Along for the Ride

by Katrina Abbott

  “Well,” she started and then swallowed loudly. “You know how I’ve been vlogging about music and bands and stuff?”

  I’d actually forgotten about it since I’d been so focused on my equestrian training and the busy term I’d had so far, but I nodded and crossed my arms. “Yeah.”

  “Well, what if I did like a series on the guys?”

  I shrugged. “He wouldn’t mind. There are a million music vlogs out there.”

  “No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I mean like be their exclusive vlogger. On tour. Sort of like a making of the band series.”

  “Wait, you want to go on tour with them?”

  Her eyes widened like she couldn’t believe I was even questioning it. “Are you crazy, I would LOVE to go on tour with the band. Do you think your dad would be into it?”

  Whether he was or not, I wasn’t into it. Plus, what about our summer, the one we were supposed to spend together in the Hamptons? “I doubt it.”

  Her face fell. “Really?”

  I instantly felt bad, I was crushing her dreams and being selfish. But she had to understand this was a huge deal and not just a garage band. “Sandy, this is big time. He’s going to do a major media push and spend thousands and thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of dollars on press. No offense, but your little vlog…”

  “Has over two hundred thousand subscribers,” she said defiantly, her hands on her hips. “It’s not so little, Nessa.”

  I blinked at her. “What?”

  She grinned and squealed, bouncing a little on her toes. “I have over two hundred thousand subscribers.”

  What? “As of when?”

  She shrugged, giving me a coy smile. “That one I did on Zen Garden has started to go viral. I guess the band liked it and shared it while I was at the spa over the weekend.”

  “Really?” I asked, suddenly super excited for her. “That’s awesome. Why didn’t you tell me something that’s such a big deal?”

  She gave me a withering look, which made me laugh. “Okay, I deserved that,” I said, dropping my voice to add, “But not telling you about Andres was because I was embarrassed. This is really exciting news!”

  She smiled. “It just happened. And anyway, you don’t care about my ‘little blog.’ I know you never watch it.” She waved her hand dismissively like it was nothing, but I knew it was a huge deal to her.

  I cringed. “I’m sorry. I…I have no excuse other than I’ve been really busy…” I sighed. “No, I’m just a bad friend.”

  She slid her arm across my shoulders. “You’re not a bad friend. You just really hate musicians.”

  I glanced over at her. “I really do.”

  “Well after that story you just told me, I understand a little better why. I mean, you’ve grown up with them, so, of course, you know better.”

  That was the thing, I did know better, but I’d still gotten caught up in it with Andres. I glanced over at my friend. Did she really think she’d survive on tour with a bunch of potential heartbreakers? “I do. Which means I don’t think it’s a good idea, Sandy.”

  “But what would your dad think?” she asked, obviously determined.

  I saw the hope in her eyes and pushed my own crap out of my head. “Only one way to find out.”

  It turned out Dad did like the idea, much to my surprise, but he wanted to talk to his publicity team about it. He explained to Sandy that a lot depended on the marketing plan for the band that he hadn’t even seen yet, so while he was encouraging, he was also very careful not to commit to anything.

  He also let her know it could be weeks before they’d have any sort of answer, which I could tell she wasn’t happy about, but that was the business.

  As we left the studio to go shopping, I tried not to be a dream-crusher but was worried she was setting herself up for disappointment. “It’s a great idea, Sandy,” I said as we stood on the curb, waiting for Gary to arrive. “But you know it’s a long shot. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but I held up a hand to stop her.

  “I know, but it is what it is. He liked the idea, but like he said, it’s not completely up to him. It’s a business, and they have to do what’s best for the band.”

  Her shoulders slumped a little, but she nodded. “I know.”

  “But if nothing else, you’ll get tickets to some of the concerts and backstage access to at least do a really kickass vlog.”

  She sighed. “I know, it won’t be the same as being on tour with them.”

  “No,” I agreed, stepping toward the street as Gary pulled up, thinking that was probably a good thing.

  Back to the Grind

  The rest of spring break went mostly how I’d hoped it would, except for two more trips to the studio which Sandy said were ‘research.’ She wanted to put together a report to send to my dad that he could take to the publicity team to help make her case. It hadn’t been his idea for her to do it, but I had to admit it was a good one—if she could prove that she was a pro and not just a groupie wannabe who wanted to hang out with hot celebrities, she’d have a much better chance of getting the gig.

  Not that I wanted her to, of course. But I was being selfish and needed to get over myself. If she really wanted this and knew the risks, a best friend would do whatever she could to help make it happen.

  Even if it included more trips to the studio so she could get to know the guys. At least with her knowing about my history with Andres now, she didn’t push me into interacting with the band, which was a relief. But she did get sort of caught up with them, flirting and going a little over the top to ingratiate herself with them. She probably thought they would have a say in the decision of letting her go on tour with them.

  Which they absolutely wouldn’t.

  But she was having fun, and it was her spring break, too, so I let it go. Plus, she gave my dad a lot of feedback about the boys which he’d been struggling to get out of me, so it actually got me off the hook for that.

  Win, win, I suppose.

  Eventually, it was my turn to pick stuff to do so I dragged Sandy out of the studio and around New York so we could play tourist, shopping and lunching and even taking a horse and carriage ride through Central Park.

  I never did hear back from Dave again but hardly thought about it with how busy we were with everything.

  We were actually so busy that by the time Gary drove us back to Rosewood on the Sunday, I was exhausted to the bone.

  That Sandy fell asleep in the car told me she felt the same.

  Despite the whole Andres thing, it had been a good week.

  We quickly fell back into our routines and with how busy school got with term papers, events, volunteer hours, and my equestrian practice, I might have forgotten about Sandy’s bid to follow the band around on tour if she hadn’t mentioned it.

  Every.

  Single.

  Day.

  At least she’d taken the picture of Andres down off her wall, which I really appreciated. She’d left up all her other band posters after she’d asked me if I’d fooled around with anyone else on her wall.

  “No,” I said, narrowing my eyes at her. “Just the one.” Though I guess she had a point since I had kept the Andres thing from her.

  Two weeks after we’d returned from spring break as we got ready for a dance, we were standing in the bathroom, both at the mirror doing our makeup.

  “So, when do you think your dad is going to decide?” she asked casually.

  I smudged mascara onto my eyeball. I swore and dabbed at my eye with a Kleenex before I looked at her in the mirror.

  “For the eight millionth time, Sandrine, I do not know.”

  “Fine,” she said with a cluck of her tongue. “Just asking.”

  I looked back at myself in the mirror, but I could feel her eyes still on me. “It’s not going to work,” I said, not making eye contact.

  “I’m not doing anything,” she said, though her laser-eyes we
re boring into me.

  “You can’t pressure me.” I grabbed the mascara and gave it another go. She kept her mouth shut this time, so I was successful.

  “So…,” Sandy said a few moments later.

  My eyes slid to hers, and I saw her smirk as she knew she’d trapped me. “Please,” she said.

  I exhaled out a gusty sigh and grabbed my phone. “Fine. I’ll call him. But I told you it could still be weeks before he knows.”

  Three minutes later, I hung up the phone and turned to my roommate, giving her my best sympathy face.

  Her expression began to crumple, so I put her out of her misery. “You’re in.”

  She blinked as it took a second to sink in. But then, as expected, I got hug tackled.

  Thankfully the mascara was already dry.

  Spring in my Step

  Spring finally came which meant the school year was winding down. Once it was over, Sandy and I would head to Manhattan. The plan was that she would spend a week with the band as the boys geared up for the tour—rehearsing, finalizing their wardrobes, recording interviews, getting their final press shots, et cetera.

  Then everyone, including the band and some of the crew, would head out to our house in the Hamptons for a relaxing weekend before the tour started.

  While Sandy wanted to spend the whole summer with the boys, Dad would only approve her to go with them for a week, since she was still underage and he didn’t want the responsibility of being her babysitter.

  It made sense, plus it also meant we could still have our summer together, so it seemed like a good compromise for everyone. Dad had worked it all out with her parents, who trusted him and were already used to the idea of her spending the summer with me, so they were fine with it.

  But before all that happened, we had to get through the last weeks of school and finals.

  It was a Sunday in May, and I was sitting with Sandy and some other girls from my Social Sciences class as we worked on our term projects in the floor lounge when Brooklyn came to find me.

  I looked up to see her there and was confused since we only usually saw each other in the stables. But once we got down the hall to my dorm room, she quickly got to her point: she wanted me to help her get a band for the end of year party. I agreed right away that I’d contact my dad, already cooking up what I thought was a pretty good idea that would help a lot of people.

  When I called Dad the second Brooklyn left, he loved my idea and agreed the band would benefit from some real-world practice before the official tour. He just had to work out a few details before he could say for sure.

  I was in my room after dinner the next day, catching up on some homework, when I got the official word; Dad had arranged everything with Emmeline Somerville (who was in charge of the party) and the dean had okayed everything, and the band was a go. Wiretap was booked for their first real gig.

  I thanked Dad and ended the call, genuinely happy that it had worked out. Except that as I looked down at my phone, there was something nagging at me.

  Taking a deep breath, I opened up my e-mail, realizing I hadn’t spoken to Dave since spring break over two months before. It had been so long now that it was awkward to contact him, but I didn’t want him to hear about the band playing at the party from someone else. I don’t know why I felt he should hear it from me; it wasn’t like he’d tried out for the band and hadn’t made it. Whatever it was, it compelled me to compose a message to him.

  To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  Subject: Wiretap

  Message: No, I’m not e-mailing you to get you to join the band. They’ve actually recorded their album and are going on tour soon, but I wanted to let you know they’re going to be playing here at the end of year party—it will be their first gig. I just thought you should know.

  V.

  My heart pounded as I waited for a response, which was stupid, so I put the phone down and forced myself to go take a shower, telling myself I wasn’t waiting for him to write back. It actually didn’t even matter if he never wrote back because I was just sending him an FYI.

  Which meant I didn’t care at all when he did write back. Obviously.

  To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  Subject: re: Wiretap

  Message: Okay, thanks.

  Okay, thanks? That’s it? I still had no idea how he felt about the whole band thing and if he would have been interested in auditioning if his grandfather hadn’t been ill. Was I rubbing his nose in it?

  Speaking of his grandfather…

  To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  Subject: re: re: Wiretap

  Message: Are you okay? Also, I know it’s awkward and we haven’t talked since break, but

  I stopped typing, not sure what to say. We didn’t really know each other at all, and I couldn’t call myself a friend. But I remembered what it had been like when I’d had to deal with the crushing grief of losing people close to me.

  To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  Subject: re: re: Wiretap

  Message: Are you okay? Also, I know it’s awkward and we haven’t talked since break, but I wanted you to know if you need to talk about your grandfather or anything, I’m here. I’ve lost people and I know how it is.

  V.

  Two seconds after I hit send, I wanted to smack myself.

  To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  Subject: re: re: Wiretap

  Message: I’m not assuming your grandfather has died. I hope he hasn’t. I’m so sorry. Now I feel really stupid. Is there a way to erase e-mails before someone can read them? Asking for a friend. Obviously.

  Thankfully, his response came almost immediately.

  To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  Subject: re: re: Wiretap

  Message: I needed to laugh today, so thank you for that. He passed away last week—the funeral was on the weekend.

  As I read his message, my heart felt like was imploding in on itself. I wanted to reach out, to hug him or say something non-stupid that would help, but my own experience told me that there was no cure for grief and no words could make it better. Still, I needed to say something.

  To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  Subject: re: re: re: Wiretap

  Message: I’m so sorry. :’(

  It was horribly inadequate and felt so thin, but it was the best I could offer. I swiped away a few tears and waited for a response, randomly noticing the tree outside my window was starting to bloom before my phone finally sounded.

  To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  Subject: re: re: re: Wiretap

  Message: Thank you. I thought I was ready to say goodbye—he’d been sick for a long time. But I wasn’t ready. Is that stupid?

  To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  Subject: re: re: re: re: Wiretap

  Message: It’s not stupid. Death is so final and I don’t care how much time you have to prepare, it’s still a shock to turn that corner knowing you can’t ever turn back.

  Can I call you?

  As I waited for his response, I got up out of my desk chair and went over to my little fridge and took out a bottle of water. I twisted off the cap and took a long drink.

  To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  Subject: re: re: re: re: Wiretap

  Message: If it�
�s okay, I’d rather you didn’t. I don’t really know you well enough to cry on the phone to you. Maybe when my next grandparent dies.

  Halfway through reading that message, I got the next:

  To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  Subject: re: re: re: re: Wiretap

  Message: that was a horrible joke. Let me know if you or your friend find out how to erase messages so people can’t read them.

  To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com

  From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com

  Subject: re: re: re: re: Wiretap

  Message: I understand that you don’t want to talk live. I’ve been there. But if you change your mind, let me know, okay?

  V.

  p.s. Joke? What joke? ;)

  We e-mailed back and forth a bit more—long enough that a phone call definitely would have been more efficient, but I wasn’t lying when I’d said I understood him not wanting to talk. This way, he could lose it completely, and I’d never know. But by the end of our exchange when I told him my fingers were cramping and turning into arthritic paws, we’d gotten completely off the topic of his grandfather. He’d asked about the band, so I’d told him about the album and how great they sounded (I’d returned to New York for a weekend to visit and had gotten to hear their progress) and about their upcoming tour.

  He said he’d definitely come to the year-end party now, even though he originally hadn’t planned on it. I was tempted to ask him why he hadn’t planned to come but thought best to leave that alone for now. He was still grieving after all—it probably had a lot to do with that.

  The Bad News

  “They boys are going to have to cancel,” my father said into the phone two days later.