by Patty Blount
And he…well, he dropped the ball.
But when I poked my head out of the office the mall’s manager was letting us use as a dressing room and saw hundreds of “Kris Vs. Eli” posters, I couldn’t stop the tingle of excitement that raced up my spine. This was even better than opening night onstage. I tried to tell myself that had nothing to do with us… It was marketing and sales, the promise of drama. I even tried to tell myself Paulie and his big friend could be out there right now, but it didn’t stop those tingles.
“Don’t be nervous. I asked Brett for extra security.” Elijah grinned at me in the mirror sitting on a desk where I’d just sat down to slick on another coat of lip gloss.
I turned to face him directly. I should have been nervous. “So…you know what happened at the grocery store.” It wasn’t a question. I could tell by the tone of his voice that he knew.
“Saw the tweets. Blocked and reported the asshole.”
I waited for more… Maybe an apology or a promise that this would stop, that he’d do something besides make another freakin’ hashtag out of the worst moments of my life. But more didn’t happen.
I swallowed hard and looked at the door. I should just get up and walk out. Leave. Go back to the stage, my first love. Why was I still here? I shut my eyes and took a deep breath.
“Worried?” Elijah asked.
I opened my eyes and shook my head. “Excited,” I admitted, hating myself for it. “Is it always like this?”
He shrugged. His hair was loose and flowing past his shoulders and shining under the fluorescent lights. He wore his trademark all-black outfit—black jeans, black boots, and black T-shirt that clung to his lean frame, showing off pecs. His wrist was still bare. I drew a fingertip slowly over the leather cuff now fastened to my wrist and cleared my throat. “Do you, um, want this back?”
Sam’s eyes shot to us from across the room where he was adjusting his strings. Elijah tracked my finger and shook his head. “Definitely not. That’s yours now. You’re part of this.”
Another tingle zipped down my back at his words, and I shook myself out of his spell. It was a leather wristband not an engagement ring. Jesus, he’d made it crystal clear that I was only a means to an end. “Kris.” He nudged me with his shoulder. “How’s Etta?”
I went still. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Just when I thought I had Elijah Hamilton all figured out, just when I thought he really was every bit the jerk he acts like, he goes and does something unspeakably sweet. “She’s…she’s marking time.” My voice cracked.
Dark eyes stared into mine, full of concern and sympathy. “I’m really sorry.” And then he smirked. “So how long are you gonna let her get away with that?”
I bit my lip and shrugged. It wasn’t that easy, and we both knew it… Having to deal with family issues like—oh, jeez! “What about your parents? How did all their site visits go?”
A smile bloomed across Elijah’s face, and my knees went weak. “Not so good. They didn’t like a single place, so they’re reevaluating.” He made finger quotes.
I stared at him, eyes wide. “Oh my God. Elijah, that’s amazing.”
“Yeah, bro,” Nick added from a folding chair in the corner, grinning and giving him a thumbs-up.
“Yeah. It is.” Elijah held the smile for a long moment, and then it melted away. He lowered his voice just for me. “Um, listen, I’m—”
I flashed my stage smile and went full-out gush. “Oh my God, look at all these people! And those posters! This is bananas!”
I had to do something to stop the apology I was sure he was about to offer…and yeah, maybe to cover up my own stupidity for falling halfway in love with a guy who’d feed me to the wolves and sell tickets to the meal after he hashtagged it all over Twitter.
“Bananas?” Elijah smirked, angled his head, and studied me for a second or two before peeking outside the door. “Yeah. Uh, bigger turnout than I’d expected.”
I wondered what you say to a rock band before a concert. Was “break a leg” appropriate? “Good show, everybody.”
Sam rolled his eyes, but Nick held up a hand for a high five. “You too!”
Elijah shook my hand. “You sure you’re okay? You don’t have to do this if you’d rather be with Etta.”
And there it was again. These unbearable glimpses of sweetness that made me want to wrap myself around him like a blanket.
“I’m good. I’m ready.”
Intense dark eyes studied me, and then he smiled. “Good show, Broadway,” he said softly, one finger stroking the back of my hand.
“Good show, Guitar Hero.”
I turned and preceded him to the stage area, determined to get my head on right. Just sing and move on. All business. We were finally becoming a success. Mainstream news was here, and we were tonight’s only music act—the headliners. I scanned the crowd, found Rachel standing near the barrier in front of center stage with a group of my drama club friends, and immediately felt calm. She was talking to a woman with long, dark hair—
Holy crap. It was Madison Kelly. She was here. With a camera guy.
Brett, the mall’s event planner, was onstage, a mic in hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our show. Today’s show is being simulcast by 101.3 FM WLIS radio. We are proud to present the homegrown, hard rock sound of Ride Out!”
The crowd cheered and thrust their “Kris Vs. Eli” posters in the air. Blood pumped through my body, making me tingle in some places and go numb in others. I took my place just to the right of center stage, bouncing on my toes while Nick sat behind his drum kit, Sam checked the levels on his amp, and Elijah strutted to the mic stand, gracing fans with that smirk he must practice for hours in front of a mirror.
“Hello, Bear River!” he greeted them. “Are you ready to rock?” He thrust his fist in the air, and the crowd cheered. “Oh, that was pretty pathetic, you guys. I said: Are. You. Ready. To Roooooooock!” This time, he growled the last word in his trademark metal scream. The crowd reacted with so much energy, the building itself hummed.
Nick counted us off, and we started our first set, covers of rock hits by decade starting with the ’70s and the Rolling Stones and ending with the ’90s and Pearl Jam. In the second set, I got to kick things off with some Pat Benatar and Joan Jett and then some Bon Jovi. People danced, waved their hands in the air, and aimed hundreds of cell phones at us. They sang along, applauded, and shouted appreciation whenever Eli approached me, ready to banter. An hour later, I was sweating through my makeup when Elijah grabbed his mic out of its stand.
“This next song is not a cover. This is an original Ride Out song called ‘Let You In.’” Wild cheering rang out across the crowd, and Elijah grinned, knowing some of these people really were here to see the band. “This time, we’re performing it as a duet.” He swept a hand toward me. “Kristen Cartwright, everybody!”
Elijah ran his hand over his strings, and the first chord ignited our audience, their energy spreading to the stage. He sang the first verse.
You’re looking at me with those big, soft eyes
Everything in your heart is undisguised
I can see all of your hopes and dreams
Pinned on some words and a diamond ring
By the time we reached the chorus, I was feeding off their applause and cheers, the way they sang and danced with us, and even the things they shouted at us, swallowing it like manna.
“Baby, let me in,” I sang, adding my voice to Elijah’s—soft and solid against raw and edgy. “Inside my soul. Baby, let me in.” I held the last note until the music faded and all you could hear was me and the audience.
When I lowered my mic, Elijah’s intense eyes were shining. I lifted my eyebrows. Not bad for a Broadway stage girl, huh, FretGuy?
He smirked, knowing exactly what I was thinking.
We closed the show with my solo of “Going Under” and le
ft the stage, the fans chanting, “More! More! More!” My body ached to get back out there.
Brett called over to us. “Guys, want to give them an encore?”
“Hell, yeah!” Sam punched the air with a fist, and we took the stage again, Elijah directing Nick and Sam on what to play.
“Kris, we’re gonna howl,” he said with a grin.
I smiled. “Seether?”
He nodded and leaned toward his mic, hands stretched out. When the crowd quieted down, he sang the intro: “All I really want is something beautiful to say. All I really want is something beautiful to say.”
The cheers rose again just as Nick came in on the drums and Sam added strings.
“Ah ooh. Ah ooh,” I howled the backup part, and then Elijah sang the first verse. I picked up the second. We sang the bridge together, just like that first day in his garage. “Say, can you help me right before the fall. Take what you can and leave me to the wolves.”
And together, we delivered the chorus:
It’s all so playful when you demonize
To spit out the hateful, you’re willing and able
Your words are weapons of the terrified
You’re nothing in my world.
That last line drilled right into my heart, and I almost choked. Resolute, I shoved it right back out. I may be not that special, but I was here, onstage, with a rock band, with a few hundred people dancing to the rhythm my voice set for them. I didn’t care if I ever got accepted to a prestigious summer program or a conservatory.
I never, ever wanted to leave this stage.
• • •
“Hi, I’m Madison Kelly, Channel Twelve.” The tall brunette shook everyone’s hands. “That was an impressive show. Thanks for inviting me.”
The four of us sat on stools lined up in front of the stage, facing Madison Kelly and her crew—a guy operating the camera and another guy holding the boom.
Elijah, always cool and in control, nodded and smiled. “No problem, Madison. We’re glad you made it.”
“We love you, Elijah!” a trio of girls shouted from across the mall. Elijah grinned and held up a hand.
“I love you, Kristen!” a deep voice countered. I laughed and waved as soon as I was sure it was not Paulie from the grocery store.
“Oh, yes! The infamous hashtag. So tell me, who’s winning—Team Elijah or Team Kristen?”
I looked at Elijah for help. What should I say? He sat, casual and comfortable, head tilted to the side like being interviewed on the local news happened every day. I watched him. Okay, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. When he was singing onstage, he had a…a power, I guess. It was just part of him. Built in. Like some people could sketch and other people can sing and still others can dance…Elijah compelled. There was no other word for him.
And he was doing it right now.
A memory suddenly cued up in my mind. The night of my Cats performance at the ice cream parlor. I’d watched him flirt with a fan at the pickup window, and as soon as she’d walked away, he’d switched off the power. Faded to the background. It struck me then that he was acting, performing a part.
He was in character. Completely immersed in the role he was playing.
Okay. If he could do it, then so could I. I was an actor, after all. I took a deep breath and winked. “I am, obviously. These boys would still be playing garages and coffee bars without me.” I tossed my hair back.
Madison grinned and turned her mic back to Elijah. “Elijah, any rebuttal?”
He scoffed, lifting one shoulder. “Please, Broadway Baby here hadn’t even heard of Halestorm until she met me. Taught her everything she knows.”
As if.
I opened my mouth to shoot back, but Madison beat me to it. “Okay, you two. Let’s hear from the rest of the band. Sam, Nick, what’s your take on the Kris versus Eli battle that’s been waging for weeks?”
Nick smiled shyly and looked down. “Uh, well, I’ll tell you this. The battle’s just for stage. Off stage, you couldn’t find two more professional or dedicated musicians.”
Sam shrugged. “Hey, when do I get a hashtag? SamStrings. Or, wait, wait. How about SamStrums?”
Madison laughed, plainly impressed with us.
“Okay, next question. Elijah, you must have heard the buzz concerning the unfortunately phrased tweet you’d posted on the night of Kristen’s performance in Cats. You said, ‘I wanna hear her scream.’ Since that night, that tweet has been shared and liked well over six thousand times. People call you a spoiled teen with entitlement issues and a misogynist who doesn’t respect women. How do you respond to these reactions?”
Elijah pretended to think over the question carefully, scratching at his neck for good measure. “Well, Madison, I don’t believe a bunch of anonymous people online can accurately judge me based only on something I said in less than a hundred and forty characters. Kristen knows me. I’ve given her no reason to distrust me.”
Just one.
“Kristen, what about you?”
I jerk back to life.
“Elijah says you know him. Is he sexist and entitled?”
I looked at Elijah sideways. “Yeah. He can be.”
“How so?”
“I object to some of the lyrics he writes.”
“Yes.” Madison checked her notes. “I read an entire exchange online about a line that featured the term ‘pogo stick,’ in which you expressed clear outrage. Did Elijah change those lyrics?”
I shook my head, afraid to look at him. “No.”
Madison tilted her head. “Why not, Elijah? Kristen said the lyrics offended her, so why wouldn’t you change them?”
“Because that’s the reaction I wanted when I wrote the song.”
Madison’s eyebrows shot up, but she quickly recovered. “Okay then. So you’re saying you intended to offend women with your music?”
Before Elijah could respond, Nick spoke up. “Ms. Kelly, you’re making a mistake here.”
Her jaw dropped, and I saw Elijah’s hand twitch, but he quickly hid it. Nick continued. “You’re assuming that all music is autobiographical.”
“And it’s not?”
“No. We’ve composed songs about bad breakups, about death, about two-timing girlfriends, and a few other things none of us have ever experienced personally. Bryan Adams sings about the summer of ’69, but he would have been like nine or ten years old then—even if that song was about the year.”
“It’s not?”
Nick grinned. “No. It’s not.” But before Madison could ask the obvious follow-up question, he went on. “Some of the world’s best art is good because it provokes. It makes you think about the conditions of the times, about hidden meanings.”
“Yeah,” Sam cut in. “Nobody believes ‘Like a Virgin’ was autobiographical for Madonna.”
The guys all laughed, and Nick came to his point. “That’s all we’re trying to do here. Make audible art.”
Holy hell. I had no idea Nick was so…so deep.
“Well,” Madison said with a grin. “Your music certainly does provoke.” She turned back to me. “So, Kristen, I have to ask you this…if Ride Out’s music offends you, why are you here? Why put yourself through this?”
“Because these guys are incredibly gifted, and I want to learn from them.”
“Even Elijah, whom the Rawr feminist blog calls a chauvinist-in-training?”
“Especially Elijah, because he is also patient and an incredibly insightful instructor.”
Madison’s eyes went wide. “Awww, then the rumors about the two of you are true? Should we be tweeting with a ‘Kris and Eli’ hashtag?”
Sam made a sound of annoyance, and Elijah’s eyes snapped to his. “Madison,” Elijah began. “I think I speak for all of us when I say we’re committed to our music and taking Ride Out to the top. Kristen b
rings us a talent and a…fearlessness,” he emphasized with a clenched fist, and something in my chest grew warm. “We respect her too much to risk losing her.” He lifted a shoulder and shook hair off his face.
Madison gave her camera guy a signal, and he moved closer, framing only Elijah in his shot. “Elijah, will we hear lyrics with more romance, less violence, and less sexism, now that you’ve got your token female band member?”
Elijah’s eyes narrowed to slits, and he angled his head, saying nothing. I shifted and looked to Nick and Sam. A flush was crawling up Nick’s ears, and Sam was glaring daggers through Madison, but her back was to him. Finally, Elijah smiled. “I’ll tell you this: we have some fans who’ve been with us since the beginning. Hard-core, loyal fans. And now that Kristen’s joined our group, we’re attracting new fans, just as loyal. When we perform original music, all of our fans will find something to love. That’s a promise.”
Madison’s lips pressed together, her only sign of annoyance.
I, on the other hand, was amazed.
I had no idea Elijah could be so cool under pressure like this. She turned, gave me a look of sympathy, and said, “Kristen, I’m told tragedy has struck your family. Your grandmother, the stage actress Henrietta Cartwright, has suffered a stroke. How would she feel if she knew you were singing in a rock band?”
My mouth fell open. Etta already knows, so I was sure it was no big deal. I cleared my throat, remembered my part, and smiled wide. “Whose idea do you think it was?”
Madison laughed. “Your grandmother told you to sing in a rock band?”
“That’s right.” I relaxed a little. “When Elijah first approached me about joining Ride Out, I said no. I’m a stage performer, like my grandmother. I act, I dance, and I sing. But Etta suggested setting a few stretch goals could help me add breadth and depth to my talents.”
“Stretch goals?” Madison echoed. “Well, yes, I suppose singing in a rock band is a stretch for a theater actor.”
