Teddy Wayne - The Love Song of Jonny Valentine

I was getting pissed more than scared at the crazy guy, and at security for not doing their job, and at the TV show for not caring about my safety, just about ratings. I pictured the guy working his way up to the stage during “Guys vs. Girls,” all calm, then in the chorus jumping up and stabbing me through the heart a bunch of times with a huge knife. I’d die singing the song that made me famous, and I’d splatter the girls in the front rows with blood instead of rose petals, and this time they’d be screaming because they really were scared, and all of America would be watching it on live TV and it’d viralize. That was something people would spend $19.95 on for Internet live-stream.

We did our work, and she gave my essay an A-minus and said my vocab was improving. I said, “You mean it’s ameliorating ,” and she laughed since it was the one word I’d gotten wrong on the vocab test two weeks ago, and she said that’s not quite the correct usage but close enough.

When she was packing up she said, “Jane told me you might tour again next fall.”

“Yeah.” I didn’t know if Jane had told her the other option.

“Or that you might enroll in school.”

I nodded. Doing that was also being like, Uh, sorry, Nadine, you’re fired.

“I just want to tell you, if you want to go to school, you should do it.”

“I don’t want you to lose your job.”

“That’s really nice, Jonny, and you know I love doing this with you, but don’t worry about me. Besides, I can’t do this forever. I’m not building a real teaching career.”

“You’re teaching me.”

“I know, but it’s not the same as being in a classroom. And I turn twenty-seven in a few months, and I sometimes go weeks without seeing my boyfriend. Someday I’d like to start a family, and you’ll need a tutor for another four years at least, and I can’t do both.”

My chest felt like someone had pulled the lungs out of it. “So are you saying you want to quit?”

“No! I mean, not now, at least. But at some point I’d like to go back to teaching in a regular school. The point is, don’t factor me into your decision. In fact, don’t factor anyone else in. Even your mom.”

“Why shouldn’t I factor in Jane?”

“Because it’s about you. What you want to do with your life. You don’t have to do something just because other people say you should.”

When the conversation started, I was scared Nadine would think we were firing her. Now it sounded like she was firing us .

“When you’re a celebrity, it’s not just about you,” I said. “When I give a concert, the jobs of a hundred and thirty-six people on this tour are standing on my shoulders, plus hundreds of people in that city.”

“You don’t have to be defensive,” Nadine said. “I’m just trying to let you know that I’ll respect whatever decision you make.”

I didn’t say anything, and two of her books fell out of her bag when she stood up so it took her longer to get out. It felt quiet in there. That was the first time we’d had a real fight, because the other fights were about stuff like me forgetting to do an assignment.

I avoided Nadine the rest of the drive to Memphis, which wasn’t hard since she was usually reading a book with her iPod on but the music off, which only I knew about, so no one would bother her. She didn’t bring her laptop on the bus because she says we’re becoming increasingly dependent on the sensory stimuli of technology to fill our interior lives. Jane’s the opposite, she usually has her computer and her iPhone and if we’re at home the TV on. She doesn’t listen to music besides for work, though.

A few hours in, I was in my room and heard her and Jane talking. They don’t discuss much except about scheduling and other business, but I could tell from their voices that it wasn’t about that. I wasn’t playing Zenon, but I turned it on for the background music and opened my door a crack to listen.

I heard Nadine go, “I believe he has a right to know,” and Jane went, “Frankly, I don’t think any eleven-year-old needs to know about something like this, let alone the one it’s happening to,” and Nadine said, “If you’re putting him in that position, and everyone else in the world knows, then he does have a right,” and Jane said, “Nadine, you’re an excellent tutor and Jonny likes you, so I’m not going to say any more except that you haven’t raised a child.” Nadine said, “Well, I’ve said my piece, and I hope you’re putting Jonny first here,” and went back to her seat.

“Rog, Walter, I suppose you have something to add, too, or are you just watching the show?” Jane asked, and Rog said, “I’m just the voice coach,” and Walter said, “Bodyguard.” I closed the door quietly.

I wondered what the guy wrote. It couldn’t be much worse than some of the things I’d seen on the Internet. People write whatever on the Internet and don’t even remember anything, but if you write it on paper, you really mean it.

When we got to Memphis, Jane made me rest at the hotel until dinner because she’s been on my case about that ever since I fainted. I had Zenon to keep me company, so I didn’t mind. When Jane came to my room, I asked if we were ordering room service or going out. “Actually, it turns out I have to go to dinner with a regional promoter,” she said.

I got that weird feeling in my stomach that came when Jane said she had to go after she’d made it sound like we’d be hanging out. It wasn’t like preshow nervousness. I never vomited, but it was almost like I was losing part of my guts.

“I could come along.”

“You’d be bored. All shop talk. So you should order room service.”

At least I’d get to play Zenon all night long without her around, plus I didn’t know when Zack was getting me so this made it easier. “Can I order whatever I want?” I asked as she was leaving.

I could see she wanted to say no, but I also knew what she’d answer now that she’d blown me off. “Go easy on the barbecue,” she said. “That’s why everyone here’s a tub of chub.”

She stopped again before leaving, and looked at me, and scampered back in, even in her heels, and I knew what was coming. She tickled me on the couch and squeezed my stomach, and I squealed, and she sang our song and I joined in on the second verse through my squealing:

Oh, we don’t like our chub

We put it in a little jar

We hide it very, very far

No, we don’t like our chub

She kissed my forehead and said, “Don’t play games all night long, baby.” After she closed the door I heard her check it was locked a couple times.

I was more interested in the corn bread Walter had been talking about anyway since my stomach prioritizes carbs over meat even though they’re the enemy, so after she left I ordered three pieces of it and some fried chicken and mashed potatoes. If I lived here full-time I’d gain twenty pounds of chub.

I played Zenon the rest of the night as I got more excited to hang out with Zack, plus this would be my one chance to check my email, since there hadn’t been any computer terminals around at any of our venues and the ones in our hotels you either had to pay for with a credit card or get someone over eighteen to authorize you. I could email asking if he saw me mention Pittsburgh and Australia and peanut butter on the morning show for him and if he heard about the child predator, and maybe he’d be like, Yeah, I wanted to fly to St. Louis right away and kill that guy when I heard about it.

By nine o’clock he hadn’t come, and I was supposed to go to bed by 9:30 the night before a concert if I didn’t have a show that night, and maybe he didn’t know which room I was in or he’d forgotten or he’d changed his mind or the other guys vetoed me.