I sigh. “Sometimes.”
“Do you think any of your people have a clue how much pressure you’re under? You’re running a major tour and balancing a burgeoning career while they’re all along for the ride.”
I think about it. “Well, I guess there have been a few times with Dylan and Stella where I’ve been like, ‘Um, guys? This is not a real problem. I’ve got real problems.’”
“Like when your opener quit.”
“Exactly.” I start to say more but pause to weigh my words carefully. Jase is right: If my guitarist weren’t my brother, my stylist weren’t my best friend, and my opener weren’t my crush, then work stuff like this interview wouldn’t be nearly as tricky. “It’s like everyone expects me to be what they need. I’m the boss when you need a job. I’m your friend when you need to talk. I think I’ve blurred the line a few times, but I try to keep business and personal as separate as possible.”
“Is that why there’s nothing going on with you and Adam Dean?”
I look back at Jase and feel my eyes bulge. “What?”
She laughs and wiggles her eyebrows. “He’s a hot piece, and he looks at you all moon-eyed every time he sees you.”
“Jase!” I feel my cheeks redden as she laughs. “We’re just friends. We tried dating once a couple of years ago, but we’re better as friends.”
“Maybe he wants another go?” she presses.
“Maybe you’ve lost your mind,” I say, trying to regroup. I can hear Anita’s voice in my head: Everything’s on the record. I probably shouldn’t have told her that Adam and I tried dating before, so I think fast and talk about something I’ve never told another reporter. “But you want to talk boundaries? My first boyfriend was this amazing guy I met on tour last year, but mixing work with dating totally drained us both. It’s exactly like you said: conflict of interest. Impossible. You can’t be equals in the relationship if you’re not equals at work.”
She nods thoughtfully. “You were in love with this guy?”
I didn’t want my article to be about Adam, and now it’s somehow turning into a feature on Kai. I sigh. “It hurt when we broke up.”
“Did it have anything to do with your feud with Kayelee Ford?” she asks. “Did he cheat on you?”
Taken aback, I blurt out, “No! Are you kidding me? No and no.”
“Okay, okay,” she says, holding up her hands. “Just curious.”
“Why?” I ask, trying to turn this ship around. “Have you been cheated on?”
Bingo. I see the pain flash across her face before her expression resettles to neutral. “I have. And it sucks.”
“Are you dating anybody right now?” I ask, hating that I brought up a bad memory for her but happy to take the spotlight off me. “I bet you get to meet so many interesting people in New York. And there are probably models walking down the sidewalk all the time.”
“Yeah, and every one of them asks me out,” she says wryly. “It’s exhausting.”
I laugh. Before she can ask me anything else, Marco knocks on my door, and I have never been so happy to go over a budget issue. He comes aboard and we work a little at the table while Jase types. Then I excuse myself from further one-on-ones with our resident reporter as I shower and prepare to give my Greensboro fans the best show I’ve got.
15
“I CAN’T BELIEVE I just played Madison Square Garden,” Dylan says. We’re standing in the wings of New York City’s most iconic venue, a landmark performance for any artist.
I glance over at him and smile, on that same high. “We’re not done yet!”
“Bird! Bird! Bird! Bird! Bird!” the fans cheer in unison, a chant, a stadium full of happy fans hungry for just one more song. The big song. The one this tour is named after: “Shine Our Light.”
Jordan gives the band their cue, and when they take the stage for our encore, the crowd goes wild, the uproar deafening. I rush to the front of the stage and take it all in, arms spread wide. “Thank you, New York City!” I call into the standing microphone.
When the fans settle some, I go on. “This year was really incredible for me. I released an album I’m really proud of, I won a VMA, I’m headlining in the greatest city in the world—” The crowd roars. “And I couldn’t have done any of it without you!” I shout. “So thank you! I love you! I have the greatest fans in the world!” They know it’s true and they go nuts.
I grab my guitar and pull the strap over my head before stepping back up to the mic. “And on a serious note,” I say, bringing it down a little. I start to strum softly. “There were also some bumps along the way. There seem to be bumps on any path worth traveling. I learned the hard way that there are always going to be people who try to diminish the light within us. And it’s easy to get caught up in why they would want to do that instead of simply not letting it happen. So I wrote this song about that.”
The band comes in with me, and I get ready to sing. “If you’ve got glow sticks or cell phones or anything that lights up or sparkles, hold ’em up in the air for me, okay?”
The music swells around me, and I try to block out anything external to this very moment: Rolling Stone, Adam, Stylan, any factor that would keep me from being present right here on this stage. And then I start to sing:
“You look at me like it’s a natural rivalry,
Like there’s just room for one to succeed.”
But this song always reminds me of Kayelee Ford. I wrote it about her. I get so confused every time I think about how much we despise each other, and I always come back to the question, Why? Why, really?
I give my audience every last bit of energy I’ve got as I finish the chorus and start the second verse. I think about the lyrics, how “Nothing’s wrong with being who you really are,” and how brave Jase was to leave everything behind to move to this very city and cut her own path. When I get to the chorus again, I call out, “Come on, NYC!” and run up a bunch of stairs upstage, stepping onto a hidden platform. As I start the chorus, I am slowly lifted into the air:
“Just rise and fly.
Live your life out loud, yeah, live it outright.”
This is Jordan’s big cue. As the band, audience, and I sing through the chorus together, my stage manager sends the small platform arcing over the crowd and sets me up front on a tiny stage nestled in the sea of floor seats. As I sing the third verse, our security team allows a few fans to climb onstage with me so that by the time the final chorus comes around, we join voices and sing a cappella:
“Just rise and fly.
Live your life out loud, yeah, live it outright.
Just ride and smile.
On this crazy roller coaster in a whirlwind storm,
We just gotta hold our own, be bold,
And shine our light.”
I step away a little and strum, two girls standing beside me with eyes as wide as saucers. I play the rest on my acoustic guitar, going back up to the mic to sing:
“We just gotta hold our own, be bold,
And shine our light.”
I smile out at the crowd as they sing along, holding up their glow sticks and cell phones. The tiny lights flicker all around me in the dark arena, lighting up little pockets of people in the floor seats as well as in the upper decks. It’s beautiful.
“Shine your light.
Yeah, shine your light.”
And I softly strum the last chord as the stage lights fade and at least ten thousand people shine their own light.
“You’re going to meet up with us later?” Stella asks the next morning as she wraps a light scarf around her neck.
“Yes, definitely,” I say. “This is the last interview with Jase, and then it’s adios, Rolling Stone.”
Stella blows air through her bangs, annoyed. “Thank God.”
Dylan arches his eyebrows behind her, but I give my head a slight shake, letting him know not to say anything. Stella is clearly still not happy with Jase after the uncomfortable bus moment the other day, and the last thing I want
to do is bring it all up again before our big day on the town. I shot all my promos yesterday, so today is free time with my friends to do all the New York things I’ve never gotten to do, like see the Statue of Liberty, walk the West Village, and eat my weight in pizza.
There is a knock at the door, and I walk over to answer it. Adam stands in the hallway, looking adorable in his black fleece zip-up. “Another amazing performance. Another missed fountain Coke,” he says, shaking his head disappointedly.
“I know! I know, I’m sorry,” I say, stepping back so he can walk in. “But after this interview I’m free again. And I promise you we will give New York Coke a chance after our show tonight.”
“I’m going to hold you to that, Bird Barrett,” he says with a very serious expression on his face.
“Okay, y’all, let’s go,” Dylan says. “I read that you have to get in line early for the Empire State Building.”
Stella claps her hands excitedly. “I can’t wait!”
“Yay,” I say halfheartedly. Then I plop down on the desk chair and pout.
“Aw, Bird,” she says, walking over and massaging my shoulders. “Just answer every question yes or no and then send her packing. I promise to keep any fun we have to a bare minimum until you can meet us.”
I grin up at her. “You’re the best.”
“I don’t think the Empire State Building is that far from our hotel actually,” Dylan says, looking at a map on his phone. “If the line is as long as they say, you might be able to find us and cut.”
“Oh yeah, that’d be great for my image,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Listen, if you want my opinion,” Adam says, leaning on the desk, “you’ve already been more than generous with your time. Tell that woman this is the last interview, and you have to be somewhere in an hour. You don’t have to say where even.”
I perk up. He’s right.
“Just be the boss.”
And then I cringe.
Because I’m tired of being the boss. I want to be more than the boss, especially with him and especially today.
My phone beeps and I read a text from Jase. “She’s on her way up,” I tell them. “I’ll see y’all soon.”
I hold open the door and watch my friends walk down the hall toward the elevator, giddy at the big day we have planned, and I decide Adam is right. I deserve a day off, and this interview doesn’t have to take forever. Surely Jase has gotten all she needs and more by now.
I set my coat and purse by the front door so that Jase can see when she walks in that I’ve got somewhere else to be. I pull on my sneakers—tour guide Dylan warned us about the blisters rookie tourists get from wearing the wrong shoes—and I have them tied just as she knocks on the door.
“Hi!” I say, getting up and swinging it open.
“Hi,” Adam says, surprising me. He takes a step inside and grabs a hotel room key card off the desk. “Forgot my key.”
“Oh,” is all I manage because he is standing close, really close, right in front of me, with a look on his face like he has more to say.
“Meet us in an hour, okay?” he says, more serious about seeing the Empire State Building than seems normal. “We’ll grab food and just walk around until you can meet us there. You’ll meet us soon, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “I’ll make it quick.”
“Well, well, well! Good morning to the two of you,” Jase says suggestively, popping up in the doorway behind him. My mouth falls open as I realize what this must look like.
“Um, I was just leaving,” Adam says quickly. He smiles at her as he squeezes by and slips the room key card into his back jeans pocket as he heads down the hall.
“Now that is not the worst a girl can do when she wakes up in the morning, am I right?” Jase asks with a mischievous smile.
“Oh, he just popped by,” I explain worriedly.
“Sure,” she says, breezing in and looking around my suite. She eyes the place admiringly. “You definitely travel in style, Bird. I’ll give you that.”
“It’s nice to sleep in a stationary bed every once in a while,” I say, closing the door.
“Hey!” she shouts, turning around to face me. “Incredible show last night. I think you saved the best for last.”
I beam at her, relaxing some. “Thank you.”
“Your energy is intoxicating,” she goes on. “Seriously.”
She takes a seat on the couch and pulls out her notebook. I sit in the chair next to her, happy that she seems as eager as me to wrap up this story.
“So, I feel like I know the Bird you want me to know,” Jase begins, looking up at me intently, “but I don’t feel like I know the real Bird.”
“Really?” I say, surprised. “Jase, this is me. What you see is what you get. And trust me, I’ve let my guard down a lot more around you than I ever have with any other reporter.”
“And I appreciate that,” she says, “but I think it’s time to ask some real questions, you know?”
“Real?” I ask. “Has all this other stuff been fake?”
“Not fake, just surface stuff,” she says. “But now I want to get down to it. And speaking of fake,” she says, glancing up at me, looking the teensiest bit apologetic. I brace myself. “A lot of people say that about you. So what do you say to those people who think you’re too sugary sweet to be true?”
I’m surprised by such a direct and negative question right off the bat, and it takes me a second to answer. “Haters gonna hate,” I say simply.
“Right, but there are a lot of haters,” she continues.
“Well, I have a lot of fans, too,” I say, a tad defensive. “Every celebrity has people trying to knock them down, and sometimes we do it to each other. That’s the message behind ‘Shine Our Light.’ If we could just focus on being our best selves instead of trying to bring out the worst in somebody else, we’d all shine brighter.”
Jase looks at me like, Oh, please.
“I just try to block out the negative stuff and focus on the positive.”
“Okay,” she says, pulling an iPad from her bag. She loads something and passes it to me. “Then how do you feel when you see sites like these?”
I look down at a Twitter account called NotBirdBarrett and am stunned by what I see. This person has uploaded a profile picture of me, but all the tweets are stuff I would never post or say or do:
Just biding my time until I can go Pop.
Hey birdies, go crap on somebody today. It’s good luck.
Does this chastity belt make me look fat?
“This is terrible!” I say as I scroll down. I read one out loud that cuts especially deep. “‘Is it bad if your album makes your own ears bleed? Hashtag sorrynotsorry.’ That’s so mean,” I whisper. “I worked really hard on those songs.”
Jase doesn’t reply, but she reaches over and swipes the screen to Instagram. “Check out the hashtag ‘birdface,’” she says.
I gasp. I scroll down the page, attacked by images of person after person making wide-eyed expressions or overexaggerated duck lips, a few pretending to hold a gun to their head. I feel tears spring to my eyes, and I set the iPad down on the coffee table in front of me.
“How does stuff like that make you feel?” Jase asks softly.
“Oh, like a million bucks,” I say sarcastically. “Thanks so much for your concern.”
“Come on, you have to have seen stuff like that before.”
I dab under my eyelids. “I’m actually telling you the truth when I say I try to avoid it. Nobody around here mentions that stuff. We keep it positive. My core group, people who actually hate to see me upset, shield me from as much of this garbage as they can.”
“Speaking of your ‘core group,’” she goes on, in full attack mode, “what really happened with your dad? Why isn’t he your manager anymore?” This is definitely not the Jase who’s been on tour with me the past few days, and I’m not only fed up right now, but also a little hurt.
“Because it’s a lot of
work and he decided to put his family first,” I answer hotly.
“‘Family first’?” she repeats. “Then why isn’t he here? Who’s watching over his teenage daughter?”
“I’m eighteen years old, Jase,” I say, frustrated. “You moved to freaking New York City when you weren’t much older, remember? I’m an adult and Dylan’s here—”
“To hook up with your best friend,” she cuts in.
I pause and take a very deep breath. I remember dealing with Kayelee Ford last year at the New Year’s Eve party, how I let her goad me, how I let her win. I do not want to lose my cool with this reporter.
I collect myself.
It is difficult.
“Dylan is here,” I repeat slowly, “to play in the band and help me out if I need anything. Not to babysit, but so that I’ll have family if I need it. As for my father,” I continue, “he is putting family first. His own father broke his hip, and as much as it killed him, he and my mom decided to stay in Tennessee and help Granddad get back on his feet. They meet me on the road all the time and will be joining me again at the next stop actually.” Unable to bite my tongue, I give her a fake smile and add, “They would’ve come sooner, but it’s been cramped quarters around here lately with our Rolling Stone VIP.”
Ignoring me, she plows forward. “Do you ever wonder if your ‘core group,’ as you call them, might be using you? You know, for jobs, money, fame, whatever.”
“What?” I ask. “No.”
“Being in Bird Barrett’s entourage is a pretty good gig,” she says.
“They’re my family.”
“And you’ve always said that your family is very close,” Jase continues.
“Yes.”
“Do you think you’d be this close if your younger brother hadn’t died?”
“Yes.”
“Care to talk more about that?”
“No.”
“Do you think he’d look up to you if he were still alive?”
“I like to think so.”
“Even with all the catfights you’ve had with Kayelee Ford?” she presses. “You think he’d admire the fact that you dropped one of your best friends, Devyn Delaney, because she tried to befriend your nemesis?”
The Way Back Home Page 10
