by Lynn Stevens
If he couldn’t get through the entire set, how was he going to do this five times a week?
Fingers snapped in front of me. “Earth to Cami,” Iris said. “Come in, Cameron Harris.”
I slapped her hand away.
“What’s up with you today? I thought you’d be excited.” Miranda stirred her yogurt and stared at me.
“Yeah, she’s right.” Iris wrinkled her nose at Miranda’s lunch. “Is that all your eating?”
“Yes, bikini season’s here. Stay on topic. What’s going on, Cam?” Miranda’s gaze darted to Iris’s steak fries before returning to me.
“I don’t know,” I said. Miranda was the last person I could tell about Hank’s voice. She would tell her dad who would confront Hank and it would all blow up in my face. I loved her to death, but Miranda Reynolds could not keep a secret to save her life. “Nervous I guess. And tired. I didn’t get home until two.”
“Two? Party animal.” Iris grinned. She tapped a fry against her burger, drawing Miranda’s gaze to the food. “Staying out late with Dylan Walker perhaps?”
Miranda snatched a fry and popped it in her mouth. Iris glared at her, but Miranda only shrugged. “Just one fry,” she said. “And Cami wouldn’t hang out with Dylan Walker. He’s too bad boy for her.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I leaned back in my chair as if she’d slapped me.
“Just that he’s not your type.” Miranda reached for another fry, but Iris moved her plate.
“What’s my type?” I asked. This conversation had taken a turn I hadn’t expected.
“You date nice guys,” Iris said. She squirted ketchup over her fries to stave off Miranda. “None of them have that bad boy vibe.”
“None of them have a bad bone in their body,” Miranda said.
“So?” I had no idea what they were getting at, but I didn’t really like it. “I’m not dating anyone right now. And I don’t plan on it. Why are you even bringing it up?”
“The fantasy of it,” Iris said. She put her elbow on the table and leaned against her fist with a dreamlike state covering her face. “Hot rocker, lonely small town girl, bad boy, innocent girl—”
Miranda snorted. “She’s not that innocent.”
“Hey,” I snapped, slightly offended. It was true, but she didn’t need to say it out loud. “I’m as innocent as you.”
“Ha, you’re innocent compared to me,” Miranda said with a grin.
“That’s true,” Iris said. She’d lost the fake dreamlike state and gone back to munching on her fries. “None of us are innocent virgins.”
“Why are we even talking about this?” The exasperation in my voice was clearer than white soda.
“Because I’m going to have a boring summer working at Golf-A-Round.” Iris pointed a limp fry at me. “And Miranda’s going to have a boring summer working at the resort.”
Miranda grimaced.
“You, my friend, are the only one who is going to have a chance at some excitement.” Iris bite off the end of the fry. “We’re living vicariously through you.”
“And you’ll be gone once the show ends Labor Day weekend.” Miranda shook her head. “Both of you will be.”
It was my turn to grimace. “I wish you were graduating too.”
Miranda shrugged.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Iris said as if just catching up to the conversation. “For the millionth time, I’m going to Southern Community, not New York. I’m not even leaving town.”
“But you won’t around.” Miranda stole a handful of fries. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll survive. It’s what I do.”
Iris and I exchanged glances. Miranda had been through hell the last year. She’d been in love with Eddie Blake since they were kids. They’d been best friends throughout grade school and middle school. Then freshman year, Eddie got a girlfriend. Miranda didn’t take it well, but she stayed friends with him. Sophomore year things went back to normal for them, until Eddie started dating someone else. Then Miranda lost it. She went out with Jeff Fisher, Eddie’s least favorite person. It tore them apart until prom night when Jeff dumped her after she put out. She showed up at Eddie’s and they talked it out. Last summer, she got drunk with him during a party. They took a boat out on the lake. After that, everything changed. Eddie stopped talking to her. She never told us what happened. She didn’t have to.
Her actions spoke louder than any words.
“What happened to Tony?” Iris asked her. Tony had been Miranda’s prom date a few weeks ago.
“Meh,” was all Miranda said.
Iris rolled her eyes. “Anyway,” she said, dragging the word out, “What time does the show start tonight? I forgot.”
“Seven.”
Miranda secured them tickets. I’d gotten Dad and Mom front row seats. I only hoped they could make it. Mom said she might have to work. And Dad couldn’t drive.
“I can’t wait to hear you sing,” Iris said. She finished off her fries, oblivious to my mood shift. “You’re going to rock.”
Miranda smiled and touched my hand. It’ll be okay, she mouthed.
I hoped Dad would be there.
I hoped Mom would.
And I hoped like hell I wasn’t about to suck.
Crystal did my makeup. Our wardrobe felt like an 80s hair metal Halloween costume. My hair had enough mousse and hair spray in it to put a new hole in the ozone layer. My eyes were lined thickly with black kohl. She’d put fake eyelashes on me too. I didn’t look like me. The makeup added five years to my face. It didn’t feel right. In the back of my mind, I wondered if I’d get in a bar looking like this.
“You ready, kid?” Crystal asked. She pulled on her black fingerless leather gloves.
“Yeah.” I put on the cheap silver bangle bracelets. They jangled on my wrist over my red fingerless gloves. My hands were already sweating.
“We look like we’re about to go on at The Roxy,” she said as she fluffed her hair.
“The what?” I asked, mimicking her moves. My hair didn’t shift at all.
“The Roxy. On the Sunset Strip?” Her eyes widened when she realized I had no clue what she was talking about. “Whiskey a Go Go? The Rainbow?”
I slowly shook my head.
“You have so much to learn,” she said with a sad sigh. “Those were the clubs to play in the 80s. Hank played them all, even though he was more southern rock than hair metal. Anybody who was anybody graced those stages.”
“Really? That’s cool.” I thought of the music videos Dad had shown me of his favorite bands. There were a few that were probably filmed in clubs like that.
“These days everything’s on YouTube instead. Why go to a live show when someone can just put it online?”
“Yeah, but it’s not the same,” I said, adding another swipe of red lipstick. It was waxy and smelled musty. “Is this from the 80s? Because it smells like ass.”
Crystal laughed. “Yeah, it does, but it will stay on while we sing. Theatrical makeup is different than what you buy at Walmart.”
“Ladies, you look like hookers,” Heath said with a laugh. He threw his arms around both of us. “I love it.”
Heath had black leather pants on, and that was it. His bare skin was greasy from the oil slicked over his chest. A silver feather earring hung from his right ear. His blond hair extensions made it look like he had a mullet. Very 80s. And so very wrong.
“You look like a wannabe drummer,” Crystal said with a sneer. “Shoes not good enough for you?”
He glanced down at his bare feet. “Not my idea.”
I grinned at him. Heath was a decent guy. He was in his late twenties, but he seemed so much older at times.
“Let’s rock this,” Dylan said coming out of the back. As usual, he wore a black t-shirt and black jeans. The only thing different from any other day was his hair. The casual mess had turned into an artistic mess. It only added to his sex appeal. Not that I had noticed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The weekend s
hows went off without a hitch. Hank’s voice didn’t crack. Any mistakes by the band weren’t noticeable to the crowd. Hank, however, caught them all. Each show was recorded. By Monday night, Hank had ordered double rehearsals for the following weekend shows.
“Look, Pamela,” I said after the Monday evening rehearsal, “you know I can’t. At least not until Thursday. It’s the last week of school.”
Pamela sighed heavily and threw back her head. “Shit. I keep forgetting. Okay, just be at the evening rehearsals. I’ll smooth things over with Hank. He’ll be an ass this time, but he’ll get over it.”
“Thanks,” I said as I rushed off the stage. It was almost two in the morning and I had one more final during first period. I hadn’t studied for it, and I couldn’t fail. My grades weren’t the best. I was graduating, but only by a string.
Mom wouldn’t have waited for me. Her shift at the restaurant ended at midnight, so one was the latest she’d really get out. It was five minutes from the theater, but if I wasn’t out by the time she got here, she’d just go home. I walked a lot because of it. Not that I really blamed her. Mom worked ten to twelve-hour shifts and was the sole income since Dad’s stroke.
It was going to be impossible this late on a weeknight, but I pulled out my phone to order an Uber, dipping into my precious checking account. Nobody was out according to the app. Great. Walking home would take a good thirty minutes, and I didn’t relish the idea. Maybe someone else could drop me off. I glanced around, hoping for anyone from the theater to be in their car. The parking lot was almost empty. Crystal was gone. So was Mike. Pamela was still here, but she probably would be for a while and she probably drove Hank to his cabin near the lake. Riding in a car with Hank was definitely not better than walking. I spotted Heath climbing into his two-door hatchback on the other side of the lot.
“Hey, Heath,” I shouted as I rushed toward him.
His engine sputtered into a roar and I could hear his stereo from fifty feet off. I stopped running. There wasn’t any point. He wasn’t going to hear me over the hip-hop. Heath tore out of the parking lot without hitting his breaks.
“Need a lift?” a voice said behind me. I turned to see Dylan twirling his keys around his finger.
Yes, I needed a ride but not from him. I shook my head and started toward the main drag. Tears pricked in my eyes. It didn’t make sense. Nothing had happened to set me off, except the sudden fear of Dylan seeing where I lived. He didn’t need to. Plain and simple.
“Cameron?” he asked. His hand fell on my lower arm and he spun me around. I kept my head down so he couldn’t see the unreasonable tears. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
I tried to turn away.
“Look, if you don’t want me driving you home, I’ll take you most of the way,” he said. His voice was gentle, as if he was talking to a scared cat that could tear him up in a heartbeat. “If you want.”
I stayed quiet, afraid to even move.
“Or I could follow you. Become your stalker. Just to make sure you get there okay.” He lifted my chin. The goofy smile covering his face dropped for a second, but he pulled it back up like a mask. “Can’t let you get hurt.”
This time I snorted. “It’s Branson, not L.A. I’ll be fine. And I could use the excer—” a yawn cut off the word.
“Yeah, right.” He took my arm gently and tugged me toward his car, a black Camry with a rental sticker on the window. “Hop in. I promise I’m a gentleman.”
There was no way I could walk home. The adrenaline from rehearsals wore off and exhaustion settled into my bones. “Fine,” I said before another yawn overtook me.
Dylan laughed and opened the passenger side door. “Just give me your address. I’ll punch it in my GPS and wake you up when we get there.”
I settled into the seat. Once Dylan had programed my address in the GPS, I asked the one question that had been on my mind since auditions. “Why’d you insist on me?”
“Huh?” he said, slowing to a stop at the light out of the theater.
“As one of the backup singers? Mr. Walker said you insisted on me.” I turned toward him. “Why?”
Dylan’s lips pursed into a thin line, but he didn’t say anything right away. I waited. Finally after a couple of blocks, he answered my question with one of his own.
“Is that what he told you?”
“Yes,” I responded instantly. “Is it true? Or did he lie to me?”
“He didn’t lie.” Dylan glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “But he didn’t tell the truth either.”
My heart sank. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t. But I did. “Explain.”
Dylan pulled over and threw the Camry in park. “I told Dad you were too damn good to be his backup singer, okay? He took that as a challenge and added you to the band.”
“I’m too good?” I whispered.
“Yeah,” he said. He turned in his seat. “You’re raw though. Like an uncut gem. Your voice is powerful at times and weak at others, and your pitch is damn near perfect. Not that I’m an expert, but I’ve been around this business enough to know what works and what doesn’t.”
“And I work?” It didn’t seem possible. I mean, yeah, it was something I’d dreamed of hearing, but to actually hear it was something else entirely.
Dylan laughed and put the car back in drive. He pulled onto the street. “You’ve got the voice, but not the skill. And definitely not the look. At least not for rock. Maybe the sweet, poor, innocent girl works for country though.”
“Wait, I don’t have the skill? What’s that supposed to mean?” He raised me up to pull the rug out from underneath me.
“Don’t take it the wrong way, Cameron,” Dylan said before the GPS voice directed him to take a left. “I meant that you just need guidance, refinement with your voice.”
“And the knock on my looks?” I asked, not wanting an answer to that either. “What’s wrong with how I look?”
“Well, to be honest, your clothes are boring. Your hair is gorgeous, but you don’t style it. You don’t wear makeup.” He shrugged. “I mean, it’s not enough to have an amazing voice to get noticed in the music business. You need to stand out and show off. You need to redefine yourself. That’s why you auditioned, right? Because you want a career in the music business?”
“Yeah, of course. I thought I could learn something from Mr. Walker before I leave.” I sat back in the seat with a bit of a huff and crossed my arms over my chest.
“Leave? Where to?” He turned onto my street.
“L.A., Nashville, New York? I don’t know. Just not here.” I stared out the window and watched my house come into view. Jake hadn’t mowed the lawn in over a week. The grass was so high I needed a machete to cut my way through to the front door. None of the lights were on inside, making the ramshackle place appear abandoned.
“No plan? That’s not a good idea, Cameron.” He stared at my house. I could hear the questions circling inside his head. He’d probably grown up in a mansion. This wasn’t what he’d expected, but it was all I knew. “Tell you what. I need something else to do around this town and you need guidance. Let me help you.”
“And what do you get out of it?” I asked, more than uncertain that this was a good idea.
“A break from my dad. A break from boredom.” He smiled mischievously. “A chance to impart my knowledge.”
I laughed. “Oh teach me great rockstar.”
“I will. What time do you get out of school tomorrow?”
“Three fifteen, why?”
“I’ll pick you up before rehearsal. We can discuss what you want with your career and how you need to get there. That may help you figure out where to go when you leave.” He tapped the steering wheel. “That okay?”
“Yeah, okay. But ... I have to come home first. To do chores. So maybe we can meet somewhere else.”
“Or I can help.” His lips tightened. “I’ve never done chores before. Might be interesting.”
“You’re insane.”
�
�So I’ve heard. I’ll see you tomorrow, Cameron.”
“Okay.”
I climbed out of his car and waved as he pulled away. This wasn’t a good idea, but I loved it anyway.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I failed the test. There was no doubt in my mind. If I had to go to summer school, that would ruin everything. I cleaned out my locker, dumping my useless notebooks and pens into the same backpack I’d had since my freshman year. It wasn’t new then either.
Dylan’s words echoed in my head. I didn’t have the look. My clothes weren’t anything special; jeans, t-shirts, tennis shoes. When it was too hot outside, shorts replaced the jeans. The only other thing I owned was my work uniform from Icee Hut, but I’d lost that job a month ago when it closed. Even my church clothes were a few old dresses from Goodwill. Everything I earned went into a savings account, my moving money. My wages from the show were going to nicely plump that and make things easier.
“How’d it go?” Iris asked. She leaned against the next locker and frowned. “I’m going to say not good.”
My heart collapsed and a sob escaped. “I’m not going to graduate. I failed the damn test.” I slammed my locker and banged my forehead against the cold metal. “Why the hell did Mr. Warner wait until the second to last day? It’s just government, not a chemical-curing discovery.”
“Yeah, but it’s a requirement.” Iris patted my back. “Let’s go ask him. Just so you know.”
I didn’t want to ask, but I did want to know. Iris pulled me and I pulled my backpack, scrapping along the floor. Mr. Warner’s classroom was empty, except for him. He sat at his desk with his condescending mustache and combover. It wasn’t pretty. He was in a perpetual state of denial about his age.
“Mr. Warner?” Iris asked his name, knowing he liked the flirtatious tone in her voice. She smiled sweetly. “Cami was so nervous about today’s test. Is there any way you can see if she passed?”
Mr. Warner’s dull blue eyes flashed to me before he nodded. He tapped away on his computer then frowned. “I don’t even show that she took it. That’s odd.”