Chapter 2: The Overachiever and the Mockingbird

I first met Logan Brooks when I was eight, at Councilman Reynolds’ son’s wedding.

It was one of those sticky summer days, the kind where the air’s thick with honeysuckle and barbecue. The whole town showed up, dressed to the nines, and the sunlight danced on the white tent in the Reynolds’ backyard.

By then, my brother was already the talk of Main Street, drawing crowds of swooning girls wherever he went. At the reception, every bigwig tugged on Dad’s sleeve to praise his good genes and introduce their daughters. While they fawned over him, they’d spot me standing nearby and start laying it on thick, calling dibs on me as Maple Heights’ next homecoming queen.

It was a lot—old ladies pinching my cheeks, dads clapping me on the back, moms whispering about how I’d be the pride of the town. I was just a kid, but they made me feel like I’d stumbled onto a red carpet.

Come on, I was only eight! I hadn’t even grown into my looks yet, but they insisted I was some once-in-a-lifetime beauty. It made my head spin.

I remember staring down at my scuffed Mary Janes, cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and pride. Their words stuck to me like glitter—pretty and impossible to shake off.

So I strutted around like a little peacock, soaking up every compliment.

I might have even fluffed my curls a bit, just to see if anyone noticed. For a minute, I really believed I could do no wrong.

With all that flattery, regular praise barely registered, but even the smallest criticism stung—whether it was meant for me or not.

It’s wild how a throwaway comment can cut deeper than a hundred compliments ever heal. I still remember how much it hurt, sharp and out of nowhere.

“People with fancy houses, nice trucks, good bourbon, and steak dinners—they might look impressive. But what’s the point if it’s all just for show and there’s nothing real underneath?”

I shivered, glancing over to find the source of the voice.

There, in the shadow of the dessert table, stood a boy about Caleb’s age. He had messy dark hair and this serious look, muttering just loud enough for me to catch.

I didn’t catch most of what he said, but the phrase “all show and no substance” hit me. My brother had explained it before—it means someone looks impressive or has status but isn’t really special inside.

Whoa. This kid just called me out—right to my face.

For a second, I wanted to disappear. But then my pride flared up. Who was this kid to judge me, anyway?

My little ego was stung. You can look down on me all you want, but don’t insult the Whitaker family! We’re not just for show—we’ve got the real stuff.

I spotted an old upright piano nearby, plopped down, and started playing the latest tune I’d learned, “Mockingbird on the Branch.”

My fingers trembled at first, but as the melody filled the room, I found my groove. The music was sweet, and I played louder than usual, hoping he’d hear every note.

The melody sang out, and folks nearby clapped, praising my talent and beauty, saying I’d surely be a great lady someday. Feeling bold, I hit a wrong note—oops.

The sound was sharp and wrong, and for a split second my heart just stopped. I looked around, cheeks burning, praying nobody noticed.

I shrank back, glancing around. Luckily, everyone kept clapping—either they didn’t notice, or they were too polite to say anything.

Relief flooded me, and I managed a shaky smile. Maybe I’d gotten away with it.

When I finished, I gave my sweetest bow, soaking in the extra applause.

I shot a look at that boy—see? I’m not just a pretty face.

He was watching, too. When he caught my eye, he hesitated, then walked over and gave a polite little nod.

I lifted my chin, ready for his apology. This was it—my victory lap.

Polite enough, I thought. If he apologizes, I’ll let it slide!

But he reached out, pressed a key, and said, “You played a wrong note just now.”

I was floored. So he wasn’t here to apologize—he was here to nitpick!

My cheeks burned. I wanted to snap back, but the words stuck. He wasn’t wrong, but still—who calls out a girl’s mistake in front of a crowd?

Embarrassed and mad, I wanted to fire back, but he was right. Still, if I stayed quiet, I’d look weak. Tears welled up. Through the blur, I spotted my brother heading over.

I blinked fast, willing the tears away, but they spilled over anyway. Caleb always knew when I was upset.

“Caleb!” I ran to him, burying my face in his chest and secretly wiping my tears on his shirt.

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, giving me a gentle squeeze. “Hey, little sis. What’s wrong?”

“Logan.” Caleb patted my head, gently nudged me away, then nodded at the boy.

“Caleb.” The boy nodded back.

They exchanged that look—one of those silent conversations boys have, where a whole argument gets settled without a word.

I opened my mouth, ready to complain.

“My little sister’s a handful. Sorry if she caused trouble.”

Caleb’s voice was light, but there was a warning in his eyes—don’t mess with my sister.

“What? You’re saying Logan Brooks insulted you?” Caleb burst out laughing in the truck on the way home. “Even if you tried to pick a fight, he probably wouldn’t insult you.”

I crossed my arms, scowling. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Caleb, you don’t believe me!” I pouted, glaring at him.

He just grinned, ruffling my hair. “Alright, alright—then tell me exactly what he said.”

“He said I’m all show and no substance!” I huffed, hands on my hips. “He wasn’t just insulting me—he was insulting our whole family!”

Caleb laughed even harder. “Did he say it without looking at you, eyes glazed over, mumbling?”

“Exactly!” I cried. “He acted like I wasn’t even there!”

Caleb doubled over, holding his stomach. “Savannah, that’s our homework. He was reciting!”

“Who recites homework at a wedding?!”

“Logan’s the most diligent of us. He reads at meals—never mind receptions.”

I stared, not sure if I should laugh or be mad. “Caleb, don’t tease me just because I don’t read as much as you.”

He just shrugged, that maddening big brother smile never leaving his face.

I thought for a second. “Wait, he also pointed out my wrong note.”

“Did you play the wrong note?”

“Y-yeah,” I muttered, head down. “But he didn’t have to call me out in front of everyone!”

Caleb tapped my nose. “Savannah, it’s good when someone points out your mistakes. If you can’t take it, then maybe you really are all show and no substance.”

He ruffled my hair again. “Besides, Logan’s a music nerd. Most songs are beneath him. If he listened and called you out, it means you’re actually pretty good.”

That made me pause. Caleb always had a way of making things make sense, even when I didn’t want them to.

At first, I thought Caleb was just making it up. But the more I watched, the more I realized he was right.