Tenney

Printers Alley

Five days later, homework has pretty much buried Tenney’s complaints to Mason about wanting more chances to perform solo. So she’s confused to find him leaning against Dad’s truck after school, grinning like he has a secret. “It’s a special occasion,” Mason declares.

As they drive, Mason mentions the Tri-Stars have no shows until next month’s fundraiser, so Tenney won’t sing lead again for a while. He turns off Broadway onto a street glowing with neon signs from clubs like Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge and Robert’s Western World, live music spilling from every doorway.

Mason parks off Commerce Street, and Tenney’s stomach flips when he pulls her guitar case and the amp he fixed at Dad’s shop out of the truck bed, her name splashed across the front in Jaya’s curvy font, pink flowers painted along its sides. “We fixed it up for you,” Mason explains. They carry the gear to a mural on Church Street near the old PRINTERS ALLEY sign, once Tennessee’s printing hub. Tenney half-hopes the amp won’t work, but Mason has rewired it to run on batteries and hooked up a microphone and a foot pedal that thumps out an electronic backbeat, too.

Once everything is plugged in, Tenney freezes. People hurry past without a glance, and her introduction comes out a dry croak. Her nerves won’t settle until Mason switches off the microphone and steps in.

Mason introduces “Carolina Highway” like an old-time radio announcer, spreading his arms wide and promising front-row seats to two of Nashville’s most talented twelve-year-olds. A couple laughs and slows, and Mason steps back to let Tenney start. She closes her eyes to steady her breathing and settle into the song. By the middle, she opens them again, energy building between her and the dozen or so onlookers, who applaud when she finishes.

Tenney spots their neighbor Ms. Pavone, who adjusts her enormous purple glasses and gives a thumbs-up before moving on. Emboldened, she announces a brand-new song and dives into “Reach the Sky.” The crowd sways and cheers, joy flooding through her.

“That was so amazing!” Tenney exclaims as they pack up. But Mason’s smile disappears. Mom and Dad never knew about any of this. Tenney feels panicked.

Mason argues that they’d never have gotten permission if he’d asked. Tenney fires back that he should have told her anyway, since it’ll look worse if their parents hear it from someone else. Then it hits her: Ms. Pavone saw the whole thing. Neither says another word the rest of the ride home.

That night at dinner, still riding the high of performing, Tenney picks at her chili and asks her parents again if she can play the Mockingbird Records showcase. Mom reminds her the answer is still no. Frustrated, Tenney blurts out that she already performed for a real audience today, so she doesn’t see why it matters. The table goes silent. Mom asks for clarification.

Mason, looking miserable, admits it was his fault, that they went to Printers Alley and their neighbor saw everything. Dad’s face goes beet red, and Mom insists they should have asked permission first. Tenney’s younger sister, Aubrey, pipes up in agreement, earning a warning glance from Mom.

Dad declares they’ve heard enough, and grounds both Tenney and Mason until further notice, for performing and for keeping it secret. Mason pleads with them not to punish Tenney. She should’ve known better than to trust him. But it’s too late. Tears stinging her eyes, Tenney rushes upstairs, certain her life is over.