I’d barely made it through the first half, but was seriously contemplating leaving her on her own and just going to bed. I was tired, though now I had serious concerns about nightmares.
Really? he responded.
Yep. I’m a big chicken.
Need me to come save you?
I laughed and then clued in to what he’d said. Wait. Was he being serious?
I hardly need saving, boy band, I sent back before I could stop myself.
Maybe you don’t need to be saved but do you want to be?
That question made my heart thump hard in my chest. What was happening here? Was he flirting with me? What was this conversation about? Was I reading too much into what he was saying or was this a case of not being able to determine context of a text message?
Okay, so that was a lot of questions, ones that were going to go unanswered.
“Where’s the popcorn?” Sandy hollered from the living room, which was right there, just on the other side of the breakfast bar.
I looked up and realized the microwave was done. When it had beeped, I had no idea, obviously too engrossed in my phone to have noticed. At least Sandy’s was a question I could deal with. “Coming,” I said, putting my phone down to pull open the fridge door. “Just going to melt some butter.”
“Want me to pause it?” Sandy asked.
“No, it’s okay. I’m sure I’ll catch up.” I cut a chunk of butter off the stick and scraped it into a measuring cup before putting it into the microwave, swapping it out for the bag of popped corn.
“Oh! This is the best part, you’ve got to come watch!”
“I can see from here.” If I’d been looking. I grabbed a big bowl and shook the popcorn out of the bag into it.
As I waited for the butter to melt, I looked down at my phone again. I still wasn’t sure how to respond, but I had to come up with something. Did I go the witty, flirty route or should I shut him down?
As I was still thinking about it, he sent another message. Sorry, that was weird, wasn’t it?
I laughed. Maybe a little, I sent back, relieved that I didn’t have to come up with a response.
Pretend I was being ironic, k?
Done. So what’s going on down there, anyway? I asked as the microwave beeped. I took the butter out and drizzled it over the popcorn.
Regular boy band hijinks.
That sounds as terrifying as this movie, I sent, using my one finger that didn’t have butter on it, and then after I put the measuring cup into the sink and wiped my hand on a paper towel, added: should I call the cops?
No. hijinks = sitting around eating and trash talking.
Right. So lame hijinks.
He sent back a smilie. And then after a long pause: Can I ask you something?
As long as it’s not what I love best about Saw.
No.
Okay, so after my joke, I’d expected a smilie face at the very least. His one word made me suddenly nervous that he was going to ask me something serious. Something about that staged kiss, probably. But what could he possibly want to know?
Thankfully, he didn’t make me wait long, although the lack of a wait was the only good thing about his question.
Is there something going on between you and Andy?
Oh.
That was not at all what I had expected. Anger bubbled up in me as I thought about Andres bragging to all of them about what had happened between us last summer, how he’d hooked up with Tony’s unsuspecting daughter without even having to try. Was that what Dave had really meant when he’d said trash talking? Was I now the butt of their joke?
My hands shook as I tapped out my response: NO! What did he tell you?
Nothing, came his immediate reply. It just seems like there is something between you two.
Something between us. Chemistry, just like Sandy had said.
You sure he never said anything? I asked, even I realized too late that in doing so, it probably made it look like we had something to hide. Crap. I should have left it. Stupid guilty conscience.
Nothing at all, I promise. Sorry I probably shouldn’t have brought it up. Just…
The three little dots taunted me as I waited for him to finish.
What? I sent when I couldn’t wait any longer (and Sandy hollered for the popcorn again).
I’m just looking out for you. As a friend.
Very sweet, I sent back, only semi-sarcastically. Because it was sweet. Even if it sort of stressed me out that he’d asked about it in the first place.
And you said you don’t date musicians.
I don’t, I assured him, not adding the anymore that I tacked on in my head.
Just checking, he sent.
Just checking? That was weird. This whole conversation was weird. I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I left it. Must go, natives getting restless for maize.
I grabbed the bowl of popcorn and was going to go out to the living room but, for some reason, sent one last text: Tell me, Will, regretting your decision to sign on?
No, he sent with another smilie face and then added, Not yet.
Despite the happy emoji, I felt his apprehension come across, even through text message.
I could hardly blame him. A lot was on the line, and the guys were going to learn quickly what it really meant to be in the public eye. The good and the bad. And while Dave knew the risks already, thanks to his grandfather, he might just learn firsthand that the bad could be very, very bad.
The Hamptons
Dad’s plan was for everyone to head up to the Hamptons first thing Friday morning, but on Thursday afternoon, the guys had actually convinced him that they wanted one last practice before they knocked off for the weekend—nerves were obviously starting to set in as their first real gig loomed large. While Dad was adamant that it not be a working weekend, knowing the craziness that was to come, he gave in and said they could have until lunch to rehearse at the Brooklyn venue. After that, Gary would pick everyone up there and go straight out to our beach house.
I’d had more than my share of rehearsal through the week and was itching to get out of town and officially start my summer holidays, so I told Sandy she could stay and watch yet another practice or she could come with me to have a half day to ourselves. I thought she might choose the band over me, but maybe she realized just how many concessions I’d made over the week and said, without hesitation, that she would join me.
I was pretty glad, too, feeling a bit neglected after they’d taken up so much of her attention. I understood, of course, but I was looking forward to having my best friend all to myself, if only for a few hours.
Once we got there, as soon as I turned the key in the door and opened it, I knew Dad had sent someone in ahead of us to clean and get the place ready, even opening up the big floor-to-ceiling glass doors that led out to the pool deck and the beach beyond. There was a huge, fresh flower arrangement on the table in the foyer, its perfume mingling with the salt air coming in through the screen doors.
“It smells so nice in here,” Sandy said, taking a huge breath, expanding her lungs. “Yeah, I needed this.”
I smiled over at her, feeling the same. It was like it took this moment for the stress from exams and the end of school and all the crazy band stuff to finally start melting away into the ocean. And we hadn’t even set foot on the beach yet.
“Are you girls just going to stand in the doorway?” Gary said from behind us in an amused voice. “There’s a whole house and the beach beyond, you know.”
I turned and gave him a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Just decompressing.” We stepped aside and let him come in with our luggage, putting the big bags down on the marble floor of the foyer.
“I’ll take your bags upstairs, and then I need to head back to collect your dad and the boys,” he said. “Where shall I put Sandy’s things?”
We’d already worked out the sleeping arrangements ahead of time since we only had six bedrooms and there would be at least nine of us—more if Cliff
or Kiki decided to crash. Dad had hosted bands before, and we’d always managed to fit everyone in, especially if people weren’t too fussy about doubling up or sleeping on air mattresses. Most didn’t mind and I’d even seen a few sleep outside, saying that even a lounger on the beach was better than a stuffy bunk on a tour bus. Not that our guys had experienced that yet (with the exception of maybe Andres) but they didn’t seem like the precious types.
“In my room, please,” I said.
With a nod and a grunt as he lifted Sandy’s heavy suitcase, Gary made his way past us to the staircase that led up to most of the bedrooms.
Dad and Linda (in separate rooms, of course) would be up there, too, him in the master suite and her in the guest room. Along with mine, that left two more bedrooms upstairs and the one big one down in the basement off of what Dad called his man-cave, which was really just a big games room and home theater. Dad had told the guys they could share those three bedrooms however they saw fit, but that the upstairs rooms were for sleeping and any late night partying had to stay downstairs.
I had a feeling we’d wake up to find all of the guys all crashed down there, sprawled among pizza boxes, video game controllers, and empty Doritos bags.
Even if they didn’t use the upstairs rooms, I didn’t mind sharing with Sandy. Even though we’d been living in the condo together, I’d barely seen her and after the show on Monday night, I’d be saying goodbye to her for a week.
But that was a long time from now, and the guys wouldn’t even be arriving for many hours—we had lots of time to hang out.
I turned toward her. “Ready for the grand tour?”
“A quick one,” she said. “I’m itching to get to the beach and get in some serious R and R.”
“Screw the tour,” I said, sliding my arm across her shoulders and turning her toward where Gary had gone with our bags. “It’s just a house; let’s get our suits on.”
After a quick swim in the ocean—well, more of a run in, realize it was way too cold, and run back out again—we lay on our loungers by the pool for the rest of the morning, catching up without the fear of being interrupted or overheard. We talked about everything from our final marks (which had just arrived the day before) to how excited Sandy was to be going on tour. Not just because of the concerts, but how fun she thought it was going to be to live on the bus with Dad, Kiki, Linda, and the boys, if only for a week.
“You don’t think you’re going to be claustrophobic?” I asked. I hadn’t been on the actual tour bus yet, as the RV company was just finishing getting it ready, but had seen the specs for it. It looked cool, outfitted with a kitchen and living room along with twelve bunks, but I knew that the novelty of sleeping on a bus with a ton of other people was going to wear off quickly. Really quickly. In fact, I couldn’t think of a worse kind of torture.
Sandy shook her head. “I don’t think so. Maybe the first night, but I’ll get used to it.”
I had my doubts and figured that the first night, while she was still excited and not yet jaded about the whole experience, would be the best and it would go downhill from there, but I kept that to myself.
“Anyway, we’ll just be on the bus to sleep and travel—probably a lot of both at the same time—so I’m sure it will be fine. Well worth it to be Wiretap’s exclusive vlogger. Speaking of…” she reached for her phone and tapped at her screen.
I pressed my lips together and bit back the sigh that was itching to come out. This was supposed to be our time—time away from the band and her videos. But there was no helping that she was excited; she had every right to be since this was a huge deal for her. I just had to keep reminding myself of that.
“Whoa,” she said.
I turned my head and looked at her, shading my eyes from the sun. “What?”
She glanced up at me and then back down at her phone. “People are loving Max’s interview. Like, freaking out about it.”
“Seriously?” I suddenly felt a little guilty for not having watched it yet. Though in fairness to myself, it had only been up just over twelve hours after Dad’s people were done with it and had posted it on Sandy’s behalf; I hadn’t exactly had a ton of time to sit down and watch it.
“Yeah,” she said. “I mean, I’m not surprised, but it’s gotten a ton of views and comments—girls are already drooling all over him. This is going to really work.”
I pushed up off my lounger. “I’m going to go watch inside.”
She held out her phone toward me. “Watch on this.”
“That’s okay,” I said, grabbing my own phone off the little table. “I want to watch on a big screen. Too much glare out here, anyway.”
Sandy pushed herself up. “I’ll come with you. I need something to drink.”
At the back door, we wiped our feet on the mat to get rid of as much sand as we could and went inside to the kitchen. I opened the fridge, unsurprised to see that it was already fully stocked with food and drinks. As I pulled out two bottles of Perrier, nothing stood out as being obviously there for that night’s dinner, so I made an executive decision. “Hey, let’s do a lobster bake,” I said to Sandy. “Ever been to one?”
She shook her head. “No. I love lobster, though, so I’m into it.”
“It’ll be the perfect way to kick off the weekend, and I know my dad will love it—it’s his favorite thing,” I said, reaching for the phone on the counter and looking up at the business card we kept on the fridge just for this reason. I dialed the number as I said, “We have time to get it set up, but we need to start now.”
“I’m in, just tell me what to do,” she said, coming up to the counter beside me.
I nodded and waited for my call to be answered.
“Harry’s Seafood,” the guy who picked up said.
“Is that Harry?” I asked.
“Sure is.”
“Hey, Harry, it’s Vanessa Capri,” I said. “Any chance you can pack up a lobster bake kit and send it over so I can cook it today?”
“Sure can, dawlin’,” Harry said in his east coast accent, the smile obvious in his voice. “How many you got eatin’?”
I did a quick mental count. “Say twelve just to be safe. And about half of those are hungry boys, so adjust accordingly.”
“You got it,” Harry said. “All the fixins? Pie, too?”
“Please. I want to surprise my dad when he gets here.”
“No problem, dawlin’. I’ll send Rusty over in the next hour or so. You okay starting the fire?”
“Please. Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?” I said, making Harry laugh.
“Just checking,” he said. “You be careful, now. I’ll put that on your dad’s account. Good to have you back, Nessa.”
“Good to be back,” I said and then hung up the phone.
“All right,” I said to my friend. “Let’s get some drinks and go start up the campfire.”
“What about the video?” Sandy said, a hurt look on her face.
Crap. “I haven’t forgotten,” I said. “But we need to get the fire started so it’s ready when they get here with the food. We can watch the video once that’s going.”
Good thing we did start the fire first because by the time we finished watching Max’s interview, we were both very nearly doing the ugly cry.
Sandy had beamed the video from her phone to the big TV on the wall in the living room (still able to see the fire out the big open doors, so it technically wasn’t left unattended) where we sat on the leather couch. We were still in our bikinis since the plan was to head back out to the beach while we waited for everyone to arrive.
I reached for a Kleenex and mopped up my face with it before I turned to Sandy. “Oh my God,” I said. “Are you kidding me with this?”
“I know,” she said, teary-eyed herself.
“That was the saddest, most heart-wrenching thing I have ever watched in my entire life.”
She nodded, her wry grin in stark contrast to her wet and red, puffy eyes. “Right?”
&n
bsp; “I see now why you said it was awful. I don’t know how you got through that without wailing like a banshee.”
She grabbed her own Kleenex off the coffee table. “No. That’s not why it was awful. Watching this, you can’t see what it was really like. Your dad’s guy that edited this video”—she nodded toward the TV—“is a freaking magician. This cut is so tight and amazing, making it look like we were besties having a heart-to-heart conversation—it’s like he made a whole new show that I wasn’t even a part of. I swear, I seriously don’t recognize any of it.”
“What do you mean?”
Sandy snorted. “I should show you the raw footage—it was like pulling teeth to get him to talk. He was resentful and defensive, and he made it seem like I was beating him up the whole time. I honestly didn’t think we’d be able to use any of it and thought I’d have to interview him again. But seriously, your dad’s guy…” she shook her head. “Amazing.”
“Maybe because you were in it, you didn’t realize how much of the footage was good,” I said. “Because they didn’t add anything that didn’t happen. That’s still your interview.”
She shrugged. “I guess. I just don’t know how the guy did it, but I’d like to become his apprentice.”
“That can probably be arranged,” I said in all seriousness. “Talk to my dad about it.”
She nodded. “I will.”
“But that part about them being friends since kindergarten and how they had their first kiss when she fell off a swing and skinned her knee in the gravel? That was…” I had to stop because the waterworks were about to start up again.
“I know.” Sandy dabbed at her eyes with the tissue. “Interviewing him was torture, and I never would have guessed he was so…sensitive. I mean, he’s the crabbiest, broodiest guy ever! But seeing the video like that, I…” she sighed.
Before she got a chance to finish, the front door opened, and loud male voices drifted toward us. We stared at each other for a millisecond before I jumped into action and grabbed the remote, turning the TV off.
Along for the Ride Page 18