by Kim Holden
He sighs. He’s not satisfied with my answer, I guess. We sit in silence.
“Listen dude, I’d better get to my homework. But Gus?”
“Yeah?”
“I know everything that’s going on in your life right now, between the album and the tour and everything else … that you know, that it’s not all fun and some of it is bullshit, but that’s life, dude. Sometimes it sucks. But you know what?”
“What?”
“Gus, it always gets better.” In my heart I still believe this, but I have to keep reminding myself. It’s hard when feelings and attitudes that were once second nature are now something I have to put effort into.
It’s quiet for several seconds and then, “You live up to your name every day, you know that, Bright Side?” The smile’s faint, but it’s there in his voice.
“I try, dude. I try.” Every day, every hour, every minute, I try. “Do epic,” I remind him.
“Do epic,” he repeats. Repetition is the key. Someday he’ll believe it. “I miss you.”
“I miss you, too. Every day.”
“I love you, Bright Side.”
“Love you, too, Gus.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
Tuesday, September 20
(Kate)
I’m driving to Minneapolis to pick up an order of vases as a favor to Shelly. She’s stressing because her supplier messed up, and she needs to have three vase arrangements done for an early morning delivery tomorrow.
The drive is nice: clear roads, clear sky. I have the college radio station playing.
Just as I’m pulling up in front of my destination, a new song comes on. I hear the first three notes and my heart stops. It’s “Killing the Sun!” Rook’s “Killing the Sun” … on the radio! Oh. My. God. It’s real. Gus’s song is on the fucking radio! And it sounds so much better than it does on my iPod because I know hundreds of other people are hearing it right now with me.
I tear into my bag searching for my cell. I need to call Gus. I need to share this moment with him. This only happens for the first time once. The first time I hear his song on the radio.
He picks up on the second ring. “Bright Side—”
I interrupt. “Gus, shut up and listen.” I turn the radio up and put my phone against the speaker on the dash. At this point the song has reached the first chorus and it’s my voice is filling the car. I put the phone back to my ear and I’m yelling because I can’t contain myself. “Dude, your song’s playing on the radio in my fucking car!”
“Okay.” He sounds confused. “You listening to the CD? Are you drunk? Why are you yelling?” He doesn’t get it.
“Dude, it’s not the CD! The college radio station is playing your song! It’s on the radio!”
“What?”
I turn down the radio so I don’t have to shout over it, “Gus, I’m sitting in my car in Minneapolis fucking Minnesota listening to 93.7 on the FM dial and they’re playing Rook.”
“No way!” Now he gets it.
“Yes! I had to call and share it with you. This is so rad!”
“No way,” He sounds stunned. “It’s real, isn’t it, Bright Side?”
“Hell yeah, it’s real. This is your moment, dude. Your song’s on the radio and your tour starts this weekend. You’d better squeeze the life out of every single minute of this.”
I hear the lighter click on the other end of the phone and the familiar long inhale that brings his cigarette to life.
“You should quit.” I don’t wait for his reply. “Oh, and dude while I’m nagging, I’m only going to say this once, because I feel like I owe it to you as a friend.”
“Okay, shoot.”
That sounded receptive, so I proceed, “On the tour, three rules: no drugs—don’t dumb down this experience, dude; wear a condom every time; and don’t lose your mind, all right?”
“That’s a lot to remember.” He’s teasing me. “Do you think you could type that up for me and I can tape it up in my bunk on the tour bus as a reminder? Or maybe I could just get it tattooed on my ass?”
“Ha, ha.”
“I know, Bright Side. No drugs—I’m getting too old for that shit anyway; condoms are a given—they’re man’s best friend, I never leave home without ’em; but losing my mind …” he pauses. ”You may have to remind me again about that one. You’ve always been my voice of reason.”
“Reason is my middle name.”
“I thought it was smartass, Bright Side Smartass Sedgwick.”
“Compliment accepted. Well, dude, I’d better go. I just wanted to call and let you know you’re officially on the radar.”
“Thanks, Bright Side.”
“Anytime. I love you, Gus.”
“Love you, too.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
Wednesday, September 21
(Kate)
The knock on my door is unexpected. I just walked in the door from class and I didn’t see anyone in the hallway.
When I open the door, it’s John, the RA. I like him, but he always seems annoyed to have to do his job. “This FedEx package was delivered for you this morning,” he mutters. Damn, he seems really put out. He hasn’t been part the Grant College Experience. I’ve often wondered how, with his total lack of enthusiasm, he got the job. He’s a grad student, so maybe he was pumped up in the beginning and has been beat down over the years. My goal before the end of the semester is to make this guy smile.
I take the envelope from him. “Thanks John. It was really nice of you to bring this to me.” I’m piling it on thick because I don’t think he gets any attention. And everyone needs attention. He doesn’t have many friends and everyone in the dorms thinks he’s a dick. I think he’s probably just lonely and a little burned out. He’s probably done this job about one year too long.
“I was right in the middle of something important when I had to answer the door.”
I nod my head, completely buying into what he’s telling me. “Oh, I bet you were and I appreciate it very much.”
“Okay, well, I need to get back.”
“Thanks again, John.”
He nods curtly and leaves.
I have no idea what’s inside this envelope, but I tear it open and dig in. Inside are the eight VIP tickets to the Rook concert in Grant that Gus promised me. This is unbelievable. It’s not like I’ve never seen a Rook concert ticket before, but this is fan-fucking-tastic. The tickets went on sale yesterday and the show is already sold out. I guess Minnesota loves Rook. As well they should.
I text Gus a huge thank you and take the tickets with me so I can hand them all out this afternoon. My friendship with Gus is no secret, but his rock star identity is. Most of my friends know my best friend back home is named Gus. But none of them know that Gus is Gustov Hawthorne, front man of Rook. Because to me, he’s still just Gus. Always will be. Rook is amazing and I’m so proud of him, but the best part of Gus … is Gus. The Gus who has always been my best friend, the Gus who I surfed with, the Gus who bought Twix bars for Grace, the Gus who let me cry on his shoulder on the worst day of my life, the Gus who teases me relentlessly, but who also encourages me just as much. Gus.
There aren’t any coincidences. I’ve always believed that. So when I step into the flower shop that afternoon and hear “Killing the Sun” playing on the radio, I smile.
Shelly is singing along softly. She looks up and points to the radio. “Have you heard this song, Kate? It’s my new favorite thing on the planet.”
“Oh yeah? The planet?” I ask. Her enthusiasm makes my heart happy.
“They’ve been playing it all week. Some new group called Rook. They’re sick. I don’t know what this guy looks like, but his voice is so damn sexy.”
I smile because I can’t hold it back and offer, “So Google them.”
She smirks. “Why didn’t I think of that, smartass?” And she pulls her phone out of her pocket and starts typing. “Holy. Shit. He’s gorgeous, Kate. Hi
s name’s Gustov Hawthorne. Take a look.” She turns the screen toward me.
I laugh because I could look at my phone and see the same face. But he looks different in the photo on her phone because his hair is shorter. This photo is from one of the numerous promo shoots they took last month, after the band had their makeover with the stylist. I shrug. “He’s all right if you’re into the tall, overly built, super blond, good-looking thing.”
“All right? All right? Kate, anyone with a pulse would drop their panties for this guy.”
I grimace. I have. “I thought you were into gingers? Gingers that cultivated spectacular hair farms?” Duncan’s beard seems to be getting bushier by the day.
“I am. I mean, I love The Boyfriend with all my heart. He’s real. This guy isn’t. He’s fantasy material. And he can sing and play guitar.” She’s staring at the screen again. “Shit,” she whispers.
I reach in my back pocket and pull out two Rook tickets and toss them on the counter in front of her. “You should really see him in the flesh. No panty dropping when Gustov takes the stage, though. Duncan will be there and that would just be awkward. The other ticket’s for him.”
Her jaw drops and she looks from me to the tickets back to me. “How in the hell did you get these? I heard this morning that the show is sold out.” She looks more closely, then holds the tickets up to show me. “Kate, these are VIP.”
“Let’s just say some friends owed me. Big time. We’re all going.” By this time Shelly has me wrapped up in a full-blown bear hug and it’s hard for me to speak. But I do have a giant grin on my face.
At dinner that night, I give Clayton and Pete each two tickets so they can bring Morris and Evelyn. Clayton’s heard me play Rook before, and though it’s not the type of music he’s into, he likes them. Pete’s never heard of them, but he graciously accepts.
I take a detour and stop by Keller’s place on my way home from the cafeteria. No one’s home. I already had the ticket in an envelope just in case this happened. I write a note on it:
Keller—Hope you can make it. Kate
I slide it through the mail slot in the door.
A text comes in a few hours later from Keller: Thanks for the ticket! Can’t wait!
Sunday, September 25
(Kate)
My cell wakes me from a near comatose slumber. I pull my hand out from under my pillow and reach across my desk for my phone, knocking off a book in the process. Even through all this I don’t open my eyes so when I press the button to answer and put the phone to my ear I don’t know who I’m about to talk to. “Hello,” or something close to it comes out. I think.
“Shit, I’m sorry, Bright Side. You’re sleeping, aren’t you?”
I blink a few times and lie, “No … no … hey Gus.”
“Dude, I’m sorry. Call me back later. When you’re really awake, ‘kay?” It’s concerned Gus.
I yawn and look at the clock. 8:30am. It’s been a long time since I’ve slept in this late. “No, really, it’s okay. I need to get up.”
Gus sounds hesitant. “I just wanted to call, you know, to tell you about the show last night.”
My eyes fly open and I’m suddenly much more awake. Yesterday I helped Shelly all day with flowers for two weddings. I was wiped out by the time I got home and I totally forgot about Rook’s show. What a shitty friend I am. “Damn, Gus I’m sorry I didn’t call or text you last night. I went to bed early. How’d it go? Did the hometown crowd show you some love?” Their first show was in San Diego.
“The show was great. The crowd was sick! I wish you could’ve been there.”
I smile because he sounds so excited. I love it when he’s this excited about something. “I wish I could’ve been there, too.” I look at the clock again and do some sleepy math in my head. “Dude, it’s like 6:30 in California. Have you slept at all?”
“No. I can’t. I’m still too amped.”
“Refresh my memory ... when do you play next, and where?”
“L.A. tonight and Phoenix on Tuesday.”
“God, do you realize how wild this is that we’re sitting here having this conversation? You’re on tour!” I shout. I peek at Sugar’s bed and am glad to see she’s not in it and that I haven’t woken her.
“I know. It’s insane, right?”
“You’re my hero, Rock God.”
“Whatever.”
I hear someone yelling Gus’s name and then Gus’s voice becomes muffled. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“I’m keeping you from something,” I say.
“It’s nothing. MFDM got us a suite downtown after the show as some sort of present or whatever, so everyone’s still partying inside. I’m outside on the balcony.”
“Get back to your celebration, dude, you deserve it. And good luck tonight. This is the beginning of something big. I can feel it.”
“We’ll see. Thanks Bright Side. Have a super, duper Sunday.”
I haven’t heard “super, duper” forever and it makes me smile. “Always. You too. I love you, Gus.”
“Love you, too.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
Friday, October 7
(Kate)
I found a five-dollar bill in the pocket of my jeans during American History this afternoon. I took that as a sign that I must treat myself to a cup of coffee for the ride to Minneapolis to see Gabriel. His school called me yesterday afternoon after his tutor didn’t show and asked if I could fill in again and meet with him today after school. If my week were a rainbow, he’d be the pot of gold at the end of it. Gabriel is cooperative, and inquisitive, and happy, and sweet, and stubborn all at once. I love that, because he’s real. He says what’s on his mind and he doesn’t hold back. Life would be so much easier if everyone were that way.
As luck would have it, the parking spot at the curb in front of Grounds is open.
The bell thunders and I ignore it. I’m on a mission.
I expect to see Romero behind the counter, but it’s Keller instead.
He’s smiling that crooked smile of his. That means he’s in the mood to flirt. I’m beginning to figure him out. “Heard I was here and couldn’t stay away?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not stalking you.” I pull the crumpled bill from my pocket and let it drop on the counter. “Found a fiver in my pocket today. I took it as a sign from the coffee gods.”
He picks up the bill and looks at it front and back. It’s soft and faded—clearly it’s been through the wash once or twice. “This thing’s pitiful, Katie.” He looks at it again and hands it back to me. “I can’t accept it.”
“What?” I look at the bill in his hand. What did he just say? I have my heart set on this coffee. I need this coffee. “Are you denying me, Keller Banks?”
He pours a large coffee, sets it on the counter, and slides it across to me. “Not you, just your money. This one’s on me.” He pulls two ones out of his pocket puts them in the cash register, takes the change, and puts it in the tip jar.
I raise my eyebrows and nod toward the tip jar. “Really?”
He smiles. “What? I’m covering for Rome for like twenty minutes. These are his tips this afternoon, not mine. I’d feel guilty if I didn’t tip the guy. I mean I have a reputation for being a cheapskate, but I wouldn’t stoop that low.”
I’m sure he’s telling me the truth so I raise my cup. “Thanks dude. I owe you one.”
“Don’t worry about it. Though, I don’t know how you drink all that at 3:30 in the afternoon. I’d be up all night. Or are you going out? Planning on not sleeping?”
“Caffeine and I are like this.” I cross my fingers. “I don’t sleep much anyway, but now that you mention it, I do have a big night ahead of me.” Lately my sleep cycles have alternated between weeks of insomnia and weeks of coma-like slumber. This week, insomnia is my new best friend. My body doesn’t like me much. I’m trying to make peace with it, but it’s been hard. In the past I only slept four or five hours
a night and I was fine the next day. Now, if I’m lucky enough to get three or four hours, I wake up feeling like I need ten or fifteen more. But that’s life, I guess.
He looks skeptical. “A big night huh? I never see you out.”
“I’m not really much of a partier. Between work and school I don’t have a lot of free time. I guess I study at night instead of going out.” I widen my eyes and the sarcasm sets in. “Crazy, huh?”
He laughs. “I get it. I don’t go out much myself. So what are you doing tonight?”
“I’m tutoring an adorable ten-year-old at four o’clock in Minneapolis.” I glance at my watch. “Which I’ll be late for if I don’t get going.”
He smiles. “Lucky kid.”
I meet his smile. “No, lucky me. You don’t know this kid.”
He nods. “And then what? What are you doing after?”
I moan. “I have to write a paper for Literature on A Tale of Two Cities that’s due Monday. I’m only on chapter four now. I’m not really feelin’ it. It’s gonna be a long night.”
He narrows his eyes. “You’ve never read A Tale of Two Cities?”
And I suddenly feel self-conscious. “No.”
He pushes away from the counter and runs his hands through his messy hair. “I don’t believe it. What high school graduate hasn’t read A Tale of Two Cities?”
I raise my hand sheepishly. “Uh, this one.”
He rests his elbows on the counter and lowers his voice. “It’s one of my favorites. I’ve read it at least ten times. I can help you tomorrow if you want.”
Wow, that’s surprising. Not that I didn’t think the guy was smart. I mean, there’s this stillness about him. He’s a quiet observer. Those kind of people are always intelligent. But I didn’t realize the guy was into classic literature. God, I’m doomed. Keller is already sexy as hell, but this pushes him over the top. I love smart guys. “I thought you went to Chicago on the weekends?”
