Along for the Ride

by Katrina Abbott

  I grabbed her wrist and tugged her away. “What?” she demanded, pulling her arm from my grasp. “What’s going on?”

  “You have got to stop ogling Dave!” I hissed.

  “What?” she said, wide-eyed like she had no idea how obvious it was.

  I pushed open the bathroom door and thankfully found it empty. I turned back toward her. “Are you kidding me? You’ve got total googly eyes. All it will take is one look at you and my dad will know you’re getting ready to throw your ovaries at him.”

  She cringed like she hadn’t been the one to talk about bearing musician love children just a couple of hours before. “Gross.”

  “Well then, stop it. You need to get over him.”

  She bit her lip and stared at me before she said, “How am I supposed to do that?”

  I sighed and looked into the mirror, checking out my teeth for bits of spinach left over from the Italian wedding soup. “I don’t know, Sandy. You just do. Tony won’t let you go on tour if he thinks there’s any chance this is about hooking up.”

  She inspected her own teeth and looked at me in the mirror. “It’s not about hooking up. But maybe that’s just an added bonus?” She lifted her eyebrows in an expression of hope.

  I shook my head and turned toward her. “No. It can’t be about that at all. Not while you’re on tour.”

  “So after my stint on tour’s over, we can hook up?”

  Is Dave even interested? I wondered, trying to recall if I’d noticed if he’d paid her any attention. I didn’t think so, but Sandy was a cute girl with a great personality. There was no reason he might not be into her. Except maybe that he was still hung up on Emmie. And he was focused on tour, which I thought (hoped?) was his number one priority.

  But Sandy wasn’t asking me if I thought he was interested. She was asking about logistics and how it all related to my dad. I shrugged. “After you leave tour I guess he can’t stop you. Though I know he’d prefer if all the guys were focused on their music and not on girls.”

  She laughed and then turned toward a stall. “Is he expecting monks?” she said over her shoulder.

  “No,” I said. “He’s expecting professionals. The kind that don’t get distracted with groupies throwing themselves at them.”

  The smile dissolved from her face. As much as she liked musicians, she would never want to be thought of as a groupie. “Come with us,” she said, turning back to face me. “It’s going to be so weird going if you’re not there.”

  I leaned back against the counter, crossing my arms. “No. Sandy, we’ve been through this. I want no part of it, okay?”

  “But it’s only a week, and then we can go to the Hamptons. Just think of how much fun it—” She broke off and I have to think it was because she saw the anger bubbling up in me. I was getting really tired of people trying to get me to go on the tour. Didn’t they understand the last thing I wanted to do was hang around with the band? It was especially annoying coming from Sandy, who knew about my history with Andres.

  Couldn’t I just have the summer I’d planned on? The one I’d been looking forward to most of the year? The one that meant chilling out at the pool or on the beach while I read books and listened to music by people I’d never met? Was that so much to ask?

  I sighed, tired of fighting but still not willing to give in.

  “Okay, never mind,” Sandy said before she quickly turned and went into the stall. “And I’ll go out there and keep my eyes off Dave. But you can’t make me talk to Max. Talking to that guy is about as fun as a root canal.”

  I suppose it was all I could ask for.

  By the end of dinner, everyone was exhausted, but Dad still wanted to continue on to Manhattan and not spend another night in a hotel. All of the boys (except Dave), Kiki, Rex, and Ginny, piled into the limo while Dad, Sandy, Dave, Linda, and I got into the Range Rover so Ken could drive us back to campus before they returned to the city.

  Once they dropped us off, Dad and Linda would use the opportunity to go over the performance in even more detail on their way back to New York. But before that, I had to say goodbye to my father.

  We’d already dropped Dave off at Westwood and were now at the curb in front of the Rosewood main building. The party was probably still going on in the rec center, but I was beyond tired and had no interest in joining; my bed was calling me in a big way.

  Dad followed Sandy and I out of the vehicle.

  “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks,” he said to Sandy. “Looking forward to it.”

  She nodded. “If you can send me those bios for the guys, I’ll get to work on the pre-tour vlogs,” she said, sounding really professional.

  “Will do,” Dad said, obviously impressed. “I’ll send you the promo video as soon as we get it cut, too.”

  “That would be awesome, thank you!” She gave dad a quick hug and stood back, waiting for me.

  “It was a good day,” I said to him.

  He smiled and pulled me into his arms. “It was. Because I got to see my favorite girl,” he said into my ear.

  A pang of guilt washed over me, and I wished—not for the first time—he’d start dating so I wouldn’t have to be the his only girl. I’d brought it up a few times in the past couple of years, but he’d brushed me off, telling me he was too busy with work for relationships. I was sure that was part of it, but while he told me he’d made peace with what had happened to him, that didn’t mean he wasn’t scared to open up his heart and let someone into it after what had happened with my mother.

  She’d ruined his ability to trust. Of course, at the same time, she’d ruined mine, too.

  As soon as the Range Rover pulled away from the curb, I turned to go into the building, assuming Sandy would follow, but as I grabbed the door handle, I realized she wasn’t behind me.

  “I’m heading over to the dance,” she said, pointing toward the rec center building.

  “How are you not exhausted?” I asked, said exhaustion making me sound whiny.

  “I’m pumped,” she said, her smile broadening. “I mean, yeah, I’m a little tired, but I want to go listen to what people thought of the band while it’s still fresh, you know?”

  “Pretty smart, Sandrine,” I said. “Tony will love that.”

  Then, before I collapsed, I headed up to my room.

  It had been a long day, and I realized as I undressed for the shower that I’d spent a lot of it on my feet. Though it would take longer, I decided to take a bath and let the hot water take care of my tired and achy muscles before I dropped into bed.

  My phone was on the bathroom counter, but it buzzed just as I lifted a foot to step into the tub.

  To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  Subject: Today

  Message: Thanks again for everything.

  Dave

  I couldn’t help but smile at that. I put the phone within reach on top of the toilet lid as I got into the bath and then grabbed it once I was settled.

  To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  Subject: re: Today

  Message: You’re welcome. You crushed it. That song you did at the end was killer and I bet Tony’s going to want add it to the set. Do you feel like a rock star now?

  V.

  I let myself slide down in the water, thinking as I did, that emailing with Dave was probably a good thing and would keep me awake. Drowning in the tub from exhaustion was a stupid way to die, even by rock star standards.

  To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  Subject: re: re: Today

  Message: Maybe a little. Okay, a lot. :P It was a total rush. And thanks—that song isn’t completely finished, but it felt good to play it.

  To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com


  Subject: re: re: re: Today

  Message: Told you you’d love playing. Don’t let it go to your head.

  To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  Subject: My GIANT HEAD

  Message: J/K. :P

  Your dad says he wants to tell everyone who I am. Use it in the press.

  To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  Subject: YOUR GIANT HEAD

  Message: is up your butt. Also j/k.

  So what do you think of him doing that?

  I put down the phone and slid under the water, combing my fingers through my hair, surprised at just how long it was. I was due for a cut; maybe Kiki would take pity on me when I saw her again. If she wasn’t too busy with the guys, of course.

  By the time I’d washed and conditioned my hair, another message was waiting for me.

  To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  Subject: re: YOUR GIANT HEAD

  Message: Not sure. I really need to talk to my parents. I wish they’d come this weekend—they could have met Tony.

  And seen you play, I thought as I read his last message. Maybe they were out of the country or something.

  To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  Subject: re: re: YOUR GIANT HEAD

  Message: Didn’t they want to see you play?

  I got out of the tub and wrapped a towel around my body and another around my hair. I glanced down at the hair dryer but decided I couldn’t be bothered. Tomorrow was Sunday, so it didn’t matter if I had crazy hair when I woke up, so I towel-dried as best I could and grabbed another dry towel off the stack to drape over my pillow before I left the bathroom.

  To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  Subject: re: re: re: YOUR GIANT HEAD

  Message: I didn’t tell them about the gig. My mom’s going to be pissed no matter what and I need to figure out how to tell her. I’m 18, so while she can’t stop me legally, she’s going to lose her mind about me going on tour, not to mention people finding out about my connection to my grandfather.

  I pulled a nightgown—actually, an extra-large old band t-shirt left over from a tour Dad worked on—over my head before sliding between the sheets, lying on my back so I could easily email him back.

  To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  Subject: re: re: re: re: YOUR GIANT HEAD

  Message: Does she have any idea just how good you are?

  I paused before I sent the message because my first instinct was to not feed musicians’ egos, but somehow I got the feeling Dave would always stay down to earth. He was confident about his skills, but it didn’t seem like it defined him or made him feel like he was entitled to rock star status and all the stuff that came with it.

  Andres could use to take a page out of his playbook, I thought with a snort as I hit send.

  I hadn’t realized I had dozed off until the phone on my chest buzzed and scared the bejeezus out of me.

  To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  Subject: re: re: re: re: re: YOUR GIANT HEAD

  Message: Actually, no.

  She doesn’t know how much I play at all—it’s always been something of a sore spot with her, as you can imagine. But I think I will talk to your dad about getting in touch with them. That would go a long way toward reassuring them that I’m not going to end up like my grandfather did. Anyway, I’m bagged so I’m going to take MY GIANT HEAD to bed. You should probably do the same. Talk to you tomorrow.

  Thanks again for everything

  Dave

  I smiled at the phone and sent him a sleepy emoji back before I turned off the phone and rolled over.

  Ghosts Don’t E-mail

  Now that the end of year party was out of the way, the business of finishing the school year was upon us. Everyone started to buckle down and study for finals. Well, everyone except Sandy who couldn’t seem to focus on anything beyond Wiretap. That included playing their music over and over (I secretly suspected she wanted to be the first fan to know every word to every one of their songs—a distinct possibility since their album hadn’t even released yet) and stockpiling vlogs that she would begin to release while we were in New York getting ready for tour.

  I admired her commitment to the project, but I was getting tired of hearing about Wiretap twenty-four-seven. Especially when eighty percent of that included her thinly-veiled focus on Dave. How good Dave would sound playing that track. How Dave should get to add his song to the playlist. What did I think would happen to Dave when Chris got better?

  Sigh.

  As much as I loved her, I needed to do well on exams, and it quickly became evident that us studying together was a disaster. Even after my begging and pleading, she would manage to study for maybe five minutes before she would start talking about the band or put down her textbook to look at the band’s promo video again. For the sake of our friendship and my own sanity, I had to escape to the library to study.

  At least she’d never broached the subject of me going on tour again.

  So while the subject of Wiretap was sort of always simmering in the background, at the times I was away from my roommate and focused on schoolwork, it wasn’t right in my face.

  Until the night before my physics exam when I got a message from Dave. I was in the lounge on my dorm floor, zoning out with my headphones on, almost falling asleep with my face in my textbook. I was probably done studying but was still a bit anxious that I wasn’t a hundred percent on the materials and was forcing myself to go through it one more time. Not all that successfully, but I still had a shred of hope.

  To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  Subject: Hi

  Message: How’s it going?

  So that was random. I glanced up at the clock. It was barely nine pm, but I’d been studying for more hours than I cared to count, taking a break only for the bathroom and to eat a half can of sour cream and onion Pringles. As I broke concentration to send him a reply, I realized just how stiff and sore I was. I put the phone down on top of my book and took a moment for a long stretch, yawning and reaching my arms up and extending them until I felt a satisfying and slightly alarming crunching in my shoulders.

  To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  Subject: re: Hi

  Message: okay. Just studying. What’s up?

  As I waited for his response, I closed up my books recognizing that there was no more room in my brain; at this point, I either knew it, or I didn’t.

  To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  Subject: re: re: Hi

  Message: Can I call you?

  The lounge wasn’t overflowing with girls, but there were people in there studying, and I didn’t want to talk on the phone and disturb them.

  To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  Subject: re: re: re: Hi

  Message: Give me 10?

  Sandy was down the hall in Angie’s room, studying biology (actually, probably pretending to study biology), but she could be back any minute, and I didn’t want to have to explain who I was on the phone with. So nine minutes after the last message to Dave, I was in my dorm room’s bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet lid, running the water for a bath, when my phone rang.

  I forced myself to let it ring two and a half times before I answered.
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br />   “Hey,” he said.

  “Everything okay?” I asked, worried.

  He sighed, telling me my instincts that something was up were right on. “Yeah, I guess. Tony said he was going to call my parents tonight, and I haven’t heard from any of them yet. I’m a little nervous that it’s going badly.”

  With exams and studying I’d sort of lost track of what was going on and had actually forgotten that Dave hadn’t yet officially signed on.

  “Right,” I said. “So if they totally freak out are you not going to do it?”

  He paused for half a second. “I’m not sure. I…I don’t want to hurt my mom at all, but…” He didn’t finish his thought.

  “What?” I asked.

  “How is it that something I didn’t want a few weeks ago is now like the most important thing in my life?”

  “Maybe it’s not that you didn’t want it,” I suggested as I leaned over and turned off the taps. “Maybe it’s that you’d just really successfully convinced yourself that you didn’t want it. You probably always wanted it, but held yourself back.”

  There was a long pause before he spoke. “Huh. You’re probably right.”

  “I’m always right,” I said with a smile.

  He snorted. “And modest, obviously.”

  “Clearly.”

  “It’s just…” he sighed again. “I don’t want to upset my mom, but I really want this. I guess maybe I didn’t realize how much until tonight when so much hinges on a phone call.”

  “It’ll be fine,” I said. “My dad has done this before, and he’s going to reassure them you’re in good hands. I mean, obviously you’re not a kid who needs babysitting and you’re legal to do this on your own, but he’ll make sure they understand how serious he is about doing this the right way. He’s in this to make stars, not ruin lives by letting you and the guys turn into useless junkies whose only reason for being is to make rehab centers rich.”