by Jen Calonita
But by ten AM my hope for that happening was beginning to fade. Zander had a handwritten note taped to his door that said “Trying to get z’s. Don’t knock!”
I gave up hope and decided to just steal Zander’s note and send it to Iris and Scarlet. My fingers were inches from the hotel stationery when I heard a whooshing sound. I looked down the hallway and saw twin boys running with cans of whipped cream in their hands. It was Heath’s brothers, who had flown in with their mom for the week. I watched as they stopped every few feet to spray each other. It would hit their faces and the walls behind them, and they’d let out a deafening squeal. I pressed myself against the wall next to Zander’s door to avoid getting hit. What were they doing? And where, as my mom would say, was their mother?
“Tristan and Isaac!” Heath yelled. He jumped out of a doorway in front of them in a white tank top and ripped jeans. He had dyed his hair blue. “What do you think you’re doing?” The boys hung their heads. “You’re supposed to shoot like this!” Heath pulled a can from his back pocket and shot them in the face. They immediately returned fire and ran down the hallway at lightning speed, laughing. I was about to get run over.
One of the twins stopped when he saw me cowering. A smile spread across Heath’s face when he realized it was me. “Get her!” Heath shouted.
I took off running, but it was no use. The three of them were on me in seconds. I felt something cold and wet hit my thigh, and I immediately regretted wearing shorts this morning. The next shot took out my left ankle. The third hit my right elbow. I ran to the doorway between the hall and the elevator bank and tried to shut the fire doors for protection.
“Here!” Heath yelled to me, and I was surprised to see him toss me a can. “Defend yourself. You’re outnumbered, so I’ll join your team.” We yanked one of the heavy metal doors as hard as we could to form a barricade.
I looked at the can. “Whipped cream? Really?”
Heath’s blue hair was now covered in goo, and his tan face had white blobs dripping down his cheeks and chin. His brown eyes were mischievous. “Of course. I ordered an ice-cream sundae bar to my parents’ room when they left to go jogging, Briggs is down at the gym, and Mikey G. is lifting weights. There was no one around to stop me,” he said triumphantly, “which is why I thought giving the twins a sugar high would be a great way to start the day.” He laughed and shot at one of the twins’ shoes. The kid went down in the puddle and couldn’t have cared less. He jumped right back up and, with a terrifying scream, shot a long stream of whipped cream at us. Heath angled the door so that it ricocheted back at them.
“HA! HA!” Heath cheered.
I couldn’t help but laugh. I was in the middle of a whipped-cream battle in a hotel room hallway in Nashville, and my partner in crime was Heath Holland.
It was TOTALLY AWESOME!
I ducked as another shot of whipped cream flew toward my head. The second twin appeared around our corner with a bottle of Hershey’s syrup. Heath dived in front of me, taking the shot to his white tank top like a true hero. “Do you really think this is a good idea?” I asked, frowning at the syrup dripping down the wall next to me.
“Hey! Chocolate is against the rules,” Heath yelled at his brothers. The other twin responded by spraying us with strawberry syrup. Heath looked at me and stopped shooting. “Room service is free on tour. Didn’t you know? You should order it.”
I wasn’t sure room service was free for me, and I certainly didn’t want to find out the hard way when Mom was sticking a $150 bill in my face.
“Shoot! Out of ammo.” Heath dropped the empty can. “Time! We need to reload. Come on, Mac, I’ll show you where I keep my whipped-cream stash.” He winked at me. “I ordered a dozen cans.”
Oh man. I did not want to see that bill.
I followed Heath down the hall as the twins ran ahead of us. Heath was just starting to explain the art of aiming the whipped-cream can when we both heard a scream come from behind us. The housekeeping staff had just arrived on our floor. Looking around, I realized the carnage was much worse than I had thought. I winced. There was chocolate sauce on the doors, strawberry syrup dripping from the ceiling, and puddles of white cream everywhere the eye could see. One of the women started talking in rushed Spanish and ran to wipe down a wall. She fell flat on her face. I gasped. I ran toward the housekeeper to help, and that’s when I heard a door slam behind me. The twins were gone. Heath shrugged as he began backing away himself.
“Sorry, Mac,” he said with a crazy grin. “I’m already in hot water with Briggs for flooding the bathroom on the tour bus. I’m out, too.”
Nooooo! “Heath?” I begged. “Don’t do this to me. Heath?” He slid his key in the door, blew me a kiss, and was gone.
I was going to kill that boy.
If my mom didn’t kill me first.
I tried to help the first woman up to win some brownie points. Another housekeeper started yelling, and my B-minus average in Spanish helped me make out the phrase “spoiled musicians” and “troublemakers.” That’s when several doors along the hallway started to open. Everyone wanted to see what the commotion was.
Zander popped his head out the door, which I happened to be standing in front of, and I caught a glimpse of his bedhead. When he saw the hallway, he burst out laughing. “Oh man. This has Heath written all over it!”
I wiped syrup from my brow. “What do I do?”
“Run,” Zander instructed. “If Briggs or your mom sees this, you’re—”
“MACKENZIE SABRINA LOWELL!” my mom yelled. “What happened here?”
Using my middle name is never a good sign.
“Good luck,” Zander whispered, and warily started to shut his door.
My mom could seriously be a secret superhero, because she was down the hall in seconds and caught Zander’s door before it closed. “What is going on?” she asked the two of us as the housekeepers turned to her and started explaining in Spanish and major arm movements what they had found. Fortunately for them, but unfortunately for me, Mom understands the language much better than I do, and I watched the emotions flash across her face like a Vine clip. “No! You found them shooting whipped cream at each other?”
I gulped hard. I didn’t know they had actually seen that part.
“We will clean up everything,” Mom said, forgetting she was using English again. She ushered the housekeepers back toward the elevator bank. She spoke hurriedly in Spanish, and I noticed her produce some tickets from her pocket and hand them to the women, who seemed pretty excited. The women actually waved to me as they got in the elevator, leaving a bucket and some cleaning supplies behind. I waved back, and Mom gave me the You’re doomed look. I quickly lowered my hand. As she stomped back down the hall, I heard Zander whistle. I shuffled closer to him for protection and winced when Mom’s right heel caught in some syrup and she had to use the wall to steady herself.
“What were you thinking?” Mom’s voice sounded shaky. “Defacing hotel property? Ordering room service and a DOZEN cans of whipped cream to start a battle in the hallway?” A drop of strawberry syrup fell from the ceiling and landed on Mom’s hand. I thought I heard her growl. “Apparently, the whole staff is talking about the morning ice-cream sundae bar order, which is why housekeeping was sent up. You’re lucky I was able to talk them down with concert tickets and promises that you two would clean this whole mess up.”
“Whoa, Piper, the two of us?” Zander interjected. “I had nothing to do with this mess. You might want to check Heath’s room, though. All the yelling woke me up, which is why I’m out here when I really should be catching z’s. I was online with fans and radio stations till four this morning,” he said, like this was supposed to impress my mother. It didn’t.
“I’ll go find Heath,” Mom said, “but considering that the Super Soaker battle you three had backstage last night ruined a pricey speaker, I think you can pitch in here, too. Or do you guys want me to tell your parents what happened, since they were in the audience and
missed the mayhem?”
Zander suddenly looked twitchy.
“Grab a bucket and start cleaning,” Mom instructed us. “And don’t think about leaving this hallway until the place is spotless.” She stomped off to Heath’s room.
I sighed and started walking toward the elevators to get a pair of rubber gloves and a multipurpose cleaner. Halfway there I realized Zander wasn’t behind me. He was still standing in his doorway looking like a lost puppy.
“Mac, I feel like a jerk saying this, but the truth is, I can’t touch cleaning products that aren’t all natural.” Zander looked pained. “Those chemicals are so bad for you. Think of what they could do to my vocal cords.” He held his throat. “I can’t risk losing my gift to clean up a mess I didn’t make.”
“Well, I didn’t make this mess alone,” I pointed out. “Your bandmate helped.”
Zander’s big blue eyes widened, and he leaned toward me, keeping one foot in his doorway. He held his hands in prayer. “Pleeeaase, Mac,” he begged. “I’ll make it up to you. We’ll hang out later at the rooftop pool. Say four thirty? I’ll make you one of my famous quesadillas.”
Zander is always posting pictures of his quesadilla creations. It’s his favorite thing to make with five nongreen ingredients. “It better be an amazing quesadilla if I have to clean up all of this syrup by myself,” I said, trying to sound very alter-ego Mac.
Zander’s face broke into a wide grin, and he offered me a high five. “You’re amazing, Mac. See you later.” He closed the door quietly behind him, leaving me to survey the damage.
It was going to take me hours to clean this up, and I had no idea how I was going to get rid of that syrupy smell. It reminded me of the Hershey’s chocolate factory, but I didn’t think the Nashville Hilton wanted to have that be its signature scent. I looked down the hall to see if Mom had found Heath or the twins to help me, but there was no sign of them.
With a sigh I walked down the hall to retrieve the soapy bucket of water and basket of cleaning supplies. The elevator doors opened, and my housekeeping friends were back. The women placed a case of paper towels and a box of black garbage bags at my feet, then nodded and disappeared in the elevator again. I was starting to feel like Cinderella. There was no way I was making it to the quesadilla pool party on time.
“Wow, you botched this morning up good.”
I looked up from the bottle I was opening to find Kyle in a black Ed Sheeran concert tee and khaki shorts. His blond hair was styled high above his head like it had been stuck in a socket, and his brown eyes were playful as they surveyed the scene around me. “Did Heath make this mess?”
“Yeah, but I helped,” I admitted, adding, “Whipped-cream fight. It seemed fun till Heath and those mop-topped twin brothers of his disappeared and left me with the mess.”
“That mate gets away with murder,” Kyle said. He crouched down and started looking at my cleaning product choices. “Bugger. You could be here all day. Want some help?”
I stopped spraying cleaner on a paper towel and stared at him. “You’d help me clean up a mess you didn’t make?”
He grabbed the sponge in the bucket and gave it a squeeze. Soapy water trickled through his fingers. “You did draw that awesome picture of Parliament for my ‘My Country, My Home’ project.
Technically, I owe you. And besides—the quicker we’re done, the quicker we can see Nashville. Jilly told me she gave you the skinny on the town, and I was hoping to see that big Athena statue hidden in some building somewhere and then check out some shops with Mikey G. You game?”
I didn’t know what to say. Was Kyle really inviting me to hang out with him AND helping me clean? Mom and I were supposed to check out the Parthenon together, but I had a feeling we weren’t on the best terms at the moment. I could go again with her once she wasn’t calling me “MACKENZIE SABRINA LOWELL” anymore. And since Mikey G. was chaperoning, I knew she wouldn’t have a problem with me exploring the city. Still, I would have to ask her first. I wasn’t about to have two strikes against me in one morning.
“I have to ask my mom,” I said, knowing how young that probably sounded. Kyle is two years older than me. But he didn’t blink an eye. I smiled and pushed the soap bucket closer to him. “But if she says yes, you have a deal.”
He grinned. “Aces.”
Tuesday, March 1 (I think. I’m not sure because it’s so late at night and I’m writing this under the covers by flashlight so Mom doesn’t get even more mad at me. Let me explain.…)
LOCATION: Sleepless in Nashville, Tennessee
I have a confession: Everything I thought I knew about Kyle Beyer is WRONG!
Kyle is not quiet and boring. Kyle is ACES! (To quote his favorite word.) There’s so much Scarlet, Iris, and the world don’t know about him. Like: He started playing the guitar when he was only three! Then he taught himself to play the drums when he was seven! I never knew he was a songwriter, either. He wants to write songs for other artists and perform his own for PS. He wants to be the next Ed Sheeran (his idol). We talked so much about his songwriting and my artwork today that I nearly lost my voice!
Kyle’s from England, and he told me this was his first time seeing most of America, so he was trying to soak it all in. I told him that I hadn’t seen much of the States, either, but that I’d let him pick the sightseeing stops in Nashville. Mikey G., Kyle, and I took pictures in front of the Bluebird Cafe, which is this famous restaurant where you can go and listen to live music.
Kyle was gaga over it because all these big country stars play there, so I didn’t tell him I only knew the place from watching Nashville with my mom. We also went to the Nashville Zoo, where the elephants were so close you could almost touch them. Then we were off to Centennial Park to see the Parthenon.
I’ve never been to Greece, but if this is what the real Parthenon looks like, it’s incredible. And huge! So is Athena! We walked around for a bit, and Kyle and I took pictures of ourselves in front of the Parthenon doing goofy poses. We made Mikey G. stand on the hill and look like he was holding up the Parthenon, which was pretty funny. Kyle put the shot up online and tagged me. Of course Scarlet and Iris texted me immediately.
SCARLET’S CELL: Saw post. ARE YOU OUT
W/KYLE?
IRIS’S CELL: Kyle just tagged U on Instagram!!
Where is Zander? What’s up???
I feel a little guilty saying this, but I didn’t see their texts till much later. I had my phone on vibrate. I didn’t want my phone ringing while we were chatting over ribs at Jack’s Bar-B-Que, which our driver said has the best food in town. Kyle liked it so much that he bought himself, Mikey G., and me key chains to take home as souvenirs. (Is that sweet or what?) Then, after we all used a dozen hand wipes to get the bone-licking-good barbecue sauce off our fingers, Kyle started asking me about my artwork.
“My mum loved that T-shirt you designed for us in New York. My dad said he wants one,” Kyle said, and I tuned out for a moment because the sound of his British accent was so soothing I could have fallen asleep. “I bet all your drawings are aces.”
Was it getting hot in this restaurant? I couldn’t believe Kyle liked my work. “Drawing comics is my favorite thing to work on, but album art is a close second,” I said. “I know album covers are practically extinct, but I like when a band puts up record art on iTunes.” Kyle picked at a steak fry, his eyes never leaving my face. I couldn’t believe I had his full attention. “I feel like the cover of an album should speak for the songs on it.”
“Lady Gaga still uses album art,” Kyle told me. “Have you seen the cover for Artpop? Jeff Koons, this brilliant artist, designed the sculpture of Gaga for the album.”
If Gaga was still doing album art, then maybe designing covers wasn’t lame after all.
“Have you ever thought about a cover for our band?” Kyle asked.
Now my face felt like it was on fire! I wasn’t answering that question. “Um…”
Kyle wasn’t clueless. “Come on! We’re mates now
, aren’t we? You have designed something, haven’t you?” Mikey G. looked from me to Kyle curiously.
Still. Wouldn’t. Budge.
“I’ll tell you what,” Kyle pressed, waving a steak fry in my face. “I’ll write a song about you if you show me your PS album art. You know you have some.” He sang the last part in this beautiful voice, and a table of senior citizens on a day tour turned around and applauded.
Of course I had some! But what if Kyle hated it? He’d never show Zander the art if he didn’t like it himself. I felt for my journal, which I always carry on me for safekeeping. It was tucked in my cross-body bag. “You go first,” I blurted out.
Kyle laughed. “I can’t write a song on the fly.” He thought for a moment. “You’ve got to give me a week to write something good.” I looked at him skeptically. “I promise I’ll hold up my end of the deal.” He flipped over a Jack’s Bar-B-Que paper place mat, and Mikey G. handed him a Sharpie. Kyle wrote in big block letters: “IOU For Mac Lowell: Entitled to one free song about her.—Kyle Beyer”
Kyle handed me the place mat and I stared at it. Iris and Scarlet were going to go bonkers. Kyle was going to write a song about me! I smiled shyly. “Okay, we have a deal.” We shook on it.
I felt for my journal again. Could I do this? Show someone other than Scarlet, Iris, and Jilly my fiercely protected, completely personal album cover art? Jilly had told me Kyle was super nice. I looked at him again. Having spent so much time with him that afternoon made me realize she was right. He had bought a kid a cone at Centennial Park, had made the senior citizens swoon when he carried their food, and when a PS fan spotted him, he had taken a bunch of selfies with her. Kyle wouldn’t make fun of my drawings. I was sure of it.
I slipped the journal out of my bag and turned to the page I looked at so often. Then I gently slid it across the table. Kyle and Mikey G. leaned over the drawing and didn’t say anything for a moment.