“I try not to listen to them!” Now I really was getting worked up.
“So you agree that you could be wrong?”
By this time, I was seriously considering permanently moving into Amanda’s old room. Yeah, there was every chance it would collapse and kill me, but if I stayed in the presence of my older sister for very much longer, then I was going to kill her.
“I think I might go out for a while,” I said.
“Don’t you have a history essay to start?” said Ms. Annoying. “And a song to write?”
“Yeah, well,” I said.
“And aren’t you going in to see Top Music tomorrow?”
“Yes. And…”
“Katie, do you have anything to play them? Anything at all?”
“There’s a song about spaghetti hoops,” I said. “It’s…it’s not very good.” I threw myself facedown onto my bed, which had a bowl of cornflake mush on the pillow, which I didn’t notice until it had gone everywhere. “Uuuugh.”
“Well, if you’re going to leave food there…”
“I can’t write, Mands. I forgot how to do it! I sit down, and I stare at the page, and nothing seems to come out, and I don’t understand. And now I have cereal gunk in my nostrils.”
She squatted beside me and handed me a T-shirt to clean up the mess. And actually, when I looked up and saw her expression of genuine concern, I felt a little shiver of fear.
“Katie, of course you know how to do it. You just need to start believing in yourself again.”
“I do believe in myself! I know I can write songs. What I don’t know is why I can’t seem to write them at the moment.”
“Ugh,” said Amanda, which seemed to sum it up.
“I’m going out for some fresh air,” I said.
• • •
So out I went, off down the lane, doing my usual pause at the corner before the bus stop in case my fellow classmate and all-around weirdo Mad Jaz was there. Not that I was avoiding her or anything; it’s just helpful to have some warning before you see Mad Jaz because of her being so mad.
Like, a few months ago, this young teaching assistant guy scolded her for wearing nonregulation tights. No one knows how she did it, but the next day when he came into school, all his hair had fallen out. Even his eyebrows.
Or how she’s apparently been banned from every single branch of Lidl supermarkets. Not just in Harltree. Not even just in Essex. She’s been banned from every branch in the world.
The bus stop appeared. And phew. She wasn’t there. I continued on, down toward the main road, half thinking I should go back. That’s the problem with walks. You have to have a plan before you set off, or they feel sort of pointless.
Then my phone started to go off. It was Dad.
I answered on the third ring.
“Dad! Hi!”
“How’s my little superstar?”
“Really well, thanks.”
“House still standing?”
“Of course it is,” I said, because the only thing worse than living in a falling-down house was admitting it to Dad. When he and Mom had divorced we had to sell our old house, and somehow he’d managed to rent an apartment in America with his half of the cash, right on the beach, while we ended up in chaos. His place looked like the kind you’d go to on a vacation. No—correction. It looked like the kind of place Savannah would go to on a vacation. And Savannah gets her jeans from Harrods.
“Great! And how’s your new career?”
“Um. Actually, Dad, I could use some advice on that. I’ve got this big meeting tomorrow with the record label, and I’m supposed to play them a bunch of new stuff. Only, I haven’t written anything.”
When I said it out loud, it sounded very, very bad.
“Easy! Just play them some of your old stuff and tell them it’s new. They won’t know the difference.”
“But…I played lots of it at the concert in Adrian’s shop.”
“Like anyone remembers exactly what you played.”
It wasn’t the best solution, but it was a solution. “Okay, maybe I’ll try that.”
“How is Mr. Scuzzy Record Shop?”
“Adrian? He’s really well, thanks. And the shop’s so busy. You know Mands is working in there full time now, and she’s doing this gig night once a week with new bands. It’s been selling out.” There was this pause, and I was clearly supposed to ask him about his new partner too. I lasted as long as I could, which was two seconds, and then I said it: “And how’s Catriona?”
“Not so good,” said Dad.
Which was a first. Ever since he’d gone stateside, Dad’s life had been 100 percent fantastic.
“Er, how do you mean?” I said. “She’s not sick, is she?” I knew as I said it that she probably wasn’t. I mean, Catriona is a twenty-five-year-old vegan Pilates instructor. They don’t get sick. They can’t.
“She’s found a new direction.”
“What direction was she going in before?”
“Katie, Catriona and I have decided to uncouple.”
Ah.
“Oh, Dad, I’m sorry,” I said, which wasn’t necessarily true, but he seemed glad I’d said it.
“Probably for the best,” said Dad. “Because of the apartment.”
“Still seeing dolphins from the kitchen window?” I asked.
“Yes. No.” He cleared his throat. This was turning out to be the strangest Dad conversation ever. “The dolphins haven’t gone anywhere. But I have.”
“But why?”
“I needed a change, okay? A man can have too many dolphins.”
“So where are you living now?”
“Well,” said Dad. “I thought I would head over to see you guys for a little while. While I’m between places.”
“Seriously?” I thought my heart might tear out of my chest and explode. “That would be terrific! When were you thinking? Next month? Or is that too soon? Sorry, that’s probably too soon, isn’t it?”
“I can’t wait until next month to see my best girl. How about…next week?”
“Next week? Wow. Yes. Yes!”
“Hold on—” There was a pause and some tapping. “Confirmed. Sorry, I was just buying the plane ticket.”
“Great! Will you bring your guitar?”
“Sure thing-a-ling.”
“I can’t wait,” I said, because I couldn’t.
“Got to go, Katie. But—can I ask a quick favor?”
“Anything.”
“Could you tell your mother for me?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Love you, K.”
“Love you too, Dad. I’m so glad you’re coming home.”
Well, after that, I was practically dancing. I know this because three cars on the main road slowed down to honk at me.
So I swung back up toward our street, noticing how the air smelled better and the sky was a little more blue.
And maybe I should have spent a little more time looking at what was going on straight ahead rather than sniffing the breeze and tilting my head at the clouds. Because I neglected to do my usual around-the-corner check and therefore didn't notice Mad Jaz heading my way.
She was wearing this top that was half-red netting and half-slashed black shiny stuff, along with a truly epic level of liquid eyeliner.
I did consider pretending that I hadn’t seen her and to keep on walking, but I decided against it. Jaz and I are sort of friends these days, although it’s a slightly uneasy friendship, at least from my side of things, since it’s based partly on liking Jaz but also partly on fear.
Also, Jaz had seen me and was calling, “Katie!”
“Hi, Jaz,” I said.
“How’s the song writing?” said Jaz.
“Oh, you know,” I mumbled. Then, to change the subject to something I a
ctually wanted to talk about, I said, “My dad’s coming home. From America! Maybe he’ll be back for my birthday? He said next week, and my birthday is on Thursday…”
“I thought your dad was that guy you live with.”
“Adrian? Ugh, no! Adrian is Mom’s boyfriend. No. My dad’s this cool musician who lives in California. And he’s coming back next week.”
“Okay,” said Jaz.
“So I can’t stay and chat,” I said. “I have to go home and tell Mom.”
“Why are you telling her?”
“He asked me if I would.”
“So he dumped it on you? Nice of him.”
“It was actually,” I said. “Dad wanted me to know first. We have this really special relationship. And anyway, Mom will be fine with it. She has Adrian now.”
Jaz fell into step beside me. “Has he always been in America?”
“No,” I said, speeding up in the hope that maybe she’d drop back and go away. She didn’t. “He moved there a few months ago after the divorce. He got this cool place by the ocean. You can watch dolphins from the kitchen window. Well, you could before. He just moved out.” Then, as I thought about it, I said, “Maybe there’s a chance that he’s back for good. How cool would that be?”
“Depends,” said Jaz. “Was it one of those good divorces where everyone stays friends?”
I really wanted to say yes. But I couldn’t. It had pretty much been the opposite of that. “Not especially,” I said.
“And your mom thought he was safely in America. Only now he’s back in just a few days, and he wasn’t even brave enough to tell her himself, so he got you to do it,” said Jaz.
“That is a very twisted way of looking at things,” I told her. Although I have to say, the sky had gone back to its normal color, and I could definitely detect a little bit of car exhaust on the breeze.
We’d reached my front door. “Good luck,” said Jaz.
“What for?”
Jaz smiled. “Katie, you are about to tell your mom that your dad, who she hates, is coming home next week, and that he was too cowardly to tell her himself.”
“Honestly, Jaz. It’s no big deal. See you Monday, okay?”
And then I was back in the hall, with its familiar smell of dampness and a strange sort of soupiness that we’d recently traced to a particular patch of carpet.
I couldn’t go upstairs, not with you-know-who in my bedroom. So I went into the kitchen instead.
“Katie, love!”
“Oh, hi, Mom.”
“Are you all right? Did something happen?”
I was going to tell her. I really was. It’s just, I don’t know, maybe Mad Jaz had spooked me during our conversation.
“No,” I said. “Nothing happened.”
“In that case, why haven’t you done your chores?”
“Because,” I said, trying to keep the wobble out of my voice, “I have a very important meeting with my record label tomorrow, and I am trying to write a song.”
I think it’s fair to say that as far as my music career is concerned, Mom is not a fan.
This is for a number of reasons. Some of them are fair enough. Others are completely nuts.
• And I do appreciate that this is a big one—Tony, the head of my record label, had sort of tried to destroy my entire life to get revenge on Mom’s new boyfriend, Adrian. So yes, all right, I can see why she might have a few trust issues when it comes to Top Music. I kind of have them too, even though ever since my single made the charts, they have been very nice, sending me chocolates and cards and more flowers than we have vases to put them in (i.e., two).
• Mom figures that it will stop me from putting any effort into my schoolwork. I pointed out to her that I never put much effort into my schoolwork anyway. This did not seem to help.
• Dad is a musician. This means that I am not allowed to be a musician too. No, I don’t understand this one, either.
After the whole single-going-viral-concert thing had happened, Tony had taken Mom and Adrian and Amanda and me out for dinner in London at this ultra-glam restaurant called the Ivy. Me and Mands had spent most of the meal celebrity spotting (we saw Amanda Holden, Stephen Fry, and someone who we are fairly sure was in Game of Thrones), while the adults had talked about contracts and percentages and things I wanted to be interested in, but somehow found I wasn’t.
By the end, and after a couple of glasses of champagne, Mom had been smiling and had even let Tony kiss her on both cheeks, although once he’d gotten into the back of his fancy black car outside, she’d said, “I don’t trust that man as far as I can throw him.”
But it seemed that she had agreed to “see how things go,” which, when I had quizzed Adrian later, meant she would let me record an album, as long as I didn’t take even a single morning off from school, and that any money I made would be put into an account I couldn’t get to until I was about seventy.
“And the second the music business makes you unhappy, then that’s it, game over,” Adrian had said.
“Of course,” I’d said.
So on the morning of going in to see Top Music, I made sure to seem especially upbeat, singing in the shower and eating three of the four slightly stale croissants Adrian had found on sale at the store.
“I still don’t know, Katie,” said Mom, looking down at a sea of pastry crumbs. “I just think—”
“I know what you just think,” I told her. “And I’m just saying, let me try it. If I don’t like it, I’ll stop.”
We’d already had this conversation about seventeen times in the last week. I really couldn’t see why we needed to be having it again now, when there was a train to catch and people waiting for me.
Which I told her. And she sighed. “It’s going to change you, Katie.”
“Er, I don’t think so.”
“Well, what if it changes the people around you? How are you going to feel when your friends start treating you differently? Some people are weak, Katie, and who knows what they’ll do for a little attention, an envelope full of cash…”
“Like who? Lacey?”
“I don’t want to see you hurt,” said Mom. “That’s all.”
“I know,” I said. “But I won’t be. Adrian’ll look after me. You trust him, don’t you?”
I said this knowing full well that Mom would not be able to say that, no, she didn’t trust her boyfriend. And then, just as I’d hoped, she gave me a kiss and headed to the hospital for her shift, leaving me to exchange a look with Adrian and swipe the final croissant.
“Katie, hello! And, Adrian! My friend! So great to see you both.”
And then there we were in Top Music’s great big glass meeting room—me, my guitar, and Adrian.
That was our side of the table. In the middle there was a plate of (what I knew from past experience would be really delicious) cookies. Then on the other side sat Tony Topper, the head of Top Music, with his rich-man stubble and bright white teeth and skin that would make an orange feel pale.
“So we’re just finalizing the details for your first concert,” said Tony.
“Er, okay. Um.”
He leaned forward, and I wondered how he got his shirt so incredibly ironed. Maybe he just wore a brand-new one every morning. That’s what I’d do.
“You seem a little worried.”
“Well, yes. I’ve never done a big concert before. I mean, the only one I’ve done was in the shop, which is tiny and in Harltree and full of moldy old vinyl records.” But then I remembered the shop’s owner was sitting next to me. “But you know, completely supercool.”
“It’s okay, Katie,” murmured Adrian.
“All I’m saying is that…I’m a little bit worried about it,” I said. “Not, you know, super worried. Just averagely worried. The normal level of worried.”
Tony showed me a mouthful
of expensive teeth.
“No problem, Katie. We’ll keep this first one pretty small, okay? More of a showcase than a concert. Intimate and low-key. Just have some industry people in, a select group of fans, a few friends, and that’s it.” He took a sip of coffee. “And of course, we’ll put the word out that you’re playing and then make sure no one can get tickets. That’s always a good way to generate buzz for a new artist. Get you trending on social media.”
I’m sorry, but there is literally nothing more cringey than when a grown-up says “trending on social media.”
Tony may be a humongously successful music boss with all the world’s money, but “trending on social media”? Er, I don’t think so.
“And if it all goes well, we’ll have you playing Wembley Arena soon enough. So”—he nodded toward my guitar—“are you ready?”
Which is when I kind of got a little panicky and spent far too long tuning, during which Adrian ate two cookies and got crumbs all over the table.
“Okay,” I said eventually when I couldn’t put it off any longer. “So this is ‘Cake Boyfriend,’ which is kind of my favorite song from everything I have. I mean, it’s maybe not single material. But I think it should definitely be on the album. Maybe.”
And then I started to play.
Now, here’s the thing. I wasn’t at all feeling it when I started. But music’s sort of like magic, isn’t it? Not that I believe in magic, but if I did, I’d say that songs are spells, and as you’re singing them, you’re kind of pulling everyone around you into this glimmery bubble where nothing else matters. It’s just you and the music.
The song finished, and I stopped and smiled, feeling a little giddy.
And Tony said, “That’s fine, I guess. Anything else?” Then I played through “Song for a Broken Phone,” only Tony said that most people get free upgrades on their cell phone contracts and are really glad when their phones break since it gives them an excuse to get a new one.
So I played “London Yeah,” only Tony said that it was too UK-focused, and I needed to think about foreign audiences, and so I sort of gave up and concentrated on eating the remaining cookies, which in fact weren’t quite as nice as I remembered.
“Katie, forgive me if I’m wrong,” said Tony, who did not look like a man who thought he was wrong or who thought he needed to be forgiven, “but didn’t you play all these songs at the record-shop concert?”
Katie Cox vs. the Boy Band Page 2