by Jen Wilde
Alfie cocks his head to the side, and I hand him the note. Ry slides next to him to read it, too. Then they both swoon a little and hug me. My heart swells enough to envelop the whole city.
We have ten minutes of Good Morning America segments and commercials before we go live again. I stand in the middle of the stage with Ry and Alfie on either side of me, our arms around one another while fans snap pics.
My nerves are still going strong, so I grip onto the back of Alfie’s shirt, trying to keep myself grounded. He must sense my tension, because he leans in to say something in my ear.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “You rocked it. I knew you would.” My smile grows wider.
We take some time to pose for selfies and meet the loyal fans who’ve braved the cold just to see us.
When we get the signal, we step back onto the stage, and I take my seat behind the drums while Ry moves to the front with his guitar. When we’re live again, Alfie takes the lead and we launch into everyone’s fave: “All for You.”
After our set, we do a quick interview with the hosts about “ILY.” To my relief, they actually listened to Sal and didn’t ask me any questions about my relationships or rumors or scandals. Once we’re done, we spend an hour posing for photos with fans outside, and then jump in the car to go back to the hotel.
Ry and I are already buckling our seatbelts when Alfie sees a little girl wearing a Hermione Granger T-shirt. I swoon a little as he kneels to be eye level with her.
“Hello there,” he says, giving her a warm smile. She freezes like an adorable little statue.
“Are you Alfie?” she asks, her hands clasped together.
“I am,” he says. Her eyes light up. “What’s your name?”
“Um, Kimberly.” She looks up at her mother, who’s grinning at her and holding her phone up, snapping pictures.
“Hi, Kimberly,” Alfie says. “I like your T-shirt. Is Hermione your favorite?”
She looks down at her shirt and nods.
“She’s my favorite, too.”
Kimberly smiles and takes a hesitant step forward. “Hermione is your favorite?”
“Of course! She’s the smartest and the toughest, don’t you think?”
She nods.
“Hey, Kimberly,” Alfie says. “Can I have a photo with you?”
Her cheeks turn beet red, but she nods. Alfie holds his arms out and she hurries forward, standing in front of him and turning to face her mother, who captures the moment on her phone.
Kimberly glances at the car I’m in, and I immediately undo my seatbelt and slide out to join the photo. Ryan does the same.
“Thank you so much,” her mother says, beaming. “You’re Kimmy’s favorite band. She idolizes you.”
We hug Kimberly and make funny faces at the camera with her. Soon her nerves seem to have faded and she’s giggling with us.
It’s moments like these that make me love being famous. It comes with a lot of pressure and pitfalls, but seeing the sparkle in this little girl’s eyes washes all that away. Days like this make it all worthwhile.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“You’re sure about this, yeah?” Alfie asks as we wait in the reception area of a tattoo parlor.
“Sure I’m sure,” I say. “I’ve wanted a tattoo for years. Now that I’m eighteen, I can finally do it. And I want to remember this moment in my life.”
He leans on the counter, pushing his sunglasses onto his head and making his long hair puff out like a lion’s mane. “What moment would that be?”
“Singing my first solo, duh! And … I want to always remember all the love our fans have been showing me since I came out. All the hearts on their hands. I want it on my skin.” I flip open a book of tattoo examples and study the options, but I already know what I’m getting. “So I can look at it whenever I’m sad and remember how loved I am.”
Alfie gives me a half smile. “So you know what you’re getting?”
I nod and pull out my phone. “I’ll text it to you.” I tap it in and hit send, and a second later he’s sliding his screen open.
He furrows his brow. “Heart emojis?”
“Not just any heart emojis,” I say. “I want a line of heart emojis—red, yellow, green, blue, and purple—to create a rainbow of hearts, just like the ones on people’s hands at the show.”
“Oh,” he says, nodding. “Like a Pride tat. I love it.”
“Yep. I’m out and proud, and now I’m going to literally wear my hearts on my sleeve.”
He laughs. “Awesome.”
The super-cool-looking tattoo artist, Georgie, beckons me over. Her arms, chest, and neck are covered in colorful tattoos of pinup girls, mermaids, and flowers. “I’m ready for you,” she says, her thick blond hair pulled to one side in a braid.
My heart flutters nervously as I walk behind the counter and take a seat at her table. Alfie pulls up a chair next to me, sitting on it backward and resting his chin on the back.
“It’s so sweet of you to be here for moral support,” Georgie says to Alfie as she prepares the space on my wrist.
Alfie smiles. “Someone’s gotta do it. She acts tough, but she gets squeamish.”
Georgie looks at me from under her long lashes and winks. “I’ve got you, girl. You’re safe in my hands.”
I chuckle. “I trust you.”
Alfie does a little cough, like he’s trying to get my attention. I glance at him, but he’s not looking at me. He’s just staring at my arm, watching Georgie stencil the hearts onto me. He looks so serious.
Oh my Lady Gaga. I think he’s jealous that she was flirting with me. I suppress my smile, trying not to look too smug at him sitting there being all Sulky McSulkypants.
Trying to break through the silence, I open Snapchat and start filming my arm.
“Guess what I’m getting?” I ask my followers. I lift my phone so Georgie is in the shot, and she smiles, her red lipstick shining. “This is Georgie, and we’re getting ready to do some tattooing!”
I quickly move the phone to get Alfie in the shot, and he perks up instantly—ever the performer. He sticks his tongue out and does the rock-and-roll horns sign with both his hands. The timer ends, and I choose the most flattering filter, then add the snap to my story.
“Okay,” Georgia says. “Ready?”
I swallow hard. “Let’s do this.”
The moment the needle touches my skin, I tense up. It feels like a thousand bees are stinging me. I bite down on my bottom lip to stop myself from whimpering and remind myself that this will all be over soon, and it’s going to look so damn good when it is. At first, I make myself watch as she outlines the hearts, but it makes the pain so much more real, so I look away. I focus on Georgie’s lips, on the concentration in her face, on how flawless her makeup is. But I can still see the needle in my peripheral vision, so I turn to Alfie.
“Distract me,” I plead.
Obviously seeing the pain in my face, he acts fast. In a flash, he’s pulling up Charlie’s latest YouTube video, and we watch it together. It’s a tutorial on how to create Pokémon-themed nails, and watching her paint the tiny Pikachu on her thumbnail distracts me from the pain.
“Man, I wanna do that!” Alfie says, squinting at the screen.
“Same!” I say.
The pain increases as Georgie starts adding color to the red heart. I suck in a long, deep breath.
Alfie puts a hand on my shoulder, and my skin tingles.
“You good, Em?” he asks, concern all over his face.
I breathe out. “Good.”
“Almost done with the first heart, babe,” Georgie says. I nod, but I can’t bring myself to look at it yet.
“Let’s do another snap,” Alfie says, prying my phone from my tense hand.
He starts filming, and I force a smile, trying to act like I’m totally not in agony.
“How’s it going, Em?” Alfie teases.
I give him a thumbs-up. “So good. I can’t even”—Georgie starts coloring in t
he yellow heart, and I squeeze my eyes shut—“feel it.”
Alfie and Georgie laugh, and Alfie switches the camera to himself so viewers can see him. “She’s dying,” he jokes. “So much pain right now.”
“Shut up!” I cry. I want to punch him in the arm, but any sudden movements will ruin my tattoo, so I make a mental note to punch him later.
He locks my phone and hangs his head, his shoulders shaking from his laughter. I narrow my eyes at him, but before I can tell him to shut up again I feel another shot of fire in my wrist.
“Ow,” I whine. “Fuck, this hurts so much.” I gesture to Alfie’s arms, covered with tats of every color and size. “I honestly don’t know how you’ve sat through this so many times.”
“Hey,” he says, flexing his arm muscles, “I’m Alfie Jones. I don’t feel pain.” His voice is low, and he scrunches his face up like he’s angry.
Georgie and I exchange eye rolls and laugh.
“I call bullshit,” I say.
He rests his arms back on the chair. “Okay, I may have maybe almost cried a little when I got my first tat.” He looks for it on his right forearm, then points to it. It’s the David Bowie lightning bolt, with stars and planets around it. “It hurt bad. All that color killed.”
Georgie admires it in between coloring. “Bowie, right?”
He nods.
“Alfie’s a Bowie stan,” I explain. “He sang ‘Rebel Rebel’ at a school concert once. No one else had even heard of Bowie.”
“They knew all about him once I was done.” Alfie laughs at the memory. “Mom was up all night trying to make that red jumpsuit.”
“That’s so cute,” Georgie says. She starts coloring the last heart, and I cringe.
My bones feel like they’re vibrating, but in a sharp, stinging kind of way. I squeeze my eyes shut and take in another deep breath.
“Em?” Alfie says.
I just nod, keeping my eyes closed.
“We’re so close, honey,” Georgie says softly. “You’re doing so good.”
“Mm-hmm,” I mumble. “Either I seriously underestimated how much this would hurt, or I overestimated my pain threshold.”
Suddenly, music starts playing. It’s “Rebel Rebel.” I open my eyes to see Alfie standing up, playing air guitar. He slips his sunglasses down over his eyes and starts mouthing the words, flipping his hair back and forth as he rocks out. He skids and kicks and spins his way around the parlor, entertaining the other people getting tattoos. Even Georgie can’t resist, lifting the needle off of me so she can turn in her chair and watch his performance.
By the end of the song, everyone in the store is watching and laughing and clapping for Alfie, and he’s beaming. There it is, that spark. We can all see it: like an aura of golden light or a neon star above him, you know it’s there. He flicks the hair out of his face and struts back to his chair, swinging his leg over it and sitting down like nothing happened.
Then he tilts his sunglasses lower on his nose so I can see his eyes, and smiles. “Feel better?”
“Much better.”
A few minutes later, Georgie wipes excess ink off my wrist. “Aaand you’re done!”
I let out a relieved sigh. “Thank god. And thank you, Georgie!”
She smiles. “My pleasure! What do you think?”
I lift my wrist closer so I can see every tiny detail. There they are, my rainbow hearts. They look exactly like the emojis, complete with the shading and highlighting.
“Oh. My. God!” I say. “It’s perfection. Seriously, it’s even better than I imagined.”
Georgie claps her hands. “Yay! I’m so glad you like it.”
“I love it.” I hold my wrist out to Alfie. “How awesome is it?”
He looks at it and smiles. “Wow, I love it. Maybe I should get one.”
Georgie and I do a double take.
“Seriously?” I ask, getting excited.
He shrugs. “Yeah. I’m queer as hell, too. I wanna wear it loud and proud just like you.”
A slow smile grows on my face. “Do it.”
Georgie nods. “I’ll get everything ready!”
I start snapping photos of my beautiful new Pride tattoo, bursting to share it with the world. I post it on Snapchat, Instagram, Twitter, and Tumblr, with a heartfelt caption:
Got my first tattoo today! I’m out and proud and literally wearing my hearts on my sleeve! I honestly can’t thank you all enough for the love and support you’ve shown me. Thank you for sticking with me through everything, and thank you for embracing me for who I am. I decided on this design after seeing all those beautiful painted hearts on your hands, and all the rainbow heart emojis I see in my mentions. I want you to know that I love and embrace you for who you are, and you deserve all the happiness in the world. Em xo
“Where should I get it?” Alfie asks. He rotates his wrist and pouts. “Doubt there’s enough space on my arms. I want it to really stand out, and it’ll just get lost there.”
“What about your chest?” Georgie asks.
In a second, Alfie is slipping his shirt off, wearing only a strappy bralette and tight jeans. I quickly look away. I don’t want to look like I’m obsessed with him, even though I totally am. We’re in a public place, and one rumor about me drooling over Alfie in a tattoo parlor would spread like wildfire.
“Well, then,” Georgie says with a smile. “Love your body confidence!”
“Confidence is a work in progress,” he replies thoughtfully. “Right, Em?”
For some reason, I can’t find my voice.
“Em?” Alfie says, waving a hand in front of my face.
Shit. I was staring. “Yeah, yep. What?” I stumble over my words.
He smirks, like he knows he’s got me flustered and he is loving it. “Can you snap this for me?”
“Oh,” I say as I take his phone. “Sure.”
I take a photo of Alfie giving a thumbs-up as Georgie stencils the design onto his chest, just under his left collarbone.
“Got it,” I say.
I hit post, then sit back and smile as rainbow hearts are inked over Alfie’s real heart.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“Why did no one tell me that tattoos hurt more after they’re done?” My wrist feels like it’s been gnawed on by the sun. I go to touch it, but Alfie pulls my hand away.
“Don’t touch it,” he says, chuckling. “Pain is part of the healing process.”
I stare at him. “That’s deep.” I say it like a joke, but the more I think about it, the truer it feels. I take Alfie’s hand under the table.
We’re sitting in the private room of Nobu in downtown Manhattan. Sal told us to meet her here because she has something big to tell us. I’m a bundle of nerves.
“S’up, kids?” Ry says as he walks through the door. Alfie and I let go of each other’s hands so fast I get whiplash. Sal walks in right behind him.
“Hey, superstars!” she says. “I have to tell you something that is amazing on another level.”
She and Ry sit down across from us, and I can tell by the pearly white smile on her face that it’s good news.
“‘ILY’ just hit number one on iTunes!” she says in high-pitched excitement.
I gasp. “Are you serious?!”
She claps for us. “Congratulations! That makes it your third chart-topping single, and the fastest one of your titles to hit number one. You’ve just broken your own record!”
We all stand up and hug Sal, celebrating our victory.
“That’s not all,” she says, pursing her lips. “I just got off the phone with the people from the Grammys. They want you to perform ‘ILY’ and another new song at the show. I already said yes.”
“Whaaaaaaat?!” I yell. “No way!”
“We’re performing at the Grammys!” Alfie says.
“Oh, also,” Sal says casually. “You’re nominated for some little thing called Album of the Year.”
“WHAT?!” we all scream, not caring that the whole restaurant
can probably hear us.
Sal beams at us. “You are now a Grammy-nominated band. Congratulations!”
Alfie’s hands fly up to his mouth.
Ryan falls back in his chair, repeating the words oh my god over and over.
My heart is about to burst out of my chest and start dancing on the table in front of us.
Sal puts her hands on her hips. “I knew you’d like that. I’m so proud of you. And this is just the beginning for us. Next up: world domination!”
We all sit back in our chairs, Ry, Alfie, and I just staring at one another in shock.
“Is this real?” Ry asks quietly. “I feel like it was just yesterday we were sitting at the back of English class, uploading our first vid to YouTube.”
I nod slowly. “It’s all happened so fast.”
“I can’t believe we’ve made it,” Alfie whispers, like he’s afraid that if someone hears us they’re going to realize we’re not as great as everyone thinks and take our success away.
“You made it,” Sal repeats. “And you deserve every bit of it.”
After dinner, a waiter walks in carrying a huge cake. He places it on the table in front of us and Sal thanks him.
“I figured we can’t celebrate without cake,” she says, laughing.
It’s the biggest cake I’ve seen in my life—and I’ve seen a lot of cakes. But the coolest thing about it is that the cover of the “ILY” single is printed on top of it like a photo.
“This looks too good to eat,” Ry says.
Alfie smirks. “But you will.”
Ry nods. “Well, it’s cake. I kinda don’t have a choice.”
“But first!” I hold my index finger up with one hand while reaching for my phone with the other. “Instagram.” We all stand over the cake, snapping photos to share its beauty with the world.
“Okay,” Sal says, laughing. “Let’s eat! We’ve got a plane back to LA waiting for us.”
Ry shoots off a quick text. “I’m telling everyone to meet us at Bar 161 tonight. This news needs to be celebrated.”
* * *
That night, we strut through the paparazzi, past the velvet-roped entrance and into Bar 161. Ry booked the entire VIP lounge, where our friends are already waiting for us, cheering and clapping. I’ve never been inside this VIP room before, and it’s like walking inside a disco ball.