Page 103 of Resurrection
I drive home with a local radio station blasting and the windows down, past the empty lots, past the field of windmills, past the green and brown mountains. Once I’m at my place, I hop in the shower, clean up, get dressed, and make myself a cup of fresh coffee.
My phone buzzes the minute I jump in my Subaru to head over to the restaurant. It’s Ty.
I don’t pick up.
He calls again.
I text him instead.
See you at the community center.
I’m not ready to face him yet, not in private. I’m afraid I’ll be tempted once more. It’s best we’re only together in public places with plenty of people around. Because otherwise, this will become another mistake.
Over the next few weeks, I somehow manage to keep myself together. Ty keeps calling and texting me with almost annoying persistence, trying to ask me out, but every time, I turn him down politely. It seems effective. Or at least, that's what I'm hoping.
At the community center, there's no denying he's the favorite—juggling chairs, stacking boxes, tuning guitars, organizing props like a pro.
As we inch closer to the talent show, things are starting to get hectic. But right before the event, everything unravels. Asher doesn’t show up for the dress rehearsal, and when I’m finally able to get him on the phone the next morning, he fails to give me an acceptable excuse.
The day of the event, I arrive at the school early to oversee the prep. The auditorium echoes with sound as furniture thuds and sneakers screech on the tile floor.
I hold a clipboard, scanning the schedule. Around me, kids yell back and forth, and I can't hear myself think.
"I doubt it’s working, Ms. Medina." Miranda hands me the microphone, and feedback squeals through the speaker system as I try to test it.
It feels like the entire city of Sageview Ridge is crowding the building. A toddler pulls on my sleeve, trying to steal my attention. I don’t know who he belongs to—perhaps one of the parents or volunteers who failed to get a nanny. A former classmate says hello. A worker from the coffee shop I go to sometimes asks me about the curfew. Apparently, his kid is in the show too.
It’s overwhelming.
"Breathe, Naomi," I mutter to myself as I move through the back room, where the talent is gathering.
"We lost the duct tape again!" shouts a volunteer from somewhere off to the side.
I shout back, "Try looking where you left it!" I pace the room like a mother hen, my nerves dancing in my chest as I tell everyone to keep it together.
Preshow energy hums, and the parents stand in clusters, their arms full of snacks and water bottles. Children push past, a flurry of anxious limbs.
But the biggest problem? Only three quarters of Phoenix Down is here today.
I run through the crowd and grab Miranda. "Where's Asher?"
She shrugs, her brow pinched with worry. "I haven’t spoken to him since last night."
"Last night? Was he sick?"
"I don’t know. He just said he was okay. We didn’t talk long. He said he’d be here today."
Panic trickles in as I check my watch. The event is about to start, and our star guitarist is missing. Besides, the dress rehearsal, he skipped one practice last week too. That’s not like him.
I tap my foot, thinking. Where the hell is he?
"We can't play without Asher," Kenny whines.
I bite my lip and try to think. "I know, buddy. Hang tight, okay?" I squeeze his shoulder and push my way through the rowdy teens and then outside, where the noise isn’t as bad.
I pull out my cell and dial Asher’s number. It rings and rings. No answer.
I try again. Leave a voicemail.
