“I know,” Jack admitted, gesturing nervously. “I just wanted to, you know . . . see if we could figure it out on our own.”
“I’m gonna be honest with you, Jack. Being in the music scene isn’t just about being talented. It’s not just about having the heart and the guts to go after what you want, not these days. Who you know is just as important as how well you can play. The people I know, the bands I’ve worked with, they’re not just friends. They’re a resource. You want in? I’ll get you in.”
“Really?”
Daniel was almost hurt that Jack sounded so shocked, but he couldn’t blame the kid. After all, he’d spent most of Jack’s teenage years pushing him firmly in the direction of college. Jack’s mom had wanted him to get a good education. She’d thought—and Daniel agreed—that the right education could open all sorts of doors for Jack. That’s what they’d wanted, for their son to have the opportunities he deserved.
He’d come to realize, in recent months, that there was more than one kind of opportunity. Yeah, he wanted Jack to be successful. He wanted his son to go through his life without having to worry about where the next meal was coming from.
But what he really wanted, more than anything, was for Jack to be happy. God knows the kid deserved it.
Some people found happiness sleeping on the piss-stained floor of a rickety old van, rolling up to a venue hundreds of miles from the town they grew up in and feeling perfectly at home. Some people were only really happy when they were playing music—in a studio, or on stage—surrounded by their own beautifully constructed chaos.
Jack was one of those people.
It had taken Daniel a while to realize it, too long if truth be told, but he had figured it out. He was sure that Jack had figured it out too.
“Yeah, really. I know that this path you wanna go down is hard, but I’m with you, Jack. Every step of the way.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Jack beamed, ducking his head to hide his smile behind his messy dark hair.
“That’s why I got you a spot on Garrett’s summer tour. So I could literally be with you every step of the way.”
The realization that Jack looked just like his mom when he was shocked hit Daniel like a ton of bricks. Same dinner plate eyes, the endearing way his mouth went kind of slack—just like his mom. It tore Daniel up inside but made him smile all the same.
“Garrett’s summer tour,” Jack repeated, slowly, as if he was turning the words over in his mouth. Trying them out, maybe.
“Yeah. Two weeks, ten shows. Got your van booked in for a road check, ordered a hundred and fifty tee shirts from a guy in Illinois who owes me a favor. Two hundred copies of your EP are on the way too. Know you kids don’t like CDs much these days, but you’ll be surprised how well they sell on the road.”
“Dad, I . . . . Wow. Okay.”
“Now this isn’t gonna be easy, Jack. Driving in the heat, sleeping on floors, some nights you’ll probably have the sleep in the van,” Daniel explained, scratching at his beard. “Everyone’s gonna have bad days. Shit’s gonna get broken, and you’re not gonna make much money. But you’ll be on the road, for real.”
Jack was grinning from ear to ear, lit up from the inside out. He nodded along, hanging on Daniel’s every word. Jack believed everything his dad was saying—he’d heard horror stories from the road, had even witnessed some of them first hand.
“You’re gonna love every second of it, kid,” Daniel concluded, flinging a muscled arm around his son’s slender shoulders and pulling him down for a hug. “I’m proud of you, Jack.”
“Thanks Dad,” Jack said, softer this time, a grit in his voice that Daniel hadn’t heard before.
He squeezed his son a little tighter, held on to him a little longer than he usually did.
Summer was coming. The road was calling them both.
***
I couldn’t stop thinking about the tour.
It consumed my every thought, every waking minute of every day after my dad broke the news. Jessica, Ash, Dylan and I were going on a ten-date tour, playing our songs in cities all over the country. We were going to (hopefully) sell shirts and CDs to people who’d sell them online a decade from now at ridiculously inflated prices.
One day, there’d be a kid in a shitty little town with a framed copy of Concepts on their wall, I could feel it in my bones.
Getting ready for the tour was a welcome distraction from my unflattering moping over Jude. I missed him, and I hated it. I wanted him, and I hated that more.
I was in love with him, and I hated that the most.
I loved the way he pushed his hair back from his stupid, gorgeous face. I loved the way he smiled when he knew I was the only one watching. I loved the way he sang— sometimes desperate and painful, other times bright and optimistic, but always sincere.
I lay in bed, a week before graduation, staring up at the posters that covered my ceiling. Missing him, obviously. Mind racing. Jessica had a to-do list for the tour, and she was only halfway through it, so it was stressing her out. Texting apparently helped her deal with what she considered our impending doom, so my phone was buzzing happily somewhere just out of reach. She was texting me so often, the damn phone nearly vibrated right off my bedside table.
I was putting my favorite frontmen in order, resigned to the fact that Jude Jaden fucking Keswick would always be number one. No matter what I was grading the frontmen on—vocals, performance, attractiveness, whatever—he always came out on top.
He probably knew it too, the little bastard.
A gentle knock on my door pulled me from my tangled thoughts. I scrambled out of bed, determined to at least look like I was doing something productive.
“Honey?” My aunt Rose sounded both concerned and vaguely amused. No doubt she was well aware of what I’d been doing.
“Yeah?” I replied, trying (in vain) to smooth out my hair.
She pushed open the door, smiling knowingly as she thrust the phone in my direction. It was our old cordless phone—I didn’t even know our landline was still connected. I hadn’t spoken on that phone since I’d gotten my first cell phone.
“Um . . .”
“Jess is on the phone,” she explained. “Said you were being an idiot and not answering your cell.”
“Oh, right,” I mumbled, cheeks burning. “Thanks, Aunt Rose.”
I tucked the phone between my ear and shoulder, flopping back on the bed as if I’d lost the will to live. Jessica was talking a mile a minute, her words like static.
“Jess, calm down,” I said in my most soothing voice. “What’s going on? I didn’t even know we still had a landline, jeez.”
“It’s number four on my speed dial,” she responded, tone clipped. “I take it that you haven’t been online tonight, seeing as how you’ve fallen into a black pit of broken-hearted despair.”
“Wow, that’s a lot of words.”
“Have you been on any of JJ’s social media profiles recently?”
“No,” I lied. I’d been stalking him online, on and off, since The Break Up. I thought that was perfectly normal, but no doubt she was about to explain how I’d inadvertently revealed my heartbreak to the world at large.
“When was the last time you were on one of his profiles?”
“I dunno, Jess.” Another lie. “A couple of days ago.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.
“Well, he just uploaded something in the last hour or so that I think you need to see.”
Intrigued, I scooted from my bed onto the floor, pulling my laptop towards me. She waited with baited breath while it loaded up. The longer it took, the more my stomach sank. I really, really hoped he hadn’t hurt himself. In his darkest moments, I knew he’d considered it. JJ Keswick didn’t just live on the edge, he danced along it, occasionally dipping his toe into the abyss. It would have been so easy for him to do something he couldn’t come back from.
It was plastered everywhere, a public post that seemingly everyone in the school had seen, shared and commented o
n. In those first breathless moments, it felt as if it had reached every corner of the internet.
It was a picture, something I’d consented to in a loved up haze. Jessica had been behind the camera, if memory served, grinning and giggling. In the photo, Jude and I had been sharing a quick, but passionate, kiss on the roof of The Sunset. We’d just finished recording the EP, and there had been a buzzing under my skin that only went quiet when Jude was in my arms, smiling up at me as if we’d won the lottery. So we’d kissed, the glittering city sprawled beneath us like we were kings. Jessica had taken the photo, emailing it to us both. I had printed it out, framed it and hung it on my wall under my favorite My Chemical Romance poster.
Jude had made it the wallpaper on his phone screen, only visible after you typed in his passcode. It had stayed hidden, a rose edged, private memory.
Until JJ had posted it on every single one of his social media profiles. Full-size, in glorious Technicolor. The truth—bright and sharp, and so beautiful it hurt.
There were no words to accompany it, but pictures are worth a thousand words anyway, right? I stared at the photo until it started to blur, tears burning away viciously at the corners of my eyes.
The myth of JJ Keswick had been shattered, in one seemingly insignificant upload. Whatever he had been before was broken beyond repair. There was no spinning this, no way to fix the damage that had been done to his carefully constructed reputation.
I scrolled through the comments until a name caught my eye—Ash had commented on the picture. Just a few words, but they made me laugh, a rumble in my chest that shook free something I didn’t realize I’d been holding on to.
JJ Keswick is dead. Long live JJ Keswick.
“Save Rock and Roll”—Fall Out Boy
Ash’s comment was oddly prophetic, as it turns out. JJ Keswick disappeared. He didn’t show up for the last days of school, leaving whispers, rumors and pissed off cheerleaders in his wake. I had texted him, a no doubt embarrassing ramble that was intended as some sort of congratulations.
I’d regretted it as soon as I’d sent it. Do you congratulate someone for turning their back on the only live they’ve ever known?
He didn’t text back.
I spent the last days of my high school career half expecting to see him strolling down the corridor, whistling “The Kids Aren’t Alright” like nothing and everything had changed. Part of me even expected to find a new note in my locker, a beloved song title in his trademark scrawl, signed with a wonky heart and a single J.
For once in his life, JJ Keswick was completely, utterly silent.
Graduation day dawned, bright and beautiful. I walked to JJ’s house before the sun had fully risen, hands shaking with every step. The air was crisp and cool, filling my lungs and making my heart swell. I was listening to the playlist I’d made using the notes JJ had left me, every song reminding me of him in some way. He was in every beat, every word, every riff. Every breath, every single damn step. I couldn’t escape him, even if I wanted to.
My life was different. I was different. He wasn’t the boy who’d swaggered into our practice studio all those months ago. I wasn’t the boy who’d been too scared to give him a chance.
I wasn’t sure what it all meant, but I knew I had to talk to him. I had to tell him I was leaving town. What he did with that information was up to him, I was getting out. I wanted him to come with me, wanted it so badly it made my stomach hurt, but I knew I wasn’t brave enough to ask. It wasn’t my place to ask, anyway. He had to leave Wayville because he wanted to, not because he felt as if he had to.
For once, I wanted him to make a decision for himself. He was finally free of the shackles of his reputation, and what he did with that freedom had to be up to him.
God, I hoped he wanted to come with me.
The house was empty when I got there.
The door had been left unlocked, security system disabled. Lesley was nowhere to be found. It was eerie—everything was exactly as I remembered it, but something had changed on a fundamental level. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it freaked me the fuck out.
All the hideously staged family photos were still in place on Jude’s grand piano in the foyer. The stairs still creaked if you got too close to the banister. His bed was made, navy blue sheets folded perfectly. His basketball trophies were still lined up on the shelf above his desk, glittering in the early morning sunlight. All those stupidly sexy blazers he insisted on wearing were still lined up in his closet, arranged alphabetically by designer.
If I’d been paying attention, I would have noticed that there were things missing from his room. There had once been a framed photo of the band on his desk, taken by my aunt Rose after a particularly long, sweaty practice. It always made him smile, but it was gone. His Hummingbird, which should have been shimmering seductively in his sun-filled music room, was gone. Three of his favorite pairs of jeans, seven pairs of boxer briefs, four tee shirts and two pairs of boots—all gone.
I didn’t notice any of those things, but I could feel his absence like a weight across my shoulders. Something had changed, something big. I didn’t know where he was, or what he’d done, but one thing was certain—JJ Keswick had left the building, and he’d taken Jude with him.
I made my way home, unable to shake the feeling of dread that had settled over me in the Keswick house. My dad was cooking breakfast, bacon, eggs and toast, while my aunt Rose fluttered around the kitchen in an adorable state of panic.
I changed into a pair of jeans that weren’t torn and a button down shirt. I let Aunt Rose comb my hair into submission, while texting Jess relentlessly. She didn’t text back, but I wasn’t worried. She was our valedictorian and had to deliver a big inspiring speech. I knew she was nervous about it, way more nervous than she liked to let on. She was going to ace it, though. If anyone had the wisdom to send our classmates on their merry way into the big bad world, it was Jess.
Our robes were blue, which I actually approved of, so I only grumbled a little as I put them on. It took about five minutes and a lot of cursing to get the cap to sit properly on my misshapen head, but we got there in the end. My dad and Aunt Rose waved me off, heading to the bleachers to watch the ceremony while I filed out onto the football field with my classmates.
I could feel the rest of the senior class staring at me as I wandered to my seat. It’s not like they tried to pretend they weren’t talking about me. I couldn’t help but tense up as I took my seat, expecting someone to say something. Sure, everyone knew I was gay, but there was a difference between knowing it and seeing it. My so-called peers had seen it, all right. There was no escaping it.
They seemed content to talk behind my back though, and I was content enough to let them. I was graduating, finally. I was leaving them all behind—the taunts, the jeers, the vaguely malicious bullying, all of it. Soon they’d be nothing more than a memory, a passing phrase in a hit single, a stepping stone on my path to something better.
So I was smiling as Jessica took the stage, her eyes bright and her infectious grin firmly in place. She wore her gown open at the front, revealing the thigh skimming black lace dress and knee-high boots she was wearing underneath. Her gaze searched the crowd before settling on me. Her smile widened when she started to speak.
“Faculty, esteemed guests and my fellow classmates, welcome to the graduation ceremony for the class of 2015. Congratulations on making it to this point, I know it hasn’t been easy. From the teachers who’ve given their all to motivate us this year, to the parents who have guided us through the horror of high school, I’m sure I speak for us all when I say thank you.
High school isn’t easy, contrary to the rose tinted recollections of those who’ve been blessed with the time and experience to look back on their teenage years. Growing up is a balancing act, where we have to learn the ways of the world without losing our sense of wonder. Learning to juggle your dreams with the expectations and trappings of reality isn’t easy. High school is a big part of that.
/> I’ve learned a lot here at Wayville High, and not just in the classrooms. Walking along the hallway, knowing I don’t look like anyone else here, has taught me to keep my head up high and my shoulders straight. Watching my friend Jack get torn down every single day, by people who don’t know him and don’t care to know him, has taught me how to be graceful under incredible pressure. Watching my peers pick relentlessly, painfully, at every aspect of each other’s lives has taught me to never, ever give in to what is expected of me.
These are just some of the things I’ve learned. I hope the other members of the graduating class have learned lessons just as important and just as valuable because, at the end of the day, when we go out into the world, our lives will not be shaped by fractions, grammar or the periodic table. Where we go from here—how we get there—will not be dictated by the facts and figures we’ve learned in our short time here. Our paths will be shaped by the people we’ve become over the past four years.
I am not one hundred percent sure where my path will lead me, but I begin my onward journey with the hope that I will be brave in the face of adversity, that I will be kind and understanding even when it’s not easy.
Sincerity isn’t always something that comes easily to me, but I mean it when I say that I hope you all find whatever it is you’re looking for. Don’t let anyone tell you that your dreams are stupid, shallow or petty. If you can look yourself in the eye at the end of the day, safe in the knowledge that you’re chasing something that you really, truly want, then you’re already halfway there.
Good luck, kids. Have the time of your fucking life. You’ve earned it.”
I clapped so hard my palms hurt. I could hear my dad and Aunt Rose cheering, even over the deafening applause that met the end of Jessica’s speech. She took a little bow at the podium, blew me a kiss, and walked off stage. I tried to keep my eyes on her, hoping to catch her as she walked back to her seat. I was desperate to hug her, to congratulate her and thank her. She’d never spoken with so much conviction. I was almost moved to tears, the lump building in my throat a combination of years of pride and gratitude.
Fake It (The Keswick Chronicles Book 1) Page 18
