Kick

by Dean, Ali

  “That was weird,” I tell Shay as we pull out of our parents’ driveway a few days later. We made the obligatory trip home for a few days before classes started, and our parents weren’t too thrilled the trip was so short, but it’s time to get back to the pool. And we both wanted time with our boyfriends, who live near campus, more than we wanted to spend time at home this summer.

  “I know. It’s like Mom is finally accepting that we aren’t going to do life her way.”

  “Accepting defeat, maybe.”

  “Defeat?”

  “Yeah, I think she gave up on me.”

  “She didn’t give up on you, Kick.” Shay glances over at me before returning her eyes to the road.

  “She’s stopped mentioning jobs I should apply for or people I need to be networking with. She actually asks about my blog as if she’s legit interested. I think she might even read it.”

  Shay laughs. “I heard her talking to people about it, Kick. She’s proud of you. She brags about you. Her friends follow your blog.”

  “What?” I practically shriek.

  Shay laughs again. “You know Mom will never say it to your face, but she thinks it’s cool, what you’re doing.”

  “No, she doesn’t.”

  “Yeah. She does. She even tried to tell me I need to learn how to build followers like you, that I should start a blog if I want more reliable income and sponsors.”

  “What?” I shriek again.

  “Don’t act so surprised. Kick, you made more money this summer than I’ll probably make in a year as a full-time professional swimmer. Even Mom can’t deny that’s a huge accomplishment.”

  “It was the dance videos. People love that shit,” I say, trying for humor, but still in shocked mode. I posted a video of myself dancing, and it got more attention than any of my previous posts, so I’ve posted a few more. With the blog and website now established, real money started flowing. It gave me more legitimacy, an easy way to contact me. In addition to sponsorships and advertisements, I also started selling some items like tee shirts, bracelets, and hats with a “Kick Spark” logo.

  “Wait until you go public with your relationship with Jack.”

  Yeah, it’s taken some effort to keep that private, but with Jack’s growing fame, it won’t last much longer. He and the band have been somewhat out of the public eye this summer, recording the new album, mostly off the stage, but he’s back on the road again.

  I’m silent for a few minutes, trying to process the idea that Mom might actually think what I’ve built is cool, that she might be proud of me. I don’t know what to do with that.

  “I’ll tell you what else was weird,” Shay interrupts my thoughts. “You, waking up at five AM to go to swim practice with me every morning we were home. You, not staying out late partying with our high school friends. You, being packed and ready to go before me this morning.”

  I turn my head from the window and Shay gives me a look before turning her eyes back to the road, a little smiling dancing on her lips.

  Sighing, I give her honesty. “I didn’t realize how much I’d changed until I was out with everyone from high school.” And by everyone, Shay knows I mean the ones who party. None swim in college, even though a lot of them swam in high school. “Everyone looked to me like I was the one who would take the night from mellow to crazy. I used to be the one to do that, come up with some outrageous idea to turn a regular night of drinking into a night to remember. Or just do something stupid that made everyone laugh.”

  I don’t need to tell Shay what she knows already. She might not have been at many of the parties, but she knows me, and she heard about enough of them from others. But I never really stopped to realize how I was, that I had to be the life of the party, had to make myself the center of attention somehow. Craved feeling special. No matter the cost. Cliff jumping into the creek in the dark, breaking into a fancy hotel and skinny dipping, crashing a wedding, running up on stage in the middle of a concert to kiss a cute drummer, and lots and lots of dancing on tables with minimal clothing. Those kinds of things were standard fare, but I didn’t have the urge to do anything wild this visit, and that was weird.

  “I didn’t even feel like drinking. I just wanted to say hi, catch up for a few minutes, and go to bed so I’d be rested for practice. What’s wrong with me? I’m only twenty-one and I’m starting to act like…” I pause, then grin, finishing with, “You. I’m turning into you.”

  Shay pats my knee reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Kick, you’ll always have a wild side.”

  Will I? “You don’t think I’m changing because of Jack, do you?” I know it’s a stupid question the second I ask it.

  “No. Well, if you are, it’s not in a bad way. I mean, you started partying less before you got together with him at StageFest. Before that weekend though, it was different.” Shay’s voice turns contemplative, and her brow furrows as she grips the steering wheel tighter. “I was worried about you, actually.”

  “You were?”

  “Yeah, you weren’t yourself. You liked partying, drinking, falling for guys, going out with the girls, music. All that stuff. And when you stopped doing it as much, it didn’t seem like it was because you had some goal, like you do now. Now, you’re going for it in the pool, with your blog and the brand and everything, and you’re energized and excited. Before StageFest, it was like you were ashamed or sad or, I don’t know, like you felt like you didn’t deserve to have fun anymore. Now you don’t party because you have dreams, in the pool and with your brand. The old Kick is back, but it’s like Kick 2.0. A new kind of wild.”

  When Shay glances over at me, a little smirk lifting one side of her mouth, my jaw is hanging open. It continues to hang open for a long while, as her eyes darts back and forth between me and the road.

  “Sorry, I got a little carried away. Are you mad?”

  “Shay, do you know how much I love you?”

  She grins. “Yeah, Kick, I do.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jack

  Carson had been high on stage before, but this was bad. We’d given him second, third, fourth chances because he’d never totally fucked it up on stage. Missed practices, ruined recording time in the studio, and been in less-than-ideal shape at concerts, sure. But we’d all had bad days and screwed up once or twice, so we kept letting it slide. Sure, we talked to him about it, told him to clean up his shit, and he promised he would. He hadn’t.

  And now here we were, performing in front of ten thousand people in Austin, and he was an absolute mess.

  We got through the first song and before I picked up with the next, Townie, Will and I exchanged meaningful glances with each other. With curt nods, we came to the silent agreement that we couldn’t do the set like this.

  One song in and I had no idea how to gracefully tell the crowd we were taking a break. And shit, finishing the set without piano was going to be bad news. It wasn’t as disastrous as Amy Winehouse in Belgrade, but to anyone who knew our band, we were off, way off tonight.

  Instead of picking up with the song we’d planned to play second, I went with Fireball, which was quickly becoming our most popular since the album’s release last month. It only required a few basic chords from Carson, and it was the first that came to mind where he’d do the least damage. Glancing at Carson as I strummed out the first few notes, he didn’t even seem to register that we were playing the song out of order, and of course Will and Townie caught on quickly.

  It was hard to sing Kick’s song when I wasn’t focused emotionally. I could go through the motions with any of our songs if I had to, since I wrote all of them and had practiced them hundreds of times. But it didn’t feel right to be on autopilot when I was singing about the woman I was in love with. Still, I was too pissed at Carson and trying to keep this performance from turning into a total shit show. I just had to get through it.

  The crowd was disgruntled when I told them we needed a quick break before continuing. It was unprofessional, but far from unhear
d of for a band to take a random break in a performance for some reason or other. When we came back on stage one band member down, they’d know the reason, and then they’d be really disgruntled.

  I couldn’t look at Carson as we exited the stage. I wanted to knock some sense into the fucker, but needed to stay cool.

  “What the hell, man?” Carson said from behind me as we entered the hallway. I didn’t answer, opening the door to the green room.

  Addy and Cassie followed closely behind the rest of the band. As I noted their eyes darting around nervously, I knew what I had to do. This wasn’t my band, not exactly, but I’d always made the decisions, and the rest let me, even wanted me to play that role.

  Right now, I knew what decision I had to make, and I knew that Will and Townie would back me up.

  “Carson, you’re done. Pack your shit. We can’t have you tripping on acid or whatever the hell you’re doing while playing in front of ten thousand people.”

  Carson sputtered, tried to protest. Will and Townie backed me up. Addy took her brother’s arm. “Carson, he’s right. You were way off out there,” she said, and I was grateful she was at least on board with that part of the decision.

  “Why the hell do I need to pack my bags?” Carson asked. Even tripping, he didn’t miss that. “We’ve got weeks more before this tour is over.”

  I could have waited until after the show to do this, but I had to get it off my chest now before I got too sentimental about it. Besides, I couldn’t get up there for another two hours with this weighing on me.

  “You’re off the tour,” I said with finality.

  I heard a few gasps in the room.

  Carson laughed. It was a mean laugh, one that didn’t sound remotely like the guy I’d played with for almost a decade now. “Fuck you, Jack. You don’t get to make that decision.”

  He stormed out of there, and for a second I feared he’d try to take the stage, but he turned to go down the hall in the other direction.

  Addy stepped forward, into my personal space, and I narrowed my eyes down at her. “Don’t do this, Jack. I get pulling him off tonight, but the rest of the tour? That’s extreme. He’ll hate you. He might not come back. It could break up the band.”

  The thing that sucked for Carson was that he was the least talented player in the band. We could find another keys and piano player, probably a better one. I’d thought this through. Hell, it’d kept me up at night. I’d even talked about it with Townie and Will. I still wouldn’t be giving the guy another chance tonight or on tour if he was a more talented musician, but I knew the band could afford to take the risk that he wouldn’t be coming back.

  “We’ll talk about it after the show. We need to get back out there,” I said tightly, stepping around her before she could protest.

  I paused at the stairs behind the stage, turning to Will and Townie. Their faces were stoic. This wasn’t done lightly, and they knew it. Townie put a solid hand on my shoulder. “It had to be done, man.”

  Will nodded. “You did the right thing. We said one more chance, and he really fucking blew it this time.”

  I let out a long sigh and rubbed a hand through my hair. “Let’s put on the best damn show we can without keys. We’ll start making calls for a sub after the show.”

  The guys nodded, and we climbed slowly up the stairs, stepping onto the stage and into bright lights significantly more subdued than we were twenty minutes ago. Time to tell the crowd another lie, and carry on.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Kick

  Maybe this was a bad idea.

  Something isn’t right. Jack’s singing my song, our song, and it sounds off. His voice is a little strained and it lacks the usual expression and passion he’s becoming known for, especially with this song. I know I’m not overreacting, because I’m close enough to the stage to note that the others in the band are tense as well.

  When Jack announces the band needs a quick break, my worry is confirmed. What’s going on?

  I work my way through the crowd and try to access the backstage hallway, but a couple of security guys block the way. Taking out my phone, I contemplate texting Jack, letting him know I’m here, but it seems like a lousy way to ruin the surprise. After all, if something is going on with the band, my presence isn’t going to fix it.

  It’s agonizing being here alone, waiting, wondering. Jack’s been on tour for a month now, and we haven’t seen each other once during that time. School’s keeping me pretty busy, but we haven’t started racing yet, and I’ve been free on the weekends. As soon as practice was over this morning I jumped on a cheap flight to Austin.

  Standing in the middle of a restless audience now, a wave of fear hits me. Despite Jack’s words saying otherwise, I can’t shake the sinking feeling that the other shoe is going to drop at any moment. He’ll see the real me, realize I’m not as special as he thought, and then what? Maybe it’s happening already. That’s probably why he was so tense singing the song about me.

  Finally, the band returns to the stage, looking stiff and serious. And where’s Carson?

  Jack approaches the mic, lifts his electric guitar from its stand and puts the strap over his shoulder before speaking. “Sorry Austin, we’re going to be down a piano player tonight. Carson’s caught a nasty bug and I don’t think any of us want to witness what it looks like up close on stage.”

  The crowd grumbles and then laughs.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll shake things up a bit for you, give you a show you won’t forget.”

  With that, Jack hits a note on his electric guitar, loud and hard. Will and Townie are right there, and they dive into the next song with a determination I’ve never seen from them before. It’s something from their new album, upbeat and fast, and it has the crowd jumping. They look good, and possibly sound even better as a three-member band, and I have to wonder if Jack recognizes this. He looks lighter now, without Carson on stage. They all do.

  When they head offstage for the night a couple hours later, I’m practically vibrating with the need to see Jack, be close, understand what’s going on. But I haven’t fully thought through how I’m going to get backstage. Addy would be the logical person to contact in this situation, but she’s a bitch to me, so I shoot a text to Townie, hoping he’ll check his phone. After ten minutes and no word, I move with the rest of the crowd toward the exit, glancing around and trying to see anyone from the crew who might recognize me as Jack’s girl and let me in. With no luck, I finally call Addy. Jack’s had me reach her for logistical stuff before, so I’ve got her number.

  Cassie answers. “Hi Kick, it’s Cassie.”

  “Oh, hi Cassie. Um, I was wondering if someone could let me in backstage. I’m here to surprise Jack. He doesn’t know I came.”

  Silence. Finally, “Okay, I’ll come get you. But I’m warning you, it’s a really bad time. Go to the west door, I’ll be there in a minute.”

  I don’t know Cassie very well. She’s always kind of aloof. I think she’s a stoner and just floats along with the band doing random tasks that no one else wants to do. Like, apparently, answering Addy’s phone and getting me into the backstage area.

  Cassie looks nervous when she opens the door, which immediately sets me on edge. I’m already tense, wondering if Carson really does have a virus or if something else is going on.

  “So, if I were you, I’d wait out here,” she says when we get to the end of the hallway and enter a room with couches and a kitchenette. It’s strangely empty.

  “Where’s Jack?” I look around, seeing a few closed doors and hearing voices behind them.

  She doesn’t answer. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  I stand in the middle of the room, wondering what the hell is going on, when Townie and Will walk in a couple minutes later. Townie has a bruise on his cheek, and Will a cut on his forehead. Their wary smiles are not the greeting I was hoping for.

  “Kick, hey, Cassie told us you were here.”

  “What happened to you guys?”


  Will glances at Townie, who answers, “We were dealing with Carson.”

  Dealing with Carson? “So, he wasn’t sick then?”

  “Not exactly,” Will answers.

  “Where’s Jack?” I ask.

  They look at each other again, then their eyes go to one of the closed doors. “He’s probably in there with Addy,” Will says softly.

  I take a step back, my legs hitting a sofa and giving out beneath me so that I fall into it. Addy and Jack alone in a room with a closed door. Carson, her brother, fighting with Townie and Will. Tension in the band. Cassie saying it’s bad timing, looking nervous. Addy always being a bitch to me, her possessiveness over Jack. My song, our song, and the strain in Jack’s voice as he sang it tonight.

  Townie follows, coming to sit beside me. He throws an arm around me, but I remain stiff as a board. “You probably already knew this was going on. It sucks it had to happen tonight, especially since you were here surprising him. Did you watch the show?”

  Will opens the fridge and pulls out a beer. “I think we actually pulled it off pretty well without Carson. What did you think, Kick?”

  Oh my God. Is this really happening? They thought I knew? I think I’m going to be sick. I glance around wildly, looking for a bathroom. “Bathroom?” I choke out.

  Townie points to one of the closed doors and I bolt to it. Shutting the door behind me and locking it, I find that instead of throwing up, tears spring to my eyes, and sobs threaten to erupt from my chest. How are the guys out there acting like this is no big deal? Am I really this stupid?

  I don’t know how long I’m in there before I hear voices outside, a knock on the door.

  “Kick?” Jack’s voice comes through the door. He sounds confused, and worried. Fuck. I need to get the hell out of here.

  I try desperately to get a handle on myself, sucking in deep breaths and dabbing water on my eyes and cheeks. It’s hopeless. I’m a hot mess and Jack will know immediately.