“Why not? You said you like their music. Besides, why would you pass up the opportunity to hang out with me and Karen?” She shoots me a grin. “We’re like, the coolest girls ever.”
I laugh. “True. But I can’t go with you. There are… there’s history with us. Me and Daltrey. I can’t see him.”
Her eyes widen, and I can tell it’s killing her not to ask me what kind of history I have with her favorite rock singer. I sigh, knowing I have to tell her. In fact, the idea of confiding in Paige actually doesn’t make me feel sick, which is weird in and of itself.
“We were good friends, actually. Like, really close. Since we were kids. And then he left with his brothers to record their album and go on tour, and… things got complicated.”
“Wow,” she whispers. “I want you to know that I’m very compassionate toward your issues but… holy shit! I’m sitting next to someone who is close friends with Daltrey Ransome.”
I laugh. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t lying when I said I haven’t talked to him since he left last year. Everything changed after that, Paige.”
“He ditched you,” she summarizes.
“No, it wasn’t like that. I’m the one who cut off communication.”
She stares at me. “Sorry, but are you fucking insane? Why would you do that? Have you seen him?”
I smile sadly. “Remember when I said that things got complicated?”
She nods.
Oh, what the hell. I have to tell someone besides Dr. Jacobs someday. “I was really lonely when they left. Daltrey had this plan that I would join them on tour for the summer when school got out, sell T-shirts or something. But in the meantime, this guy asked me out. Justin. I thought he was nice.” I take a deep breath. “I was wrong. Really, really wrong.”
She wrinkles up her nose. “I’ve had a few of those myself.”
“Yeah, well, he dumped me. And that’s when the rumors started. He told people stuff about us… private stuff. And it became a pretty hot topic around school.”
She holds up a hand. “You don’t have to say anymore. People talked shit about me in high school, too. Bastards. Karen calls them slut-shamers—people who think it’s okay to make fun of girls for having sex but idolize the boys involved. It’s so stupid and hypocritical.”
I gulp. “Yeah, but in my case, he had… there were pictures.”
Her mouth drops open, and I feel a flush creep up my neck. She could rail against slut-shamers all she wanted, but there was no way I could tell this story without feeling like the world’s biggest slut.
I need to just get it over with. “I thought he was just messing around when he took them on his cell phone. I freaked out, of course, and told him to delete them. He promised me he did.” I stare down at the table, willing the churning in my stomach to stop. “I’m the dumb-ass that believed him, I guess.”
“Don’t you say that.” She reaches across the table to take my hand. “He’s the asshole, Daisy. It’s not your fault. You’re not the first girl who trusted the wrong guy.”
The touch of her hand feels odd because I haven’t allowed any physical contact for so long. I savor the sensation for a moment before freeing my hand by using the excuse of picking up my coffee.
Tears threaten, and I blink them away. “It seems like there was a certain group of girls just waiting for something like that. Probably the ones who were jealous of my friendship with Daltrey.” I smile sadly. “He was always such hot shit, you know? Even back then. Everyone wanted a piece of him.”
She grins briefly. “I have absolutely no problem at all imagining that.”
I take a sip of my now-cold coffee, wondering exactly how much more I should tell her. “It got… it got really nasty. The pictures were all over the Internet, on people’s phones. They even photocopied them and passed them around at school.” I swallow hard, willing myself to keep it together. “Then they started sending me messages. Texts, stuff online. They threatened me and called me terrible names. Encouraged me to just… you know, be done with it.”
She swears softly. “Daisy, I’m so sorry that happened to you. People are assholes.”
I shrug. “Yeah, well, I didn’t handle it very well. I left school before graduation, and I wasn’t really ready to start college in the fall. I was supposed to go to Ohio State, but it was just too close to home. And I knew a bunch of people from school were going there.” Like Joanie.
“So you ended up way out here in the mountains,” Paige says. “I’d certainly say you got your distance.”
It wasn’t some random coincidence that I was going to school in Tennessee. This university was the closest one to Horizons, the hospital my dad had put me in after everything got so bad. When I was finally released, it seemed like a good idea for me to stay here, close to my doctors. But I figure spilling my guts about being a giant skank is enough for one day. She doesn’t need to know about what happened after. I nod and say, “Yeah. It’s pretty far.”
“I’m glad you ended up out here,” she says, placing her hand over mine. She pulls her hand back after a moment, as if she can sense I don’t like being touched, but I appreciate the gesture all the same.
She grabs a napkin from the dispenser and begins to shred the edges. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what does all of that have to do with Daltrey? I mean, I totally get that it sucks, of course. But why does that mean that you couldn’t talk to him anymore?”
I pull my sleeves down a little, liking, as always, the comfort it provides me to pretend I can shrink from sight, if only a little. “I was embarrassed. I didn’t want him to know what people were saying about me… or for him to see anything.” I shiver a little. My worst nightmare in those early days was that he might see a picture of me online. Later, the nightmare changed to him finding out what I did afterward. Either way, it seemed prudent to cut ties with him.
“He never found out about any of it?”
I shrug. “Not to my knowledge.”
“Wasn’t he still friends with anyone at home?”
I shake my head. “Not really. Not anyone he would be in touch with. Once they got to L.A., they were busy with the album. Then they went out with Grey Skies, and things got even crazier. There wasn’t a lot of draw to come back to Jonesboro, you know?”
She nods. “Did he try to talk to you?”
“He used to call, yeah. When things got really bad, I stopped answering. Then I moved and stopped going online. So that was pretty much the end of things.”
“Wow,” she whispers. “Do you think he’s mad at you?”
I try not to think of the day I finally returned one of his calls. We agreed, years ago, that we would go to prom together when the time came. It was our way of promising each other we’d avoid all the silly drama of high school romance, focus on the things that mattered to us—friends, music, and having a kick-ass time. When he dropped out of school so he could leave with his brothers, it became an even more vital promise—that we’d be reunited, that we’d have one last celebratory event to remember our high school years by before he went off to conquer the world. Calling him to cancel had been one of the hardest things I’d ever done. But there was no way I could have let him come home, not then.
“Daisy?”
I give myself a little shake, willing myself to stop thinking of the sadness and betrayal in his voice, of the way he had begged me to tell him what was wrong, why we weren’t talking. That was the last time I talked to him. Not long after that, I left Jonesboro forever, my old address, phone number, and email abandoned.
“I think he’s probably pretty mad,” I say, my stomach turning at a new thought. “That is, if he even thinks about me anymore. His life is so different now. He probably forgot all about me.”
“I doubt that. He’s way too sensitive and sweet to forget about an old friend like that.”
I raise an eyebrow.
She looks abashed. “I mean, at least that’s the impression I get when I see him on TV.”
I laugh. “Yeah, well, that’s k
ind of the point, isn’t it? He’s on TV now. And all over the Internet and the radio. You saw what happened when a few people turned to look at me in econ. I obviously do not have the capacity to get anywhere near his world.”
“I think you underestimate yourself,” she says. “When you’re comfortable with someone, a lot of that stuff goes away. You’re already acting much more natural with me, and we’ve only known each other for a week.”
“I am?”
She nods. “You’ve barely stared at your hands once in the last ten minutes. You’re making eye contact and everything.”
Dr. Jacobs would be so proud. “I hadn’t even noticed.”
“Like I said, you feel comfortable. That gives you more confidence. I think you’d be fine face to face with Daltrey.”
“Then why does the very idea make me feel dizzy?”
“Um, because he’s like the hottest guy ever?”
We both laugh.
“Thanks, Paige.” I gesture between us. “This, uh, this was really nice for me. I haven’t really… I mean, I don’t have any friends here. Like, at all.”
She waves a hand. “No worries. And you do now. Karen and I are loyal to the point of obnoxiousness. You won’t be able to get rid of us even if you try.” I open my mouth to tell her how glad I am to hear that, but she keeps talking. “Now, about Daltrey. I totally think you should call him, and this has nothing to do with me or Karen or the tour. I think you really miss him, Daisy.”
“Why do you think that?”
She snorts. “You should have seen the way you were looking at that picture of him in econ. You actually, like, stroked his face, you know?”
I shift, uncomfortable that she had read me so well. “It’s been a while since I let myself look at him.”
She crosses her arms and gives me a stern look. “You miss him. And for all he knows, you just totally ditched him for no reason at all, right? Don’t you think he deserves to hear from you now that you have things under control?”
The idea that I could ever have things under control is so preposterous I almost laugh out loud, but something in her expression stops me. I did just sit here, with a girl my own age, for the past twenty minutes and have an honest-to-God conversation, a serious one, too, where I opened up about some pretty embarrassing stuff. This would have been unheard of a mere eight months ago. What had Dr. Jacobs said? You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.
Maybe they were both right.
Chapter Seven
Daltrey
“Dude, what the hell was that?” My brother’s voice is angry and tense.
I try to close my eyes tighter, but it’s no use. He knows I’m not asleep. I’ve never been able to put anything over on Reed. “What the hell was what?” I ask, not opening my eyes. He shoves my arm, and I try not to react.
“Like hell you don’t know what I’m talking about. We had a majorly influential reporter in there, Daltrey. What the fuck were you thinking, walking out like that?”
“I figured you guys had it covered.”
He punches my shoulder.
“Fuck, dude.” I open my eyes, pissed because I know it’s the reaction he wanted. “You wanna explain to Dad how I can’t play tomorrow ’cause you bruised the shit out of my arm?”
He gives me a look that says he isn’t buying it. “Stop being such a pussy. Sit up and talk to me.”
I pull myself into a sitting position on the couch. I had escaped to the tour bus shortly after our set. I was aware that Dad had arranged the interview with Meghan Gerber, and Reed wasn’t messing around when he said she was one of the most influential music reporters in the business. I just knew I couldn’t keep it together for an interview, essential or not. I was exhausted, a fact I’ve been telling my father and brothers for days, and being tired always makes me grouchy. I probably would have done the band more harm than good had I been in there.
“What’s going on with you?” Reed asks, sitting across from me. “You’ve been acting like a little bitch for weeks now. You need to snap out of it.”
“I need a break.”
“This is what we signed up for, Dalt. You wanna go back to Ohio? Keep playing shitty local gigs?” He gestures around at the over-the-top luxury of our bus. “Or would you rather be shoved together in that van, busting ass all over the Midwest to get to dives where no one even remembered we were coming?”
His words have the opposite effect from what he intended, I’m sure. Because while our current situation may be exponentially better than our past, we are missing one thing from that ill-fated mini-tour two summers ago. One person, rather.
Out of all of my brothers, I look the most like Reed. Lennon and Cash are dark haired and stocky, filling out the chests of the tight T-shirts they like to wear on stage. Reed and I are blond, tall, and lanky, though he wears his hair much longer than mine. I tried the long-haired rocker look once, but Daisy had made so much fun of me I cut it back to its former, tousled mess.
Daisy. There she was in my thoughts for the second time in the last ten seconds. Not that such an occurrence was anything unusual. When wasn’t she on my mind?
He runs his hands through his shoulder-length hair. “I’ll talk to Dad, okay? See if we can get a few days off soon.”
I nod, knowing it will have no effect. We’ve been promised vacation time for months. But something is always coming up—some opportunity, some show, some interview that we would just be crazy to pass up. So it goes, on and on, until I can’t even remember what city we’re in anymore.
Reed watches me for a minute as if trying to decide if he should say something else. Finally, he sighs and gets up. “Get some rest, man. We’re taking off in a minute.”
I close my eyes again and sink into the pillows, trying to get the image of laughing green eyes and curly brown hair out of my head. Why does she have to keep showing up like this, jumping into my thoughts when I least expect it? It’s been a whole year. Isn’t it time I moved on?
I hear the other guys in the front of the bus. Someone turns on the radio, and the noise level doubles. I’m pretty sure I can hear some female voices, too. They must be continuing the party from backstage. A moment later, the bus starts to move.
Are we going to the hotel? Or is it a travel night? I can’t even keep any of it straight anymore. We’re in St. Louis tonight, I think, which would mean we’re sleeping here before heading out in the morning. Or was St. Louis tomorrow? Cursing, I pull out my phone. I may as well accept that my life is now completely dictated by the itinerary Dan, our tour manager, sends out each morning.
“Hey, man.”
I look up to see Levi ducking through the curtain into the back lounge. He has two beers in his hands, and he passes one over before taking up the seat vacated by my older brother. His appearance doesn’t fill me with the same annoyance. Unlike Reed, my old friend rarely feels the need to punch or lecture me.
“Thanks.” I raise my eyebrows at him. “Hey, aren’t you a little young for this?”
He laughs. “Apparently, trivial matters like legal drinking ages don’t apply to rock stars.”
“Really? So what’s your excuse?”
“Oh, burn.” He rolls his eyes and takes a swig. “So what’s got your panties in a bunch?”
I ignore him and concentrate on my phone. Scrolling through the messages in search of the link to the itinerary, I notice a marked increase in the amount of unknown callers. I’m going to need to switch numbers again, which really pisses me off. It seems like no sooner do I memorize a new phone number than it somehow leaks to the public. We tried to figure out where the leaks were coming from, but we eventually just decided it was inevitable that I’d be changing my number every few months.
“I’m trying to figure out where the hell we’re going,” I tell him. “Did we check out of the hotel this morning? How fucked up is it that I can’t remember that?”
He gives me a sympathetic look. “No, we’re staying one more night before we head to St. L
ouis.”
I shake my head. “So tonight was… Kansas City?”
“Yup.”
I toss my phone aside, feeling irrationally angry.
“Hey, man, don’t sweat it,” Levi says. “We’ve been adding so many dates I can barely keep track anymore. But I’ll do a better job of reminding you of the schedule. You’ve got a lot on your plate. It’s not a big deal if some of the details are slipping.”
I nod, looking away. I don’t want him to see how down I’m feeling. He’s told me a million times that he wouldn’t trade places with me for anything, but I still feel like a dick, complaining about my supposedly golden life in front of my old friend.
Levi moved to town around the time I hit junior high. A year older than I am, he started off as my brother Lennon’s friend. But once he began hanging out around the house, it didn’t really matter. We were all pretty tight, regardless of age.
Levi is a huge music fan, the only person I know who can hold his own when my dad gets going on the subject of musical influences. But the dude can’t sing or play an instrument for shit. He has zero rhythm, and he’s pretty tone deaf, too.
Still, he hung out while we practiced, learning about our equipment and the basics of sound production. When he graduated, he planned to go to school to study sound design, maybe to work in a theater. But then we got the call to make our album and tour with Grey Skies. There was never any question that he would come with us.
He makes a hell of a roadie. He seems to know what we all need, anticipating every problem, without any of us having to say a word. Cash’s string breaks? Levi shows up with a replacement before Cash can even ask. Reed’s going through sticks too quickly? Here comes Levi with a few suggestions on how to keep better grip control. The little brother’s feeling sorry for himself? Levi to the rescue with a beer and a shoulder to cry on. He’s an indispensable part of our team.
“You need a day off, man,” he says after a few moments of silence.
I laugh. “That’s only what I’ve been telling people for the past three weeks.”
Ransom Page 5
