Now and Forever

by Susane Colasanti

  “Is she one hundred percent?”

  “Totally. Her doctor said she kicked serious angioplasty butt.”

  “Good. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

  “Now I’m just worrying about you.”

  “Why?”

  “You have a million things to deal with. I don’t know how you’re doing it all. Aren’t you exhausted?”

  “Not when adrenaline and fear take over. They’re a powerful upper combo.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  Ethan holds my hand between his. I love the way our hands fit together. Like he will always protect me.

  “Sometimes I worry that it could all disappear,” Ethan says. “You know how this business is. An artist is hot one day and forgotten the next.”

  “That could never happen to you.”

  “It could happen to anyone.”

  “Not you. Your fans love you for a reason. Not just because of how sexy you are or how strongly your music resonates with them or how your voice makes them melt. You’re one of the best musicians ever. People will still be talking about you decades from now. Trust me. You’ve already made history and you’re only eighteen. Imagine what you’ll have accomplished by the time you’re twenty-five.”

  Ethan brushes his hand against my cheek. He looks at me tenderly.

  “You know how long I’ve been waiting for my dreams to come true,” he says. “But it means so much more sharing everything with you. You’re my angel, Sterling.”

  Ethan kisses me. It feels so good. The supercharged electricity between us is more intense than ever. I lean back against the soft leather seat. Ethan puts a throw pillow under my head. He kisses me and kisses me like he can’t get enough.

  This is what true love feels like.

  This is what ultimate happiness feels like.

  This is what it’s like to be with the boy every girl wants.

  23

  [8,716,525 FOLLOWERS]

  Watching Ethan rehearse is hot.

  This week has been amazing. First the benefit packed with glitterati. Now I get to watch Ethan rehearse at the theater they rented in New York. All his backup dancers live here. So does his choreographer, stylist, and everyone else involved in developing a tour they promise will blow the roof off every single venue.

  The crew is so nice. They keep coming over to where I’m sitting in the third row to say hi. They ask if I want a drink (I’m good). They ask if I want a snack (no, thanks). They ask what I think of the rehearsal (freaking amazing). They were rehearsing at a studio before this. But the tour is starting in two weeks. Everyone needs to see how it’s coming together onstage.

  Ethan is a natural. That’s the only way to describe it. The way he’s so comfortable with the choreo. The way he makes each song come alive. The way he owns the stage. He was born to do this. People are saying he’s the next Michael Jackson. Ethan moves to the rhythm a lot like Michael did. It’s like every cell of his body absorbs the music in such a soulful way that watching him dance is a transcendental experience.

  “Night on Fire” involves pyrotechnics. The set is sensational. Fire jets burst when the lights are snapped off as the first chorus starts. Right when the flames burst, Ethan jumps from higher to lower risers on the stage. All these different levels are set up. They look like boxes glowing yellow, orange, and red. Ethan moves between them so smoothly you hardly even notice they’re not connected. I’d be tripping over myself on the first jump.

  After practicing “Night on Fire” four times, the director shouts for everyone to take a break. I head backstage to meet up with Ethan. I can’t wait to tell him how hot he looked. Hotter than fire.

  On my way to Ethan’s dressing room, I hear Gage talking in a room I’m about to pass. Something about the tone of his voice makes me stop before the doorway and listen.

  “We all started out on the same level,” Gage is saying. “Now we’re just called ‘Ethan Cross’? That’s bullshit. At least ‘Ethan Cross and The Invincibles’ acknowledged our existence. How did we go from practicing in Ethan’s garage to Ethan being the only one people know?”

  “They know us.” Drew.

  “No they don’t.” Stefan.

  “The hardcore fans do.” Drew.

  “But it shouldn’t be like that.” Gage. “Look at Led Zeppelin. People don’t only know Robert Plant. Jimmy Page is just as famous. They even know who John Bonham was.”

  “Hells yeah.” Stefan.

  “Who was on keys in Led Zeppelin?” Drew.

  “John Paul Jones.” Gage.

  “I thought he played bass.”

  “He did. He’s a multi-instrumentalist. He’s also a composer and songwriter. Sound familiar?”

  You can hear the resentment in Gage’s voice. He’s so jealous of Ethan. They probably all are. But Drew and Stefan are choosing to be mostly positive. I guess Gage is never going to be happy about Ethan’s success. Which is a shame. Success for Ethan means success for the entire band. Why can’t Gage see that?

  “Are you comparing yourself to a member of one of the best bands ever?”

  “I’m saying that I write songs, too. Our sound could seriously evolve if Ethan would respect that. I’m so tired of him calling the shots. We’re all partners in this band. We should all have equal say.”

  I remember that band practice back in May when Gage asked Ethan about adding “Aluminum Rain” to the set list. Does he remember how Drew and Stefan agreed with Ethan? How they said Gage’s music isn’t as strong as Ethan’s?

  Gage continues his rant. “Why does Ethan get all the attention? Why is he the only famous one here? Why him and not me?”

  “You’re not Neil Young,” Drew says. “Get over it.”

  “You don’t think I could be as successful as Ethan? Because I could. If I got the chance, I could.”

  “This is your chance. All of this. Right now. Which you would realize if you weren’t so cynical.”

  “You don’t think my songs are as good as Ethan’s. Isn’t that what you said? My music’s not as strong as Ethan’s and we should stick with what works?”

  “Take it easy, man.”

  “Why are you always telling me to take it easy? Don’t you have ambition? Am I the only one of us who wants more?”

  “Of course we want more. But we appreciate what we have.”

  “Whatever. You don’t get it.” Gage’s voice is getting louder, like he’s walking toward the door. I skittle around the corner to take the other way to Ethan’s dressing room. Ethan’s not there. I sit on the floor outside to wait. While I’m waiting, I notice a cardboard sign on the wall across the hall.

  KEEP THIS DOOR CLOSE AT ALL TIMES

  There’s no way I can ignore that glaring typo. Like, what, we’re supposed to take the door off the hinges and carry it with us everywhere we go? I look around. No one else is in the hall. I whip a pen out of my bag and change close to closed. Then I sit back down before anyone can catch me. I’m such a typo terrorist. But I don’t regret making the correction. I’m a typo terrorist with standards.

  A roadie comes around the corner behind me.

  “What are you?” he asks. “Some renegade copy editor?”

  I look at him. I can’t tell if he thinks I’m as abhorrent as I feel.

  He just laughs. “There are some dumbasses around here.”

  Even though he’s on my side, it hits me that I have to stop it with the correcting. I can see how obsessively correcting other people’s ignorance could be considered offensive. What if someone else catches me and posts what a freak I am online? From now on, I have to assume that someone’s always watching me. Maybe it’s enough just to notice the typos exist. If I’m noticing, I still care.

  “Hey!” Ethan swoops down to give me a kiss. “Sorry, I’m all sweaty.”

  “That’s okay.” I was going to tell Ethan what Gage said. But it’s probably better not to. Ethan would get stressed out and there’d be even more tension. I don’t want anything to get in t
he way of a phenomenal tour.

  “What do you think so far?” he asks.

  “It’s amazing. You’re amazing.”

  He kisses me again. “Did you like the fire?”

  “Of course. But you were hotter than the fire.”

  Ethan’s eyes burn into mine. I love it when he looks at me that way. Like he’s starving in the desert and I’m an ice-cream sundae.

  “Come in for a minute,” he says.

  We go into his dressing room. Right before Ethan closes the door behind us, the roadie catches my eye from across the hall.

  He salutes me.

  24

  [9,590,415 FOLLOWERS]

  I couldn’t have asked for a better New Year’s Eve. Ethan did an early acoustic show at a small venue in New York. The audience mainly consisted of contest winners. The show streamed live and will be rebroadcast on MTV later tonight. They set Ethan up with a gorgeous penthouse at the W Times Square. I’m totally staying with him. My mom thinks I’m sleeping over at Georgia’s.

  We have the whole night to ourselves.

  The last time we had a night together like this, just the two of us to do whatever we wanted, was last summer. I remember that one night like it was yesterday. Mom was away. Ethan told his parents he was sleeping over at Drew’s. We had the best time doing nothing. We found a quiet dock to lie back on and watch the stars. We were surrounded by water, the soothing night folding us into darkness. Fireflies glimmered around us. We went back to my place. I made my extra-buttery movie popcorn and we watched (500) Days of Summer.

  Then we went to my room. It wasn’t the first night Ethan slept over. But the night was so magical it felt like the first time.

  Tonight feels like the first time all over again.

  “I like your dress,” Ethan says.

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s sparkly. Like you.”

  “You think I’m sparkly?”

  “Always.” He leans across the table to kiss me. I can feel people looking at us even with my eyes closed. But for the first time since people started recognizing Ethan, I don’t care. Tonight is about us. Tonight we’re the only thing that matters.

  People from my cooking class were freaking out when I told them I’d be going to Serendipity on New Year’s Eve. Everyone knows Serendipity has the best frozen hot chocolate ever. I found the recipe online last year and whipped up a pitcher. Even though it was seriously delicious, I couldn’t wait to taste the real thing. When Ethan asked where I wanted to go for New Year’s, I jumped at the chance to come here. It’s not only about the food. Serendipity is shimmering with decorations and winter floral arrangements and thousands of twinkling Christmas lights. The place is packed with other couples and groups of friends appreciating how special it is to be here on New Year’s. They probably made reservations months ago. The only reason Zeke was able to get a reservation for us a few days ago is because of Ethan.

  We can’t decide what else to order.

  “Dude,” Ethan says. “What’s this Golden Opulence Sundae?”

  “Where?”

  “Down at the bottom.”

  “Oh my god. A thousand dollars? For a sundae?”

  “That’s one rich sundae.”

  “It has edible gold leaf. Oh, and you get to take the crystal goblet home.”

  “Want to order it?”

  “Are you insane?”

  “Why not? It’s a special occasion.”

  Ethan has told me a little about how much he’s making. He doesn’t like to talk about it. From what he’s told me, I know he could totally afford the sundae. Or even a hundred sundaes.

  “That sundae is outrageous,” I say. “Anyway, it says you need to order it forty-eight hours in advance.”

  “At least we still have the Vesuvius.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I think it’s what those guys are having.” Ethan glances at the table next to ours. A giddy twentysomething couple is sharing an enormous piece of cheesecake. The slice is so big it’s more like a whole cake. It’s so tremendous that the cake even has straws sticking out of it.

  “Cake requiring straws?” I say. “I need that recipe.”

  “Want to order it?”

  “Too intimidating. Let’s go with the Strawberry Fields Sundae.”

  “Done.” Ethan smacks down the menu. “This place is incredible.”

  We look around in awe, pointing out our favorite details. A rowdy table of girls in the corner totally knows who Ethan is. A few of them have their phones out. They keep looking over here. They’re spazzing in that way where you’re trying to appear calm but you aren’t fooling anyone. Even the air molecules around their table are twanging with excitement.

  Our waiter comes by. Ethan orders the Strawberry Fields.

  “Are those girls bothering you?” the waiter asks. He indicates the rowdy table with a flick of his wrist.

  “Not at all.” Ethan smiles at me. “We’re just enjoying being here.”

  “Exquisite, isn’t it?” the waiter says.

  “It really is,” I agree.

  “Just let me know if you need anything. And um . . . not to get all fangirl on you? But I cannot wait for your show at the Garden. I scored floor seats!”

  “Thanks,” Ethan says. “I’m already stoked.”

  “It’ll be a night on fire, burning with desire. Please tell me I did not just say that. Oh-kay, I’ll be back with your sundae.”

  “What’s it like to have everyone in the world love you?” I wonder.

  “Nothing compared to having you love me.”

  Melting. At. Serendipity.

  Ethan reaches for my hand across the table. “I wish it could always be like this. Sorry I’ve been so busy.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for. Your biggest dreams are becoming reality. That’s the most important thing.”

  “Nothing is more important than us.”

  Being with Ethan makes me happier than anything else ever could. I don’t even care that people are watching me swoon over my boyfriend.

  “Um. Excuse me?” One of the girls from the rowdy table is standing at ours.

  “Hi,” Ethan says.

  “Can I just say we love you? We’re all huge fans. Like, huge.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Oh my god, we love you so much!”

  “Where are you girls from?”

  “Here. No, not here, not like we live in a restaurant, ha! We’re from the Upper West.”

  “Awesome.”

  “Could you come over and take pictures with us? Sorry to interrupt . . .” Her eyes slide over me.

  “Of course. Sterling doesn’t mind.” Ethan flashes me his best rock star smile. My stomach sinks. I force my mouth to smile back. This was supposed to be our night. Just the two of us blocking out the rest of the world. I wish he didn’t want to let anyone else in.

  Sitting alone at Serendipity on New Year’s Eve? Not so fun.

  “Here you go!” the waiter announces. “Our finest Strawberry Fields.” He places the sundae at the center of the table with a flourish. “Where’s your man?”

  I gesture to the table of squealing fangirls in the corner. Ethan is smiling and posing for pictures as the girls take turns capturing what will undoubtedly be one of the best moments of their lives.

  “A rock star’s work is never done,” the waiter singsongs. He zips off to a table of three beaming couples.

  I pick up one of the ice-cream spoons. We always take our first bites of dessert together. But Ethan’s talking with those fans like I’m not even here.

  The girl at the table next to ours was smiling at us when we were holding hands across the table. Now she throws me a pity glance.

  I dig my spoon into the sundae. Part of me wants to march over there and yank Ethan back. But the rational part knows Ethan is just doing his thing. He’s so dedicated to his fans. I don’t want to ruin our night with drama. So I swallow my feelings along with the melting ice cream.

 
; After Serendipity, a car is waiting for us out front. We have to squeeze between the line of people waiting for tables and a glass case featuring Serendipity merchandise.

  “Do you want a shirt?” Ethan asks.

  Two girls whip out their phones and point them at Ethan. Other people in line are starting to stare.

  “That’s okay,” I say. “We should go.”

  The car takes us to our hotel. We don’t have that far to go, but traffic is moving at a glacial pace with the Times Square New Year’s crowds. I people-watch out the window and wonder what it would be like to live in such a vibrant city. I’d probably go out every night if I lived here.

  Back at our Extreme WOW Suite, I turn on the huge TV. It’s wild to be watching the same New Year’s celebration that’s happening below us. There’s less than fifteen minutes to go.

  Ethan checks the acoustic show rebroadcast online to see how it looks. Then he checks his fan page. Someone posted a picture of us at Serendipity. It already has over five thousand likes.

  “I bet it was those girls in the corner,” I say.

  “Oh yeah, it had to be. See how Santa’s sleigh is behind us?”

  “Cute picture.” I go over to the gift basket the production company sent. We tore into it the second we got to the room before the show. It’s sitting on a coffee table between two plush armchairs in front of an enormous picture window. Manhattan glows below us. Times Square is lit up so brightly it looks like daytime. Throngs of people are bunched together to watch the ball drop. Zeke told Ethan he should stay at a downtown hotel away from the crowds. But Ethan wanted to see how New Year’s Eve in Times Square looked from the fifty-seventh floor.

  I take out a chocolate-covered strawberry.

  “You’re eating more chocolate?” Ethan says. “How is that even possible?”

  “I’m a girl. We like our chocolate.”

  “You’re lucky. If my trainer knew what we just ate, he’d kill me.”

  “It’s New Year’s Eve. Don’t you get a night off on New Year’s Eve?”

  “Only on the DL.” Ethan comes up behind me and puts his hands on my waist. “Good strawberry?”