Dave, Max, and Andres grabbed their guitars and Darren took his spot at the drum kit while Graeme took his place at the mic at center stage.
I knew they were nervous, but you’d never know it by how they smiled confidently out at the audience. I had a feeling Dad had given them a pep talk right before they came out.
“Thank you all for having us!” Graeme said over the roar of the crowd, which started to die down as he spoke.
Dave was playing them in to Brooklyn Girl, strumming the opening bars. “We’re so excited to be here at our first real gig. We want to thank Tony Capri for bringing us together and your own mate, Willmont Davidson for filling in while Chris is in hospital.”
Graeme pointed at Dave, whose smile broadened as a huge cheer erupted for him, but he took it in stride, giving the audience a little preview of what was to come, making them go even crazier.
Once that was done, Graeme took over again. “We’re going to start our set with what will be our first single when our album releases in a couple of weeks. It’s a special song that means a lot to me. It’s a song called Brooklyn Girl, and we are Wiretap.”
“I want to have his babies,” Sandy said beside me, making me drag my eyes away from the band and look at her. I gave her a raised-eyebrow look, which she countered with a smirk.
The guys were halfway through Pieces of You, the last song of their encore, and the whole room full of bodies was swaying as Graeme’s smooth voice wrapped around the audience like a warm blanket.
Looking over the crowd, I realized Sandy would have to take a number if she wanted to offer up her uterus to the guys; many of my fellow Rosewood students (and plenty of the Westwood ones, too) were completely spellbound. A few people had danced during the fast songs, but mostly everyone watched the guys perform what turned out to be a great set. There were a few stumbles as Dad had predicted, but if anyone noticed, it sure didn’t lessen their enjoyment of the show.
If anything, I thought it was sweet and endearing and sort of wished they could keep this shiny newness with which they were playing. They’d get better as they went on and I worried that also meant they’d lose that innocence and eagerness they had now. If only I could bottle it.
But it was inevitable that they’d evolve and improve—there was no stopping it. And while I liked them rough around the edges, Dad wanted them polished.
Still, while I mourned the changes to come, I was still nearly bursting with pride. For the band, of course, but especially for my dad who’d had the vision to put them together.
It was a good sign that they’d been able to entrance the audience like they had, but as I looked back at my roommate, it was an unfortunate reality when it came to her. She was clearly smitten. What I couldn’t tell was with whom.
“Whose babies?” I asked, trying to break the spell.
She glanced at me and frowned but then quickly turned her gaze back to the stage, seeming upset that she’d missed even a half a second of the performance. “Are you kidding? All of them,” she said, as though it was obvious. “Except for Andres, of course,” she added. “Since he’s a douche.”
“Nonetheless, having four guys’ babies is a physical impossibility. At least at one time.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “Can you please let a girl have dreams?”
“Not if it means you bearing multiple groupie love children,” I said, only half joking.
“You are no fun, Vanessa. Please. I mean, I’d let you be their godmother.”
I couldn’t help but smile at that ridiculous thought. “No, thanks.”
“All right, shhhh. I need to hear the end of this song. It’s like he’s singing right to me.”
I was going to argue with her, but as I looked toward the stage, Graeme was looking over in our direction, and for a half a second, I thought she might be right, that he was singing just to her. I gasped and looked at my roommate and then back to him, but his gaze had moved on as he skated it over the crowd. I even heard a few breathy sighs from other girls as he did. He was totally working the crowd like a pro.
Boy did my dad know what he was doing by signing Graeme. Nonetheless, Sandy had to understand she couldn’t give in to the guys’ charms. There was no way she could go on tour with them if she was infatuated already—my dad would never allow it if he suspected she might climb into one of their bunks on the tour bus. I owed it to her to warn her that my dad was a thousand percent serious about no fraternizing on tour. Somehow she was going to have to build up an immunity to musicians.
Although now was not the time to bring it up, as she was making googly eyes toward the stage, her hands clasped as though in prayer to the god of hot boy bands.
Later, I told myself, and enjoyed the rest of the song, cheering along with the audience as the band finished their set, took their bows, and finally left the stage.
The cheers and applause went on for a long time, but I knew the guys wouldn’t come back for another encore: they were out of songs, and the set was over.
But then, as I was about to go around the stage to meet up with them, Dave came out on his own with his guitar.
The crowd went nuts, kids whistling and hollering as he came up to the mic and held up his hands, his guitar slung over his shoulder.
“Hey,” he said into the mic, effectively silencing the audience. “Thank you all so much for the really warm reception. The guys and I are so thankful for the opportunity to play for you.” He paused and dropped his eyes as the crowd waited with baited breath to see what else he would say. Finally, he looked up and out, took a breath and went on. “Although, maybe it means a little more to me on a personal level because it’s all of you—my classmates, my friends—that we’re playing for. So I wanted to do my own special thank you now, if that’s okay.”
I snorted; like anyone would stop him?
A cheer went up, making him smile so sweetly, it was almost heartbreaking, even to me, who was (mostly) immune to musicians’ charms. Getting all the encouragement he needed, he nodded and cleared his throat as a hush came over the sea of students as we all waited for him to begin.
“Hey, kiddo,” I heard to my left, startling me, and turned to see my dad, grinning like crazy.
“What’s he playing?” I asked, because this had not been part of the set plan.
Dad shrugged. “I’m not sure. They came off the stage just now, and he asked if he could do this in lieu of another encore. Not that they had any other songs to play, but this audience definitely wants more from the band.”
Speaking of the band, as I glanced over toward the locker room door, there were the four of them, watching. For a second I was worried they’d be jealous of Dave taking all the attention by playing a solo, but they were all smiling, their expressions encouraging. Proud, even. They obviously liked him—he fit right in.
I turned back to look up at the stage just in time to see Dave lean into the mic as he began to play. “This is a little something I’ve been working on,” he said and cleared his throat before adding, almost as an afterthought, “It’s called Full Circle.”
He played a few more bars, bending his head as his fingers pulled a haunting tune from his guitar.
“He is so good,” Sandy said, dreamily. I nudged her with my elbow. She turned and glared at me. “What?”
I nodded my head slightly toward my dad and widened my eyes.
She rolled hers but got the message to keep her ovaries on a slow simmer or below. “I’m just saying,” she said. “The camera loves him. I just wish I could have captured this show for the vlog.”
Dad must have heard her and jerked his chin over to where the huge video camera was perched on a tripod. “Rex’s got this one, and we’ll tidy it up to use for promo,” he said, though he hardly had to explain it to her again why she wasn’t allowed to tape this performance. In fact, it had been one of the conditions of the performance that no one could. Gary and Ken had been stationed on the sides of the audience, keeping a watchful eye out for cell cameras to mak
e sure of it. At this stage, before the band was even out in the media, Dad wanted full control of what got released.
“Is this what he played when you first told me about him?” Dad asked.
I shook my head. “No. I’ve never heard this song before. I think…”
I didn’t even realize I’d stalled out until my dad said, “You think what?”
I looked at him. “Oh, um, I think this might be about his grandfather.” I looked around, but Sandy was focused on Dave having moved closer to the stage, out of earshot. “Did he tell you?”
“Strutts?” Dad asked and then went on when I nodded. “He did. We’re going to have to talk about it, but if he’s open to it, I think we can leverage it. This could be a good thing—he’s continuing the legacy.”
“Did you know him?” I asked.
“Met him a few times,” Dad said and even over the music, I could hear the note of sadness in his voice. “He was a real talent. It’s too bad he’s gone—I just hope he got to see Dave play like this. He would have been proud.”
“He warned him against the business,” I said.
Dad nodded. “He had reason to after the life he lived. But I’ll look after Dave. He’s a good kid, and I’ll make sure it stays that way.”
If anyone could, my dad was up to the task. We both turned to the stage as Dave lifted his head. His eyes sort of unfocused over the crowd as he began to sing.
Dad exhaled loudly. “Strutts was a real talent. But damn it all, he wasn’t as good as his grandson.”
After Dave finished up and took his bow while the crowd went nuts, the guys all came out to mingle with the students, which, in retrospect, may not have been the best idea, considering how they immediately got swarmed. But one look at their faces and it was obvious they were totally into it, drinking up the love and enthusiasm from their legions of brand new fans.
“That didn’t take long,” Linda said from beside me, her arms crossed as she watched like a mother, worried about the swarms of girls. It was kind of cute how protective she got sometimes. “At least they seem to be enjoying themselves.”
What guy wouldn’t? Although, as I glanced at Max, frowning and stiff as people surrounded him, he reminded me of a cornered animal. Hopefully, my dad or someone would swoop in and save him before he came out fighting.
“For now,” Ginny replied. “Just wait; it’ll get old fast and then they’ll be begging for the quiet of their green rooms and the bus.”
“When did you get so cynical?” Dad asked with a laugh. “Let them have their fun. We won’t be able to let fans have this kind of access once we’re on tour, so they may as well soak it up now. It’ll build their confidence.”
Ginny just humphed. I’d never known her to be so pessimistic—maybe it was lack of sleep thanks to her twins.
“And anyway,” Dad went on. “You know as well as I do that performers never lose the rush that comes from a crowd of adoring fans. The stuff that can come along with fame, sure, but the high of performing? You never lose that.” He nodded toward the guys, and no one could argue that they weren’t enjoying the attention. Except Max, but he’d edged himself away a little and looked slightly less clenched, so maybe he was warming to the idea of being adored.
Dave definitely had the biggest crowd around him, his Westwood buddies thumping him on the back and offering congratulations, the Rosewood girls (many who had probably always had something of a crush on him) angling to get close.
Already a star, Andres was also surrounded by a throng of mostly female fans as he signed some shirts, hands, and arms, and even one bare shoulder, until the eagle-eyed Dean Haywood rushed over and intervened.
“Uh oh,” Dad said as he noticed the dean close in, leaving my side to make his way over to do some damage control and surely remind Andres about signing protocol. Probably in his former life, signing questionable body parts was standard operating procedure. Not so for guys under Dad’s wing.
The other guys weren’t starved for attention, either. I expected to see Sandy right in there with the other giggling and googly-eyed Rosewood girls, but a moment later, she came up to me from the side of the room, handing me a cold can of soda.
“I’m surprised you’re not fangirling,” I said, taking the can and opening it before taking a swig. The soda was too cold, fizzing up my nose.
She glanced at my father. “I should probably cool it around your dad.”
I nodded. “Good plan.”
She leaned toward me and whispered in my ear. “Plus, I get a whole week on tour with them. These poor girls only get a few minutes. I actually feel sorry for them.”
I didn’t bother responding other than lifting an eyebrow as I took another drink.
She winked at me and then looked up at the clock on the wall. “When do we leave here, anyway?”
The end of year party was going to continue on with a DJ so people could dance, but Dad had made plans for us, so we were going to duck out. I was only a tiny bit sad to leave my school party early since Sandy would get to come with me. And it’s not like there was anyone I wanted to get close to on the dance floor, anyway.
Dad liked to do a recap while everything was still fresh in everyone’s minds and after all the excitement of the day, we knew the guys would probably pass out on the drive back into the city, so he’d made reservations for the band, his team, plus me and Sandy at a restaurant not too far away. We’d get to have a good meal and allow the band to wind down a little before they all (save Sandy, Dave, and I) returned to New York. It would be a good opportunity to talk about the performance constructively and have something of a celebration at the same time.
“Soon,” I said to Sandy. “Dad’ll give us a sign.”
She nodded, but her face suddenly got serious, like she was working out how to say something. “What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
You can’t be roommates with someone for two years without knowing when something is most definitely not nothing. “Sandrine…”
“Fine,” she said with an eye-roll and a big, breathy sigh. But then she glanced toward where my father was chatting with the dean and said, “I’m a little nervous.”
“About tour?”
She bit her bottom lip and nodded. “What if I suck? What if I don’t get a lot of followers or if the series doesn’t take off?”
I slid my arm around her shoulders. “First of all, you don’t suck. You’ve already proven that you’re a great Tuber. As for the followers, you have a ton already, and that’s growing every day. My dad brought you on because you had a great idea. Everyone is going to love the behind the scenes stuff that they won’t be able to get anywhere else. Your content will be fresh and unscripted—the kind of thing that’s hard to buy from a publicity firm. It’s not like he’s doing you a favor; you earned the opportunity, remember? You’re both getting something out of it.”
She nodded, but then that lip got sucked back between her teeth—a sure sign there was more to her nervousness than she was letting on.
“What else?”
She glanced over at the boys again. “What if…I mean…do you think…?” Her eyes told me everything I needed to know.
I sighed, not needing her to finish. “Sandy, you can’t. The guys are off limits. You have to understand…”
“I know,” she said sadly as she turned back and looked at me again. “And I really want to do the vlog thing. It’s just…”
“Which one?” I asked, crossing my arms. “And I swear to God, Sandrine, if you say all of them…”
She laughed. “No, it’s…”
She didn’t have a chance to answer because half a second later Linda came over. “Can you girls help us with the stuff in the locker room? It will go a lot faster if we have more hands,” she said as she began to herd us toward the door, effectively ending our conversation about which band member Sandy was into.
But knowing my best friend and roommate as well as I did, I knew it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist or
a Cosmo quiz to figure out which of the guys she had a crush on.
Of course, it wasn’t Andres, due to him being a douche and her fierce loyalty to me, which left three. Unless she counted Dave, but no, she didn’t know he was going on tour, so she wouldn’t count him.
It couldn’t be Max, the guy who barely said two words to anyone but could play bass like nobody’s business. Dad said he filled the broody musician archetype perfectly and would find his own set of fans, assuming he stuck around, but I wasn’t so sure.
Sandy had never really been about the broody type, either, so that narrowed it down to two.
Graeme or Darren—both nice guys with their own charms. Graeme, the smooth and proper tall Englishman with the voice like poured silk, and Darren, the energetic drummer who was quick with a wink and a joke.
Sandy liked to cast a broad net, so it could easily be either.
As we got to the locker room and started packing up, the boys came in and started putting their guitars in cases and getting all their clothes sorted out.
And that’s when it all became very clear as though the heavens had opened up and a beam of light had shined down on one body.
The second Dave walked in, Sandy’s spine straightened, and she bit her lip as her eyes widened.
That meant Sandy did count Dave as in the band; somehow she must have known he was joining the tour. That was problem number one. Number two was that she was obviously crushing on him. Hard.
Problem three was just how much it bothered me.
The After-Party
I didn’t get a chance to talk to Sandy until we were two courses into our meal and she excused herself to go to the bathroom. She had been seated down at the other end of the table, flanked by Kiki and Max, but I’d been watching, and she only had eyes for Dave across the table from her.
Since I’d been waiting for an opportunity, the second she pushed her chair back, I popped up and followed her into the restroom.
She saw me and waited at the entrance to our private dining room for me to come around the table and join her. “Hey,” she said.
Along for the Ride Page 11