Jaybird

by M. A. Foster

  “Hannah wasn’t good for me,” Brad goes on. “Things were awesome at first, but then she turned into a bitch. We fought over the stupidest shit, too.” He alters his voice and does his best Hannah impression. “Brad, you hug on me too much. You breathe too loud. You joke too much. You think everything is funny. Oh, my God!” He rakes his hand through his short blond hair. “I’m so glad to be rid of her.” He picks up his beer and holds it out to me. “This year is gonna be awesome. No Hannah. No Reagan.”

  “Agreed.” We tap our bottles together.

  “I saw you talking to Lindsay earlier,” Evan says.

  “She wants the D,” Brad chimes in at the same time as I say, “She wants to hang out tomorrow.”

  “Meaning she wants the D.” Brad laughs and slaps me on the back. “Give that girl what she wants.”

  Ignoring Brad, Lexi asks, “So, are you gonna hang out with her because you like her or because you wanna get back at Grayson?”

  “My brother doesn’t give a shit, Lex,” Evan tells her.

  Lexi shrugs off his comment and picks up another magazine.

  “Neither,” I answer. “Lindsay’s cool, and as much as I’d love to give your brother a little payback, I wouldn’t use her to do it.”

  “What the hell are you reading, Lexi?” Brad asks, reaching for Lexi’s magazine, but she pulls it out of his reach. “Is that a comic book?”

  Evan tilts his head to look at the cover. “Rhythm & Riffs? Why are you reading a guitar magazine?”

  “It’s not a guitar magazine, doofus. It’s a rock and roll magazine. Like Rolling Stone.” She flips the magazine around and holds it up so the cover is facing out.

  This time I do choke. On my damn tongue.

  Aquamarine eyes.

  Black hair.

  Right there on the glossy cover of Rhythm & Riffs. Written across the top, are the words “Meet Jaybird” and below them is Jayla King. My girl.

  But it’s not exactly her. It’s a cartoon version of her. Right below her picture it says “The Princess of Rock.”

  Even as a cartoon, she looks damn hot.

  “She’s looks familiar,” Brad says, leaning forward, squinting at the photo.

  “She’s a cartoon,” Evan says.

  “This…” Lexi taps the cover with the red-painted nail of her index finger. “…is Jayla King. Marcus King’s daughter.”

  “No shit?”

  Lexi nods. “This is her first interview ever.”

  I chew on the inside of my lip, hoping Brad doesn’t figure it. It’s a cartoon, for fuck’s sake. He leans forward and studies the picture, eyebrows drawn.

  I shift my gaze to Evan, who’s eyeing me skeptically. Like he knows. “What’s up with you?”

  I run both hands though my hair before clasping them behind my neck, as I lean back in my chair. “Nothing. I’m tired. Maybe a little drunk,” I lie.

  I’m a shit liar and Evan knows it.

  I haven’t been drunk since prom night.

  “When did cartoons become so hot?” Brad gives me a quick sideways glance. “She looks like a goddess,” he says, turning to me. “Don’t you think?” He winks.

  The fucker figured it out.

  “She’s hella hot,” Lexi agrees as she turns the magazine over and begins flipping through the pages. “I’d totally do her.”

  The three of us just stare at her.

  “What?” She shrugs. “I’m just saying if I was gonna bat for the other team, I’d want her to be my teammate.”

  “It’s a cartoon, Lexi.” Evan chuckles.

  “Damn.” Brad shakes his head. “You’re a lucky guy, Martinez.” He holds up his hand for a high five. “That was awesome, Lexi.”

  “She is awesome,” Evan agrees, punching the palm of Brad’s hand in lieu of a high five.

  “I’m still mad at you,” Lexi says to Evan, but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips as she continues to flip through the pages. Closing the magazine, she looks down at Jay’s picture. “I’m just saying if she’s this hot as a cartoon, imagine how hot she is in person. She’s definitely my new girl crush.”

  “Thank you, Lexi.” Brad grins.

  “For what?”

  “For the visual.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

  Evan picks up a beer cap from the table and snaps it between his fingers, hitting Brad in the forehead right between the eyes.

  “Oh, nice.” Laughing, I reach across the table and bump fists with Evan.

  Rhythm & Riffs

  Interview of Jayla King

  by Miles Townsend

  SEVENTEEN-YEAR-OLD Jayla King, daughter of the late Marcus King, also known as “Jaybird,” and the title of the latest Royal Mayhem album, expected to release May of next year.

  How are you, Jayla?

  Jayla: I’m okay. Just taking it one day at a time.

  Is it true Royal Mayhem’s latest album, Jaybird, was named after you and that you co-wrote the album with your father, Marcus King?

  Jayla: Yes. It was a side project my dad and I had been working on for a year or so before he decided he wanted to turn it into an album.

  What’s the significance of Jaybird? Is it a nickname?

  Jayla: Jayla is derived from Jay Bird. It also means “one who is special.” My mom fell in love with the name Jayla, and my dad loved the idea of calling me Jaybird. It was a win-win, I guess.

  Will there be a tour?

  Jayla: Yes. Tour dates will be announced before the end of the year.

  Will the album be different from Royal Mayhem music?

  Jayla: No. Royal Mayhem is devoted to their fans. However, you can expect several covers of songs from some of our favorite bands.

  Tell me about your father’s charity, the Mayhem Foundation.

  Jayla: The Mayhem Foundation focuses on putting music and performing arts back into schools. It works mostly with private and charter schools because public schools are run by the state where funding is only accepted through fundraisers and budget approvals. That could take years and in the meantime, kids are missing out. The foundation provides scholarships to kids who can’t afford the hefty private school tuitions. It also provides each school with instruments and the necessities to teach students about music and performance. To quote my dad: “Music has come a long way since high school band class and a five-dollar recorder.”

  Have you or the band chosen a new lead singer for Royal Mayhem?

  Jayla: I appreciate you not using the term “frontman” because Marcus King will always be the frontman of Royal Mayhem. The band was his and Andrew’s. I don’t think there’s anyone who can ever replace him, but as they say in this business, the show must go on. I do have someone in mind. Someone I feel would be a perfect fit. I’ve discussed my choice with the other members of the band. I expect that once a decision is made, we’ll make an announcement sometime before the tour. So, stay tuned.

  I have a few “getting to know Jayla King” questions. Would you mind?

  Jayla: No. Ask away.

  Favorite color?

  Jayla: Any shade of blue. Preferably lighter blues.

  Guilty pleasures?

  Jayla: Oh, um, I have a few. Okay, don’t laugh. Chocolate, of course. Fruit, romance books, T-shirts with funny quotes—sometimes I even design them myself—and Pinterest.

  You recently did a photo shoot with fashion photographer and designer Anna Sizemore’s “Girl Next Door” campaign, correct? It appears you might have a knack for fashion modeling. Ever thought about a career in fashion or modeling?

  Jayla: Thank you and no. I’ll leave the designing to Anna and the modeling to the professionals. I loved working with Anna and I love the photography. It’s the perfect combination of innocent, flirty, and sexy. She’s a friend of a friend, so when she asked, I was happy to do it. It was fun and someday I can look back and say, “Hey, I did that,” but it’s not something I’m interested in pursuing. I would like to add that the Mayhem Foundation has teamed up with Anna Sizemore for a spec
ial Project Mayhem clothing line, consisting of T-shirts, tank tops, and hats, which are for sale on the foundation’s website. All proceeds will go to the foundation.

  How old were you when you wrote your first song?

  Jayla: Six.

  What instruments do you play, and what is your favorite?

  Jayla: I play a little of everything. I’m okay on the drums, better on the guitar, but the piano is my favorite.

  What’s your favorite type of music?

  Jayla: I don’t have a favorite type of music or a favorite song. There are too many great songs out there to pick from. I grew up listening to everything. My dad liked classic rock and hip-hop. My mom likes anything from the eighties, classic rock, and hip-hop. I do have a preference in my workout routines. Like when I go running, I listen to hip-hop and rap, and when I work out in the gym, I listen to rock. So, there’s that.

  Have you ever been in love?

  Jayla: Yes.

  Boyfriend?

  Jayla: No.

  Hobbies?

  Jayla: Songwriting. Reading. I love watching YouTube videos. There’s a lot of undiscovered talent on YouTube. Designing my own T-shirts and, of course, whatever cool ideas I find on Pinterest. I love arts and crafts. If my music career doesn’t work out, I could always teach arts and crafts.

  Tell me something random about yourself.

  Jayla: Hmm… oh, I know. I’m addicted to my iPad. It’s always in my purse unless I’m at an event. I don’t do social media. And one time when I was bored, I nicknamed everyone in my contacts.

  Last question, and it’s a two-part one. What are your plans? Will you continue making music?

  Jayla: Music has always been a part of my life. It’s shaped who I am, but, honestly, I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. Like I said before, I’m taking things day by day. I love writing music and I think no matter what I do in my life, I’ll continue to write. As far as my plans, the only ones I have are to finish high school and the tour next year. After that, we’ll just have to see.

  “WHAT’S IT SAY?” Brad whispers over my shoulder, causing me to nearly jump out of my skin and almost piss my pants.

  I slap a hand against my chest over my racing heart. “Holy shit, dude, you scared the hell out of me.”

  Brad laughs. “You didn’t think I’d recognize the cartoon version of the goddess, did you?” He smirks. “I knew your ass would be down here reading that article. So, what’s it say?”

  “Nothing really. It’s mostly about the new Royal Mayhem album, Jaybird, and her dad’s charity. There’re some personal questions, but nothing too personal. She did some modeling recently.”

  “That’s it?”

  I shrug. “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “You know, the rumor is that Emerson Mackenzie ran off and eloped with a rock star. I always thought it was just a bullshit rumor.”

  “It’s not but you can’t say anything to anyone, Brad.”

  “Bro, I won’t. I swear.”

  THE SUN IS just about to set as the Jaybird touches down on the private airstrip. Two black SUVs sit idling on the private drive. A smile spreads across my face when I see Uncle Max and Cole climb out of one and Dylan and Alex exit the other. It’s exciting and weird knowing I’ll be seeing my cousin every day at school, and the rest of my family more than on just holidays and the occasional summer vacation.

  And then there’s Zach.

  How am I going to be able to see Zach every day and pretend like he didn’t tear my heart out?

  After our luggage is loaded up in the two SUVs, Bass slips behind the wheel of the new Denali and I slide into the passenger seat. Mom and Grace climb in the back.

  BASS EXITS THE highway and cuts through downtown Heritage, then over a short two-lane drawbridge. Heritage Bay is actually an island located on the outskirts of downtown Heritage, connected to the mainland by two small drawbridges.

  The island reminds me of something out of an old movie set. The buildings and roads are brick-paved and lined with streetlamps, townhomes, small businesses, boutiques, markets, bistros, and coffee shops with apartments above them.

  Bass continues past the Heritage Bay Golf Club and Beach Resort, Heritage Bay Athletic Club and Spa, and the Heritage Bay Hotel. And, of course, the Heritage Bay Medical Center. It’s a private medical facility founded and built by my grandfather. The Mackenzie name is kind of a big deal around Heritage Bay.

  We pass a few gated neighborhoods before we finally stop beside a guardhouse that sits in front of a pair of wrought iron gates that are at least twenty feet high. The words “Heritage Lake Estates” are scrolled across the front in a gold font.

  Two men dressed in black cargo pants, black T-shirts with “Security” written in bright yellow stretched across their muscular torsos, and combat boots—looking like a couple of sexy soldiers—step outside the door of the small guardhouse. Bass gets out of the car and follows them back inside.

  “Well, hellooooo, Joes,” I drawl out, jokingly.

  Mom laughs. “Take it easy there, tiger,” she teases, shaking her head at me with Grace laughing beside her.

  Bass comes out of the guardhouse and gets back behind the wheel. The gate opens and the guards wave us though.

  “Is this a neighborhood or a military base?” I joke.

  Bass smiles knowingly. “The security company is owned and operated by former military. Some of the guards are active in the reserves. You’ll be safer here than on any base.”

  I seriously doubt that, but whatever. I’m safe so I’m good.

  “Good to know, but I’m still just the daughter of a totally awesome rock star, not the President.” I twist around in the front seat to face Emerson. “Is my life in danger or something? Why all of the security?”

  Em gives me a “don’t be ridiculous” look. “This was all your father’s doing. Your safety and protection was and still is always a priority. And, no, your life isn’t in danger, but I have been getting e-mails and phone calls ever since the magazine came out. No threats or anything, but still, you can never be too careful. Your fan base is building and sometimes fans can be a little overzealous. You’re much safer here on this island than you’ll ever be in LA. I can promise you that.”

  “But no one knows who I am.”

  “No, but they will eventually. For now, we live our lives the way everyone else does. There are a lot of important people who live on this island. Famous people. The residents here respect each other’s privacy, but like I said, there are still the overzealous fans and shit stirrers with their cell phones ready. Conduct yourself in public the way I taught you, as if there’s a camera on you at all times. Don’t give anyone anything worth selling down the road. But for now, you don’t have to worry about the paparazzi popping out of the bushes. If you leave the island, Bass goes with you. Be polite. Be kind. Be you.”

  I can deal with that.

  The streets inside the gates are lined with lampposts like the others. Tall bushes obscure the view of the massive multimillion-dollar homes that sit at the end of a long driveway behind another private gate.

  Bass wasn’t kidding about the security being tight.

  The SUV rolls to a stop in front of another set of tall black wrought iron gates at least fifteen feet high. Bass punches a code into the call box, the gate swings open, and he continues up the driveway.

  When the house comes into view, I gasp and slap a hand over my mouth at the same time I hear Mom’s sharp inhale from the back seat. My dream house.

  It’s huge. Even bigger than our house in Malibu.

  I loved our beach house in Malibu and the villa in St. Thomas, but my dream house has always been something geared to an estate home. Kind of like a modern-day castle.

  And since I’m a princess and all…

  “Every princess should live in a castle,” Bass says as if he hears my thoughts.

  And it’s the most perfect castle.

  Even more beautiful than I could’ve ever imagined, with ston
es in various shades of creams and muted grays.

  When you don’t have a lot of friends and you’re banned from social media, you find other ways to entertain yourself. Mine is Pinterest. I love it. Before setting up an account, I had to get my dad’s approval, but after a few minutes he was hooked. We set up an account for both of us with similar boards like Music, Quotes, Tattoos, Dream Homes, Cars. However, he didn’t particularly care for my Hot Guys board. He told me to delete it but I hid it instead.

  I’d spent too long perfecting that one.

  “You guys go in. We’ll get the bags,” Bass says as he moves to the back of the SUV.

  Cole jogs up the steps to the front door and waves me over, seemingly just as excited as I am. “Come on, Jay. Let’s go check it out.”

  I GASP AND cover my mouth again as I step through the front door and into the foyer. I feel like I’m on an episode of one of those home makeover shows. The house is beautiful and spacious with dark espresso wood floors, white walls decorated with black-and-white photos of my family and hints of color splashed throughout.