Love Songs & Other Lies

by Jessica Pennington

  “Your mom’s worried.” The bed sags under him as he sits on the edge. “She said you’ve been holed up in here since … everything went down.” More painful silence as I continue to pick at my toes, and Logan swipes my hand away, keeping it in his. “Come on, Vee. Talk to me.”

  Staring at Logan—his concern-filled eyes and his drawn brows—I can’t help but feel like the world’s biggest jerk. I’ve pushed our friendship aside for months. There have been so many secrets; lies even. He hasn’t deserved any of it. And now, after keeping it from him for so long, I feel like I’m finally cracked open, ready to be poured out. Things are changing. Everything ends. People leave, life marches on. With or without me. With or without any of us.

  “Vee, you’ve got to talk to me.”

  Tears leak out as I drop my head into my hands, trying to wipe them away before they get out of control. “Sorry I’ve been such a bitch.”

  “Hey, not any more than usual.” His voice is light and teasing. Emotionally charged situations are Logan’s kryptonite. I’m shocked he didn’t run that horrible night I showed up in tears.

  I reach over, taking his hand in mine, lacing our fingers together as I stare at them. “I’ve been avoiding you.” This probably isn’t the time for this conversation, but I can’t hold it in any longer, and for once, it isn’t the last thing I want to talk about. I look at our interlaced fingers in Logan’s lap. Logan deserves the truth. “What you said about college—about us drifting apart—”

  Logan squeezes my hand. “Was crap. It was bullshit and I shouldn’t have said it.” Logan shakes his head and as he speaks he focuses on our hands in his lap, playing with the tips of his fingers like he always does when he’s nervous or uncomfortable.

  I know Logan so well; every habit and favorite, every family secret.

  “I don’t want to go to State.”

  “Then you should have told me that.”

  I smile at him. “I didn’t want to face the reality that things are going to change when we leave for school. I might lose you.” I suck in a breath before I can keep going. “Ten years from now, we could pass each other on the street like complete strangers.” The thought of not knowing Logan someday has tears stinging my eyes again.

  “I shouldn’t have said it, Vee. I wanted you to come, that’s all.”

  “But you were just being honest. I get that now. You’ve always told me the truth. You’re always honest with me. And the truth hurts sometimes”—I’m looking at my glittery toes again—“but empty promises hurt a lot more. And you’ve never given me those.”

  “Hey,” Logan waves his hand in the air and I look at him again. “We’re never going to be strangers, Vee. That will never happen, okay? You’re stuck with me. Someday you’ll have to compete with a crazy-ass girlfriend.”

  I laugh.

  “You know it’s true.” He smiles. “I’ll say the wrong thing and she’ll burn my shit in the front yard. I’m going to call you for help when it happens.” For the first time in months, we feel like us again. No awkwardness, no strange tension.

  I nod, but it’s still hard to imagine. A new picture of the future has formed since Cam left, and it hangs in my mind like a grotesque garage sale painting that’s been nailed to the damn wall.

  “Look at me,” Logan says.

  My eyes lift reluctantly to meet his, tears spilling over and onto my cheeks.

  His thumbs brush across my hot cheeks. “We”—his finger darts between us—“will never be strangers. Maybe we won’t talk every day, or every month or year, but you’re family. And you’ll always be my best friend. Some things might change, but that won’t. Okay? I’m always going to be around when you need me.”

  I nod fiercely as hot tears once again spill down my cheeks, and despite them, I can’t help but smile, choking on my breath as it comes out as part sob, part laugh.

  “I’m sorry.” For so many reasons. “I’m sort of messed up.”

  He pulls me until I collapse into his chest and his arms wrap around me. “You may be batshit crazy, but I still love ya.”

  I have my best friend back. And something about telling him the truth—getting it all out between us—it unleashes all of the pain I’ve stuffed away, and I feel it washing over me again. I sob and gasp for air, my face shoved into Logan’s chest as I curl up against him. And if I try hard enough, I can almost imagine it’s him holding me.

  Step Four: Dakota Gray Sings for the World

  It doesn’t happen on the streets of Chicago, on a stage, or under bright lights. I’m sitting in a corner of my bedroom, with one of my old purple curtains hung up behind me. My wig is itchy and my palms are slick with sweat. I’ve set this up twenty times over the last week, trying to get the lighting and angle just right, so you can make out my silhouette, see the movement of my mouth. But you can’t see my face. The camera I bought has a remote, and as I push the red RECORD button, I adjust the microphone one last time before my fingers finally find the strings.

  “I’m Dakota Gray.” I’m still not looking at the camera. “And this is a song I wrote about having your heart broken. It’s called ‘Catastrophic Love.’ I hope you like it.” I feel like a complete idiot talking to the camera like anyone is actually watching this, but telling myself there are people out there who will see this makes me feel heard. And every time I upload a video, it feels like a confession. Soon, I even have a few people listening, absolving me of my pain.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  NOW

  VIRGINIA

  I make it back to the bus two hours before it’s scheduled to leave Pittsburgh and head to Cincinnati. The guys are out getting food when I arrive, and within minutes of setting foot on the bus, I have a text from Jenn: Production bus. Now. “Please” isn’t in Jenn’s vocabulary, but still, something about her message seems more urgent than usual. I’ve never been summoned like this before, and the weekly marketing meeting I usually attend isn’t until tomorrow. I haven’t climbed the last step of the bus when I’m assaulted by Kaley’s whining voice announcing my arrival with a halfhearted “Here she is.”

  “Here I am,” I mutter, taking a seat in the lounge area. It’s identical to our bus, except in place of our small coffee table, there’s a large fold-down one that blocks the aisle and turns the front of the bus into a pseudo–conference room. There are papers spread across the table. They look like printouts of internet articles, and they’re slashed with yellow streaks of highlighter and adorned with pink and green sticky notes.

  “What is all of this?” I take a seat at the table next to Priya, and slide one of the papers closer to me with the tip of my finger. When I see the title of the article, I can’t breathe.

  Overnight House Fire Kills Two

  I run my fingers over the rest of the papers, pulling each one aside, and they’re all the same. There are pictures of the house, the twin headshots of Cam’s mother and father, the school photos of Cam and Sienna. I knew they wanted to feature Cam’s past, but this isn’t what I had imagined. I didn’t think about all of the details being laid out for the American public. Or maybe I had been so mad, I just didn’t want to think about it.

  “I’ve got footage from the girlfriend,” Kaley says, smiling proudly. “James emailed the raw footage this morning.”

  “Girlfriend?” I’m confused about what they’re talking about.

  “Sienna Walsh,” Kaley says, sneering at me like I’m stupid for not knowing the answer. Sienna. Of course.

  I give Kaley a tight smile. “Ex-girlfriend.”

  I can’t believe she’d do an interview against Cam’s wishes. But why wouldn’t she? Why would she assume that cameramen would show up and it wouldn’t be approved by Cam? He’s on national television; of course she’d think he had approved this.

  “Why are you doing this?” I don’t think it through before the words tumble out of my mouth and roll around on the table like a handful of loose marbles.

  Jenn looks up from the pile of papers in her hands. �
�I assume you saw the last performance.” It’s not a question. “It was their first time in the bottom three. They could have been cut. We need to drum up support, give them a boost.”

  Kaley holds her laptop up for us all to see. “There’s a dicey-looking mug shot of Gary we can leak,” she says. “It’s from years ago, but you can tell it’s him.” Gary is the oldest performer in the competition. He’s in his late fifties with peppered hair. He’s not half bad looking for an old guy, and he’s been a fan favorite from the start.

  Jenn is still looking at the pile of papers. “Do it.”

  “But if Future X isn’t who the fans want—” I don’t know why they’re doing this. I can’t understand why they give a shit if it’s Your Future X who wins, or Caustic Underground, or Gary and his Merry Band of Old Guys (also known as Broken Sparrow).

  “The fans don’t know what’s best for them,” Jenn says. “Sure, they love the band with the quirky sound now. Or the band of fifty-year-old accountants and financial advisors making a comeback. But six months from now, when their album drops? Fans won’t care. That loyalty goes out the window when they have to put their money where their mouth is.” She taps one fingernail roughly on the table, like she’s testing the shiny black lacquer. Tap. Tap. Tap. “Marketing. That’s what sells albums. Catchy lyrics, pretty faces.” She looks at me apologetically. “Don’t get me wrong, your band makes amazing music.”

  Not my band.

  “They should be the ones to win this,” Jenn says. “We just need to make sure America makes the right choice.” Tap. Tap. Tap. “This isn’t personal, this is just how it works. A high school love story … a love triangle … it’s not what we want to do, Vee, it’s just the business we’re in.” Tap. Tap. Tap. “Don’t you want your friends to win? That’s all we’re trying to do here.”

  I nod. “When?” The next show is three days from now in Cincinnati.

  “We need some time,” Jenn says. “We’ll run a special segment before next week’s show in Chicago.”

  I cringe at the thought of this train wreck happening so close to home. “And what if there’s another way to create buzz?”

  Jenn doesn’t look at me. “There’s not.”

  “But if there was?”

  “Like I said, I don’t care what does it. If you can somehow prove that Reese is the modern-day Mother Teresa, I’d be more than happy to run with that story.” She smiles and straightens her jacket before standing. “I’d be shocked. But I’d do it.”

  “What do you need from me?”

  “Prepare him.” Her face is sympathetic. “It’s going to come out eventually. Make him see it’s better this way. He can make the most of it and get something good out of all that pain and suffering.”

  Something good. I can’t believe she just said it. I nod, and excuse myself, because she’s right about one thing; I do need to prepare Cam. I know what I have to do, and I’m going to need a lot of help to make it happen. I pull out my phone. Luckily, I know 1.5 million people who will be happy to help me, and all it takes is one posting:

  SURPRISE LIVE SHOW FRIDAY IN CINCINNATI. VENUE ANNOUNCED AT 6:30.

  CAM

  I’m sitting backstage, scribbling some lyrics down, when Vee sits next to me. She’s been back from Riverton for a whole day, and we’ve both been so busy we’ve barely spoken. The three days she was gone from the tour somehow felt longer than the year I went without seeing her before all of this. Maybe I had gotten used to the dull ache after so long. Now the feeling of having her close to me is fresh in my brain, and her absence—even this distance between us since her return—feels like it’s amplified. When she sits down next to me, I feel like the breath I let out has been trapped in me for days.

  “We need to talk,” Vee says.

  I nod.

  “It’s about your parents.”

  I swallow. Take a deep breath. Fidget in my seat. I set the guitar next to me, so I can turn to face her. I’ve been preparing for this since the day I met her, and I still don’t feel ready for it. For this moment when she sees me differently, treats me like the broken asshole I know I am. “I don’t really know where to start.”

  “They’re going to run a story about the fire.”

  They shouldn’t, but her words shock me. “You know about the fire?”

  “I have the internet, Cam.” She looks at me apologetically. “And I was heartbroken and curious when you left.”

  I nod.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I nod. I’ve been reduced to a heavy-breathing, choked-up bobblehead. They should sell me at the merch tables outside. I’m sure that would be a huge hit. “I broke my arm in two places. A few ribs, my collarbone.” I pull down the collar of my shirt, showing her the tiny raised scar, and she runs her finger over it.

  Vee shakes her head. “You don’t have to tell me about it.”

  “I do, actually.” And it’s true, because I know she needs to hear this just as much as I need to be able to say it. If nothing else, she needs to know that my leaving had nothing to do with her. Or how much I loved her. It had everything to do with me. She nods, and I continue. “I had first-degree burns over most of my body. Like a really horrible sunburn.”

  “It was Sienna with you?”

  She’s obviously read articles, and I wonder which ones. Which pictures has she seen? I nod. “My parents were out of town for the weekend and Sienna stayed over.” I’m not sure if now is the time to elaborate on my relationship with Sienna, but I don’t. “She was in worse shape than I was.” I shake my head, remembering how much pain she had been in. “She broke most of the right side of her body; shattered her hip, broke her leg in a couple of places, fractured her wrist. She was in a wheelchair for months, couldn’t walk for months after.”

  Vee glances up at me, her eyes full of questions I know I have to answer. “This was six months before you came to Riverton,” she says. It isn’t a question. “Eight months before we met.”

  I nod and twist the leather band around my wrist. “I finished the semester at St. John’s, and when I turned eighteen, I left. I couldn’t be there anymore.” She nods like she understands, but I don’t know how she could. “I was different afterward. And everyone had expectations … of how I should feel … how I should act.”

  “And your sister?” The question catches me off guard.

  “We’re not close, but she’s fine. She was at college when it happened.”

  She nods again, but never asks the questions I’m waiting for. The questions everyone asked me after it happened: Why did you say the house was empty? Did you know your parents were in the house? Were you fighting with them? Were you angry? How could you not know?

  “And you left because you didn’t want to tell me this?” Her features are tight, and I can tell she’s trying not to cry. “Why?”

  I jerk my head toward Jenn and Kaley, who are headed our way. “Not here.” I grab Vee’s hand and pull her up. I lead us to one of the small dressing rooms and lock the door behind us. Vee’s breath catches in her throat as she takes another step backward into the dim space. I grab her face gently in my hands, feeling the warm wetness of her cheeks against my palms.

  “You were never the reason I left.” I feel like the words have been caught in my throat since the day I left Riverton. They feel rough coming out. “I just couldn’t be what you needed. I was messed up, Vee. I am messed up.” I brush tears away with my thumbs. “When stuff happened with Nonni, I didn’t know what to do. All I could think about was what happened with my parents. All I knew was worst-case scenario. How everyone dies.” She sucks in a choked breath and I regret saying it; bringing up her own hurt. “And I didn’t deserve you. I didn’t deserve to be happy.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I spent six months with everyone looking at me like a broken, second-rate version of what I used to be. That’s the whole reason I moved to Riverton. I didn’t want anyone looking at me like that anymore. Especially not you.”

&
nbsp; She nods, but she doesn’t look at me. Her eyes look past me, over my shoulder, and she’s rigid, stone in my hands.

  “I love you, Vee. Then”—I kiss her forehead, and my lips are still brushing against her skin when I speak—“… now. That’s the one thing I never hid from you. That’s the truest thing about me.”

  A statue come alive, Vee is suddenly in motion. Her hands on my chest, lips on my mouth. Warm hands run up my neck, and mine twist in her hair. Slowly, I push her back against the counter, pinning her in place with my hips. Our hands are grabbing, our limbs tangling, our mouths searching. And we fit. It feels like we were out of gear, stuck in neutral, and now we’re together and we’ve clicked into first. We’re taking off. Racing toward something, but I’m not sure if it’s the starting line or the finish. Maybe what we had before was a false start.

  Finally, breathless—after seconds or minutes, or maybe hours—she pulls away from me. I feel the loss immediately—the cold space that used to be filled with her warmth.

  VIRGINIA

  When I finally break free from the centripetal force of Cam’s body, the space around us feels charged. I have to pull my hand out of his, because I can’t think when we’re touching. I need to prepare him for what’s going to happen. I tell him about Jenn, about the articles and the interview with Sienna. How they’ll run a special next week. He doesn’t say anything, he just stares at me, motionless; breathless, I think. Hopeless. “I didn’t want anyone looking at me like that anymore.” Cam’s words ring in my head and I know, more than ever, that I have to do something. Even if it doesn’t work, if I’m a complete failure, I have to try.

  “Cam, listen to me.” I dip my head into the path of his eyes, which are fixed on the floor. “I’ve got a plan, and I’m going to do everything I can to stop this, but I need you to go along with this. Just for now. I need you to trust me.”