I don’t say anything because I know every word I say will just hurt her more. And she’s right; I didn’t come back. After I left that night I never had even one moment of hope that she would end up in my arms like this again. I’m thankful she did, though. Even if it was just for the short time that we shared this bus. Because even if she’s gone forever—off to live her own life—I know there’s no way she can forget the songs we sang, or the words I finally said to her. This may not be the encore I’d hoped for, but at least we’ll always have this one unforgettable summer. I’ll take it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
NOW
VIRGINIA
It’s the third time I’ve played at Monte’s, a small music venue on the North Side of Chicago. The room is long, narrow and dark, with a small stage at the far end. The walls are covered in vintage newspaper articles, plastered like wallpaper. The first two times I played here I was the first act, going on before a local singer who sang a lot of folksy ballads. But each time the crowds insisted on calling me back up to the stage after her set, since so many fans came late. I have fans. It’s surreal to think that people are actually coming to see me, and after the second show the manager told me I’d be taking the main spot. I knew a huge reason for my popularity was all of the tour coverage, but it still felt amazing and I decided it didn’t matter why they came to see me. Maybe they just wanted to see Dakota Gray, internet sensation. Or Vee Miller, reality TV star. I didn’t care. Either way, I’d just have to win them over with my music.
Each week I felt more comfortable onstage, talking with the crowd, sharing little stories about the songs. When I’d written them, and why. I told myself I was playing for friends and started to treat them that way. After the first show I stopped wearing my Dakota Gray wig. When I sit on the stage I imagine I’m sitting on Cam’s bed playing a show for one. And every time I play, there are chants for “This Girl,” but I can’t bring myself to play it by myself. Something about it feels wrong, so I always apologize, playing something upbeat to wrap things up.
Four weeks after getting back to Chicago, I’m waiting offstage as my opening act—my opening act!—finishes her set. I don’t care that I’m playing in a bar that only holds three hundred people and not an auditorium that seats five thousand. I’m playing my own shows, facing my fears, moving forward. I’m chasing something. As my opener exits the stage and I enter, she gives me a strange, nervous smile. I’m the one who should be nervous. Taking a seat on the vintage wooden chair, I’m tuning my guitar, just about to begin, when a voice interrupts over the house PA system.
It’s the club’s music manager, Kevin. “Before we hear the musical talent of Vee Miller, aka Dakota Gray, we have a quick presentation to make.”
What the hell?
The crowd is lighter than usual tonight, and I sit in my chair—continuing to fiddle and tune as I wait for the go-ahead from Kevin—while a steady stream of people begins to enter. They’re all wearing white. White tank tops, white polos. Is this a tour group of some sort? Maybe a nearby convention? I squint, trying to look for a name badge or logo, but don’t see anything. The small tables are quickly filled and by the time everyone has entered, the entire bar area is standing-room-only. Other than my performances with Cam on tour, this is the biggest group of people I’ve ever played for. It’s far from small and intimate, and I begin to feel my nerves building. Deep breath.
The PA system crackles to life again, but instead of Kevin’s voice, music begins to play. It’s a guitar, and it sounds live, not recorded. Are they seriously playing another musician right before I go on? It’s probably the manager’s girlfriend, who has been pushing for a spot in the lineup for weeks. She’s practically tone deaf. I don’t recognize the song, but then Cam’s voice pours out of the speakers and I’m frozen in place. I look around the room, straining to see over and around people. He must be here somewhere, but there’s no sign of him. Except for his voice. It feels like it’s been ages since I heard it, even though it was less than twenty-four hours ago that I heard him sing on national television. The last words I heard him speak were words of thanks, to everyone that made it possible for the band to win. I had screamed and shouted, dancing in Cort’s living room like a maniac, when they won. And when he thanked his parents for watching over him, through it all, I lost it. The words drifting out of the speakers right now are even better. As the first verse begins, all I can do is listen to the words that I know are only for me:
She’s the high and the low,
the waves and the shore.
She’s nights in the dark,
and toes in the sand,
she’s the voice in my head
saying try it again.
Try it again.
As he finishes the chorus, a girl in the front row, center stage, turns her back to me, revealing the black letters across her white shirt that say: “When we met,” and as Cam keeps singing, another person turns around, revealing a second message: “I was broken.” As the song goes on, person after person shows me their messages as I listen to Cam’s words:
WHEN WE MET I WAS BROKEN
She’s the words on the page
that tell me to stay.
She’s the start and the end
to all my favorite days.
She’s the start and the stop,
she’s the start and the stop.
Don’t make me stop.
AND THE FIRST TIME I HEARD YOUR VOICE
I FELT ALIVE AGAIN
This is my serenade,
this is my second chance.
This is my serenade,
my second chance.
YOU STARTED PUTTING ME BACK TOGETHER
BEFORE YOU EVEN MET ME
She’s the cure to my pain,
she’s the sun and the rain.
She’s the sun and the rain.
I SHOULD HAVE STAYED
BECAUSE YOU ARE THE ONLY FUTURE
I HAVE EVER IMAGINED
This is my serenade,
this is my second chance.
This is my serenade,
you are my second chance.
I’M NOT GOING ANYWHERE
WITHOUT YOU
As the song ends and the last girl turns back around, another approaches the stage with a gift-wrapped box. She hands it to me with a giant smile. It’s wrapped in shiny purple foil, with a silver bow and a tag that says OPEN ME. When there are hundreds of eyes on you I don’t know that there’s really a choice, but at this point I want nothing more than to know what is in this box. I shake it just a little for effect and it rattles like it’s full of glass. What the hell is it? I choke back the building tears as I rip open the paper and pry open the box flaps, revealing a pile of tissue paper. I fish each piece out, dropping it around me on the stage like it’s Christmas morning.
Folded up neatly on top is a purple Future X shirt, and I pull it out, wondering why on earth I need another one of these. As I begin to fold it to shove it back into the box I notice something on the back of it and hold it up to see THE ORIGINAL written in white lettering across the back. I’m the original Girl in the Purple Shirt. Embracing the fact that it feels like Christmas, and I’m a complete dork, I pull the T-shirt on right over my dress.
I reach into the box again, and pull out another layer of tissue paper, revealing a pile of … change? There are hundreds of quarters and nickels and dimes, like someone has dumped their loose change jar into the box. I look at it all, confused, and notice there are also small plastic cards mixed in. Blue and white and black; they’re bus cards and train cards. As I pull a few out, completely bewildered, a guy in a white shirt approaches the stage and hands me an envelope. The music has stopped and I wonder if Cam is here. Where is he? I scan the crowd and don’t see him. But against the back wall, hiding behind a camera, I see Tad. Cam has got to be here somewhere. I smile, and Tad nods back, his usual grin still in place.
“Open this,” the man standing in front of the stage says, before taking his place
in the crowd again. Every eye is fixed on me as people lean forward and look around each other for the best view. Everyone seems to be just as curious as I am about what is going on.
I pull out the card, which is scribbled on in a handwriting I recognize from a million napkins and scraps of paper that have littered the tour bus, adorned with lyrics.
Vee,
I fell in love with you years ago. I made you a promise then and I’m finally keeping it. I promise to ride the trains with you, and make sure crazy taxis don’t run you down in the street, and to refill your Metro card so you don’t get kicked off the bus.
I Love You,
Cam
Tears fall onto the card as I choke back a sob, and as I finally look back out to the crowd, Cam is standing in front of me at the edge of the stage, his guitar in one hand. He’s wearing a white shirt too, and when he turns his back to me it says PROPERTY OF CHICAGO in big black letters.
“I don’t—” I can barely talk through the tears. “—What are you doing here?”
Cam sets his guitar on the edge of the stage and pulls a red, white, and blue Cubs ball cap on. “I live here.” He takes a step up onto the stage, standing between the crowd and me.
“In Chicago?”
He nods.
“Since when?”
He squats down in front of me so his face is level with mine, and his eyes bore into me. “Since the girl I love moved back here.” The crowd erupts in muffled gasps. “Since I realized that you are the only future I’ve ever seen for myself. I’m going to do whatever it takes to make sure you’re the only—” Flashes are erupting throughout the crowd and muffled whispers fill the air.
Someone in the back of the club yells, “Marry him or I will!”
Cam freezes in place. “Shit.” He swallows and bites his lip. “Vee, I’m not—” He shakes his head frantically and I choke back a laugh. “Shit. I mean … not that I wouldn’t. But I wasn’t—I just—” He starts to stand up and I grab him by the elbow, holding him in place.
“Settle down. I know.” Strangely, the idea of being with Cam—even forever with Cam—hasn’t sent me into a tailspin. There’s no way I’m ready, but it doesn’t plunge me into a complete panic. I smile and lean forward, pressing my lips to his as he grabs my hands and pulls me toward him. My guitar is wedged between us and the crowd breaks into applause as we fumble with the instrument keeping us apart, shoving it to my back to get closer. Cam’s hands are snaking up the back of my shirt and wrapping around my ribs when whistling pulls me back to reality. We are onstage. In front of a very interested crowd.
I lean into his ear, “Sing with me?”
He kisses me on the forehead, and a giant grin spreads across his face. “Always.” I raise the mic stand and we take our places around it.
“You guys want to hear a song?” I ask the crowd. “Or did you all just come here to help embarrass me?”
The crowd erupts in cheers and whistling and I begin to play “This Girl,” feeling for the first time like the words are a declaration and not a wish.
There’s this boy, oh this boy,
who’s got me all tied up
in the best kind of knots.
There’s this look you’ve gotta see,
when he’s starin’ at me,
it’s his hands on my hips,
and in the way that we kiss.
I can’t help but smile
’cause he’s lookin’ at me,
oh he’s lookin’ at me.
There’s this boy, oh this boy—
I think he’s the boy for me.
EPILOGUE
CAM
As I step through the giant automatic doors of Lake Terrace with Vee, I consider—for maybe the hundredth time—how I’m going to handle this. Vee hadn’t given me a choice when she said, “You’re going to meet Nonni on Sunday.” There was no question asked. I had known it wasn’t optional by the way she scrunched her eyebrows together and squeezed her lips into a thin little smile, daring me to argue with her.
That was two days ago, as we sat in standstill traffic on the interstate, trying to make our way to Riverton. To spend the weekend with Vee’s parents. Back in the day, Vee’s mom took me in with open arms. Fast-forward, after I ran off with no notice, broke their daughter’s heart, then inadvertently made her look like a cheater on national television—and I don’t quite know what to expect. I’ve basically been covered in a cold sweat the last forty-eight hours. Since the moment she told me we’d be making this trip. She told me that if “whatever this was” between us was going to work, I would have to face her family eventually. Face her family. The way she said it hadn’t exactly done wonders in assuring me that I wasn’t being driven straight to the firing squad.
But eating dinner with her parents and making awkward small talk with her aunt, who spent most of the meal ogling me—I am a rock star now, after all—had been nothing compared to the crush of panic I’m feeling as we walk down the floral-papered hallways of the nursing home. I’m not sure if it’s just in my head, but I swear I can smell the familiar scent of room 207—eucalyptus, baby powder, and lavender—before I even see the door. While Vee enters, announcing loudly, “It’s VA Day, Nonni!” I stand frozen in the doorway.
There are so many memories wrapped up in that room: the first day I showed up to visit Gram and told her about the fire, and she cried for the strangers that were my dead parents; the loneliness and emptiness I felt when I came to Riverton, feeling like I didn’t deserve anything else. And then there was Vee and the strange curiosity I had felt when I heard her that first day; the way she made me want to be a part of something again, the burning pain I feel every time I think about how much I hurt her and almost lost her in the end with my secrets. Will she think I’m a total stalker when she finds out how I actually met her?
Then I hear a raspy voice inside the room.
“Is he going to come in, or is he just going to stand over there?”
“Nonni, be nice,” Vee scolds.
“Hush. I’m teasing. Come over here.” She’s waving her hands in the air, ushering me over.
Hands in my pockets, I join Vee next to Nonni’s bed. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.” I hold out my hand and she swats it away.
“Pshh, you call me Nonni. And give me a hug.” She puts her arms out and I lean into them, hugging her awkwardly as she sits in her bed. As I stand up she grabs my arms in her hands, squeezing my biceps. “Nice arms on this one,” she says, winking at Vee.
Vee bursts into laughter and I can’t help but join her. “Stop harassing my boyfriend, Nonni.” Her smile falters and she gives me a sideways glance. Neither of us is used to saying it—we never used to. I slip my hand around hers and squeeze.
“Don’t listen to her,” I say. “You can harass me any time you want, Nonni.” I give Vee a smile that she returns.
Nonni distracted me and I’ve completely forgotten about the problem at hand, until Vee reaches behind her and pulls the curtain across the room in a flash of blue fabric. We’re engulfed in sunlight, and there in her bed is my Gram. She claps her hands together in excitement, but she isn’t looking at me, she’s looking at Vee. I stand in shock as Vee bends down and gives my grandmother a hug full of familiarity.
“Hey, Grace.” Vee is holding one of her hands as she speaks to her. “How are you feeling today?”
Gram pats Vee’s hand slowly. “Good, honey, I’m good.”
Vee turns, pressing her mouth to my ear. “See, I have secrets too.” She takes Gram’s hand and nods toward me. “Grace, I think you already know my boyfriend, Cam.” She smiles at me as I stand staring at the two of them, completely thrown by what is happening.
“He looks like my grandson.” Gram reaches for my hand and I step forward to hold it. Vee takes my other hand, keeping it by her side.
“He sure does.” Vee reaches up and rubs her hand over my hair like I’m a little boy. “I think he’s a little cuter, though.” She grabs my face roughly in one hand, sq
ueezing my cheeks together. “Don’t you think?”
“That is your grandson,” Nonni offers in a firm voice. “See over there.” She nods toward the dresser. It’s lined with photo frames—the large one of my family is still there, but there are others, too. There’s a photo of me onstage, playing my guitar—taken at one of the small clubs we played in Houston; and a photo of Logan, Anders, Reese, and me, sitting on a couch backstage before a performance. And a heart-shaped frame with a photo of me and Vee sitting side by side, playing “This Girl” onstage the first time. Every photo has a little white sticker across it with everyone’s names printed out.
Gram just looks at the pictures and nods her head as Vee squeezes my hand.
“Thank you,” I whisper in her ear as I kiss her temple.
“How’s the apartment search going?” Nonni asks.
Vee and I sit down in the plastic chairs between the two beds. “It’s not, really,” she says. “I forgot how ridiculously expensive everything is. It’s too late to get anything on campus. And I’m still looking for a new job. Money from my online videos is just enough to pay my bills at the moment. Until I find something, swinging an apartment by myself isn’t an option.”
I take Vee’s hand in mine, lacing our fingers together on top of the armrest. “I wanted to talk to you about that, actually.”
She looks panicked. “We can’t move in together.” Her voice is quiet, like she doesn’t want our grandmothers to know she’s rejecting me.
“Vee, just—”
She’s giving me a shut-this-down-or-I’ll-shut-you-down look. “Cam.”
“It’s just an idea. I thought—”
Vee slides forward in her chair. “Let’s talk about it later?”
“I’d like to hear this idea,” Nonni says, and I officially love her.
“Nonni, we’re—”
I cut Vee off before she can finish. “Nonni, excuse us for a second while I calm down your neurotic granddaughter.” I turn Vee’s chair toward me and put my hands on her shoulders. “Stop panicking.” I smile, amused by how worked up she is, and she glares at me. Her face is etched with irritation. “I’m not asking you to move in with me.”
Love Songs & Other Lies Page 24
