On the Run (Vagabonds #1)

by Jade C. Jamison

  Peter acted like he was giving it some thought, but it was obvious to me he’d already pondered the idea for quite some time. The pause was all show. When he answered, I knew it was something he’d already had in mind for days. “Well, you want to seem sexy—but not too sexy. After all, you’re underage. And you definitely want to put off a rock vibe.”

  Kelly asked, “What do you mean by that?”

  “Black leather. In fact, lots of black. Jeans—ripped or not—always look good. Other colors aren’t bad, but black should be a staple.”

  I already knew how I’d dress—same as I usually did, maybe a little dressier. The music was my lifestyle—my life. T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Or, no—maybe boots. There were some bad ass boots out there that would look amazing onstage.

  Barbie took it and ran with it. She started jibber-jabbering about all the cute dresses and skirts and slutty clothes she’d wear. Peter didn’t object or put up any kind of fight. He’d already spoken his piece and was moving on. “After we’re settled on your looks, we’ll have a photo shoot. We need pictures for the press, for the CD inserts, and your website. We’ll give you the digital versions for any social media you’re using as well. Then we’re going to shoot your first video—your second video, we’ll shoot on the road and use live footage. I don’t know about a third video yet.”

  “What songs?” Liz, of course, needed to know.

  “They’ll be the same as your singles. First will be ‘Dream World.’ The label will choose the next two and I’ll let you know when I know. After that, tour. And I have dates, if you’re interested.”

  My mind was too wrapped around what was going to happen to worry about when. We were so close to being superstars—so close I could almost taste it.

  The next day, we five girls went shopping. Vicki was driving us around in her mom’s van because her mother had the day off from work. Peter had given us each a small budget and told us to be frugal and careful. Fortunately, Vicki and Kelly knew where all the best thrift stores in Colorado Springs were but also all the cheaper places in the mall so we could find inexpensive clothes. I didn’t plan to buy much. I wanted to find things that went with the clothes I already owned.

  I wandered around, giving my cohorts my opinion when they asked but not finding much I wanted. I found some earrings, a studded black belt, and some cool boots (more girlie than I’d been looking for, but it wouldn’t kill me to wear something feminine), but my search wasn’t as fruitful as my friends’. While waiting on them during one of their group multiple-outfit changing sessions, I wandered around and walked into a tattoo shop. That was when I discovered what I really wanted to spend my money on.

  But my ID gave me away. They told me they wouldn’t tattoo or pierce me without one of my parents present. I was a minor.

  I wanted to tell them I was almost a fucking rock star—and what respectable rock star would even dream of gracing the stage with pristine skin? But I had no choice. The guy was adamant and told me to come back in a couple years.

  So I was in a sour mood when I rejoined the group and was tired of playing dress up. It was torture, especially since Barbie wanted to try on dozens of outfits and rarely bought anything. She wound up spending most of her money in a lingerie store. But what she paid for a teddy and garters cost more than a pair of jeans. And I remembered what Peter had said about being “not too sexy.” That thing was suggestive as hell—black, lacy, and filmy on the sides. It hugged her curves and left little to the imagination. But I also knew Barbie wore enough makeup that she could look older than her seventeen years.

  It was a great day of bonding for all of us, even those of us who didn’t get along as well with each other. The cherry of the day’s sundae came when we were sitting at a table in McDonald’s and a group of boys about our age started checking us out, obviously intrigued by us. We all giggled and exchanged the favor, discussing which one would be our type. When they walked away from the counter with their food and passed by our table, grinning and showing us admiration with their eyes, Barbie broke the ice. “You guys wanna sit with us?”

  “Ladies, as much as we’d love to, we have business to discuss.”

  Barbie’s eyebrows jumped. “Oh, well, we wouldn’t want to interfere with your important business, would we, girls?” She started chortling as the boys walked away to another table in a different section of the restaurant. Barbie was miffed and said, “I somehow doubt their business is more important than ours. Assholes.” She raised her voice when she said, “We’re rock stars, for Christ sake.”

  For once, I was on Barbie’s side. Her ego might have been big but it was also fragile, and I suspected the boys’ decline had hurt more than she’d let on. So I said, “They can suck our dicks.”

  Vicki’s eyes grew wide and Kelly covered her mouth to stop herself from spraying the drink in her mouth. Liz was quiet when she said, “Nice.”

  Vicki found her voice. “What a visual.”

  Barbie smiled at me. “Fuck, yeah, Summers. They can suck our motherfucking dick.”

  “You Oughta Know” ~ Alanis Morissette

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  I WAS HOME again for a couple of days. I called Decker to see if he wanted to hang out and he was dodgy. I wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but his behavior was odd. He agreed to meet, though, and he picked me up an hour later.

  I wasn’t hungry…well, not for food. It had been at least a week, maybe longer, since Decker and I had hooked up and I was craving him. He was acting distant, though, and I knew something wasn’t right. We went to the coffee shop and both ordered fruit smoothies (I used the cash Peter had given me for “my image”) before sitting down. I couldn’t stand it. As much as I wanted to tell him about everything cool happening with me and my band, I had to know what was up with him. Something serious was going on, something heavy—I could feel it. “What’s wrong?”

  He frowned and looked down at his straw. Oh. So it was something that was going to be hard to tell me. That couldn’t be good.

  He inhaled through his nose before looking me square in the eye. “We’ve had fun, right, Kyle?”

  “Yeah…” Definitely not good. I had a feeling…

  “But sometimes…sometimes people grow apart.”

  “What are you saying, Decker?” It was pissing me off that he wasn’t just spitting it out, like I was some fragile flower that would break. “What do you mean, ‘people grow apart’? Do you mean a person? ‘Cause I’m not feeling any different about us.”

  He frowned again. “I knew this wasn’t gonna go right.”

  “Go right? What the hell does that mean?” My voice was getting louder and I saw some other kids from school across the room. Oh, Jesus. I did not want their last memory of me pre-rock star to be a girl falling apart just because the boy she said she didn’t love was dumping her. Fuck.

  Decker blinked. “I’m just gonna come out and say it. Kyle, I really like you. Always have. You’re a hell of a musician and I’ll never regret spending time with you.”

  I found my voice and I kept it low. “But you’re done.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you are. Come on, Decker. Grow a pair and fucking say it.” Whew. I kept my voice from exploding like it wanted to. That was all I could ask of myself at this point—to maintain my calm as much as I could.

  “We have different interests, Kyle. You know that. Music is your thing. Football’s mine. As much as we like each other, I don’t think we always get each other.” As a weak aside, he added, “You know?”

  I exhaled and looked down at my drink. Suddenly, it held no appeal for me anymore. Finally, I shrugged. No fucking way in hell was I going to let him know it hurt. No way. I’d already given him something I’d never get back—he wasn’t taking my dignity with him. “All right. Then I guess there’s nothing left to talk about.”

  He looked relieved. That pissed me off…but I wasn’t going to give this town any damn satisfaction. If I was going to fall ap
art, I was going to do it alone.

  “Yeah. Why don’t you take me home?”

  “Okay.”

  I left the smoothie on the table. I kept my jaw clenched, my mouth closed tight the entire ride home. I couldn’t trust myself with words right now. I have to admit I was trying to think of something clever to say when we parted, something hurtful to stab him and cause pain like he had me, but my insides were spiraling, messy and uncontrollable. I couldn’t concentrate enough to come up with something coherent.

  So when we got to my house, I got out of his truck without a word and closed the door, walking up the sidewalk. I didn’t even reply to his goodbye. I couldn’t. If I opened my mouth, I had no idea what would come out of there. He finally sped away and was maybe wondering what the fuck had just happened. If so, that made two of us.

  But I suspected he’d be fine. He was the Dumper. I was the Dumpee. He had it infinitely easier because he had the power. From this point forward, I vowed—if I bothered to get involved with a guy again—to keep the power and pay more attention. I should’ve known the day we’d gone jogging. It had felt like he was trying too hard, like he had been trying to make me like something he knew I wouldn’t.

  Mom and dad were watching a movie in the living room and I said a quick hi, trying to look okay before heading up to my room. Once there, I let it all out, burying my head in the pillow and wailing until my nose was plugged, my eyes red and swollen, and my body limp. I was proud of myself for holding it together in public, for not being a sniveling crybaby when he’d pushed me aside.

  So that was what love felt like. And I couldn’t believe I hadn’t known it until it was gone. What a dumb ass.

  * * *

  Monday afternoon, a huge meeting for the Vagabonds with Peter. Well, not just a meeting but a photo shoot as well.

  I had a reason for wanting to look extra sexy, more beautiful than ever. When my band broke big (and it would, unless Peter was completely full of shit), I wanted Decker to see what he was missing…what he could have had.

  So, for the first set of pictures, I wore my ripped jeans and a clingy tank, slapped on more makeup than I usually wore—raccoon eyes, red lipstick, and some cool black biker boots. I looked bad ass…or at least I thought I did. I wound up not looking as sexy as I’d wanted, but that was probably because, next to Barbie in her hip-hugging lingerie, the rest of us all looked like wallflowers.

  Peter had chosen outfits for us for the next set of photos. We all wore whatever pants we had on, but we had t-shirts, black with white lettering, and each of us had part of the band name. Kelly, first, had the shirt that said “the,” followed by Liz, whose shirt was printed with “VA.” Barbie’s shirt said “GA,” followed by mine (“BO”), and then Vicki (“NDS”). Barbie—not once but twice—said, “Look! Kyle’s got B.O.”

  “Yeah, you’re hilarious, Barbie.”

  I thought it was a stupid idea, but in pictures, it looked pretty cool. I appeared pissed—which I had been because of all the ribbing—but in the pictures, it looked angsty. Barbie, who’d been wearing garters and hose for the first set, put on a pair of cutoff shorts for the t-shirt picture. We had some other pictures where we’d wrapped arms around each other’s shoulders or waists so we were pressed close together, and it was easier to read “the VAGABONDS.”

  The damn thing lasted all afternoon, made worse by the fact that Barbie was late as usual. It pissed me off that Peter let her get away with it, and the rest of us quit complaining about it, because he would pass it off on us, as if it were our fault.

  He told us to set aside our first outfits and plan to wear them for our video…which we’d be filming later in the week. We wouldn’t be playing music for the video but we would be playing nonetheless, because our movements would have to match the song. Made sense.

  We girls decided to go to Taco Bell afterward to spend some time together. We were all starting to feel super stoked because, the closer we got to a completed CD and an actual tour, the more real it all felt. Maybe if we’d known how stressful spending time together day in, day out on the road was, we wouldn’t have been so eager to spend extra hours with each other right now. But we were excited and the energy in our group was undeniable.

  Once at Taco Bell, Barbie flirted with every man under twenty-five who didn’t have a girl with him—and even two who did. She was going to get us all in a fight if she didn’t stop it. But we finally sat at a table to enjoy our cheap pretend Mexican food and we talked initially about what had transpired earlier in the day. We couldn’t wait to see what they did with the pictures—a couple of them were slated for use in the CD but some of them were going to be part of press releases.

  At a break in our conversation—after Barbie pointed out three boys who walked in the restaurant and beamed at them before giggling and turning her head—Liz shared with us something Kelly already knew. “I moved out of my parents’ house.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. Kelly’s parents said I could stay with them for a couple of days, but they said I couldn’t stay there forever.”

  Kelly crumpled up the wrapper from her burrito. “No. They changed their minds.”

  Liz sighed. “After you lied and told them my mom and dad kicked me out.”

  “Well…it’s almost true. They might as well.”

  “Yeah, well, now I have to find a lawyer who will help me become legally emancipated. What a pain in the neck.”

  “Fuck ‘em, Liz.” I’d never seen Kelly say mean thing or sound negative, but I could tell that Liz’s parents denying the girl her dream had really gotten to her. “Aren’t they dead to you?”

  “No. I just…wish, for once, they understood how I felt—what I want, what I need.”

  Barbie rolled her eyes. “Nobody’s parents fucking get it, Liz. Nobody’s. So guess what, babe? You’re one of us—and we’re gettin’ ready to kick much ass. You ready for this shit?”

  We all smiled and nodded. Barbie put her hand in the middle of the table, encouraging us to pile our hands on top. We were in this together, for good or bad, with or without our family support.

  We were the goddamned Vagabonds.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  AH…IT WAS finally time to listen to the mix of our album. Peter assured us that mixing rarely happened as quickly as it had this time, but he was motivated to get things moving. Yes, we could tour without an album, but he wanted the album out there flying off the shelves, and he wanted everything to hit all at once. And, now that we had a mix of our single, it was time to shoot the video.

  When I was driving out of town towards the Springs, I drove past one of the big parks and saw Decker…with another girl. That hurt. It was just a few days ago that he’d broken up with me, and that made me figure he’d been attracted to this girl before he’d dumped me—hell, he might have even made a move on her. That made me feel humiliated and angry. Very angry. I wanted to scream at him and beat him on the chest, then scream at the girl and scratch her eyes out.

  But that wouldn’t win him back…and now I realized I didn’t want him back—not after that. Cheating bastard.

  I drove to Colorado Springs most of the way with tears stinging my eyes, but by the time I got there, I’d steeled myself once more. My eyes were a little red but my cheeks and under my eyes weren’t puffy like I’d seen them get from bad crying jags.

  When I was a few minutes away, I heard a song on the radio I’d never heard before. It was raw and frenetic, like nothing I’d ever heard before. And I couldn’t help but notice the lyrics either. It was a hot song—downright filthy. I liked it. And imagine my surprise when the DJ came on the air and said, “That song’s called ‘Tonight’ by the new band Death Crunch. And they’re hometown boys, folks.”

  Holy shit. I’d forgotten that CJ had told me their single was coming out. And he’d mentioned a video I’d have to check out.

  We were meeting at the studio once more. Peter said it was because he wanted to play it the first time in the perform
ance space. There were already a few cars when I got there, so I just went in, and I was still grinning as I walked through the door. I heard Liz’s voice raised, but I couldn’t tell what she was saying…but the smile faded from my face fast.

  That was bizarre, because Liz never lost her cool. But, with the pressure she’d been feeling lately, it was possible that she was cracking and letting some of the emotion flow out of whatever port was available. I had to know what was going on, though. I was ready to leave my own strange volcano of feelings behind.

  I walked into the hallway where CJ and I had worked through “Dream World” together and saw Kelly, Liz, and Peter standing beside a table. “We’re never going to be taken seriously, Peter.”

  “You’re going to have to trust me, Elizabeth.”

  “No fucking way, man. This is going too far.”

  I probably shouldn’t have said a word, but I had to know. “What’s going on?”

  Liz huffed. “We’re not a legitimate rock band. Nope. We’re going to be paraded around like Diva Daycare!”

  “What?”

  Kelly picked something up off the table and handed it to me. “This is the album cover.”

  It took me quite a while to process what I was looking at. There were five girls, probably about kindergarten age, standing in a park. They were wearing the same t-shirts we’d worn the day of the photo shoot, the ones that spelled “the VAGABONDS” when lined up together, except they were child size. Just like we’d done, their arms were around each other so they appeared to be a tight-knit group of friends. The longer I pondered the picture, the more clever I saw that it was. The five girls were chosen carefully to resemble each one of us. I knew I was stepping into a hornet’s nest, but I did it anyway. “What’s the problem?”

  “You’re kidding, right, Kyle? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Geez, Liz, I’ve never seen you worked up like this. Chill. It’s just a picture—and it’s not a statement about our music.”