Wildflower

by Alecia Whitaker

  The lights come up, and we join the rest of the crowd, slowly filing out of the theater, stepping on popcorn kernels and sticky mystery liquid. In the packed lobby, Dylan breaks away from the group to use the bathroom.

  “I need to go, too,” Jacob says, joining him.

  “Oh! Me too,” Stella adds, clearly spotting a golden opportunity for me. “Bird, hold my coat?”

  And just like that, Adam and I are alone—finally.

  My stomach flips.

  “Oh, I love these things,” he says, gesturing toward a photo booth behind me. I hadn’t even noticed it. “Here,” he says, reaching for his wallet. “Let’s do it.”

  “Fun,” I say, trying to play it cool, when in reality I’m ecstatic.

  Adam holds the red curtain back, and I duck inside, with him right behind me. I toss my coat and Stella’s at our feet as he feeds money into the machine, and then we don’t have much time to get situated before we see the countdown.

  “Okay, funny face,” he commands, crossing his eyes. I don’t have time to pose before the flash goes off because I’m laughing so hard at how goofy he looks.

  “Serious!” he calls, scrunching his eyebrows together. I follow suit, my mouth pursed tightly but unable to completely erase my smile.

  “Ummm…” he says, searching for a fun idea.

  “Hair mustache!” I offer, holding up a long red lock. He nods enthusiastically and presses the side of his face against mine as we drape my hair over our puckered lips. I fight the urge to turn mine toward his. Surely he’s going to kiss me again. Please kiss me again.

  “Normal one,” he says this time, pulling his face away and throwing his arm around my shoulders. We lean our foreheads close and smile into the camera.

  My heart feels so full it could spill over. I know I’m not, but I feel like Adam’s girlfriend.

  After the last flash pops, he doesn’t hurry to leave the photo booth, and he doesn’t move his arm. He faces me, and I gulp hard. His lips are inches away. His eyes look back and forth at each of mine. He’s going to kiss me again.

  “Where’d they go?” I hear Dylan ask.

  Adam and I both flinch just the tiniest bit, and the moment is gone.

  “I don’t know,” Stella says, her voice abnormally loud. “Maybe they went out to the car,” she suggests.

  “Wait, isn’t that your coat?”

  I break eye contact and look out the bottom of the curtain where Dylan’s sneakers appear next to Stella’s coat, the arm of which is peeking out. Adam drops his arm and takes a deep breath before exiting the photo booth.

  “Oh, hey, guys,” he says. “You want to go next?”

  I grab the coats and slide out of the booth behind Adam, handing Stella hers as we wait for the pictures to process. Sorry, she mouths when I catch her eye. I shrug. I don’t want her to feel bad—it was still an amazing night—but we were so close. He wanted to kiss me. He totally wanted to kiss me. I mean, I think he wanted to kiss me.

  Adam turns to me as the photo strips print out. “I thought we’d have to fight over who gets which pics, but it prints two sets, so we both get one.”

  He hands a photo strip to me gingerly, and I look at the images, as does the rest of our crew hovering around. We all laugh, pointing out our favorites.

  “Dude, sweet ’stache,” Jacob teases Adam, pointing to the third pic.

  “Okay, I need food,” Dylan announces, clapping his hands once. “Who’s with me?”

  I open my purse as the group meanders toward the front doors. Before we go out into the cold, I slip my strip of pictures into my songwriting journal, not wanting them to get bent or torn. Adam tucks his into his shirt pocket and then zips up his fleece.

  “Um, are you Bird Barrett?” a girl about my age asks as she approaches.

  “I am,” I say, smiling, slightly embarrassed still when I’m recognized in public.

  “Can I have your autograph?” she asks, holding out her ticket stub and a pen. Her friends whip out their camera phones behind her.

  “Wow, a whole two and a half hours before getting spotted,” Dylan cracks once the girls have left. “That’s a record these days.”

  Stella swats him. “Come on, boys,” she says, linking her arms through my brothers’. “Let’s go get the car.”

  Adam stays behind. I notice more people glancing our way, trying to decide whether they should come over to me. I love my fans, but Stella has just given me another opportunity to be alone with Adam, so I pop my hat on my head and duck my chin under my scarf, making a beeline for the doors and the parking lot. Adam follows me out.

  “That was fun,” he says as I lead him away from the box-office window and the crowd under the marquee.

  “Yeah, it really was,” I agree, zipping up my coat. I smile. “And now, we eat.”

  “Ugh,” he says, hanging his head. “I wish. The movie went a little longer than I’d expected, and the band backing me for my show on Thursday is probably already showing up for practice.”

  “Oh,” I say, bummed.

  “Yeah,” he says, seemingly just as bummed.

  I don’t want to add to the disappointment, but I also know I need to tell him about my conversation with Dan. I feel a knot in the pit of my stomach.

  “Um, so I talked to my label about you playing on the album with me,” I say, hating myself as the words come out. I don’t flat-out lie, but I certainly don’t tell him that we recorded the song I’d wanted him on this past week. I just deliver the blow as softly as possible. “Apparently they’ve already booked all the musicians we’ll need for this album.”

  “Oh yeah?” Adam comments, running his hand through his hair. “That’s too bad, but I kind of figured. I mean, it was cool of you to ask, but I knew it was a long shot.”

  “Yeah,” I say, shifting my weight. “I should’ve asked Dan before even bringing it up.”

  He shrugs. “I mean, it would’ve been awesome, Bird, don’t get me wrong. But I know that I still have to prove myself. That’s what’s great about landing this gig with Kayelee. She likes my sound and—”

  “I love your sound,” I cut in.

  He puts a hand on my shoulder, looking me right in the eyes. “Please don’t stress about me not being on your album, Bird. Okay?”

  I bite my lip and nod. “Well, for what it’s worth, I totally wish it were you.”

  He smiles sweetly and steps closer. My pulse picks up.

  But then his phone beeps, and he pulls it from his jeans pocket, one more moment gone. “Speak of the…” He trails off, texting back a quick reply. “That’s Kayelee’s people now,” he says, holding up the phone. “Details about her release party next weekend. Things are happening for me, Bird. They just take time.”

  I nod, force a supportive smile.

  “And speaking of time, I really do have to go. It was good to see you again, Lady Bird,” he says, his eyes twinkling in the streetlights as he leans in for a hug.

  “Yeah, you too, Adam,” I say over his shoulder. He holds the embrace just a fraction of a second longer than normal, even gives me a small squeeze, but then he pulls away and is waving his good-byes to Stella and my brothers as they pull up to the curb. He jogs to his truck in the parking lot.

  I watch him for a few seconds before a young girl notices me and asks me to sign her pack of Milk Duds. I do, grateful for fans like her, but even her enthusiasm about my single can’t brighten my mood. Although Adam seemed cool about it, I made a stupid promise that I couldn’t keep, and as I get in the car, I can’t help but think that maybe I ruined a perfect night.

  STELLA YAWNS, STRETCHING from head to toe before sitting up and grabbing us both another muffin from the plate Shannon brought us this morning. “I’m so bummed that Adam didn’t kiss you.”

  “Join the club,” I say dryly. Dylan dropped us off at Stella’s house on the way home last night and we stayed up late talking about Adam. And even though we’ve only been awake a little while, we’re already overanalyzing eve
ry part of the night all over again. “I could swear he was going to, but I don’t know. Maybe not. I mean, my brothers were right there. Maybe he was just going to—”

  “He was going to kiss you,” Stella says, cutting me off. “Don’t overthink it.”

  I sigh. “But then I had to tell him about not being on the album after all. I know a break like that would really boost his career, and I know that if Dan would just listen to his stuff he would love it. Ending the whole ‘almost date’ like that was the worst.”

  Stella seems confused. “I thought you said it didn’t even faze him?”

  “Yeah,” I say, chewing. “But still.”

  My cell phone rings, and I sit straight up, hoping like crazy that it’s Adam. But then I slouch again when I see the caller ID. “Anita,” I say, holding the phone up to Stella.

  “Take it,” she says, waving me off as she grabs her own phone and leans back against her pile of pillows.

  “Hello?” I answer.

  “Bird, you’ll never believe it,” Anita says by way of greeting.

  “What?”

  I hear her fingernails clacking away on a keyboard, which means that at nine thirty on a Saturday morning, Anita is already working.

  “Jason Samuels’s publicist just called me and felt terrible that you two didn’t actually get to talk on set, what with his dedication to his craft,” she says wryly. “Anyway, they want to set up an outing: the two of them and the two of us. I really think this will be a wonderful step toward getting your song into the movie, don’t you?”

  “Sure,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  Stella raises her eyebrows questioningly.

  “From what his publicist told me,” Anita continues, “Jason was quite taken with you.”

  “Taken with me?” I ask. “He didn’t even talk to me.”

  Who? Stella mouths.

  I cover the speaker. “Your celebrity boyfriend.” Her eyes nearly pop out of her head, and I suppress a laugh.

  “He’s an odd one, to be sure,” Anita says candidly, “but an outing like this will be great networking for you, Bird. A friendship with a power player like Jason Samuels could do a lot for your image, much more than that boy from the Pancake Pantry.”

  My jaw drops. “What are you talking about?”

  Anita sighs. “Bird, don’t be coy. It’s my job to know these things. And I’m not the only one. Someone posted a picture on your fan forum of the two of you having breakfast together.”

  “I haven’t seen the photo,” I reply, thinking back to that morning. I glance up at Stella, who is trying desperately to piece together the conversation. “Why would anybody care who I eat pancakes with?”

  “Your fans care,” Anita explains. “And it’s my job to care, I might add. And listen, Bird, although I ought to be hearing these things from you, it’s a good thing that you’ve got a fan forum. People are starting to know you.”

  I pull my lucky rock pendant out from under my T-shirt and run it back and forth along its silver chain. So much has changed so fast.

  “Anyway,” Anita continues, “the director is on the fence about using your song on the sound track, so if Jason’s people are reaching out, then meeting them is what we’re going to do.”

  I sigh. “Of course. You’re right. Let’s meet ’em,” I say. “But should I call him Jason or General Whitfield?”

  Anita actually laughs out loud, the first time I’ve ever heard her do that, and I finally catch a glimpse of the person behind the machine.

  “We’ll be in the neighborhood,” my dad grumbles as he pulls up and double-parks in front of a coffee shop. He wasn’t crazy about this meet up, insisting that Anita was playing matchmaker for a boy who’s ten years older than me, but my mom reminded him that it’s business and that both of our publicists would be there. He relented, although not happily. “Just call us if you need anything, you hear?”

  “Yes, Dad, I’ll be fine,” I say, exasperated.

  As Mom and Dad drive off, I enter the coffee shop, a bustling neighborhood place called Fido, and look around for everybody. This place is much bigger than I expected, actually. The bar is backed up even though three baristas are attending to people’s orders, and as I wander slowly through the packed rooms, where people sit by the windows with their laptops and others chat around tables of four, I’m hoping Anita got here early and grabbed us a table.

  I’ve just started to call her when I hear my name.

  “Bird?”

  I look up to see Jason standing right in front of me, his thick brown hair pulled back in a low ponytail. And I know that it’s silly, but I suck in air, fast. I mean, this is legit surreal. I’m about to have brunch with super famous heartthrob Jason Samuels. How is this my life?

  “Oh, hey,” I say, holding out my hand to shake his. “Should I call you… Jason?” I ask hesitantly.

  He smiles. “Yeah, sorry about that yesterday. I don’t ever break character when I’m on set. I totally commit.”

  “Of course,” I say. “No worries.”

  “Like, for example,” he goes on, “this movie starts in the hospital where my character wakes up and discovers he lost an arm in his last battle.” He squeezes my shoulder, almost in a reassuring way. “It’s sad, I know.” Once he realizes that I’m emotionally stable after hearing this news, he continues, “So even on lunch or dinner breaks, I make sure to eat with my left arm only. Or I have someone feed me.”

  I laugh out loud before I realize he’s not kidding. He drops his hand and looks away. “Wow,” I say, clearing my throat. “That’s serious dedication.”

  “Well, people have come to expect a certain level of craft from Jason Samuels,” Jason Samuels says. I cringe when he refers to himself in the third person, but I congratulate myself for not rolling my eyes. I don’t know what Anita expects from me, but I really am doing the best I can here.

  “Well,” I say, “whatever you’re doing, it works. I can’t wait to see the movie.” At least that’s honest.

  “Thank you, Bird,” he replies. “And I’m a big fan of your music.”

  I cock my head, taken aback. “You know my song?”

  “I’m kind of a music connoisseur,” he says quite seriously. “Plus, it’s on the radio, like, every other second.”

  Jason freaking Samuels knows my song.

  “I guess,” I say sheepishly. “I’m still getting used to that, actually.”

  “Yeah,” he says dramatically, staring off into the distance. “The limelight is a tricky place to live.”

  There is a small lull in the conversation, and I check my phone. Still no word from Anita. I watch the front door, starting to get worried.

  “Should we get in line?” Jason asks.

  “Sure,” I say. “Let me just text my publicist. It’s really not like her to be late.”

  Jason smirks. “Do you actually think she’s coming?”

  I whip my head up. “Of course she’s coming.”

  He shrugs. “Mine isn’t.”

  “What?” I ask, incredulous.

  “I’m guessing it’s a setup,” he says matter-of-factly.

  “No way.” I fire off a quick text to Anita. Now I’m really worried:

  Hello? Jason is here. We r waiting 4 u.

  “Let’s at least get in line,” Jason says, yawning. “We shot until three in the morning, and I could really use some caffeine.”

  “Oh my gosh, that’s brutal.”

  “The cost of the craft,” he says.

  We join the line and stand next to each other, both studying the menu and neither with much to say. I remind myself of the reason for all of this: getting my song in his movie. So I take a deep breath, force a smile, and get down to the business of making Jason Samuels like me enough to influence his director.

  “It’s crazy how crowded it is in here, right?” I ask, trying to make conversation. Jason yawns again, and I cringe overdramatically. “Yeah, I know. My small talk needs work.”

  This actually make
s him laugh out loud. “No! Oh my God, no.” He slaps his face with his hands and shakes his head, trying to wake up. “It’s this movie schedule. It’s killing me.”

  “Uh-huh,” I say sarcastically. “That Bird Barrett. Yawn.”

  He laughs out loud again, really looking at me for the first time today, almost as if pleasantly surprised. I grin—now we’re getting somewhere.

  “Okay, seriously, let me try again.” He straightens an imaginary tie and puts on a stuffy British accent. “Why yes, Bird. It is quite crowded in here. I believe it is the overflow of people who thought they were die-hard enough to wait in that Pancake Pantry line, but forty-one degrees is colder than they realized, and alas, they were not.”

  I laugh. “Those pancakes are pretty good,” I say. Then I blush, thinking about what’s even better after said pancakes.

  “Yeah, they rock.” He nods, putting his hands in the pocket of his hoodie and stepping forward with the line. “But Fido has great food. I’m going to get a burger—I mean, if you have time.”

  “Oh yeah, sure,” I say, checking the time on my phone. Still no word from Anita, who is now twenty minutes late.

  Just then a woman about my mom’s age approaches Jason. “I loved you in Cupid on Earth,” she says in a thick Spanish accent.

  “Oh, thank you,” he says, joining his hands like a yogi and bowing a little.

  “Would you sign my coffee cup?” she asks, the tray of to-go coffees in her hand shaking. Bless her heart, she’s so nervous that I’m afraid the whole thing’s going to spill. But Jason is gracious. He takes the pen from her and autographs her coffee-cup sleeve with a flourish. Her eyes shine.

  But before he gives it back to her, he passes the pen to me and asks, “Do you know my friend Bird Barrett? She’s a big star, too.”

  I blanch, completely uncomfortable. The lady studies me but is totally thrown for a loop. That’s the moment when I realize that the only thing more humbling than being approached by fans is not being approached by fans. Still, the lovely woman wants to be polite in front of Jason Samuels, so she flashes me a big smile. “Hi,” she says.