think that’s a shame.
“He was a pitcher,” I tell my friends, smiling gently. “He wasreally good. Had a full-ride scholarship. He was a top draft prospect for the majors before his senior year, but then he developed a shoulder injury that took him out of the game for good.”
It’s quiet for a moment.
“I had no idea,” Misha says.
“Me either,” Penelope adds, looking suddenly nauseous. She glances up at him. “Fuck. I can’t believe I didn’t know that. How narcissisticwasI? Am I?”
It’s the first time she’s let slip around me that it’s something she ought to have known.
Misha laughs, but I think Penelope is genuinely having a crisis of conscience right now and I feel kind of bad for her.
Jake, Marlowe, and Josiah choose that moment to grace the stage.
“Jake.” Penelope turns to him with hopeful eyes. “What did you major in?”
“I didn’t go to college.” He looks at her funny. “Only Misha and Siah went.”
Her expression deflates.
Also: Penelope and Jake? I look to Misha for clues, but she’s distracted by Marlowe’s new tattoo he’s showing off.
Later that night, on the way to Boise, Penny writes the beginnings of a song called “one-way pillow talk” that is easily the most self-critical thing I’ve heard from her. It might never make it on a Penelope Parker album, but I learn something invaluable from her that day. Sometimes the heaviest hitters have always been there for you to write about. You just have to pull back the curtain and give words to it.
Between Boise and Salt Lake City, I ride in the backseat of the car with Liam, my guitar splayed across my lap. I’m making new recordings of just the melodies I played for Paul, no words.
Liam’s in the front seat, his eyes on the road, but every now and then I’ll catch him watching me in the rearview.
“Are you ever going to let me drive?” I ask.
“I like driving.”
