The Way Back Home

by Alecia Whitaker

  “Channing Tatum, huh?”

  She giggles and nods.

  “Okay,” I say. “So has Channing slipped you the tongue?”

  “Excuse me!” Stella exclaims. “Mr. Tatum is a gentleman.”

  We laugh. We laugh and it feels good, and I realize that, as usual, I’ve been making things more complicated than they have to be. I’ll listen when either wants to talk, I’ll keep everything they say about the other to myself, and I’ll stay Switzerland on all possible conflicts.

  “He hasn’t kissed me,” she says softly now. “I definitely would’ve called you if things had gotten that far.”

  “I would hope so,” I say.

  “We spent our days off together, but he didn’t really make another move. It just seems like we touch a little more often now, like he’ll lean against me in line for lunch or I’ll scratch his back while we watch a show. There’s tension like something might happen, but it hasn’t.”

  “Maybe you intimidate him,” I say.

  “Or maybe he knows when he kisses me it’ll make it all real,” she says. “Maybe he’s not ready for real.”

  She picks at a loose thread on her shirt, and I can almost hear her thoughts. I wonder if they echo mine: What does it mean when it all gets real? I can’t help but think about Kai and how perfect our relationship was when we were on the road together last year. And then I remember how impossible it was once we were apart. I wonder if we would still be friends if we’d never taken it to the next level. I used to tell him everything, we shared every part of our day, and now all I get are snippets of his life from his Instagram account.

  The same thing happened with Adam. We were always so comfortable together, and I nursed a crush on him well before I let him know about it because I was always worried that he looked at me as nothing more than Jacob’s little sister. We finally went on a date, and it was so perfect. I thought we had a chance. But he stopped it before we really got going, and now it’s only the occasional text message or tweet that keeps us in contact.

  I close my eyes and am inundated by painful memories from two failed relationships. I haven’t been on a single date since my breakup after New Year’s. There really is a lot at stake on the brink of things getting real.

  7

  “I’M STANDING HERE with three-time-VMA-nominated Bird Barrett, who looks stunning this evening,” Sway Calloway says on the red carpet.

  I smile. “Thanks, Sway. It’s so good to be here.”

  “Now, I just spoke with your old pal Devyn Delaney, and she said your performance is the one she’s most looking forward to tonight.”

  I’m surprised to hear that after our falling out last year, but as my publicist looks on from a few feet away, I know I make her proud by not letting it show. I am very familiar with the PR machine that is Devyn Delaney. Before she betrayed me by setting me up for a spat with Kayelee Ford on reality television, I learned a lot about the business from her. So, smiling broadly, I tell the MTV reporter, “Oh, Devyn’s just the best.”

  “She’s a cool cat,” he agrees. I glance at Anita, who smirks back at me. “Tonight you’re nominated for Best Video with a Message for your monster hit ‘Shine Our Light.’ That’s what you’ll be performing later, correct?”

  “Yes, and that performance is going to be really special,” I say.

  “The video is also pretty special,” Sway says. “Fifteen million views on YouTube in the first week. We’ve all heard the rumors that it was penned about another singer here tonight,” he goes on. “What do you think about when you sing that song?”

  I pause to think about my answer as the fans surrounding the red carpet swell in their cheers. I briefly wonder who just arrived, but then I focus on my response. “Well, it does take me back to a hard time in my life,” I say, “but a friend helped me see that we all shine brighter when we’re casting light instead of shadows—of doubt, or negativity, or whatever else—and I think about that.”

  “Love the positive message. Good luck tonight, Bird.”

  I finish the interview and meet up with Troy, Anita, and former country music sensation and personal mentor Bonnie McLain, who are waiting for me off to the side. “The VMAs are madness,” I say. “Last year I was just excited to be here, but this year all I see is drama around every corner.” I nod toward the carpet as Kayelee herself appears in front of the stands, stunning in a provocative gown that looks like it’s made out of purple zip ties.

  “Well, all I see is skin,” Bonnie says loudly. Of course right at that moment, somebody walks by in a leather tube top and some sort of grass skirt.

  “Bird, let’s walk,” Anita says, business as usual. “I want to get you ahead of Kayelee, and I don’t know if you saw, but she brought your good buddy Colton Holley as her date, so let’s march while she’s waiting for her interview.”

  I know I shouldn’t look, but I immediately whip my head around and lock eyes with Colton on the spot. He smiles broadly and waves, so handsome and polished in his tailored tux. Is he dating Kayelee or not? Either way, I am mortified that I got smashed and almost hooked up with him in Vegas, so I just give him a quick smile and follow Anita toward the row of reporters eagerly awaiting a brief conversation. I never thought I’d rather talk to the press than a hot rich guy with a sexy British accent, but my life is stupid sometimes.

  Bonnie hangs back with Troy as I get down to business, posing my way down the red carpet for the next half hour, giving the photographers and fans every possible angle of my strappy, sparkly red cocktail dress. I felt dangerous and sexy when I chose it a few days ago, but now that I’m actually at the VMAs, I feel like a Catholic nun. Bonnie was right: Less is more for MTV fashions.

  Once I reach the end of the carpet, I manage to drag Bonnie out for a few pictures before we head inside. The photogs love it. She may have retired at the top of her game, but that doesn’t mean people don’t know who she is. I can only dream that one day my shelves will sparkle with as many awards as hers do. And she may be older than my mom and not one for the spotlight anymore, but when the song she helped me write was nominated for Best Video with a Message, I didn’t want to bring anyone else.

  When we get to our seats, I see that I’m close to the front of the stage, behind Nick Jonas. Dan is there waiting for me, along with a bunch of other Open Highway execs from LA and their dates. Everybody is dressed to the nines and excited. It’s fun celebrating with the whole team.

  Throughout the show, we get to see performances by everyone from Justin Bieber to Tori Kelly. And although Bonnie doesn’t have a clue as the rest of us sing along with the Weeknd, she sure knows every word when Madonna makes a surprise appearance. She breaks out some eighties dance moves that both amaze and mortify me, and I desperately hope someone gets it on camera.

  After Madonna’s final bow, when fandom took over Bonnie’s body in a way that made me think she might need an exorcism, she crashes down into her chair for a breather. “Thank you for bringing me, Bird, honey,” she says, patting my back when I sit next to her.

  “I wouldn’t want anyone else by my side,” I say truthfully.

  “You know, I’ve always wanted to see this show live,” she goes on. “Seems like there’s always a few crazies trying to out-crazy each other, and it’s a hoot!”

  Twenty minutes later, Kayelee Ford, who is not even nominated for an award, proves Bonnie’s point. She struts onto the VMA stage in the middle of the Bitter Boyz’s live performance, and it’s not only a shock, but it’s a head-scratcher. Why is a country music singer featured with rappers? But as she sashays around the stage wearing next to nothing, it’s clear that her solo is secondary.

  “Is that a cash register?” Bonnie asks as Kayelee marches past our section. She’s wearing a tiny bra made out of hundred-dollar bills and has a cash register strapped around her waist like a belt. Her legs sparkle in shimmery tights, and she keeps whipping her long blond hair around like it’s a bug she’s trying to shake off.

  “Why?” I ask,
more to myself than to anyone else.

  “I think the lyrics are saying that the lifestyle is the dream because you’ll get rich, but then maintaining the lifestyle is impossible because you spend all your money keeping up the image,” Bonnie says.

  “No, I understand the song,” I say. “I just don’t get what Kayelee’s doing. Or why she would want to demean herself like this.” I scan the crowd for Randall Strong, the president of Great American Music, and wonder why in the world he approved it. Then I lean across Bonnie and ask Anita, “How is this good for her image?”

  “I would kill you,” Anita says simply. “But this will be the performance they’ll all be talking about tomorrow.”

  “What?” I exclaim, looking at her like she’s lost her mind. “This is gross! Look at how she’s grinding on them. They’re totally objectifying her.”

  Bonnie nods. “Anita’s right though.”

  And just because I want to prove them wrong, I pull out my phone and open my Twitter app. Immediately I see that Kayelee Ford is trending. “Are you serious?”

  At that moment, Kayelee brings the mic to her sparkly pink lips and ends the song with an admittedly impressive vocal run that brings even the most reluctant of the crowd to their feet, but as I stand and applaud, I am only more furious. The girl can actually sing! So why not just wow the audience with her talent?

  The houselights come up and the cameras move away, everybody standing to stretch and take a break. I overhear snippets of conversation, and it’s as if nobody else has performed all night. I certainly didn’t feel this energy after my own performance, and not to be conceited or anything, but I brought the house down. I’m just baffled that it’s “Kayelee this” and “Kayelee that”—not all of it pleasant but all of it about her.

  “Your award’s up next,” Anita says matter-of-factly. “There’s no way you’ll lose this one, so forget what you just saw and be gracious.”

  Bonnie clearly agrees. She grabs my arms and shakes me from side to side, smiling big and trying to pump me up. “You’ve always wanted a Moonman!”

  I throw my phone back into my purse and frown. Yeah, I wanted to win, both for me and for Bonnie, but at this point, it’s not like anyone will even care.

  8

  “POST-VMAS IN da limo!” I shout, holding up my iPhone to get a quick video of the whole Open Highway team. Turns out winning really did boost my spirits.

  “I can’t wait to text this to your mom,” Bonnie says as we pull into In-N-Out Burger and she takes a picture of the neon sign. “She always goes on about me eating this garbage. It’ll kill her.”

  “Oh, let’s take a selfie then,” I say, leaning over. “Really rub it in!”

  “And get that Moonman in here!” Bonnie says, holding my award up between us.

  Like I imagine most kids do after their prom, we all file out of the limousine dressed to the nines and make our way across the parking lot to the greasiest and yummiest fast food joint on the planet. Once we’re inside, my bodyguards stay close as people scream and stand up from their tables, their camera phones already held up high. I feel like a jerk when our group heads straight for the counter and the restaurant manager asks waiting customers to scoot over for my entourage.

  “Hi, may I please have a cheeseburger, fries, and a strawberry shake?” I ask the guy taking my order. He looks a little flustered and it’s super cute. “And then whatever all these people behind me want, too. I’ll cover it.”

  “So the people, like, in tuxes and whatever?” the cashier asks, confused.

  “No,” I say, scooting over to gesture to all the people we cut in line. “Well, yes, but also, all these people. Anybody behind me right now. I’m buying their dinner.”

  “Hell, yeah!” some dude shouts, giving his buddy a high five. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

  Troy takes care of settling the bill, so while we wait for our food, I walk around the restaurant, taking pictures with fans and signing a few napkins. It’s nice to have this mini-celebration, especially since I’m missing out on a ton of fun VMA after parties. I have a show in Toronto tomorrow night, and we have to get to the airport.

  “Number thirty-nine,” the cashier calls. I look over and see greasy bags appearing on the counter and know it’s time to roll.

  “I’ll grab ours,” Bonnie says. “You go ahead.”

  I wave to a few fans as I make my way out of the restaurant with my bodyguards and am a little surprised when I see Dan and Anita in a heated argument near the limo. They completely stop talking when they see me, so I give them space and climb in, not in the mood for drama anyway.

  One by one, the rest of our group trickles into the car, and we start chowing down on burgers and fries, the party atmosphere still in full effect. The radio is blasting, and everybody is talking about their favorite acts of the night (conspicuously leaving out the Kayelee Ford spectacle, which I appreciate), but after a while, I start to wonder why we aren’t back on the road.

  “What’s taking so long?” I ask no one in particular.

  “I don’t know, but I need some air,” Bonnie says. I crack my window, and she does the same on her side. That’s when we hear the shouting.

  “This is ridiculous!” Dan yells.

  “Uh-oh,” I say. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  Somebody lowers the music in the limo and everybody, including myself, cranes their neck to see. It looks like Dan is arguing with Troy now, while Anita is on her phone nearby. She holds a hand to her other ear to block out the guys and looks as furious as I’ve ever seen her.

  “What in the world’s going on?” I ask.

  Bonnie shushes me, leaning toward the open window.

  “They signed a contract!” Dan booms.

  Troy responds quietly, but Dan can’t be pacified.

  “Throat nodules?” he explodes. His normally pinkish face is as red as a tomato, and he rips off his bow tie, looking like he’s going to use it to strangle my manager. “You tell those momma’s boys spoiled-rotten little brats that they’re finished. They’ve been completely unprofessional this whole tour, and I’ll make sure their label and every other label in Nashville knows it.”

  Troy nods, looking thoroughly whipped, the epitome of the old saying “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

  “Right, but in the meantime,” he replies calmly, “we’ve got a show in Toronto tomorrow, and we don’t have an opening act. We have to find somebody fast.”

  “This is such bull,” Dan mutters, pacing the parking lot.

  Everyone exchanges looks, but no one says a word. I feel like I’m in the eye of the storm right now.

  “Okay, what about Sugar and Sukey?” Troy finally suggests. “They’re talented, and we know they’re professional. You can keep it in the label.”

  “I need them recording,” Dan says. “They’re not ready to launch.”

  “Okay, then what about Dust on the Dash?”

  “We can’t afford them,” Anita cuts in as she ends her phone call. “Greedy little punks.”

  As they go back and forth with names of possible replacement acts, I sit back in my seat, stunned that this is all going down the night before my next show… in another country!

  “Don’t worry, Bird,” Bonnie says, patting my knee. “This stuff happens all the time. There’s a slew of up-and-comers who’ll gladly step in.”

  “By tomorrow?” I ask dubiously.

  “They may not stick, but somebody’s going to say yes.”

  “Bonnie, the show’s in less than twenty-four hours.”

  “Bird, honey, trust me,” she says. “Wouldn’t you have hopped on a plane?”

  I take a sip of my shake and consider her question. Yep. I definitely would’ve dropped everything to open for Jolene Taylor last year. And actually, that’s kind of what I did.

  “Who was opening for you, anyway?” Bonnie asks.

  “These completely annoying guys called the Hicks from Thirty-Six,” I reply. “Their music’s not terrible,
but their set has run long at least three times and they party nonstop. Dylan hates the lead singer.”

  “Well, then maybe it’s a blessing in disguise.”

  “Bird,” Troy says, opening the door.

  “I heard,” I say as he gets in.

  “We’re going to figure something out,” he assures me.

  Dan and Anita don’t say anything as they take their seats. It’s a considerably more somber group than the one that arrived half an hour earlier. When the limo starts rolling again, most of us turn to our phones, checking Twitter and Instagram and basically doing anything but talking about the problem at hand.

  “Somebody’s popular tonight,” Bonnie finally says.

  “Sorry!” I say, turning my phone on silent. It’s been beeping nonstop with notifications and message alerts. “It’s just a bunch of congratulations texts and stuff.”

  Bonnie leans over and reads from my screen. “Your momma, Jacob, Stella, Adam… Hey, why don’t you call him?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I think it’d be weird to return a text with a phone call.”

  “No, why don’t you call him to open for you?”

  I gasp. She’s right. That’s a perfect solution.

  “Isn’t that his single on the radio right now?”

  I hush a few people talking near me and turn up the radio again. Adam’s deep voice fills the speakers, and I feel my stomach flip as he belts out his country rock anthem “Make Her Mine.”

  Troy’s date says, “That guy is really cute and his song is, like, kind of sexy. The girl is totally stonewalling him, but he’s going to do whatever it takes to make her his girlfriend. So romantic.”

  “Who’s that?” Dan asks, leaning toward us. “Who’s that you’re talking about?”