by Jen Calonita
LOCATION: Tour Stop #1—Atlanta, Georgia
When the pilot announced we were making our initial descent into Atlanta, my stomach dropped, and it had nothing to do with turbulence.
If we were approaching Atlanta, then that meant I was also approaching Zander, Heath, and Kyle.
Eighty-nine percent of my body was excited.
The other eleven percent was ready to throw up.
Mom getting this job with PS still feels like an amazing dream. I keep pinching myself to see if I’ll wake up, but I don’t, and now my arm is turning a nasty shade of purple.
As soon as we landed, Mom had to make a call to Briggs Pepper (who I assume I can soon call Briggs or BP or Briggsy, since we’re going to be spending so much time together), and I got on the phone with Scarlet and Iris. Thankfully, they were together.
“You have to tell us EVERYTHING,” Iris stressed. “Write it all down in the glittery diary we got you so you don’t forget a single detail.”
“I want to know what Zander’s hair smells like, the sound of Heath’s laugh, Zander’s favorite subject in school—I can’t believe you’re technically going to school with Zander!” Scarlet was still freaking out. “Oh, and find out if Heath really wears guyliner. Maybe his eyelashes are just that amazing and it only looks like guyliner, you know?”
“Take lots of pictures with them,” Iris added.
“And draw pictures, too,” Scarlet said. “Being surrounded by such creative geniuses will make you think like a true artist.”
“I promise. And I’ll call you as much as I can. You know Mom limits my minutes.”
“We know,” they said together, sounding as dejected as I was at the thought of not talking to them at least four times a day. At home we practically lived together on weekends, and now I was being reduced to texts and occasional calls. When I complained, Mom suggested I send postcards from each city. Does Mom realize how long it takes a postcard to go through the mail? If I need to tell Scarlet what type of toothpaste Heath uses, I want to call her right away. Not three to five days from now. Who am I going to share all my Zander thoughts with 24-7?
“It’s not like you’re going to be gone forever,” Iris said, sounding a little weepy. “You’ll be back before Spring Fling in April, and we’ll all go together.”
Spring Fling. With everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours, I totally forgot to tell my friends about the poster I sent Zander asking him to the dance. But now I didn’t need that poster at all. In less than an hour, I’d be able to ask Zander to the dance in person!
(Not that I had the nerve to do that. No. Way. I started feeling dizzy at the thought.)
I eyed Mom talking rapidly on her cell nearby. She noticed me and started waving me over frantically, like she was single-handedly trying to land a plane. “I should go,” I said quickly.
I hung up and lunged for the pink, shiny suitcase that was spinning on the carousel toward me. The bag is decorated with my Sharpie drawings and artwork. Since we are going to be moving quickly from city to city, Mom told me to pack light, but try coming up with a ton of outfits to wow your favorite band when you only have room in one suitcase! Today I was wearing the same red T-shirt I had on at Song Slam. I was hoping Zander would remember it. As I pulled the bag off the belt, I fell backward.
A businessman on a cell phone helped both the bag and me to stand upright again. “Wow, that bag is heavy,” the guy remarked. “Good luck carrying it.”
Okay, maybe I had overpacked a little.
Mom rolled her small tan (or as I called it: boring) suitcase over to me with a frown. “I just spoke to Briggs,” she said. “The boys were supposed to touch down in Atlanta last night, but their flight was canceled due to storms in the area, and they had to take their tour bus here. They’ve been on the road all night and will have to go straight to the radio interview they’re doing this morning. We have to meet them there now.”
“Right now?” I squeaked. No time to freshen up or spritz on vanilla body spray? (It smells like cookies, and Zander loves cookies.)
“Grab that bag and let’s boogie.” Mom took off at a near run.
I lagged behind, collapsing under the weight of my bag. I might have to ditch a few things, but that’s okay. I’m sure all this time on the road has made PS expert travelers. I could just picture Zander and me packing our bags together at the hotel, him explaining to me the art of rolling T-shirts and stuffing them in shoes to save room and—
“Mac! Come on!” Mom yelled.
Not-so-fun fact about Atlanta: It’s almost impossible to—as Mom says—boogie (cringe). The traffic is worse here than in New York. That’s what our cabdriver, Churro, told us when we sat in gridlock for almost an hour to go someplace that apparently should have been only twenty minutes away. “The ATL is known for its beats and its traffic, and you ladies are going to experience both today—if I ever get you to HotLanta 95.7,” Churro said.
“From now on we’ll be riding with the band,” Mom told me through gritted teeth.
That was a relief. Churro’s cab smelled like beef jerky and had the worst rap music ever on full blast. I wished he had HotLanta 95.7 on in here. Mom said the station agreed to have PS on the morning show because their latest YouTube video (Heath pranking an unsuspecting Kyle and Zander by placing snakes in their bunk beds) had been picked up by late-night shows and now had almost a million hits. Turned out boys screaming like little girls was a real crowd-pleaser.
“Briggs said the air-conditioning broke in their tour bus and the boys are moody,” Mom told me. “They better perk up before their first Lemon Ade show tonight.”
I nodded like I understood, but it was hard to hear what Mom was saying over Churro’s music. When we pulled up to the station, I noticed the PS tour bus with red flame decals in the parking lot, and my fingers started to tingle, which is exactly what Zander says happens to him when he’s excited. I watched a tow truck pull up and start hooking chains to the tour bus. Mom paid Churro, and we bolted from the smelly cab as Briggs approached us.
“Piper, glad you made it,” Briggs said, wiping his sweaty head with a paper towel. “What a night. I thought we would fry on that thing.” He motioned to the tour bus and then turned back to Mom, all small talk over. “I told them they had a few press requirements this morning, but then they could take a few hours before sound check to catch up on sleep. They’re exhausted, but they’ll just have to chug some Roaring Dragon energy drinks and power on. This is an AM slot with Venus and the Flytraps, and they need to really kill it, you know?”
Mom pulled a leather binder out of her bag. “Not to worry. I’ve done some research on Venus’s guest ratings, and I think I have some topics the boys can nail, sleepy or not. Is it possible to speak with them so that I can give the talking points to the DJs before their segment?”
Wow, Mom sounded so efficient and tour managementy. Even Briggs looked impressed.
“Sure, right this way,” he said, leading us into the plain concrete building that looked more like a doctor’s office compound than a cool radio station. “Mackenzie, we’re happy to have you, too. My daughter, Jillian, is looking forward to having someone to hang out with besides the boys.” Before I could respond, Briggs was way ahead of us, passing through security. Then we were whisked past the corporate offices and into the station area, where the boys were.
I could feel the shakes take over my body like I was doing the chicken dance at someone’s bat mitzvah. Then my eyes started to water. My nose felt itchy. My eyesight started to blur, and I felt like I might throw up in the silver trash can we were passing.
I needed to calm down, but as we walked the long hallway, I had no idea how. Mac Attack would know what to do. She would blow into the greenroom with her nail file drawn and threaten anyone who made her feel uncomfortable. She’d banish them to the parking lot till her interview was over.
But me? I didn’t have a nail file on me. The way I saw it, I had three choices: (1) I could ditch
Mom and Briggs, find the nearest bathroom, and stick my head under a cold faucet to cool down (downside: I’d look like a drowned poodle when I saw Zander); (2) I could call Iris and Scarlet again and wig out (sadly, we had just passed a sign that said NO CELL PHONES); or (3) I could steal one of Briggs’s Roaring Dragon energy drinks and “power on,” as he’d told PS to do this morning.
Choice three made the most sense. On the Roaring Dragon commercial it says one sip makes you “feel the strength of the dragon coursing through your veins.” Who cared if my cousin Rudy had a freak reaction to a Roaring Dragon last year? I couldn’t see myself finding a trombone to run around playing for hours like he had.
“Come in and see the boys.” Briggs nudged me through the door before I had a chance to react.
Suddenly I was standing in front of my favorite band, watching them snore. My stomach dropped like I was on one of those free-fall rides. Zander had an adorable puddle of drool dripping from his chin onto his Rolling Stones concert T-shirt, and Heath kept starting and stopping his snores like a leaf blower running out of gas. Kyle was the only one sleeping dreamily, his blond head tucked into the couch pillows so that I could see only his left cheek.
“They should be up any second,” Briggs said. “I told them they needed to have an energy drink twenty minutes before they went on the air. I ordered a case along with nongreen foods.”
“Nongreen foods?” Mom repeated.
Briggs’s cheeks colored slightly, and I jumped in, happy to concentrate on something other than the boys’ being feet away. “Zander hates anything green.”
Mom gave us a strange look before scribbling something in her leather binder. Then she went straight to a table in the corner to review her PS notes. Briggs followed her.
I looked around the room. The walls were covered with autographed pictures of musicians who had been to the station before and mementos like a guitar from Adam Levine. The funny thing about the greenroom was that it wasn’t green at all (which was a good thing, since Zander would have hated that). It was pale beige and really needed a touch-up. Over my head were speakers piping in Venus and the Flytraps’ show. I heard the greenroom door open, and a ponytailed woman wearing a headset popped her head in and looked at me. “Perfect Storm is on in twenty minutes.”
I felt very important being given this information, like I was really part of the band. “They’ll be ready!” I said, and saluted. She looked at me strangely and ducked back out.
“Mac? Can you hand the boys their Roaring Dragons?” Mom asked. “They should drink them now so we have time to talk before they go on.”
Wait. Mom wanted me to wake the boys up? Because I would if my hands weren’t shaking. Maybe if I had my Roaring Dragon first, I could manage to do that. I tiptoed over to the table where a dozen Roaring Dragons were stacked in an artful display and took one off the top, making sure Mom wasn’t watching. She does not approve of energy drinks for twelve-year-olds (“You have enough energy!”). I popped the can as quietly as I could. The Roaring Dragon smelled like cotton candy. I downed it as fast as I could, even though it made my head hurt. It tasted awful! Then I grabbed three more cans for the boys. Through the speakers I heard Venus start playing Lemon Ade’s new single, and the beat was so catchy it made me want to dance.
Briggs clapped his hands, and Kyle started to stir. “Boys, time to rise and shine. You’ll sleep when you’re no longer musicians,” he said with a chuckle, and I noticed he was bopping along to Lemon Ade, too. Headset Girl was back, and even she was smiling as she danced in place while Mom handed her some notes for the DJs. The greenroom was turning into one big party. I was sure the guys would wake up and be in a good mood, too.
Holding the boys’ drinks, I danced my way back to the couch where Zander was sprawled out, his legs in Heath’s lap. I mentally rehearsed what I was going to say to him, unwrinkled my shirt so he could see it clearly, and then prepared to pop open the can. Zander deserved the first one. After all, he was the face of the band. I touched Zander’s arm. (I TOUCHED ZANDER’S ARM!) “Zander? I have a Roaring Dragon for you.” He began to stretch, and I noticed his right eye open before his left one (they were so blue!). He wiped the drool from his chin onto his jeans.
“Who are you?” he said, sounding still asleep.
OH… MY… GOD… he was talking to me! This was it! This was the moment I had been waiting for. I danced in place to keep down my nerves. Wow, that Roaring Dragon worked fast. I started to open the can. “I’m Mackenzie, we met at…”
“Mac, don’t shake the…,” I heard Mom say, but it was too late.
The can in my hand popped open, and a hissing sound emerged, followed by a spray of green liquid flying in a million different directions. My big moment with the guys was being destroyed by a stream of green soda.
Wednesday, February 24 (I’m back to continue my story after a quick bite for dinner!)
LOCATION: Still Tour Stop #1—Atlanta, Georgia (or as it will forever be known: the Place Where Mac Caused the Roaring Dragon Nightmare)
I watched in horror as the Roaring Dragon Nightmare unfolded in what felt like slow motion.
Zander stepped on Heath’s stomach as he scrambled to jump over the back of the couch.
“Dude, watch it!” Heath barked, leaning back so that he wouldn’t be hit by the offensive drink.
Heath stood up, slipped in the soda that had puddled on the floor, and went down hard. Briggs ran to help him up, but he slipped, too, and fell right next to Heath in the middle of the now-green floor.
Green. Green soda. Zander hates green soda!
“AAAH! GET IT AWAY!” Zander was pinned against the wall like the Roaring Dragon was acid. And all I could do was stand there helplessly and wait for the soda geyser to stop exploding like Old Faithful.
Someone pulled the can from my hands. I looked through the sticky soda haze and saw Kyle. He tossed the still-oozing can into the nearest trash can. “Are you okay?” he asked me as Mikey G. burst through the doors.
“What happened?” Mikey G. barked, sounding like he was seconds away from making us all drop and do twenty push-ups on the floor. I looked around the room in shock.
The scene wasn’t pretty. Green soda dripped from the walls and covered the floor. My hair was sticky. Headset Girl was helping Briggs up and slipping. Heath was clutching his stomach in agony, and Zander was muttering to himself as he pulled off his wet concert tee. Mom gave me a look that could melt plastic.
“Look what you did!” Zander growled at me. His blue eyes were anything but tender like in their music videos, and I felt my lip quiver. “What am I supposed to wear on-air now?” He looked at Briggs, who began unbuttoning his wet Hawaiian shirt. “I’m not wearing that. Mikey G., can you run back to the bus and get me a new shirt?”
“No can do. The bus was rolled away to the shop,” Mikey G. said apologetically. “We took your luggage off and brought it to the hotel already.”
“Seriously?” Zander was flipping out. “I have to go on-air looking like this?”
“Well, it’s not like anyone is going to see you,” Kyle said in the cutest British accent.
“Kyle’s right,” Mom agreed. “This is a radio broadcast. We’ll get you a change of clothes before the photo shoot for Atlanta Monthly that’s scheduled for noon.” Zander mumbled something under his breath, not realizing that my mom is the queen of deciphering mumbles. I saw her nostrils flare. “Forget the T-shirt, and let’s concentrate on wowing the show hosts.”
“You heard Piper,” Briggs said in an upbeat voice. “I want you boys on your toes with Venus. Talk up Lemon Ade like she’s the next queen of America. You know, if we had one.” He slapped Zander on the back, and soda splashed off his shirt. Briggs winced.
Zander sighed. “Fine. I’ll give them my Zander charm.”
Heath snorted.
“Shut it, Heathcliff.”
“Dude, I told you to stop calling me that!” Heath grumbled.
Zander turned to me and scowled.
“Who let her in, anyway? I said no meet and greets with fans today.”
I blinked back tears. “I’m really sorry about what happened,” I sputtered, but Zander looked unmoved. “I was only trying to help.”
“I guess Mac is technically a fan,” Mom added. “But she’s also my daughter.”
Now it was Zander’s turn to look foolish. “Sorry. We had a long night. It’s nice to meet you,” he added awkwardly. “I’m going to clean up before we go on the air.”
Meet? But we’d met before. Didn’t he recognize my shirt? He had said he loved it at Song Slam. “Have a good interview,” I squeaked, but Zander was already gone. Mom gave me a sad smile as she followed Briggs out behind him.
“If it makes you feel better, I thought that was pretty funny,” I heard someone say. I turned around. Heath was speaking to me. Kyle stood behind him, leaning against the wall, smirking. He was the only one who’d avoided the Roaring Dragon explosion altogether.
I quickly wiped my eyes with my shirt. I didn’t want them to see me crying. I couldn’t believe my first morning on the tour was going to be remembered as the Day of the Roaring Dragon Nightmare.
I heard the door to the greenroom fly open, and a girl my own age stood in the doorway. “Did I miss it?” she said, sounding out of breath. “Is it over? I heard Zander took a green-soda bath!”
Heath and Kyle started to laugh. “Dude was ready to be hosed down by a hazmat team!” Heath said. “You should have seen his face, Jilly.” Now she started laughing, too, and I wanted to curl into a ball and rock back and forth. “You can thank Piper’s daughter here for Zander’s breakdown. She shook the can of Roaring Dragon before opening it.”
“Piper’s daughter?” She looked at me and darted over. “You must be Mackenzie!” Her high voice sounded super friendly, and she had a smattering of freckles across her nose. She was taller than me by about two inches, and super lanky. We hadn’t officially met that night I fainted backstage at Song Slam, but I had seen her there. “I’m Jillian, Briggs’s daughter. I’m so glad you’re here!”