The Way Back Home

by Alecia Whitaker

  “Um, Jacob’s best friend,” I say. “Adam Dean. He used to tour on the same circuit we did growing up. Now he’s signed with a label and doing really well.”

  “Adam Dean,” Dan says thoughtfully to Anita. “Know him?”

  “Of course I know him,” Anita says. “This is his first single, but he already has a big fan base. The ladies love him.”

  I feel myself blush, remembering how crazy I was over Adam, as my team talks about him like a commodity rather than a person. I know it would be an amazing opportunity for him, but if he said yes, it could end up being painfully awkward, considering how we almost sort of dated… and he broke my heart.

  “I know this song,” Dan says as it fills the car. “It charted.”

  “In the first week,” Anita adds.

  “It’s a great song,” Troy says. “And he’s a writer, too.”

  Yeah, he wrote this in my living room last Christmas.

  “You think he’d be a good fit for the tour?” Dan asks.

  I roll my eyes, remembering back to that day in the studio when I suggested that Dan use Adam on my album. Dan said he only wanted pros, but here he is considering Adam for my tour when he had the chance back then to sign him to our label. I could speak up now I guess, but he’s accused me of using my fame to help my friends make it before. This time, I’m hoping he’ll see Adam’s talent for himself.

  Troy looks up from his phone, where he’s been Googling Adam, and says, “I think he’d be great. Same fan demographic, good-lookin’ kid, and appears to have some good momentum. It’s very short notice for anybody we reach out to, but since he’s Bird’s friend, maybe his people won’t try to gouge us on the price like everyone else who knows we’re in a bind.”

  Everybody in the limousine looks my way.

  “What do you think, Bird?” Dan asks.

  I smile. “I think… I hope he doesn’t steal the show.”

  9

  “GUYS! I’M HOME!” I call from the bottom of the bus steps. Troy and I flew into Toronto so late that we just crashed in a hotel by the airport, but now that I’m meeting the tour in the parking lot of the Rogers Centre, I can’t wait to dish with Stella.

  Dylan’s playing Black Ops on our Xbox and doesn’t even look up at me when he says, “Oh, hey, congrats on the VMA.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” I say, rolling my eyes as I walk past him to my room. “Your text was so sweet.”

  “I didn’t send a text.”

  “Oh, that’s right.”

  “Hey!” Stella says when she sees me. She takes off her headphones and swings her legs over the side of her bunk. “I was wondering what time you’d be back. Your dress for the VMAs was gorgeous.”

  “Thanks, Stel,” I say, throwing my stuff on my bed.

  She picks up the Moonman poking out of my purse and says, “Hello, handsome.”

  I smile and rush behind her, closing the dividing door for some privacy. Then I turn around and quietly say, “If you think he’s handsome, wait ’til you see who else I brought back to the tour.”

  She looks at me quizzically, but I play coy. I grab my makeup bag and scoot closer to her. “Work your magic. I need to look cute, but not on purpose. You aren’t going to believe what happened last night.”

  There is a loud knock on the door of my tour bus. Suddenly my pulse picks up. “Bird?” my tour manager calls.

  Stella immediately dives over the couch and looks through the blinds. “He’s here,” she says in a whisper.

  “Coming!” I take one more look at myself in the small mirror by the stairs, smooth a stray hair back, and breathe deep. Adam is here.

  “It’s just Adam,” Dylan says behind me. “Why all the fuss?”

  I glance over my shoulder and can tell that he’s being deliberately obtuse. He may not know every gritty detail, but he knows that Adam and I almost dated, he’s seen me try on three different outfits this morning, and he had to have heard at least snippets of Stella and me wondering whether the spark will still be there. Dylan knows exactly why the fuss, but he’s either messing with me or doesn’t want to be involved. As usual, I ignore him.

  “Adam!” I say as I open the door and step out into the bright day.

  “Hey, stranger,” he says with a lopsided grin. He steps toward me, and before I know it, I am in a full-on embrace, almost giggling out loud when I think back to the butterflies I used to get every time I spotted him in the crowd at one of our shows: Adam is here.

  “Thank you so much for filling in on such short notice,” I say as we pull away.

  He smiles. “How could I refuse Lady Bird?”

  I feel myself blush and then we just stare at each other, nearly the same height, his face sun-kissed and a little fuller than before, his green-brown eyes sparkling, his lips just as full and pink and kissable as ever. The expression on his face must mirror my own; we’re one part happy to see each other and the other part in awe that we ended up back on the road together, full circle. I know Adam. Even if we haven’t spent much time together lately, I know him like I know my own heart. This is like a dream.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” I say.

  “I’m so glad I’m here!” he replies.

  Marco clears his throat, and I shake my head, snapping out of this semitrance. I remind myself that I already learned the hard way—twice—that business doesn’t mix well with romance. Be the boss, Bird. Be the boss.

  “So what’s the plan, Marco?” I say, clapping my hands and turning toward my tour manager. “These guys going to be ready to go tonight?”

  “Adam’s band is getting settled on the bus now,” he answers, diving right into the business particulars. “After we load in, the guys can have a few hours to play in the arena and get a feel for our stage. Might push your sound check a little if we need, but we’ll play it by ear and see how it goes. That work?”

  “Sounds good to me,” I say.

  “Yeah, thanks, man,” Adam says, offering his hand for a shake.

  “And give me a call if you need anything at all,” Marco adds.

  “Come on,” I say when I see a curtain move on the bus. “Dylan and Stella are dying to see you.”

  We board my bus and the reunion is really fun. While Dylan and Adam exchange their standard bro hug, Stella slyly shoots me a look that asks, Is he even hotter than I remember? to which I reply with an adamant nod. Adam’s brand of handsome is completely effortless. He’s in a soft green T-shirt and dark jeans, his boots worn in and well traveled. His brown hair is shaggy as usual, and there’s stubble across his jawline. As we all crash around the common space on the bus, he tells us about getting signed to his label and the promotion they’ve had him doing.

  “I don’t know why you keep thanking me for helping you out,” Adam says, turning to me. “My manager was looking for me to open for a big act next summer. As far as I’m concerned, I’m on the Bird Barrett Fast Track to Success.”

  “Me too,” Stella says.

  “Me three,” Dylan says. “I probably don’t thank you enough for that actually, Bird.”

  “Oh, please,” I say. “None of you would be here if you weren’t talented. I just wish I could’ve helped Jacob out, too.”

  “Are you kidding?” Adam asks. “Trust me, you’ve helped Jacob out a lot.”

  “How?”

  “Every time I visited him at UCLA last year, whether he took me to a party or we met a girl on the beach, he’d casually bring up that he’s Bird Barrett’s big brother.”

  “Ew!” I say. “Did that work?”

  Adam shares a knowing grin with Dylan and says, “Let’s just say the guy was popular.”

  Stella guffaws.

  I shudder. “That’s disgusting.”

  “He’s a changed man now, though,” Adam continues. “Ashlynn’s got him whipped so hard.”

  “You mean ‘Infinity’ girl?” Dylan asks.

  “‘Infinity!’” we all quote, laughing.

  Adam looks at his phone and stands up.
“Well, I’d love to hang out and catch up a little longer, but some big-shot celebrity called me up and changed my life yesterday, so now I have to rehearse.” He grins at me, and I’m reminded of how easy it is to fall back into sync with Adam. “First show tonight. I don’t want to blow it. I hear the headliner has high expectations.”

  “Nah, you can relax,” I say with a smile. “She only expects perfection.”

  He laughs. “Oh, is that all?”

  “You’ll be fine. But you should grab a power nap so you look fresh and rested,” I say. “Jacob said Ashlynn and all her friends love you.”

  A deep blush creeps up Adam’s neck. “Stop.”

  “Seriously,” I continue, enjoying a chance to tease Adam. “He said they’re all like, ‘O-M-G, Adam Dean is the hottest guy on the entire freaking planet. I want to make him mine! Me too! I die!’”

  Dylan and Stella are rolling as Adam heads for the door, beet red. “I need to get over to my own bus so I can be around people who allow me a little dignity.”

  We all laugh, and I follow him back outside.

  “Hey, how many songs we going to write on this tour?” Adam asks once we’re on the pavement. His lopsided grin is so cute that I feel my heart writing songs as we stand here. “I need you to help me with a few more hit singles.”

  “Back atcha, mister,” I say, holding my hand over my eyes to block out the sun. “‘Worth Being in Love’ had one foot in the grave before you saved it.”

  “I guess we make a good team,” he says with an easy smile. And before he walks away he adds, “It’s good to be back together again, Lady Bird.”

  I nod and tell myself that the goose bumps I’m getting are due to a light breeze, but as I board my bus all I can think about is the charge I get every time I’m around Adam… and how after all this time, it’s never gone away.

  “I mean, he’s so good,” I tell Stella as she does some last-minute stitches on a small tear in my opening outfit backstage. “Look at him. The fans are loving it.”

  “You knew they would,” she says through a pin in her mouth. “I can’t believe this ripped again.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Not your fault,” she grumbles. “I told Amanda we need to totally recut this piece, but…” She shakes her head.

  “I forgot how deep his voice is,” I say, my eyes glued to the stage. Adam has only been on tour with us for seven hours, and he looks as comfortable as if this stage were his. “Stella, I think I still like him.”

  She ties off the thread and pulls the pins out of her mouth, facing me with a knowing grin. “You think?”

  “He’s just so cute!”

  “Yeah, and it doesn’t hurt that this song is about you.”

  I look over at her, trying to feign ignorance.

  “Oh, come on!” she says. “I know a girl who’s from every town,” she sings. “That’s you. And then, I’m right there in her shadow, but always a step behind. He just got signed, he hit the charts, he’s the opener not the headliner, et cetera.”

  “Yeah, but none of that had happened when he wrote this song,” I say as he sings.

  She looks at me dubiously. “He still likes you. You still like him. Your fake breakup was just because you were so busy getting famous, but now you are—now you both are—so there’s nothing keeping you apart.”

  I chew on my lip and think about that.

  “And it’d be so fun to double-date,” Stella singsongs as she tucks her sewing materials back into her “styling pouch,” or as Dylan and I mercilessly tease, her fanny pack. “All we have to do is convince the boys that they’re in love with us. That shouldn’t be too hard.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’ve found the hard part isn’t getting them, it’s keeping them.” I feel my smile start to fade as I think back to how heartbroken I was when Adam called things off. Yeah, I still like him, but not enough to get hurt again.

  “I’ve got to find Amanda,” Stella says. “See you in a few.”

  I nod absentmindedly as she walks away, but I don’t take my eyes off Adam. Any girl would think he’s cute. I’m probably just feeling that normal instant attraction. After a week or two on tour, we’ll be like old friends, the way we were able to be when I dated Kai… which leads me to wonder now if Adam is dating anybody. Jacob hasn’t said anything, but why would he?

  “Thanks, everybody! I’m Adam Dean, and I can’t wait ’til y’all see the show my good friend Bird Barrett has in store for you,” he calls into the mic. “Are you ready?” The crowd cheers. “Oh, come on, Toronto. Are. You. Ready?”

  The response is deafening.

  “Good night, y’all. Thanks for being so kind.”

  He waves to the crowd as he walks my way, and the minute he’s standing in the wings, he throws his guitar around his back and picks me up, spinning me around so that I squeal. “That was amazing!” he shouts. He sets me back down and puts his hands on my shoulders. We are so close that I can see the sweat beads at his temples and the wet curls at the sides of his ears. “Thank you, Bird. That was a dream come true. Thank you so much.”

  “You were fantastic,” I say honestly.

  “Man,” he says, draping an arm over my shoulders and leading me backstage. “What a crowd. Your fans are so awesome.”

  “They know good music when they hear it,” I say.

  As we walk through the hallway, I feel like I’m watching the Adam Dean E! True Hollywood Story. People are giving him pats on the back and fist bumps as we make our way toward the dressing rooms, and I feel like I’m riding his wave. A musician’s very first arena performance is the kind of thing that is etched deep in the soul, and I love that I get to watch people discover a talent I’ve known about for years.

  When we get to my door, he stops and leans against the frame. “You’re on in twenty?”

  I check my phone. “Yep.”

  “Okay, see you then,” he says, but he doesn’t move. He just keeps staring at me, and I hold his gaze, having no idea what he’s thinking or what to do. Finally, he squeezes my shoulder and says, “Break a leg.”

  “Thanks, Adam.”

  He rolls off the wall to walk back to his dressing room, where I hear his band go wild as he enters. It is totally unheard of for a band to join a tour on such short notice, so I know the guys are stoked. As I meet my glam team for final touch-ups, I honestly can’t pretend that I’m not, too.

  “You are amazing!” Adam says later. He was in the wings for my entire show, and every time I caught a glimpse of him watching me, I felt a new surge of energy. “You had the crowd in the palm of your hand the entire time.”

  “You were amazing-er,” I say, bumping him in the hallway as we head back toward the buses. “It was your first arena performance, and it looked like your fiftieth.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I will concede that it was a good night,” he says. “For both of us.”

  “Yes,” I agree. I usually wait for Stella after the show because once I’m out of wardrobe, she and Amanda have to take inventory of all the pieces and get them packed up and secured. But tonight Dylan was crashed on my dressing room couch, and she waved me off.

  “You know what would be the perfect way to celebrate?” Adam asks now, stopping dead in his tracks. I look at him blankly. “With a fountain Coke.”

  My face nearly splits open I smile so wide. “Oh my gosh, yes! There must be some restaurants nearby.”

  Adam looks at me as if I’ve sprouted an alien head. “No, no, no, no, no,” he says. “The tradition is that we try the Coke at the venue we play.”

  “Adam,” I say in disbelief. “We can’t go out there. We’ll get mobbed!”

  “But that’s what you’ve got him for,” he says, gesturing to one of my bodyguards, always good at sticking to the shadows but always nearby. “And oh!” he goes on, digging in his duffel bag. “We can use a disguise.”

  “A disguise?”

  “Here, put this hoodie on. It’s probably too big, and it’s definitely the
opposite of all the skimpy little outfits you wear during your show.”

  “Skimpy?” I say, mock offended. “You sound like my dad.”

  “Yeah, except I’m not complaining,” he replies with a grin.

  I blush and take the sweatshirt, pulling it over my head and breathing in deep. It smells so good, so fresh, so Adam. I am never taking it off. Ever.

  “Now put your hair in a bun,” he goes on. I do and he takes out a Titans cap, pulling it so low over my eyes that I have to crane my head all the way back to see. He laughs. “Okay, I think that’s as good as we can do under the circumstances,” he says.

  “But what about you?” I say as I adjust the hat. “You were the tour opener.”

  He shrugs. “At this point, I’d say a lot of the crowd has thinned out anyway. But if it’ll make you feel better, give me those shades.” He snatches the big sunglasses hooked on the side of my bag and puts them on, never mind that they’re bright pink and bedazzled.

  “I think that may be the opposite of a disguise,” I say, laughing.

  Nervously, I let him lead me through the hallways until I’m almost certain we’re lost. Finally, we find someone who works here, and she leads us to the upper-level concession stands. They are closing up shop when we get there, but Adam removes the disguises and the vendors immediately fill a couple of Shine Our Light souvenir cups with ice-cold Coca-Cola. I have to take pictures with the workers and sign a couple of T-shirts for lingering fans, but the fuss is worth it to keep our celebratory tradition alive.

  “Thanks again, y’all,” Adam says, leading me away toward the cheap seats for some privacy.

  Once we’re settled in the upper decks, watching the crew below break down the stage, I turn to Adam for a toast. But before I say a word, he grabs his wallet and fishes out his old list of the country’s best fountain Cokes.

  “I can’t believe you still have that,” I say.

  “It’s seen better days, but I always hoped we’d play a show together again one day. Consider it my vision board.”