Road To Nowhere by Christopher Pike Read Free Book Online Page A

begin.
    For when, this sin.
    I think of you touching my skin.
     
    But I am not so bold.
    I say only this to myself.
    Skin waiting so cold.
    For me, this gold
    Would be having you to hold.
     
    Warm summer, warm night.
    With time you take flight.
    Warm summer, cool night.
    I miss you.
    Do you miss me?
    Tonight?
     
    Days so long.
    The sun burns my sky.
    Everything seems so wrong.
    For me, this sad song.
    Is knowing you’ll be gone.
     
    Still, you say, I love you.
    Your words sound so fine.
    But are they true?
    For I, I love you.
    I wish we could make this all brand-new.
     
    Cold winter, cold night.
    With time you took flight.
    Cold winter, lonely night.
    I still miss you.
    Do you miss me tonight?
    Tonight?
     
    When she finished no one clapped – she hadn’t really been expecting it. But it would have been nice if Mr. Gracione had jumped up and cheered. He only stared at her with an odd expression, and his first question puzzled her.
    “Are you two going together?” he asked.
    She hesitated. “Yes.”
    Mr. Gracione glanced at Bill. “But you’re getting along fine?”
    “Great,” Bill said.
    Mr. Gracione nodded. “Just wanted to be sure.” He grinned. “Teresa, you put such sorrow in your voice you had me worried for a moment. That’s an amazing song.”
    “You liked it?” she asked, sounding as if she were three years old. “Do you want to hear more?”
    He stood and clapped his hands together once. He was excited. “I loved it and I want to hear everything you’ve written. But I can tell you right now you’ve got a job here, if you want it. You’ll have to play Tuesday and Thursday evenings. Traditionally those are quiet nights – both for the number of people we draw and the music we offer. But when you get more experience we might stick you on a Friday or Saturday night, just to see how it goes. On weekends this place cooks. How does that sound?”
    Teresa beamed. “Wonderful.” She knew she would remember this moment and feeling for a long time. Because it was a feeling she had never experienced before, except perhaps when Bill asked her out the first time. She looked at him from her triumphant place on the stage, and saw how happy he was for her. It was true; he had made it all possible. She couldn’t imagine loving him any more than she did right then. “It sounds wonderful,” she said.
     
    Her opening night didn’t come for another two weeks. The delay was at her request. She wanted to get her act really together and polished. She was surprised to learn that Mr. Gracione didn't mind if she played the same songs twice in the same night – because she was to come on twice. Her set was to last about forty-five minutes. She was to go on at eight o’clock and then again at ten. Mr. Gracione hadn't gone totally out on the limb with her. He still had two other acts playing the same nights she did.
    Teresa was delighted to learn that Mr. Gracione was an intelligent and sensitive man, one who was always in an upbeat mood. There was nothing he loved more than owning a place where people could have a good time. He told her, in fact, that it was OK if she bombed her first night out. He wasn't going to drop her because of it.
    Strangely enough, or maybe it wasn’t so strange, while she got ready for her debut she saw less of Bill. Practising with him in the room didn't work. They’d end up spending most of the time talking. Also, he frankly didn't know much about music. He’d want her to change a chord on a particular song, or drop a line here or there, or add one that he’d written – his list of changes went on and on. She didn’t mind his making suggestions, it was just that they weren’t any good. It was hard to tell him that without hurting his feelings, but she managed somehow.
    Telling her parents about her job proved the disaster she had anticipated. She broke the news to her father first and hoped he’d help her convince her mother that it was a good thing rather than the end of the