by Marie Powell
Could we order pizza too?
She wished she could snap her fingers and be home right now, sitting on a beach towel on the flat section of the roof that she and C had discovered was totally hidden from everything but the ocean view, planning to order the gooiest pizza they could dream up. She couldn’t think of anything she’d ever wanted more.
She loved Cesar. She’d said it to him before, but she didn’t think she’d really known it was true until today — not until the moment she’d seen Rafe chase Harper McKenzie through the backstage curtains.
She should thank Harper for being such a boyfriend-stealing skank. If Skye hadn’t seen her run off with Rafe, she would never have known the difference between what she’d felt in the few minutes that she’d thought Cesar was flirting with Lucy and how she’d felt when she’d known that Rafe was about to go and make out with Harper.
It hadn’t been jealousy, she thought. It had been pain. The idea of losing Cesar had been like being torn in half. C hadn’t actually been flirting with Lucy, but she knew if Cesar ever did fall for someone else, he would leave her. And he might, if she kept up like this. That was probably why the only thing she’d felt when she saw Rafe chase Harper into the wings was relief.
Her phone buzzed.
Of course there’d be pizza.
And the Monopoly board.
Pizza and Monopoly and Cesar. It sounded like paradise.
“I’ve given up on the idea that you will learn to be the kind of man who will not be a disappointment to us, Rafe.” Sir Peter’s voice sliced through the curtains.
Skye slid into a darker spot, hoping they wouldn’t see her. Sir Peter was always nice to Skye, but she’d seen him in this mood with Rafe before and she didn’t want to catch any of the fallout.
“But that doesn’t mean I’m going to allow you to make a fool of yourself, or that I’m going to allow you to embarrass this family.” Sir Peter stepped out from the maze of curtains, Rafe on his heels. “We live our lives on a public stage, young man. If I have to make decisions for you to see that you live up to that responsibility, I will.”
“Dad,” Rafe said, “I told you, nothing’s happened between me and Harper. But why would it be so awful if it did? She’s a star. She’s your star.”
“And if it comes out that she’s dating my son, it will reflect poorly on us if she wins tonight, won’t it?” Sir Peter snapped back. “Particularly if she’s just stolen him out of the arms of Skye Owen, daughter of Jennifer Owen, President of Feature Film Production at Paramount bloody Pictures with whom I am on the verge of closing a major movie deal.”
Skye’s iPhone buzzed in her pocket and she clamped a hand over it to muffle the sound.
“That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?” Rafe snapped back at his father, resentment blasting in his tone. “Protecting your deal. Who cares what I want if it gets in the way of your precious business?”
“This has nothing to do with business, young man,” Sir Peter snarled. “It has everything to do with legacy. You are my legacy and so are your actions. If your actions interfere with the potential success of my legacy, then I will modify your actions for you. Do you understand that?”
“What if I don’t want to be your legacy?” Rafe spat out.
“You are, for better or worse,” Sir Peter fired back. “Someday, you’ll thank me for making you the man I expect you to be.”
Rafe punched the wall.
Sir Peter reached out and put a hand on his son’s shoulder.
“Listen, Rafe,” he said. “I know that you’re frustrated. I know that I’m hard on you, but I have my reasons, son. I’m older and wiser, and I know what you need right now. I want you to see to your relationship with Skye because you need a woman like her — a strong, independent woman who will make you better than you are. Harper is a wonderful girl, but she can’t do that for you. You’ll just end up ruining her, and yourself in the process.”
Rafe didn’t say anything.
“Just think about it,” Sir Peter said. “I expect you to make the right decision.”
He walked away, leaving Rafe standing alone.
Come on, Skye thought. Stomp off. Go find Harper and make out with her, just to prove him wrong.
But Rafe didn’t seem to be going anywhere.
She glanced down at the screen of her phone.
Where’d ya go? Must be making you work hard out there — hope it’s going well!
Trust Cesar to be sweet, even when he was feeling ignored. Once she would have enjoyed playing hard to get, but not anymore. She glanced up at Rafe again. He looked like he was settling into a sulk right there and, she knew from experience, Rafe could sulk forever. If she wanted to text Cesar back, she’d have to get out of here.
She reached out and deliberately shook the curtain that sheltered her from view, and then burst through as though she’d just walked up from the other side.
“Rafe!” she said, like she was surprised to see him there.
She almost felt sorry for him when he looked up at her. His eyes were brimming, open wounds.
“I’m on the hunt for Harper. Wardrobe is looking for her.” She kept moving past him, hoping he would let her escape without a long-winded scene. “I’ll just —”
But instead of letting her pass, he reached out and grabbed her, pulling her into his arms.
“Rafe” was all she managed to say before his lips closed over hers. She pushed him back after a moment. “Rafe, I’m here for work, I really need to —”
“Screw work,” he said, pushing her back into the curtains. His lips closed over hers again and she found herself wrapping her arms around his neck on reflex. He’d always been an amazing kisser.
Her phone buzzed again. Cesar. She was ignoring Cesar to kiss Rafe Jackson, a boy who had been on the verge of cheating on her only minutes before. What was she doing?
But the kiss was deepening, making it difficult to think. Making it hard to remember that Rafe wasn’t the guy she wanted him to be, and Cesar … Cesar was …
And then she couldn’t seem to remember who or what Cesar was. All she could think of was the feeling of Rafe’s lips on hers.
13. Worth It
(ft. Trent Eisner)
Are you worth it? Do I care?
If I don’t, what am I doing this for?
Trent Eisner couldn’t stop himself from bouncing a little in time with the pounding beat of Lucy Gosling’s drums as it drove Harper McKenzie’s voice outward to fill the Caesars Palace auditorium. It was hard to believe that five teenage girls from London could dominate the Caesars stage this way, but they were doing it.
Are you worth it? Just a little bit,
But you’d better know how lucky you are.
I’m gonna go far, but if you’re worth it,
I might let you ride in my car.
They were good, Trent thought. They were better than good. Even the camera crews that surrounded him in his perch in the eagle’s nest were having trouble resisting the driving beat that pulled them into the music.
Harper sashayed over to Robyn, the two girls moving effortlessly in time with each other and their music. Robyn picked her way through a long riff that sounded a bit like flamenco guitar but somehow melded perfectly into the rapid-fire punk-pop melody, then Toni ran to the front of the stage and took the mic for a line or two as Harper dashed across the stage to sit next to Iza, picking out a few notes around Iza’s playfully elaborate piano line.
Toni’s alto throbbed out:
You say you’re worth it, but I don’t know,
I’m worth a little more with every step I go.
Can you keep up? For your sake, I hope so.
Oh yes, these girls were good. And gorgeous, he thought. Every single one of them. Their monochromatic white outfits were a perfect choice — from Lucy’s all-white Converse to Toni’s white b
ustier and skinny jeans, they looked striking, sophisticated even, but they were still their unique, original selves. And as for Harper McKenzie — she could have been dressed in her pajamas and still look like a superstar. Harper McKenzie was the kind of girl born for the spotlight.
But Harper wasn’t the one he couldn’t stop staring at.
That was Lucy.
Her long curls were tied back in a dark starburst behind her head, and her sticks flew like they had a life of their own, even though Trent knew that she had absolute control of them for every second of every song. She made it look easy. And that smile. God, that smile. It was like an arrow to the heart, designed just for him.
He mentally smacked himself. Melodrama was good for ballads but not for real life. Lucy wasn’t smiling for him. She didn’t even know he was there. He was going to surprise her after the show and sweep her off her feet the way he’d wanted to at Blvd3. Or at least, that had been the plan. He hadn’t thought Crush would be so damn awesome. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that they’d win. He hadn’t thought much beyond being with Lucy again.
But that was the problem. When he looked at Lucy Gosling, he heard nothing but love songs. It was embarrassing but it was true. He was such a walking cliché. He’d met a girl and suddenly the love songs he’d always thought were ridiculous sounded … Well, they sounded true. They sounded like all the feelings that were jammed into every corner of his brain.
Are you worth it? I don’t care.
I say you’re worth it, so you better be worth it.
It’s only fair
Harper blasted the lyrics.
I’m worth a little more every step I go.
If you’re worth it, you better show me it’s so.
Oh yes, he could fall in love with Lucy Gosling, if he let himself. But did he want to? Was she worth it? He couldn’t see her, he thought, until he’d made up his mind. It wouldn’t be fair. Should he go backstage and surprise her as he’d planned? Or should he just leave, get on a plane back to LA and try to forget the drummer girl forever? If Crush won Project Next they’d be on tour for a year. And he’d be on tour at the same time. He and Lucy would be in a different city every night. How much did he want to give up just for the chance of a few minutes of Skype time with her every day? How much did he want to make her give up? Was he worth it? Or would falling in love with Lucy Gosling be an express ticket to a broken heart?
Crush belted out in chorus:
I’m worth it.
Are you?
It was so quiet in the auditorium that Lucy could actually hear the stiff white envelope tear as the Project Next host, Liam Michaels, ripped it open.
Lucy Gosling’s destiny was in that envelope. And it was about to be set free.
If she could, she’d freeze time in this moment, the tingle of an amazing show still sparkling across her skin. There was no failure here and no success; only potential.
But potential can’t last forever.
“Are you ready for this, kids?” Liam Michaels asked the four bands, gathered in bunches behind him on the massive stage at Caesars Palace.
“YEAH!” the bands around her crowed. Harper grabbed one of Lucy’s hands and Robyn grabbed the other as Crush huddled together. Lucy felt like the only fixed point in a world of color and movement and sound that made less and less sense with every second that Liam drew out his dramatic pause.
“Okay, straight to the point then. The winner is …”
The auditorium seemed to hold its breath.
“CRUSH!”
Fireworks, Lucy thought, abstractly, as she felt her body joining in the bouncing tangle of arms and legs and screaming girls that Crush became as the hovering cameras moved in for a close-up. It was like fireworks going off in her brain. An explosion of emotions and sensations she couldn’t give proper names to if she tried.
They’d won.
Lucy suddenly found herself sitting in a makeup chair, being dusted and powdered by a large black man wearing a sequined sweatshirt who sternly instructed her to “sit still and keep those peepers shut!” as he carefully glued false eyelashes to the far corners of her eyelids, one sprig of lashes at a time.
It felt as though she blinked once, cautiously hoping that the eyelash glue would not end up sticking her eyes shut forever, and then found herself standing in front of a bank of mirrors in her underpants and bra, as Debra Z rained designer clothes down on her. Debra was chattering about something, but the adrenaline-fueled blood rushing through Lucy’s ears was too loud for her to hear anything past it.
Another blink, and she was on the stage of the now empty Caesars Palace theater, clinking champagne glasses with the girls, Sir Peter, Jason, Alexander and half a dozen people she didn’t recognize as camera flashes exploded all around her.
A blink again, and she was in a limousine, watching the neon outlines of Las Vegas pass on the way to some place called The Ends that Ash said was the latest hot spot.
They’d won.
Crush had won Project Next.
If Lucy Gosling had ever wanted to be a boring human being, she was out of luck. She would never be normal again.
“Lucy?” Harper’s voice was so quiet compared to the decibel level the whole world had been set to since Liam Michaels said the word “Crush” on stage hours ago that Lucy almost didn’t hear her.
“Um, yeah, Harper,” Lucy said, shaking herself out of the fog of shock. “What’s up?”
“We are,” Harper said with a grin. She topped up the champagne flute that had somehow made its way into Lucy’s hand, and then clinked her own against it. “To us.”
“Yes,” Lucy said, with a smile. “To Crush.”
“Nah,” Harper replied, settling back into the plush seat beside her. “There’ll be plenty of that later. That one was just for you and me. I couldn’t have done this without you, Luce. We wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be here.”
Lucy twisted to look at Harper. She wasn’t kidding. She was serious.
“Well, I wouldn’t be here either, obviously,” Lucy said. “Without you, I mean. You changed my whole life, Harper.”
“Hopefully not in a totally-ruined-it sort of way,” Harper said. She laughed, but Lucy could see she wasn’t entirely kidding.
“Of course not,” Lucy assured her. “Look at this! Look at where we are! You were right before. Together, we can do whatever we want. As long as there’s you and me, and we’ve got each other’s backs, nothing can stop us.”
“BFF, right?” Harper said, jingling her charm bracelet.
“Quite right,” Lucy said, in a mock posh voice. “BFF for good.”
They grinned at each other and Lucy finally felt the world coming back into focus around her.
“We’re here!” Toni crowed from the other end of the vast limousine.
“YEE-HA!” Iza yelled. Then she burped a tiny Iza-sized burp and collapsed back into her seat in a fit of giggles.
“Oh my God,” Robyn said, shaking her head. “Iza’s lost the plot already and we’re not even at the party yet.”
“I have not,” Iza said, crawling to the door the chauffeur was holding for them.
“Have, too,” Harper said, nudging her affectionately. “But it’s about time we got you properly trashed. Out you go.”
Lucy slid out next and stood beside the limo, blinded for a moment by the explosion of camera flashes that echoed around them. This couldn’t all be for Crush. But it was, she realized. This was all for Crush. All for Lucy Gosling and her four best friends. How amazing was that?
Just out of the corner of her eye, Lucy saw a familiar figure that made her heart thump double-time. Could it be? Had Trent Eisner come to their show? Was he really here?
Lucy craned her neck, allowing herself a few seconds of crazed optimism as she searched the crowd for floppy brown hair and chocolate eyes. But after a
moment, she felt the little spark of hope die. She’d been imagining it. Of course. Why would Trent bother to come? He barely knew her, and he certainly wasn’t interested in getting to know her better. He’d made that abundantly clear.
“Come on, Luce!” Harper called, reaching out to grab Lucy’s hand and pull her along. “Let’s do this!”
Lucy followed Harper out into a lightning storm of flashbulbs.
“Look over here, Lucy!”
“This way, Crush! Look at me!”
“Harper! Over here!”
Lucy hooked her arm through Harper’s and struck one of the poses Debra Z had taught them, then another and another. The hail of light and voices battered her relentlessly, but with her arm through Harper’s, she found that she wasn’t as overwhelmed or frightened as she’d expected to be. Together they could do this. They could do anything. They’d walk the red carpet like they belonged there, because now … they did.
Skye Owen shifted her weight, trying to ease the pressure on the blister that was forming under her right big toe. Her white snakeskin four-inch heels looked amazing, but they were sample size, so they didn’t fit at all. Standing on the unforgiving slate tiles of the pool deck at The Ends didn’t help.
Like so many clubs in Vegas, The Ends had an indoor dance floor with a bar and a second bar outside. This one happened to be on the thirtieth story of the casino tower that housed the club. It was a beautiful view. Skye might even have enjoyed standing at the railing, looking out over the sparkle of the Strip, if she had been alone. But she wasn’t.
Rafe had stuck to her like glue since their impromptu kiss backstage before the Project Next finale. And now, just to make things even more awkward, they were stuck at the hottest club in Las Vegas with their parents.
“I’m so glad you thought to ask us to come out for the show, Peter,” Jennifer Owen simpered. “It’s wonderful to see what Rafe and Skye have been working so hard on all summer.”
Skye wondered whether Sir Peter could hear how fake her mother’s coo was.
“I’m sure Skye has put in much more work than Rafe,” Sir Peter said, returning her mother’s smile with just as much genuine emotion as Jennifer had given him. “I’m so glad her influence is getting Rafe involved in the family business.”
