Bruno shook his head. “No, no, no. There’s no way I can answer that question without getting into trouble.”
“Okay, then, how about this: What makes me interesting?”
Bruno grinned. “Nice try. Tell you what. I’ll tell you your flaws if you tell me mine. You first.”
“Oh, that’s easy.” I began counting on my fingers. “You’re arrogant, you’re conceited, you’re hyper … hyper … What’s that word? Hypercritical! Also, you think you’re God’s gift to cameras. You think you know me when in reality you don’t know a single thi—”
Bruno leaned over and kissed me. The room tilted away as his lips pressed hard against mine. I had the sensation of falling off a cliff. Down, down, down, hurtling through space, until at the last moment, his hands cradled my waist, saving me from smashing into the rocks below.
I pulled away and gasped for breath. “What was that?”
“You … you wouldn’t shut up.” Bruno looked as surprised at what he’d done as I was. “I … Forget it. It was a mistake.”
I backed away, the sensation of his lips, his tongue, his hands still searing through me. “Yes, it was a mistake.” I was with Zed, and I was happy with Zed. Ecstatic even. Bruno had no right to barge in and confuse everything. “Stay away from me, okay? Stay away.”
Bruno’s eyes hardened. “Got it.”
“Good.” I turned to go but then wheeled back around. “Let’s add cocky and foolish to that list.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
I stepped back onto the dance floor as a Pink/Kanye West mashup blared over the sound system. I found Zed “I Don’t Dance” Logan surrounded by a gaggle of girls and Lana talking to Pete. Wonderful. So here I stood, alone.
“Hey.” Bruno grabbed my arm.
I pulled away. “I told you to stay away from me,” I shouted over the music.
“I will,” he said. “But I didn’t get my turn.”
“What?”
“My turn. To tell you your flaws. You had no trouble reeling off everything that’s wrong with me, so I thought I’d return the favor.”
I crossed my arms. “By all means. Let’s hear it.”
Bruno held up a finger, imitating me. “One. You’re a brat. You make it all about Melanie Martin—everything, everywhere, all the time. Whether you’re the Funeral Singer or … ” He reached up and plucked the tiara off my head. “ … Junior Prom Queen. Even The Grime is now ‘your band.’ After one freaking show.”
So Bruno was pissed that Andrea Little had called The Grime my band. I grinned. “First of all, I never said that. Those were Andrea’s words. Second of all, so what? It is my band, as much it is yours. Half the fans at that ‘one freaking show’ were there to see me.”
“Wow, that’s an improvement,” Bruno said. “So now it’s only half about you. Give me a break. They were there to see all of us.”
“Oh, really?” Bruno could call me a brat if he wanted, but he was in denial if he thought for one second that The Grime would be where they were now without me—without my videos going viral and without all the media attention I’d brought. “They were there to see all of us? Do you honestly think any of them would have cared if J.B. hadn’t been on that stage? Or Jon? Or even Ty?”
“Of course they would. We’re a band, remember? The Grime. It’s not one person, or two or three people. It’s a band.”
“Please.” I snatched my tiara back. “You can’t tell me Jon is as important to the fans as you and Zed are. If one of you left The Grime, it would be over. You can’t be replaced. But some people can. I’m living proof of that.”
Bruno’s eyes flashed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean. Admit it, Bruno. Mick’s death is the best thing that’s ever happened to this band.”
I clapped my hand to my mouth. That came out all wrong. Even worse, the room was completely silent. The music had ended just as I’d shouted it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“Oh, wow. I didn’t mean that.”
Everyone stood staring at me, mouths open.
The next few moments passed by in slow motion. I turned to see Zed rushing toward me, but he didn’t stop. He pushed by, and I realized where he was headed—toward a girl with a video camera. She appeared as shocked as everyone else at what she’d just filmed.
Oh, no. Not only did half my high school hear me desecrate the dead, it was on tape for the entire world to witness.
My stomach clenched and my face burned. I ran through the sea of gaping kids out of the ballroom, down the hallway and through the lobby. I pushed past a bellman at the front door, ran to the side of the building and puked in a bush. I puked over and over until nothing more would come out. The chocolate liqueur mixed with the tequila left the taste of sour milk in the back of my throat. I went from burning up to freezing cold in the night air. My buzz was gone, and tears streamed down my face.
What now? No way could I go back inside. The logical thing to do would be to wait for Zed, but I didn’t want to face him. I stumbled over to the hotel’s taxi line and hopped into the first car. “Get me out of here.”
I couldn’t go home. It was only 10:30 and my parents would ask why I’d left prom so early.
My parents. Eventually they’d see that video. The one where I called the drug overdose of a twenty-one-year-old a good thing. What would they think? Dad would probably disown me.
I gave the driver Ty’s address. Maybe I could at least explain to him what had happened. Get one person on my side. Tell him I was drunk and upset and would never, ever say something like that in a million years. Only I did. I did.
***
Ty let me in without a word. Surely my make-up smeared face and the fact that I was alone must have tipped him off that something was wrong, but mercifully, he asked no questions. Well, he asked one—“Want a beer?”—which sent me scurrying to the bathroom for a long session of dry heaves. When I emerged, he was nowhere to be seen. I went downstairs and found him pounding out a beat on a djembe set. I snapped on the television. The 11 o’clock news would be on in a few minutes. Did they have a copy of the video yet? Not that it mattered. No doubt it was all over YouTube by now, getting thousands of hits with every passing minute.
I plunked down on the couch, grabbed a pillow and planted my face in it. What had I done? What on earth had made me say something so thoughtless, so stupid, so … cruel? I started to cry again. Please let this all be a nightmare. Let me wake up and find none of this ever happened. Not the drinking, not the dancing, not that incredible, amazing, electrifying kiss, and not my horrible outburst.
“Want to talk about it?” Ty startled me as he sat down. I hadn’t even noticed the drumming had stopped.
I muted the TV and sank further into the couch. “I said something awful. Really awful. It will probably ruin me.” I looked up at him. “Us. It could ruin all of us.”
“What do you, mean, ruin us? What was it?”
The tears came faster. “I … I can’t even say it. It was an accident, I swear. It’s just that I was kind of trashed, and Bruno was being so mean, and—”
The front door slammed. Zed and Bruno were here, and they were arguing.
Zed came pounding down the steps. He held out a video camera and tossed it next to me on the couch. “I took care of it. That’s the camera. We’re cool.”
“Thank goodness.” I jumped up and ran to him, but he pushed me away.
“What’s the matter with you?”
I recoiled. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.” I turned as Bruno came down the steps. “I apologize, Bruno. That was a horrible thing to say, and I’m sorry.” I looked past him, expecting to see Lana, but he was alone. “Where’s Lana?”
Bruno refused to look at me. “She got a phone call and then left with some guy. I forget his name.”
“Pete?”
“Yeah, that’s it. I don’t know who called her, but she seemed really freaked out.”
I frowned. No ide
a what that would have been about.
“Guys, what’s this?” Ty grabbed the TV remote and turned the sound back on. Zed and I filled the screen, standing in front of the limo with Andrea. Ty and Bruno both groaned at the “Zelanie” line. Next came the shot of me being crowned and Zed joining me onstage.
“This is the stuff fairy tales are made of … except you won’t believe what happened next.” Andrea’s voice took on a sinister tone. “This home video shot on the prom dance floor shows another side of our local star.”
I lowered myself onto the arm of the couch. There was Bruno, holding up one finger and then grabbing the tiara off my head. It was obvious we were arguing, though the music drowned us out.
“What … ? How … ?” I held up the camera. “I thought you took care of it?”
Bruno grabbed the camera from me and hit a button on the back, popping open a small hinge. “The card is gone.” He gave a loud, hard laugh and shoved it at Zed. “You idiot. She kept the video card.”
I turned back toward the television. It was like watching an accident in progress and knowing there was nothing you could do about it. I cringed and covered my ears so I wouldn’t have to hear myself shouting those hideous words. My face burned again as everyone stopped and turned to stare. But the worst part of it—the image I was sure I would never be able to erase from my mind—was the expression on one particular face in the crowd. Lana’s. The shock and disgust. The disappointment. Never, ever did I think my best friend could look at me like that.
The video didn’t end after I turned and ran from the ballroom. It blurred a bit as it showed Zed approaching. Give me that, he said.
No way, answered a girl’s voice off camera. This is pure gold.
It’s about money then? What do you want for it?
“Shit.” Zed hurled the camera at the wall, breaking it into pieces. He turned on me. “Not only does the whole world get to see your outburst, they get to see me trying to fix it.”
The video zoomed in on Zed’s hands as he counted out $600 and handed it over. Crazy b— The newscast bleeped that part out. I bit my lip. I had a feeling he wasn’t talking about the girl on the other side of the camera.
The screen went fuzzy and Andrea came back on, gushing about how “shocking” it all was. I grabbed the remote and snapped the television off.
For a long time, no one said a word. Finally, a beep on Zed’s cell phone broke the silence. He checked the screen and glared at me. “It’s from Tex. Short and sweet: ‘I’m out.’”
“Oh, God. I’m sorry.”
“Would you stop saying that? It doesn’t change anything.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t.” I jumped up and began pacing. “I’ll fix this, I promise. There has to be a way to fix it. What if I call Andrea? I could do an interview to explain, and apologize, and show everyone I’m just a regular teen-ager—well, more like a celebrity teen-ager—who said something stupid. Happens all the time, right?”
“Stupid?” Ty spoke up. “You basically said you were glad Mick died—that we should all be glad he died. That goes beyond stupid. That’s … that’s … unforgivable.”
“Ty’s right,” Zed said. “You might be able to fix stupid, but you can’t fix this.” He advanced on me and grabbed my wrist, his eyes darkening. “Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve single-handedly screwed us and any chance we had for a comeback.”
I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened. The pressure made me dizzy and nauseous. I steadied myself against the staircase. “Please. You’re hurting me.”
Bruno shoved him off of me. “Leave her alone. You’re as much to blame for this as she is, you know.”
Zed wheeled on him. “How’s that? I’m not the one who brought the tequila and then pissed her off. That was you, if I recall correctly.”
“Yeah, well, you’re the one who brought her into the band in the first place, and you’re the one who kept pushing all the media attention. You never once asked any of us whether we thought it was a good idea; you just took it upon yourself to invite her. And why? Because she was getting a few hits on YouTube. That’s all it’s about for you.”
What was Bruno talking about? Zed hadn’t known about all the YouTube videos when he came to the funeral home that day. He said he’d seen me on the news. He said it was all about my voice.
As Zed and Bruno continued arguing, an uncomfortable feeling crept over me. In his first interview with Andrea, Zed had straight-out lied. He’d told her he first heard me singing in the chapel and hired me to sing at Mick’s gravesite. If he could lie like that to her and to the world, he could easily have bent the truth for me.
“Why did you miss it?” I asked.
Zed and Bruno stopped arguing and turned to look at me.
“Miss what?” Zed asked.
I rubbed my wrist. I was suddenly very tired, and I sank to the floor. “The service—Mick’s graveside service. I saw your limo there. Why didn’t you come and perform like you were supposed to?”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Finally, Bruno answered. “No one was ever supposed to hear ‘Into the Void.’”
“But it’s a great song,” Zed said. “It would’ve been perf—”
“Shut up!” Bruno’s shout rocked the room. He turned to me and continued, his voice raw. “I wrote that song for Mick, no one else. Zed slipped it into the program without telling me. He thought it would make a good clip on the news that night, I guess. When I realized what he’d done, on the way to the cemetery, I refused. We ended up missing the whole damn service because we were sitting in the back of the limo arguing.”
I nodded. Things were starting to make sense.
Bruno gave a rueful laugh. “As it turned out, your ‘Amazing Grace’ performance suited his plans even better. That is, until tonight.”
“So it was all about YouTube hits and air time?” I asked Zed. “Was it ever about me, my singing?”
Zed shrugged. “You have a great voice, but let’s face it, lots of girls have great voices.”
I hugged my knees tight to my chest. How could I be such a fool? “What about us?” I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear it. “Was that real? Or was it just another part of your plan?”
Zed said nothing, but Bruno spoke up, his voice low. “One word: Zelanie.”
My stomach turned. I buried my head in my arms. Please don’t let me cry in front of Zed. Please, please.
It was no use. My entire body shook as I sobbed.
Bruno’s cell phone rang. “It’s Lana.” He walked to the other side of the basement before picking up.
Lana. I wanted more than anything to talk to her now, to have her tell me that everything would be okay and that Zed was an idiot and that she still loved me no matter how badly I’d screwed up. But would she say that? Any of it?
Bruno shook my arm. “Mel?”
I lifted my head.
Something in his eyes told me the night was about to get even worse. He pulled me to my feet. “It’s Lana’s grandfather,” he said. “He died.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“He seemed so happy just a few hours ago. How could this be?”
Bruno shook his head, his eyes on the road. I’d asked the question a dozen times already. Finally, we arrived at the hospital. My father was at the far end of the lobby, filling out some paperwork at a desk. I didn’t want to talk to him, and though I did want to see Lana, I wasn’t sure she’d be too happy to see me. “You go on up,” I told Bruno. “I’ll wait in the cafeteria. Text if she asks for me.”
I sat in a corner with a Diet Coke, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. There were only a handful of people scattered around the tables and most seemed lost in their own problems. Three nurses who sat together kept looking over at me and whispering. I couldn’t tell if it was because they knew who I was, or who I’d just become.
I checked my phone every few minutes, half hoping for, half dreading a text from upstairs, but it never came.
Finally,
Bruno and Pete appeared in the cafeteria doorway. They both looked exhausted.
I rushed over. “What’s going on?”
“Your dad took the body,” Bruno said. “Lana’s going home with her mom and stepdad.”
“How is she?”
“Upset, of course,” Pete said. “But she’ll be okay. We got here just in time for her to say goodbye before he passed.” He rubbed his eyes.
I gave him an awkward hug. “Thanks for being here for her.” Part of me meant it, but part of me resented that it had been him instead of me, that she had never even asked for me. Not that I could blame her.
Pete shook Bruno’s hand and left the two of us standing there.
“Long night.” Bruno said, finally.
I nodded. “Long and awful.” My eyes filled with tears, partly because of Lana, but partly because of what I’d said to Bruno. He loved Mick. He didn’t deserve that. “Bruno, I owe you—”
“Don’t.” Bruno said. “Not now. Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
We walked in silence down the hallway toward the hospital exit, the click-clack of my heels echoing through the quiet.
Not now, he’d said. But maybe someday?
***
I holed up in my room for the next two days, shades drawn, trying to avoid the world. I ignored my emails and texts—all from reporters and haters. My friends, if I still had any, had fallen off the face of the earth. The few times I dared to check my Facebook page and Twitter feeds, I ended up in tears. People could be downright ugly. I didn’t hear from Zed, and honestly, I didn’t want to.
The nights were the worst. I had a recurring dream where I was talking to Mick’s grandmother, only instead of sitting in my mom’s cozy office, we were trapped in a huge crypt. It always ended the same way: I’d turn to her and say, “I wish I’d known Mick,” and she would grab my arm with a cold, bony hand and snarl, “You wanted him dead.” Over and over, I woke up in a cold sweat.
Finally, on Monday morning, I made a decision. I needed to go see her. Everyone and their dog hated me—two minutes on Facebook or Twitter was enough to confirm that—but she was the one who was haunting me.
The Funeral Singer Page 16