"You could say that."
"Oh, Adam." She kisses me again. I know she wants me to be jealous of him, but I'm so clearly not. He's just a greaseball. I don't even want to think about the fact that her luscious lips have kissed the Vaseline Monster.
Gina waves at us and we meet her on the veranda. There are a bunch of cast-iron chairs scattered around and small drink tables. It's a lot quieter out here. "Adam, I want you to meet Jerry Reno. He's from Crystal Advertising."
He's all suit, little hair, and no grease. I extend my hand and we shake. "Nice to meet you, sir."
"Gina's been telling me about the new song you're working on. `Sugar Rush.' Catchy name."
"Thanks, yeah. We'll be laying down the tracks soon."
"Well, if it's as big a hit as `Indigo Blues,' you've got nothing to worry about." He winks.
If.
I look over and see that Hannah's drink is empty. I take her glass. "Anyone else in need of a refill?"
"I'm good." Gina raises her half empty glass.
"Yes, go get that pretty lady of yours a drink. I'll set up a date with Gina to talk about some sponsorship work for the band," Jerry says.
"Great, thanks." I'm thinking Pepsi commercial, Wii, even a candy bar. That would rock.
Hannah and I wind back around to the bar, talking to a few random people along the way. I'm finally getting the hang of this mingling thing. You can't stop and chat with anyone for long or you'll never make your way through the crowd. I give Dave Hill from our record label a thumbs-up on his new haircut and say hi to Archie, the makeup guy from the Wake Up, America show.
The guys are hanging out on a couple of fuzzy blue couches near the far end. I have to nose-dive to get to them. I plop down on the couch and let out a sigh of relief. Salvation. Hannah is talking to Rea Ribbon, heir to cosmetics giant Cleo. I would have had no clue who she was if Hannah didn't gush as soon as she saw her.
Zach's playing with Erica's hair, Jack's listening to his date gab about handbags, and Tommy is double-fisted with a beer in one hand and a margarita in the other.
"Where's your girl?" I ask Tommy.
"In the john."
"Don't you mean the jane?" I smile.
"Being a comedian is not in the cards for you," Tommy says.
"Guess I'll have to milk this music gig, then." I finish my second Swimming Pool for the night and pop the red lifesaver from the glass into my mouth.
Gina speedwalks over to us. "Disperse, gentlemen. You can hang at home."
"Okay, Mom." Zach stands up. "I gotta take a piss any„ way.
"Thanks for sharing." Jack slides back on his checkered Vans.
I look for Hannah and see that she has found Marcel again. Joy. I take my time prying myself off the couch.
Gina offers me her hand. "New song. New image," she whispers into my ear.
Is that supposed to make me feel good?
ripp and I are parked at the far edge of Rocky Ledge, the unofficial teen make-out spot. We headed right over here after he picked me up. We're alone, with only Tripp's car lights to guide us. He's wearing a red Polo shirt and faded blue jeans. He smells like soap and cologne. I've been thinking about his delicious lips-I so want a taste of him again, I can hardly stand it. Sure, I've pined over guys before, but I've never felt so much heat.
He's fiddling with the CD player in his car. I tousle his hair. "Anything's good."
"Just looking for something relaxing."
As cheesy as this whole setup is, I'm so buying it. The last guy I made out with, before Tripp, was a friend of Cat's cousin. She dragged me to this huge kegger at the beginning of the summer, right after Adam and I broke up. The guy was wasted and I didn't even know it. We were making out on the couch, but when he got up to go to the bathroom, he never came back. I totally thought it was all me. That I sucked in the kissing department. I was sulking over the chip bowl until someone yelled, "Luke's making out with the toilet bowl."
Cat felt bad for a whole week after that. Turns out that his nickname was Luke the Puke on account of his excessive party habits. But there's no way Cat would've known that. After the Luke incident, I was an obsessive tooth brusher for a while.
Tripp finds the tune he's looking for and a woman's breathy voice fills the air. He moves both of our seats back and asks me how I feel. Good, I tell him. Real good.
He gently pulls my body closer to him. "You're so beautiful."
"Thanks." I blush. Good thing only his headlights are on.
He thrusts his tongue into my mouth and I grab hold of his shoulders. He's on top of me. I'm shielded by the warmth of his strong body. He slides his hand up the back of my shirt and fiddles with the clasp of my bra. I purposely put it on the last hook so it would be easier to undo. I know Cat would call that a slut move, but I don't want to be one of those girls with the lock-and-key bra.
Tripp releases the hook and my breasts are free. His hands are instantly up my shirt and he's rubbing himself against me. This is happening faster than I'd anticipated. I know from Saturday night that he's a horny guy, but I was hoping to keep things on a level playing field-no home runs tonight. I'm willing to stop at some of the bases, though. I let out a "whoa' when he squeezes my nipple.
Tripp doesn't respond. His eyes are closed and his tongue trails down my neck. He's not going to slow down. I feel his bat rub hard against me through his jeans.
Suddenly there's a knock on the window.
I freeze.
"What was that?" I ask.
Tripp presses his boner harder against me.
The rap is louder. "What's going on in there?" I hear someone say.
I push Tripp off of me. "Who's that?"
Tripp rolls his eyes up and his mouth drops. "We're fucked," he says, then puts down the window. "Hello."
I quickly slide back into my shirt. It's not like we're the first teens ever to make out at Rocky Ledge. Crime must be low these days if the town is sending cops to make a sweep of the idyllic make-out spot.
The tall woman officer shines a flashlight on Tripp, then moves the light over to me.
"I need your license and registration," she says. Tripp pulls his license from his wallet and stretches over me to retrieve his registration. He hands them to the officer. Now's the time we get to find out if he has any skeletons in his closet.
"I need yours, too." The officer points to me.
Me? Since when is being a passenger in a steamy hot car a crime? Maybe she thinks I'm a runaway or something. Although if people run away, they don't usually find refuge in a small town where everybody knows your name. I hand her my license.
She glances at it, gives me a good stare, and says, "Ha. Fancy seeing you here."
Tripp looks at me like, you know her? I shake my head no, but I'm not sure if he picks up on it.
"You do have quite a reputation for breaking boys' hearts," she says.
So now this is my fault? "Excuse me?" I say, a little too defensively.
"Don't you think you've gotten yourself into enough trouble already?"
"But ... I ... we weren't doing anything illegal."
Tripp nods in agreement. I look down. His boner has deflated.
"I'm talking about your song." She taps her flashlight against the edge of the car door.
My song? I want to scream at her until my face blows up, but I know that will only get me in even more trouble. It takes everything inside me to restrain myself.
"Everything's fine, officer." I put my seat upright. "We're leaving now."
She shines her flashlight into the back seat. I just want to get home. My lust for Tripp has turned into disgust for myself. I can't even make out with someone right. It's like Adam put a curse on me.
"I'll be right back." She walks to her cruiser with our documents.
Tripp has this weird, freaked-out look on his face. I need to say something but don't know what. "Well, that was awkward." I bite my lip.
"She's not going to tell anyone, is she?"
I can't believe he just said that. I thought most guys would brag about getting busted making out. But with my luck, her idea of backup will be to call local media so they can get the first interview with the girl jailed for making out at Rocky Ledge.
"I sure hope not. I don't need any more humiliation."
"Yeah, me neither."
"Oh." And this whole time I was just worried about me. My screwed-up life. But Tripp was thinking about himself, too. I feel like such an idiot. How did I ever think this would work between us? I have to face the fact that I am tainted. Used goods. Not fit for the star running back.
It seems like the officer is gone forever. Tripp and I just sit there in silence. The air is thick between us. I discreetly adjust my bra and he not so discreetly adjusts his underwear.
Finally, the officer's back. She doesn't have cuffs out, so I take that as a good sign. She hands us back our licenses and Tripp's registration. "I suggest you two go home now. It's a school night. And you"-she points a finger at me"need to watch yourself. You don't need another song written about you."
"Yes, ma'am." I'll say anything at this point. I just want to get out of here.
"Okay then. But if I catch you two here again, I'll call your folks. Now get moving."
Tripp thanks her and we take off. Why we have to thank the officer for not ratting on us, I have no idea. But I do know I'm not willing to stick around to find out.
"That was a buzz kill," Tripp says.
"Tell me about it." I sigh. We don't talk much the rest of the way home. Luckily it's a short ride, so we both pretend to be really into watching the traffic lights change.
By the time we hit my driveway, I realize that I have one focus-to make things right with Adam. Maybe if he has some clarity then everything else will follow. Dad always says, "Go right to the source of the problem." No reason that I can't do that, too.
It's nine thirty, half an hour before my weekday curfew. Tripp puts the car in park. "Well, we've had an interesting start." He laughs, nervously.
"Ah, yeah." I laugh, too.
Then, in an instant, we're both silent again.
The thick air between us has not dissipated. "I better get inside."
"See you tomorrow," Tripp says.
Okay. I pause for a moment, hoping for a reassuring kiss and knowing I won't get one. He squeezes my arm instead.
The car door shuts and I don't look back. I make a final adjustment to my shirt before unlocking the front door. As soon as the key is in, Tripp's off. He's probably thinking, I never want to see that freak again.
I pray for a free pass up to my room, for no one to be watching TV or chatting in the kitchen.
Only the foyer light downstairs is on. I switch it off and tiptoe up the stairs. A light is on in Eli's bedroom. I want to kick open his door and tell him that everything is his fault. But I know that's not true. Even if he had started the website just to ruin my life, there's no way I could link his meddling with Rocky Ledge.
After I put my PJs on, I call it a night and get directly into my bed. It's warm and soft. I wish I could stay under these covers until the school year ends.
I cry softly into my pillow. I feel like such a moron. What did I do to deserve this humiliation? Can't anything go right for me?
I pull out my phone. No messages. I can't believe even Adam didn't call me back. Maybe he's finally had enough of me. Can't say I blame him.
is only eleven in the morning and I already have three missed calls from Hannah. What does she want? Doesn't she realize I work for a living? That there is actually a lot of time and effort that goes into maintaining a successful band? Like right now. I have to check Indigo's website without the guys breathing down my neck.
My stomach feels queasy as I lower myself into the computer chair. I bring the site up, half expecting something to pop out of the screen that says, You suck, Adam.
Wait a minute-I swear that's a different pic of Indigo. She was wearing a prom dress or something in the other photo. So this site is not a fluke. She's maintaining it and the quote is gone. Was that her idea, or did one of the guys call her? Threaten to write another song about her?
When I click on How I Met the Band, there's a picture of me and Indigo at one of our first shows. Weird. I thought she hated me. I scroll around. Not much is really going on. There's a comments page. Well, Kristalight and Cherry- pop23 seem to want to rough Indigo up a bit, but otherwise the comments are pretty tame. I still can't get my head around why she would leave this up if she wanted to be left alone, but as Conjunction pointed out, girls are a mystery.
Maybe I should call Indigo back. Can't believe I even held out since yesterday. I stare at my phone. Crap. I have to be in the studio in less than an hour. I need to de-Indigo myself and get "Sugar Rush" back on my brain. I'll shoot her a quick text instead. Don't want my not calling back to be a feature article on her website.
Saw the site. Both times. Sorry no time to call back. Got 2 run 2 the studio. Catch u later.
I chug a Coke from the fridge. Now I'm all "Sugar Rush." I think I have the last few chords I was struggling with down pat, so I'm not worried. The thing that worries me more is living up to the reputation of "Indigo Blues." I don't know how mega-artists do it. How do they make each song, each album, better than the last?
I grab my guitar case and head out the door. I don't bother eating anything because I know Gina will have food for us. If it wasn't for her, we'd all be surviving on beer and bar food. I walk the block to the L train and pass the same old guy playing the guitar that I pass most every day. I wonder if in his heyday he had dreams of becoming a rock star. Did he start out playing on this corner, across the street from the liquor store, or is this his last-resort stop? I throw a couple of dollars into his open case. It doesn't feel like enough, but I don't think me emptying out my wallet will help him out, either. I should send Becky Gentle over for a house call, but even she might be scared of this guy, with his unruly gray hair and wicked blue eyes.
A watered-down version of "Hotel California" fills my ears as I make my way down the stairs to the subway, hitting the bottom stair the same second the train pulls up. I book it to the car and slide into the seat next to a young girl bopping to her iPod. Placing my guitar on the floor in front of me, I go over the words to "Sugar Rush" in my head. Then I feel a tap on my shoulder.
The girl looks down at her iPod and then back up at me. "Are you Adam from Blank Stare?"
I'm caught off guard. I look around the car. There are only a few other people inside. "Yes."
A smile breaks across her face. "I love you guys!"
"Thanks. That's great to hear."
The old couple across from us keeps their eyes fixed on me like they don't know exactly what I'm doing talking to this middle schooler, what power I hold over her.
"No school today?" I ask.
"I have an orthodontist appointment, so I'm meeting my mom at her office."
"I used to have braces."
Gina would be proud of me. I'm relating to our fans. She's always harping at us to make personal connections with people.
"I'm supposed to get them off next month. Um, do you ever give autographs?"
I fish in my pockets for a pen.
"Don't worry, it's okay," she says.
"No, it's my pleasure. I'm just hunting for something to write with."
She unzips her enormous purple backpack covered with red hearts and pulls out a notebook and pen. I take it from her and scribble my John Hancock. "Oh, this is my stop." I stand up and dig back into my pockets to give her something that she'll remember me by. I pull out my house keys and yank off my plastic rubber chicken. "Here, this is for you." I toss it to her as I'm walking off the train.
"Oh, cool," she squeals. "I've never gotten something from a star before."
The door slams shut before I can say anything else.
As expected, Gina hasn't forgotten our empty stomachs, and there are bagels and cream cheese waiting for us at the studio. For on
ce I'm not the first person here. Tommy's already chowing down.
"What's up, Adam? Heard you hooked up two nights in a row?" He has a huge grin on his face.
"Uh-huh."
"Still too sore to talk?" He laughs.
"Okay, she was good." Last night I didn't sleep over, hence Hannah's three early morning calls. Like, did she really think I left her place at two a.m. and hiked over to some other girl's apartment?
"Just good?"
"She's hot, but I'm not looking for anything right now. Too much is going on with the band."
"Who said anything about looking for something? I was talking about ass." Tommy smears a thick wad of cream cheese on his bagel.
"Yeah, but that ass has got a face and a mind of its own."
"Adam, you think too much."
I actually have nothing to say to that, so instead I fix myself a bagel and sit down next to him. It's true that I could relax a little more. That's something Indigo tried to tell me whenever I probed her about not calling me back. "Adam, just chill. Don't take things so personally. People get busy." And busy she got with that website.
Zach and Jack burst in the door. "Gimme eats," Jack yells.
"Yum yum." Zach sniffs the bagels. As they're spreading on cream cheese, Gina comes in the room carrying a stack of newspapers. She has a big smile across her face. "You boys are popular!"
"Why's that?" I ask.
She hands out the papers to us. "Last night's party was a success.
"Front page of the entertainment section! Score!" Zach shoots his arm up in the air like he's rooting for the winning team.
"You all look great," she says. "And turn the page. Adam is on fire!"
"Me?" Whoa. Hannah photographs well, I'll give her that.
"Who's that Marcel guy?" Zach asks.
"A model." I'm staring at the photo of me and Hannah talking to Marcel over by the bar. The caption under it reads, Adam Spade and new squeeze Hannah James talk up model Marcel Elmer.
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