“I thought it was fine,” I said. “Standard. Wasn’t great, wasn’t bad.
Average.”
Connor’s lips pursed together, and for a moment I felt guilty.
“If you don’t have anything constructive to contribute, Katelyn, then next time keep it to yourself,” Dad said.
With that, any ounce of guilt I had washed away.
“I’ll do my best.”
“Here’s Connor Jackson performing his hit single, ‘Shades!’”
the reporter announced. The camera swung over to the stage where Connor was standing. It went off without a hitch. His voice was smooth; his dance moves were on point.
To me, it was your average pop song: repetitive and without substance. He sang “Shades” because that’s what people asked of him, because that’s all people wanted to hear these days. But his heart wasn’t in it.
Mom clapped at the end of the clip. “You did beautifully.”
Dad stood up, his phone in hand. “As I said before, I thought it went very well. And I think it’ll help open more doors in the future.”
He left the room, followed swiftly by Mom, who promised she’d be right back. I reached over and grabbed my phone, an unread text waiting for me from Jenica.
“You weren’t a fan,” Connor stated, matter-of-factly.
“I don’t have anything constructive to contribute,” I shrugged.
“But?”
“But I wasn’t impressed. You didn’t even look like you were enjoying yourself half the time. You looked stiff and awkward and uncomfortable.”
“Probably because I was.”
Mom came back into the room, a smile on her face. “Okay, Katelyn, let me hear it.” She sat down next to me. “As I said earlier, every detail. Tell me all about the offsides.”
“About what?” Connor asked, leaning forward.
“Katelyn had a soccer tournament this weekend, remember?”
Connor didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t remember. Unlike his interview, my games weren’t broadcast throughout the house.
Nobody came to see me; my mom was the only one who even took the time to call. I didn’t have a platinum-selling album. I didn’t have a national tour that started in two weeks. I didn’t have meet and greets to schedule and public appearances to attend.
I was just Katelyn Jackson. And lately that seemed to be more of a burden than a blessing.
LOS ANGELES, CA
CHAPTER 2
“You’re not answering my texts.” Jenica plopped down on my bed.
My phone was sitting facedown on my nightstand. “I’m trying to focus.” I was standing in front of my closet, with piles of clothes around the room, trying to figure out what I could fit into a single large suitcase that would last me most of the summer.
“I didn’t come over just to watch you pack,” Jenica said. “The Limitless Showcase emails are supposed to come out today.”
Shit. How had I forgotten? I bolted upright. “Have you gotten yours yet?”
She shook her head in response. “Still refreshing my email every sixty seconds.”
I grabbed my phone, doing the same. Nothing. The Limitless Showcase was the most renowned soccer showcase of the year. All of the top-ranked Division One soccer coaches come to scout, and the U.S. Women’s National Team notoriously chooses recruits from the Showcase. To be invited was an honor in itself.
“It’s going to be a long day,” Jenica said. “I texted Coach Jefferson and he said he hasn’t heard anything yet either.”
Before I could answer, there was a knock on my bedroom door.
“I’m packing!” I shouted. “Jenica is helping.”
“I don’t really care about that,” Connor called back through my door. We had stayed away from each other since our sort-of fight after his interview yesterday.
“What do you want?” I called.
“To talk.”
“I’m busy!”
There was a clicking noise, and then my door opened. Connor came in, shutting the door behind him.
“I have pizza,” he said, holding up the plate for me to see. “It’s my peace offering.” He placed it on my bed, flashing Jenica a smile.
“Hey, Jenny.”
“You know I hate that nickname,” she said.
“But it’s cute,” he teased.
“I’m cute,” Jenica corrected. “Let’s not get that mixed up.”
“What do you want?” I asked, interrupting their flirtatious banter. I wasn’t in the mood to be a third wheel in my own bedroom.
“To talk,” he repeated. “Can we step outside for a sec?”
“I’ll start sorting Kate’s piles of clothes. You guys go on.”
I pushed myself up off my bed with a groan, following Connor over to his room.
“I have more pizza in here, don’t worry,” he said, shutting the door behind him.
I took a slice as I sat down on the edge of his bed. “What’s up, pop star?”
His face soured. “Don’t call me that.”
“You’re famous now.”
“Shut up,” Connor said. “Are you going to come to rehearsals with me today?”
“Why should I?”
I didn’t know anything about the show. I didn’t even know the setlist. Dad micromanaged all of that.
“There’s a closing number that I want a second pair of eyes on,” he said. “It’s the encore written for the show, and Mackenzie, Skyline, and I all perform it together. And you’re the only one I trust to give an honest review.”
“Why?”
Connor hadn’t asked for my opinion on anything since his very first live performance, when he wanted to know which song he should go with. Since then, it’s always been him, Mom, and Dad.
And I’ve been the bystander to the Connor Jackson show.
“You’re my target audience,” he said.
Oh. It was all a strategy.
“I’ve got a lot of stuff to finish before the tour,” I said. “Jenica’s helping me pack, but I still have a science project to do and—”
“It’ll only be one afternoon,” Connor interrupted. “Please, Katelyn? I really need your help.”
Connor must really be desperate if he was willing to beg.
“Um, okay,” I said. “If you think I can help.”
“Thanks, Kate. It means a lot.”
I stood up as I finished off my slice of pizza. “I’ve got to get back to it.”
“Okay, cool. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to go. Maybe, like, thirty minutes before?”
“Sounds good.”
Silence lapsed between us, and I cleared my throat to break it.
“Okay, see you then.”
Jenica was sitting on the floor with my clothes when I came back into my room.
“What did he want?” she asked, without glancing up from what she was doing.
“My help, I guess.”
That caused her to look up, raising an eyebrow in question. “With what?”
“I’m not really sure. Something about the closing number for the show.”
“That’s awesome, Kate,” she said. “Maybe you’ll get to finally meet Zach Matthews.”
“Shut up.”
“Don’t roll your eyes, you never know!” she sang. “Tell me about the Matthews brothers again? Which one would be perfect for me?”
Jenica knew how to get me talking. I was the biggest Skyline fangirl there was.
I flopped back on my bed. “Jesse is the oldest at twenty-two. He has brown hair and these dark, dark chocolate-colored eyes. He’s the more serious and broodier one, the bad boy almost. He plays bass.
And then there’s Aaron, the keyboardist—he’s twenty. He has sandy blond hair and light brown eyes. He’s the quiet one that I think holds the band together. He’s not nearly as serious as Jesse, but not as much of a goofball as Ross. He’s a perfect middleman.”
“And who’s Ross?” Jenica asked.
“Ross is the third oldest,
he’s eighteen, the drummer. He has dirty-blond hair and bright brown eyes. He’s the class-clown type, always cracking jokes and making light of situations.”
Jenica leaned in with a teasing smile. “And the fourth brother?”
“You know it’s Zach. He’s sixteen, nearly seventeen. Lead singer.
Songwriter. Lead guitarist. Basically perfect all-around. He has caramel eyes that stare into your soul, and brown hair that is always the perfect amount of messy. He’s the lone wolf, always in the background of his brothers. But when he sings . . . it melts your heart.”
“And I wonder which one is your favorite.”
I turned to glare at her. “Don’t call me out!”
Jenica giggled as she held up a pair of lacy underwear. “Oh, you’re definitely packing these.”
Connor’s driver pulled up in front of the house, rolling down his window as I stepped up. Connor was already at the rehearsal space, and he’d sent his driver to pick me up.
“Hey, Richard,” I said as I slid into the backseat.
“How was the tournament this weekend?” Leave it to Richard to be the only person to actually care about me and my accomplishments.
“We came in first.”
“Of course you did. You’re Katelyn Jackson!”
“Thanks, Richard. Thanks for caring.”
“Play hard?”
“Win hard.” That had been our saying for as long as I could remember. Richard flipped to Bluetooth radio, my phone connecting.
“Are we listening to Skyline today?” Richard asked, with a teasing smile.
“Always.”
The ride to the rehearsal space was short, and Connor’s bodyguard, Eddie, was waiting outside once we arrived.
“Afternoon,” Eddie said, before opening the door for me.
“Thanks, Eddie.”
He led me upstairs and I could hear “Shades” before I even went in. Connor and his choreographer, Christopher Kline, were blocking it. Connor smiled and waved at me, and then managed to fall off the chair he was standing on.
“Sorry, Chris,” I said.
“Just in time. Can you press play, Kate?”
“Sure.” The dance was flawless, Connor actually managing to pull off the choreography. Chris cheered at the end, reaching over to high-five Connor.
“At least we know it’ll work,” Connor said, hopping down off the chair.
“We need to do that consistently,” Chris said.
I helped Chris clean up the studio space while Connor gathered up his stuff.
“See you in twenty for group rehearsal,” Chris called out after us.
I followed Connor up to a room with his name taped on the door. Inside the small space was a single chair and a garment bag hanging from the ceiling. Connor sat down in his chair and let his head fall back, closing his eyes. “I’m already taxed.”
The door opened and, Lorie, Connor’s publicist, stepped inside.
She handled everything from assisting in scheduling Connor’s interviews to handling his social media accounts.
“Lana wants to speak with you,” Lorie said. “Before your Q&A session this evening.”
Lana Regas, Connor’s ex-girlfriend. Connor and Lana had met at a red carpet event, and the two of them had immediately hit it off.
And things had been great between them . . . for a while. And after one drunken night of confessions between the two of them, NDAs were signed and the relationship abruptly ended.
Lana was a Greek goddess. She stood tall, at five foot nine, and often walked the runway for luxury brand names as a lead model. But most of all, she was a massive bitch. And everybody knew it. When she wanted something, she got it. Not always in the right way.
“I have no interest in talking to her today,” Connor said. “Tell her whatever it is, we can talk about it next week.”
“You know how Lana gets . . .”
“I’m midrehearsal for a tour that starts in two weeks,” Connor said. “I don’t care what she threatens to do. I don’t have time to deal with her bullshit today.”
“Noted,” Lorie said, writing in her planner. “The rest of today is pretty light media-wise. We’ll continue dropping teasers about the music video on your social profiles, and you have the fan Q&A at seven tonight.”
Connor nodded.
Lorie glanced toward me. “Hi, Katelyn.”
“Hi.”
“Can I get you anything?”
I shook my head. “I’m okay for now.”
She wrote something else down in her planner before leaving, shutting the door behind her.
“Is this your every day?” I asked.
Connor opened both eyes this time. “What?”
“People drop in and tell you what your daily schedule is, and you just have to go with it?”
“Pretty much.”
“That sounds awful.”
And then, as if on cue, my dad came through the door, iPad in hand. “You need to be dressed and ready.”
“Skyline is never here on time,” Connor whined. “I’m not getting dressed in that leather suit until the absolute last minute.”
Connor had specifically requested Skyline as an opening act, and I’d screamed when I heard they’d accepted. Not only would I get to hear them perform at every tour stop, but I’d actually get to meet them in person. Sometimes being a Jackson had its perks.
“Ten minutes,” my dad said icily. “I’ll see you in the rehearsal studio.” And with that he was gone again. Connor didn’t seem bothered by the encounter, instead taking to his phone with an impassive expression. This life wasn’t something I envied. My dad and I could hardly have a two-minute conversation. There’s no way I could handle having him bark orders at me. My career would’ve been over before it started.
“You can’t fangirl,” Connor said without looking up from his phone.
“Fangirl?” I asked.
“Over Skyline, when they get here. You can’t fangirl.”
“Who says I’m a fan?”
“Are you for real? The giant poster of their lead singer on your wall, for starters. The fact that you basically begged me to help promote them . . . the fact that you play their songs all the time.”
All valid points. “I can play it cool,” I shrugged. “Watch, I bet I won’t even bat an eye.”
“Fat. Fucking. Chance.”
“I’m cool as a cucumber, you just watch.”
We cracked up.
“Who’s the kid you have a poster of again?” Connor asked. “Is it Zach?”
“Yes. Are you best friends with him yet?”
“I’m pretty sure they think I’m an egotistical douche,” he said.
“Why would they think that?”
Connor was silent a few moments. “I’m not really good with the whole friend thing.”
“I guess I’ll have to get the scoop,” I said.
“I bet you will.” He stood up, letting out a yawn. “I’ve only met Zach once.”
They’d been rehearsing for weeks. “Really?”
“He doesn’t really come to group rehearsals often; we usually use a stand-in for him.”
“What do you mean he doesn’t come to group rehearsals?”
If Mackenzie, Skyline, and Connor all came together for the last song, how would Zach know his cues if he didn’t show up to rehearsals?
“He’s got that condition,” Connor said, his eyes flickering shut.
“God, I’m so tired. What’s it called?”
“Epilepsy,” I filled in.
Being a Skyline fangirl meant that I’d fallen into a deep Reddit thread about the ins and outs of Skyline. And an even deeper rabbit hole about epilepsy.
When Skyline began gaining notoriety, they appeared in multiple interviews. But Zach was always noticeably missing. At first he was labeled as a diva by the industry, but eventually he announced that he suffers from epilepsy, and that rehearsals, interviews, and tour would be too much for him when he had a scheduled routine to fol
low with his doctor. He never did any late-night or early-morning interviews, as he’d said that sleep was a key factor in managing the disorder. Sometimes he’d come around throughout the day, dropping in for a few minutes to say hello. But the other three brothers usually took care of the press releases.
“Yeah, we have a training session on that before the tour starts,”
Connor said.
“For epilepsy?”
“For what to do in case of a seizure. It was requested by their management . . . which is essentially Jesse.”
And it made sense. The last thing Skyline would want to happen was for their lead singer, their brother, to get hurt.
“I’m going to get dressed,” Connor said, checking the time. “I’ll see you in a sec.”
That’s my cue to leave. “Same rehearsal room?”
“Yup.”
I headed back to the space. “Hello again,” Chris said.
I waved in response before taking a seat at the front of the room, my back against the mirror.
Mackenzie arrived next. Everyone in Hollywood knew Mackenzie Lawrence. She was notorious for late-night parties, one-night stands, and subpar pop music.
“Chris,” she said, snapping her gum.
“Mack,” he said.
Mackenzie’s eyes landed on me. “Who is this?”
“Connor’s sister,” Chris answered. “She’s going to watch the closing number.”
She gave me a once-over. “If you think that will help.” She took a seat in one of the chairs. “This outfit sucks. I can barely move.”
She was dressed in a maroon leather jacket with matching pants.
She was wearing a tight-fit, white T-shirt underneath and a pair of maroon pumps.
“That’s why we’ll be rehearsing in them for a week.”
The answer clearly didn’t satisfy her, but she didn’t press the issue any further. “Who all is coming today? Connor?”
Chris nodded.
“And the Jonas Brothers?”
I couldn’t help but laugh, Chris joining in.
“All four of them,” Chris confirmed.
I pressed my lips together to keep from outwardly fangirling.
“Impressive,” she said, with an arched eyebrow. “What’s the little one’s name again?”
“He’s a hell of a lot taller than us.”
Along for the Ride Page 2