Every Time You Hear That Song - Softcover

Voris, Jenna

 
9780593623398: Every Time You Hear That Song
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0593623398 ISBN 13: 9780593623398
Verlag: Penguin Young Readers Group, 2024

Inhaltsangabe

"Beautifully explores the high and low notes of fame. . . . A must-read for anyone who loves layered characters, true-to-life personalities, and country music!"—Jason June, New York Times best-selling author

Perfect for fans of The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo and Daisy Jones and the Six, this queer coming-of-age story celebrates country music, complicated women, and living authentically.

They say never meet your idols. But nothing about digging up their deepest secrets.

Seventeen-year-old aspiring journalist Darren Purchase has been a lifelong fan of country music legend Decklee Cassel, who’s as famous for her classic hits as she is for her partnership with songwriter Mickenlee Hooper. The same Mickenlee who mysteriously backed out of the limelight at the height of their careers, never to be heard from again. Now Decklee’s televised funeral marks the unveiling of her long-awaited time capsule. But when it’s revealed to be empty, a trail of scavenger-hunt clues unfolds, leading to a whopping cash prize for whoever finds the real capsule. Darren knows there’s a story there—and she’s going to be the one to break it. Even if it means a spontaneous road trip with her coworker Kendall.

Flashback to 1963, when a young runaway Decklee has her sights set on fame and glory. As she claws her way to the top over the years that follow, it’s Mickenlee’s lyrics that help rocket her to stardom. But as their relationship evolves beyond the professional, it threatens everything Decklee has worked for. What else will she sacrifice to hold on to her dreams?

Told in alternating perspectives, Every Time You Hear That Song is a beautiful tale told across lifetimes. There’s more to Decklee’s story that Darren ever could have guessed, but the real story she has to tell is her own.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Jenna Voris writes books about ambitious girls and galaxy traversing adventures. She was born and raised in Indiana—where she learned to love roundabouts and the art of college basketball—and now calls Washington D.C. home. When she’s not writing, she can be found perfecting her road trip playlists and desperately trying to keep her houseplants alive. Every Time You Hear That Song is her sophomore novel, after her debut Made of Stars. 

Follow her online @JennaVoris and at JennaMVoris.com.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

ONE
Darren
On the morning of Decklee Cassel’s funeral, I’m in the employee lounge of Bob’s Gas Station, losing a fight with the coffee machine for the second time that day.
To be fair, I never stood a chance. Everything at Bob’s is at least a decade older than me, but the fact that this specific machine has started spontaneously leaking boiling water whenever I clock in feels a little personal. Kendall is already behind the register, too busy holding back the bleary-­eyed morning crowd to lend me a hand, so this, overall, is not the best way to start my morning.
Oh, and Decklee Cassel is dead.
There’s also that.
I slap the out of order sign onto the machine and lug it back into the open. “Sorry, folks. Energy drinks are third cooler on the left.”
Kendall finally looks up from the register as the crowd dissipates. “Coffee out again?” he asks. “Weren’t you supposed to fix that?”
I roll my eyes. Kendall istechnically shift lead and technically my boss when Bob’s not around, but he’s barely a year older than me and only marginally better at operating our ancient cash register, so I don’t like to think of him as “being in charge.” I’ve known Kendall since the day my second-­grade teacher went into labor and left us with the class next door. We’ve worked together for the last three years and the idea of him telling me what to do is still genuinely laughable.
“No,Bob was supposed to fix it,” I say, giving the coffee maker one more shove for emphasis. “This thing hates me, remember?”
“It doesn’t hate you, it’s just Friday.” Kendall braces his elbows on the counter. “Right on schedule.”
He has this theory that Bob’s coffee machines know what day it is. He swears they know whattime it is, too, because one of them always seems to go out right in the middle of the morning rush. Today, at least, it’s summer, so we don’t have to break the news to the school crowd. Any other day I might have laughed along with him because this whole thing really is getting ridiculous, but today is Decklee Cassel’s funeral.
And there’s absolutely nothing funny about that.
In a town this small, every change feels like a kick to the gut—­swift and sudden and aching with a strange sense of inevitability. You feel it in the air first, and when I came home from work Tuesday to find Mom already waiting by the door, I knew something big had happened. For a second, my mind ran wild with every terrible possibility. She was sick again. She lost her job. They were firingme for some reason.
But then Mom took a deep breath, squeezed my hand, and said, “They found Decklee Cassel at home this morning, Darren. It was peaceful, but . . . she’s gone.”
Her voice had cracked on the last word, and I was so relieved at the momentary confirmation that she herself was fine that I didn’t register the news. She had to repeat herself two more times before the reality hit me, and even then, I hadn’t really believed it until I checked my phone and found memorial videos and posts already pouring in.
The world lost a good one today, RIP Decklee Cassel.
I’ll never forget meeting her backstage in Tupelo. Her music changed my life. I’m forever grateful.
I haveWhiskey Red on repeat today. Decklee’s music was my sanctuary as a kid. Still don’t know how to process this.
Most of the comments and tributes I saw were written by people more than twice my age, fans who grew up with Decklee’s music and followed her meteoric rise in real time. Maybe that’s why I haven’t posted anything myself. I don’t know many seventeen-­year-­old girls whose favorite singer is a country artist old enough to be their grandmother. In a town this small, there are some things you keep to yourself.
The familiarity smothers you after a while.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, stealing a glance in Kendall’s direction in case he suddenly decides to start enforcing ourno cell phones policy, before opening Instagram.
I have my private account with a handful of followers from school, butMayberry Unpublished is the one I really care about. The account started as last year’s journalism final, a semester-­long feature story broken down into individual interviews, clips, and sound bites that my best friend, Emily, said wasvery Caroline Calloway of me. Instead of a single human subject, I wrote about this town—­its singular, stifling pull and all the people caught in its orbit. Somewhere along the way, the account developed a decent following of people outside the county line, and even though the school year is long over, I still update as often as I can.
It’s not much, but it’s something to keep the boredom away,to keep this town from feeling like one long cry for help and tokeep me from counting the days until I can pack mybags and leave for good. My post from this morning already has a few hundred likes—­a quick interview I’d snagged with Melanie Grauer, a girl a few grades below me. I asked if she’d heard about Decklee Cassel and she just shrugged and said, “Yeah, I saw. I don’t really listen to her music, but my dad was really upset about it.”
And that was it. No choking back tears, no shake of her head. Decklee could have walked right by us with her baby-­blue guitar slung across her back and Melanie wouldn’t have noticed.
But her interview contrasts so well with the one next to it that I really can’t be mad. I’d found Clayton Sperry’s dad loading dog food into the bed of his truck the day the news broke and asked if he wanted to talk about it. That’s a little secret I learned about interviewing last year. People in Mayberry don’t like questions. They’re suspicious of most things—­outsiders, CNN, people with too many piercings—­but ask them to tell you about someone? Ask if they want to talk? They open right up.
When I asked Clayton’s dad about Decklee, the wrinkles on his face deepened and he ran a hand through his graying beard. “Everyone my age has a story about the first time they heard a Decklee Cassel song,” he said. “ ‘Losing You’ came out the summer of ’73 and the first person I thought of was Ellie. I remember getting in my truck, driving all the way to Little Rock to see her, and we’ve been married fifty years this Friday. That’s what those songs did. I think this town is going to miss her a lot.”
Even now, I can’t help grinning as I scroll past his photo on my grid. It has all the beats of a good story—­the lede, the hook, the happy ending. His interview next to Melanie’s is a juxtaposition even I couldn’t have planned. A generational gap with me somewhere in the middle.
“Heads up!” Kendall tosses a bag of gummy bears in my direction, and I barely reach over in time to catch it. “There’s a bunch of inventory in the back. If you ever decide to work today, you can totally restock.”
I slide my phone back in my pocket. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
“I said you can totally restock.”
“No, the other thing.”
Kendall grins and rips the top off another bag, dropping a handful of candy into his mouth. “Nothing.”
“That’s right.” I walk back down the aisle as the door shuts behind our last customer, Instagram momentarily forgotten. “Because it would be pretty bold of you to talk about my work schedule when...

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Verlag
Penguin Young Readers Group
Erscheinungsdatum
2024
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0593623398
ISBN 13 
9780593623398
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
320
Kontakt zum Hersteller
VIKING BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS
https://www.vtech-jouets.com/

Fahrenheitstraat 22
DC Weert
6003
Niederlande

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