Jump A Little Lighter: Chapter 2

Read from the beginning here

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“Rosalita.” He emphasises every syllable of her name. Repeats it, like it tastes of artificial cherry on his tongue, like the tip of that tongue is taking a trip to tap on the back of his teeth, like he had known and named her precursor. “All I hear these days is about this bright new star we’ve got – she’s creative, talented, smart… a pretty little thing, which never hurts, she seems pretty savvy about the music industry, and is making her way down to the city from small-town Nebraska. Sounds like a pretty perfect recipe for a career in pop music…”

“That’s awful nice of you to say.”

“No, but seriously, how’d you get to know so much?’

Her grin is cheeky and faux-shocked as she looks at the audience, and her face turns exaggeratedly mock-serious as she turns to meet his eyes: “I don’t know anything.”

“Nothing at all?!”

“Nah, I’m a pretty simple girl… I just move with people who know things. Like, PR and poetry and interpersonal relationships and… I don’t know, how to dance. I watch ’em. I’m a copier, and I’ll hold my hands up and admit it! I learned to play the guitar from Paul Simon and I learned to perform from Bruce Springsteen and I learned to tell my story – and how much of my story to tell – from Taylor Swift. I could never figure anything out on my own.”

“Lucky for us you’re the YouTube generation, then.”

“Lucky for me, that’s for sure!”

His face, with all its almost-handsome exaggerated features, looks straight at camera 2.

“I don’t believe it.”

There’s a harsh cut and he’s looking back at her again, tapping her CD on the desk that covers him whilst she is so exposed, right down to her bitch-high heels.

“Rosalita Jacobs, when your first single went platinum we might have written you off as a flash-in-the-pan teen celebrity, but two more hit singles and… this… album… uponwhichyou’vehadahandinwriting EVERY… SINGLE… SONG… I don’t believe you’re not a smart girl.”

He pauses, as if he’s asked a question; like she’s a politician he’s backed into a corner.

“Well… sheltered maybe. My parents were careful with me, the whole town protected my friends and I, so all the living I’ve done has been through the radio.”

Chapter 2: May 2017

We get back before curfew. It’s a rule of being a MEG – never worry your parents, or you don’t know what will come next. They’ll go feral in some way, and it’s worse for me than most. Rosie and Brett know what’s up, so he drops us off at my house at about 10 after 10 before putting his foot on the gas and driving a lot more carelessly to hit his own home before half past. Rosie has two guitars and a duffle bag she’s carrying on her elbow, I’ve got both our schoolbags. I know a lot of kids try and come in quietly but I always make as much of a din as possible, thrashing our bags about. Rosie’s guitar cases look like she polishes them – there’s a few nicks, here and there, but no stickers or spilled nail polish or suspiciously cigarette-shaped melted patches like I see on the kit of every other band she plays with, so her only contribution to our clatter is to let the doors slam behind us.

The noise lures my mom out of the living room in her curlers and dressing-gown.

“Hey Mrs Christiansen!”

“Oh good, it’s both of you. I’ll call your parents now, Rosie, then head up to bed.”

“Mom do you want a tea before bed?”

“Could you do me one of those lime balm ones, hon?”

Rosalita’s noodling around on her electric and I’m in front of the stove waiting for the water to boil when my mom comes back.

“They said Grace texted them a picture and let them know you were on your way back home.”

“She’s a useful person to keep around, much more organised than I am about that sort of thing.”

Rosie starts strumming a Sheryl Crow song she thinks my mom will like, and mom smiles. She comes to give me a hug, which I exchange for the sleepytime tea. Doesn’t make her not kiss me on the head on her way out like I’m seven years old and not seventeen. After she leaves Rosie switches to an old pop-rock song I’ve heard her play before.

“How often do you learn a new song? I see you every day and yet you always seem to have one.”

“At the minute it’s whenever my dad has a fight with Bobby.”

“Your mom must be regretting asking him to revise at home.”

“Nah she just likes having somebody who appreciates her making breakfast. Anyway, consider it like my version of studying.”

“Have you considered actually just studying?”

She twists her mouth into something that half-resembles a smile and starts strumming something off college radio.

“Whatever, it’s your grave. I’m going to bed.”

“No, I’m sorry Grace. Stay with me and finish your tea.”

She lays the guitar down on the seat next to her and I sit back down. She dunks the bag around her teacup and takes a big, ugly slurp before grimacing.

“Eurgh, tastes like witch’s brew. And it’s lukewarm. I don’t know how you drink this stuff. What is it, like three therapists ago now that recommended it?”

“Yeah but we do both do still need to be better at switching off. I think it’s better if you consider it as hot water than if you smell it and expect it to taste of something. Honestly I think my mom just likes shopping at the bougie store in Lincoln she has to get it from.”

“There is definitely somebody else in this town drinking it if it was suggested by a therapist.”

“Nobody who’ll own up to it at Super Foods.”

We both take a big sip. I’m looking at Rosie, but she’s staring past me and into middle distance.

“Grace, do you really think studying is gonna get you out of this town?”

“I haven’t considered an alternative. I saw Bobby get a scholarship and he made it look possible. My dad did it.”

“Bobby’s back right now, trying to make mom happy. Your dad came back.”

“Name a job that takes you out of state – permanently, not like a truck driver – that doesn’t require college. It’s my best shot.”

“Wait! Wait!” She picks up the guitar and riffs. “Why don’t you hit me with your best shot?“

“Shut up, you’re an idiot,” I say, but she just plays the solo. Quieter, though. You never really realise how quiet an electric guitar can be when it’s not plugged in. “Don’t you know any recent songs?”

On point, she launches into a song that’s been riding the Hot 100 since January. I join in on the chorus, dreaming of being in Colorado like Bobby and only coming back to visit my mom.

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PLAYLIST OF SONGS MENTIONED

• [Sheryl Crow, Soak Up The Sun]
• [Travelin Wilbury’s, Handle With Care]
• [Lucy Dacus, Timefighter]
• [Pet Benatar, Hit Me With Your Best Shot]
• [Dan + Shay, Tequila]