Next In Line: A Cake Series Novel

by J. Bengtsson

  The heat from the lights prompted Tucker to reach into his pocket for his handkerchief and offer it up to me. I shook my head. He then proceeded to mime dabbing the sweat off his own forehead, perhaps to demonstrate how the old-time invention worked. Yeah, I got it. And it didn’t make me any more eager to rub his snot rag all over my face. Again, I shook my head. He flashed me a look that said ‘Your loss’ before tucking it away.

  Mike snickered on the stool beside me.

  “Hey,” he whispered, “if you need something more sanitary to mop up the sweat, I have a used condom in my pocket.”

  “Please don’t flatter yourself. We both know it’s not used.”

  Mike focused some of his nervous energy into a laugh but quickly returned to the leg bouncing he’d been doing since we’d taken our seats.

  “Hey, Thumper, relax.”

  I should talk. My leg was doing the same thing, only not as pronounced.

  “That’s easy for you to say. You’re genetically pleasing. I got nothing.”

  “Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. Without the ugly in the world, there would be nothing beautiful. Thank you for your sacrifice.”

  He laughed. “Fuck you.”

  “Besides, no one’s going to be watching us anyway. We’re an unsigned band.”

  “With big potential.”

  “I had big potential with Next in Line, and look how that turned out.”

  “Because that wasn’t meant to be. Sketch Monsters, man. That’s the future. Besides, we’ve only been a band for a few weeks and look where we are already.”

  Mike was right about that. We’d come far in the past three weeks. Nearly every night was a new city where we’d perform a mini concert with our four measly songs at bars and smaller venues. We were getting our feet wet, Tucker said, proving to the studios that we could pack a room. There were parties and radio shows and heavy interest from labels, but still no firm offers.

  And then Tucker got us this—the Today Show interview. How he’d done it I wasn’t sure. We weren’t big enough to warrant an interview on our own merit, so I had to suspect it was one of two things they wanted to focus on: my meltdown on Next in Line or my proximity to rock’s biggest star. But Tucker reminded me that we took all publicity no matter the reason it was given to us. It was a hard pill to swallow, knowing that for the foreseeable future my success would be tied to things other than the music the guys and I were creating, but Tucker hadn’t steered me wrong yet, so I agreed to the televised interview, with conditions—no, discussion about my family or my past. They were the same conditions Next in Line hadn’t honored and the same ones I was pretty damn sure this show wouldn’t honor either.

  “Dude,” Mike continued. “We’re on the frickin’ Today Show. How many other unsigned bands can say that?”

  I nodded, not wanting to burst his bubble by telling him the truth. We weren’t here because of Sketch Monsters. We were here because of Jake. Because of his tragedy. Because of my stupidity. My family. My drama. But we weren’t here for our music. We just weren’t.

  I hoped I was wrong… and maybe I was. I couldn’t deny this time felt different. There was an energy in the air, but so far, we hadn’t managed to harness it. Don’t get me wrong; we’d come a long way since standing in front of my parents’ house as I issued my non-apology to Next in Line. As Tucker predicted, the free world press had loved my honesty, splashing it on news feeds and drawing the support we needed. Who knew sympathy could be such a powerful aphrodisiac? My feeds were flooded with women promising to fix my tattered soul. It would’ve been funny if it hadn’t been so mired in truth.

  But that worship led to followers, and those followers led to buzz, and that buzz led to views and clicks and sales, so that by the time the music video for our first single, “A Fine Mess,” dropped, we already had a growing fan base, which pushed the YouTube views into the millions. More surprising, the single we’d independently released began climbing up the rock charts. And that was all before the nepotism kicked in with endorsements from some of the biggest names in music. My camp, as well as Tucker’s, had really come through.

  Sketch Monsters was launched.

  Cameras began to roll. The introduction was followed by the obligatory back and forth banter. It was easy. Fun. I got in a few barbs at the guys and they on me. Everything was going fine until the beat dropped, the fun-loving faces of the hosts morphed, and I knew… I knew what was coming.

  “Of course, the creation of Sketch Monsters came from you stepping away from Next in Line, Quinn. Do you ever regret the way your time on the show ended?”

  “I think everything happened for a reason. The show wasn’t right for me. This band feels like home to me. So no, I don’t regret anything.”

  “Speaking of home… you have been uncharacteristically open about your struggles. In a family that’s as famously tight-lipped as yours, has there been any backlash to your speaking out?”

  Backlash? Who did they think we were, royalty? We had no rules that needed to be followed. My family was like any other. We kept to ourselves because it was no one else’s business. But I could almost hear Tucker whispering in my ear: Easy, boy.

  “No, no backlash. I’ve always been a wild card. My family knows I speak my mind and they’ve never faulted me for it.”

  “Why haven’t we heard from you before, then?”

  “Because I’ve never been in the position where people cared to listen.”

  “I disagree. I think a lot of people would like to hear from you.”

  “Sure, but they only want to hear about my family, my past, my brother. They don’t want to hear about me.”

  It was a moment of weakness, revealing my insecurities on national television. I had a bad feeling I was about to pay the price for my honesty.

  “Fair enough. Tell me then, Quinn. Who are you?”

  I sat up, surprised. “Really?”

  The interviewer’s face softened. “Yes, really.”

  “Okay. I’m… sorry, no one has ever asked me that before. I’m not sure how to answer.”

  “He’s a great listener,” Matty said, rescuing me.

  “Am I?” I raised my brows.

  “Yeah, remember the other day when I was telling you I thought that ingrown hair on my neck was infected? And you didn’t walk away.”

  “That was only because Brandon was holding me down.”

  “And he’s funny.” Mike jumped into the compliment game. “You wouldn’t think so by looking at him, because I mean, come on, he looks like a douche. But jokes really are funnier when he tells them.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I laughed.

  “And he’s a good guy,” Brandon said, surprising me. He wasn’t the sentimental type. “When I first auditioned, I was determined to hate him. I thought he was a poser who’d only gotten where he was through nepotism, but the night we met, he told us why he picked us to be in his band and his reasoning—it was deep, man. From that point on, I had nothing but respect for him.”

  And just like that, the guys saved me from the black hole the interview was spiraling into.

  “I have one last question that I promised my friend’s daughter I would ask. Quinn, are you single?”

  “I am.” I grinned, coolly sliding my fingers through my fringe. On Tucker’s advice, and that of thousands of internet girls, I’d decided not to grow my hair back to shoulder length just yet. Besides, Jess liked it short. Not that it mattered since she hadn’t been found. Tucker’s guy had looked for her, but I hadn’t been able to provide enough identifying information to pull her up in a search.

  The more days that passed without her, the more I realized how much I wanted her. Jess had become my obsession. Every show I scanned the crowd. Every car with a RYde sticker on the back, I peered in the window. And every opportunity I had to jump into bed with another girl to forget Jess ever existed—I passed on. Yes, that’s right, I’d become a born-again virgin at the exact point in my life when females were literally dropping
in my lap.

  “But I do have a crush on a girl named Jess.”

  It just slipped out. Totally unplanned, but the minute I said it, there was no taking it back.

  “Oh really?” The host’s perfectly arched brows lifted higher. “And does Jess also have a crush?”

  “That’s the big question. I’m not sure.”

  I explained her being called away in the middle of our date and getting the wrong phone number from her.

  “Can’t you just look her up?” Matty asked.

  “I could if I had her last name, but I don’t. The only thing I can do now is wait and hope she reaches out to me. So Jess, if you’re out there…” I looked into the camera. “Call me.”

  “How is she going to do that if she doesn’t have your number?” Brandon questioned.

  “Oh.” I winced. “Yeah. Okay. Let me try that again. Jess, contact me through social media. I don’t care which one. I just have to see you again.”

  Matty leaned in, overly invested in the story. “Dude, not smart. You need a glass slipper. Something Jess can slip her foot into and prove she’s the real Jess; otherwise you’ll get a million women sending you DMs.”

  “Oh yes,” the host said, “I like this. A modern Cinderella story. You can have her answer a question only she would know.”

  I knew just the one. Looking into the camera, I said, “Jess. Don’t leave me hanging. Contact me and answer this one question, so I know it’s you. Where did I want you to take me the day we met?”

  18

  Jess: Jesserella

  I learned of Quinn’s mighty quest from the local barista. I wasn’t exactly sure where I’d been for the past few days, but it certainly wasn’t anywhere near social media or I would have seen my name trending right alongside a certain promising young rock star. My only excuse for being out of touch was that Noah had no outlet for his pent-up energy and I had become his power cord. I worked all day and played all night. But not the fun kind of play. No, this was eight-year-old boy fun, which meant it either included electronics or copious amounts of bodily fluids.

  But I’d managed to drop him off at school early today, and now I had twenty minutes of ‘me’ time to sip coffee and stare off into the abyss.

  “Jess,” the barista called.

  She watched me intently as I approached the counter, a smile stretching across her face. I looked behind me to see if there was anyone more worthy of her attention, but no, it appeared to be me she was rooting for.

  “You’re not the Jess, are you?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.

  I had no idea what the woman was talking about, but I offered up a friendly smile. “Um… I’m a Jess. Does that count?”

  “Oh, sorry.” She giggled. “I just assumed you’d heard of the quest to find Jess.”

  My brows furrowed as I picked up my cup. I think I would have remembered an expedition in my honor.

  “I have not.” I grinned, taking a trial sip of my coffee. “What is this quest you speak of?”

  “Quinn McKallister from Sketch Monsters?”

  The coffee was halfway down my throat when I choked, the brew spraying out of my mouth like a hot liquid sprinkler.

  “Oh, my god, are you okay?” The woman rushed to grab some napkins for me.

  Wiping the coffee from my chin and off the counter, I nodded as I tried to explain my behavior. “Fine, just… that was some hot coffee. Go on. Quinn? Sketch Monsters?”

  “Oh, right. It’s all over the internet. Even Jimmy Kimmel picked up on the hype and did a bit on it last night on his show, calling the search Jesserella… you know like, Cinderella and the glass slipper. Only this is Jess and the question.”

  If a swarm of bugs invaded the coffee shop at that very moment, they would have drowned in my open mouth. Nothing seemed to be functioning properly as questions rattled through my brain.

  “What, uh… what do you mean by Jess and the question?”

  “In order for him to know it’s her, she has to answer a question.”

  “And what is the question?”

  Almost breathless in her delight, she replied, “Ah, it’s so romantic. She has to know the place Quinn wanted to go the day they met. I heard his social media accounts have been flooded with women whose feet don’t fit into the slipper, so to speak.”

  I fought the swoony smile threatening to give me away. What was he doing? Did he really want to find me that badly? I stood in place, processing the information before realizing how suspicious that made me look. The barista’s eyes widened like she’d just uncovered a coup.

  “Do you know where Quinn wanted to go, Jess?”

  Oh no. Abort mission. You are a damn-near professional liar—so lie!

  Holding up my coffee cup, I smiled and thanked her. “Damn. I’m outta luck. I got nothing.”

  But as I turned to leave, my heart soared as I tossed the answer around in my head.

  Someplace fun… but not too fun.

  If I thought the legend of Jesserella was just going to pass over limply like a deflated balloon, I was wrong. I couldn’t escape the question as it just kept popping up throughout the day. Are you that Jess? inquiring minds wanted to know. Even the littlest mind I knew, my own son, demanded an answer once he’d arrived home from after-school care.

  “Did you know that the man talking to reporters that day when I went to work with you is looking for a girl named Jess?”

  “So I’ve heard…over and over all day long,” I said, slapping peanut butter onto some bread before handing it to him and probing for more. “How’d you find out about that?”

  “My teacher. She asked if it was you.”

  His teacher? Was that appropriate? She really shouldn’t be bringing up the subject of my love life to my eight-year-old son. There went her end-of-the-year gift card.

  “That’s a weird thing for Miss Usman to ask you,” I said, deflecting.

  “Not really. Your name is Jess.”

  “I know, but…” I shook my head. “What did you say back to her?”

  “I said my mom wasn’t cool enough.”

  It was one of those soft insults that crept into a tiny cut and burned like hell for the rest of the day.

  “Thanks a lot,” I said, nudging him playfully. “I’ll let you know I was plenty cool when I was younger.”

  “Sure.”

  “I was!”

  He ignored my protest. “My teacher said that you were pretty enough to date a rock star.”

  “She said that?” I asked, sliding my fingers through my hair. I’d always liked Miss Usman. Perhaps I needed to up the gift giving this year. An ‘I heart teacher’ mug maybe?

  Noah continued with his sharing. “But then I started thinking. Why did you duck in the bus when we stopped?”

  Shocked by his sleuthing, I rocked back on my wedges. Since when had my kid become Magnum P.I.? “I… uh… I wasn’t ducking. I was taking a rest.”

  “No, you were definitely ducking.”

  He had me cornered. I couldn’t come up with even one excuse for my behavior except maybe to blame it on Cody, but I didn’t dare. Not after Noah had grilled me on our exchange with him that day. He’d wanted to know who Cody was and how he knew his father. I’d been honest with him then, so why couldn’t I be honest with him now?

  “Okay, yes. You caught me. I’m Jesserella,” I said, bending down and giving him a series of neck kisses that made him squirm.

  “I wish.”

  “You wish? Why?”

  “Do you know how cool it would be to have a rock star for a dad?”

  And there… right there… was why I couldn’t bring Quinn into Noah’s life. Rock stars didn’t stay.

  19

  Quinn: A Familiar Voice

  Life took a turn toward the crazy after the Today Show interview. Who would ever have guessed a simple search for a girl would become a cultural phenomenon? Poor Jess. I honestly never thought things would get this out of control or that people would actively be trying to smoke
her out. Jess was probably viewing the whole thing like a publicity stunt instead of what it really was: a genuine search for an incredible girl. If Jess had been skittish before my stunt on live TV, she had to be like a doe traipsing through a wildlife reserve by now.

  At least one good thing had come out of the Jesserella search. As a result of the interview, we’d seen a surge of activity on all platforms, raising our profile and securing us a record deal. So in a way, Jess had helped me realize a dream. And as the guys and I worked on completing the album, plans were being made for a fall tour. Things were finally moving forward. Tucker’s talk of a metaphoric rise never materialized. Musically speaking, we were on a slow trajectory.

  Personally speaking, there was only an upward curve as I was treated to my first real taste of fame and it wasn’t an entirely comfortable place to be in. To be recognized. To be lionized. To be demonized. I’d never fully appreciated the courage it must have taken for Jake to walk headfirst into a lion’s den so soon after surviving the unspeakable. None of this was easy for me, but for him, it had to have been excruciating. So why had he done it? Why put himself out there for scrutiny when he could have faded into the background?

  I supposed the same questions applied to me. I could’ve remained anonymous—the youngest brother hidden away behind the gates—but I hadn’t. Somewhere inside me, like inside Jake, was the desire to lead. To be heard. And if this craziness was what it took to get my voice out into the world, then I’d find the same nerve Jake had found… somehow.

  Pulling through the gates of my parents’ house, I smiled when I saw the car in the driveway. Grace! And to a lesser excitement—Elliott. Why did I already not like him? I mean, my god, he sounded so perfectly perfect I feared I might mistake him for a Boy Scout. Yet still, I wanted to pop him in the nose. And we all knew that would not go well given my past involvement in Grace’s suitors. Just because she’d forgiven me once didn’t mean she’d do so again. One more infraction and I risked being cut from her inner circle where Emma now, apparently, reigned supreme.