by Luana Ferraz
“We can do that?” I widen my eyes. “Give away tickets?”
“If you agree, I’ll make sure to secure a few,” he says.
“Of course, sure, it’s a great idea,” I say with no hesitation. I’m not sure we’ll have many people interested in tickets to see us, but surely The Hacks will make for a good lure. “What should we do, though?”
“I’m sure you can think of something,” he grins. I’m sure you have a lot of ideas and this is a test. Before I can say it, though, he asks, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, a bit surprised. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
“Nothing, it’s just we haven’t had a chance to catch up yet,” he says, looking at me intently. “You look different.”
I freeze. I don’t know why it bothers me, but it does.
“It’s because I have no make-up on,” I try to joke.
“It’s not that,” Lindsey chimes in. “You do look different. You have this kind of…” she trails off, waving her hand around my face.
“Glow,” Neil says.
“What?” I gasp. What the fuck are they talking about?
“Yeah,” Lindsey nods, pensive.
“It’s almost like you look younger,” Neil says.
“Great,” I scoff. As if I could look any more like a baby. “It’s the make-up, guys. Trust me.”
They don’t answer, just keep staring with curious faces. I start to feel uneasy. Exposed. I don’t like it.
“Can you stop?” I say, hiding behind my coffee mug.
“Sorry,” Neil chuckles and then leaves us.
The rest of the journey is pretty silent. Lindsey and I stay where we are, scrolling through our phones, pretending we don’t have a million questions to ask each other. The boys are milling about, gathering their things since these are our last hours on the bus. And Pete is still on his bed when we arrive at the hotel.
I stall as I gather my stuff, trying not to bump into Tyler—which is surprisingly easy—and waiting for everyone to get out. There are some fans at the door, waiting for The Hacks, so they go first. Neil goes through our schedule for the day once more before he follows them.
When it’s just me and Lindsey on the bus, I ask her if she minds giving me some time in private with Pete. I know I might be overstepping it but, because it’s Lindsey, she agrees. Finally, it’s just me and him.
I walk up to his bunk and yank his curtain open. He yelps—already wide awake, as I suspected.
“Good, you’re awake,” I say, frowning as I notice he’s hugging a pillow.
Without a word, he hops down, rushing to put on his pants and shoes. He stumbles around, leaning over the walls so he doesn’t fall. If I thought I looked like hell earlier when I saw myself in the mirror, it’s nothing compared to what he looks like. My heart tightens in my chest.
“Did you sleep at all?” I ask, trying to make him talk.
“Roughly,” he answers. His voice is hoarse. “Did you?”
“Not really,” I say. He finally stops fumbling around and looks at me. I’m startled to see his eyes are all swollen and a bit red. Like he’s been crying.
“Yeah, I heard you and Tyler whispering in the kitchen last night,” he says. My heart races. Does he know already?
“Yeah…” I hesitate. I’m not sure this is a good moment to tell him what happened. He’s clearly going through something.
“Are you not tired of him yet?” he asks, his voice full of accusation. I don’t really understand why.
“Wasn’t it you who asked me to be more friendly?” I try to joke.
“Don’t put this on me. At least for once take responsibility for your actions.”
I’m taken aback. What the hell is he talking about? Why is he being so aggressive? What did I do?
“What actions? What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Just…” he sighs, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. I suddenly want to hug him. But also punch him. He takes a long time to speak again but, when he does, he just says, “Never mind.”
As he goes back to gathering his stuff, I try to make him look at me. He pulls away.
“I’m just cranky, I haven’t slept, you know how I get.”
I try touching his arm but he dodges my hand. In a swift motion, he walks past me and races out of the bus.
“Pete!” I shout after him.
“It’s not about you, okay?” He barely turns around to look at me. “Forget what I said.”
“Uh, no?” I race to keep up with his step.
“Becky, please…” he sighs again, running both hands through his hair.
“No. What is it?” I insist, finally blocking his way to make him face me.
“Leave me alone,” he says, low and menacing. I feel sick.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” I match his tone, trying to keep the tears that are already burning my eyelids inside.
“No!” he yells, making me jump.
I can tell he didn’t mean it by how his face contorts when he sees my reaction. He doesn’t take it back, though. He doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t throw his arms around me as he usually does in these situations. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to feel.
“Are you two fighting?” Lindsey approaches us, speaking softly.
“No,” we lie at the same time.
“Thanks for leaving me behind, by the way,” Pete says to her. I gasp. “I need a shower,” he adds and walks away.
“What happened?” Lindsey asks, startled.
“I have no idea,” I shake my head, trying to remember what did I do or say that might have put him in such a mood.
“I’ll find out,” she answers, running to catch up with him.
I take several deep breaths, walking around in a circle, trying to calm my nerves. Pete is prone to be dramatic sometimes, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so distressed. So closed off. Whatever could possibly have happened?
“Hey,” Neil stops me, a key card in hand. “Room 501.”
“Thanks,” I manage a weak smile. “What’s Pete’s room?”
“The 505,” he says.
I don’t even answer and run to the lift. So much for being okay.
When I reach our floor, I go straight to his door. I can hear voices inside. I can’t tell if they’re fighting or making up or just talking. I debate whether I should knock. I don’t like to leave things upended like this. But I also think I already get in the way of their relationship too much.
“Hey,” a voice startles me, making me jump around.
Crap. He’s already clean and dressed up, his hair falling perfectly around his angelic face. He’s smiling. Crap.
“Hey,” I say back, except no voice leaves my mouth.
We stare at each other for endless seconds. We should talk, right? I should tell him we need to talk. We should talk about what happened. We should tell each other it wasn’t supposed to happen and that it can’t happen again.
Instead, what we do is kiss again. It’s quick and uncertain this time. I’m not sure I’m the only one having second thoughts about this.
“I have to…” Tyler mumbles, pointing to the lift.
“Yeah, me too,” I say, pointing in the opposite direction.
We take a few steps, widening the gap between us. I already miss his presence in my space. Then I curse myself for being so cheesy.
“Are you watching the interview?” he asks as we slowly part. “It’s on channel 4, I think.”
“I wasn’t planning to, no,” I say, making him smile.
“I think you should,” he insists.
“Why?” I ask, already suspicious.
“I look really good on TV,” he says, and now I’m the one smiling.
I roll my eyes and turn around, getting to my room before my feet lead me elsewhere. The first thing I do is turn on the TV and find out how the remote works.
***
I take a shower, get into my comfies and order room service. As I get in
bed, I notice how soft it is and how tired I am. It’s been such an eventful few days. I’m so, so tired. I’m sure I could just sleep until soundcheck. I don’t really have to do anything. I’ll close my eyes just for a bit…
I’m startled awake by the insistent knock on the door. I panic, immediately thinking I overslept, but my phone clock says it’s been less than 20 minutes. I open the door to take my breakfast and promptly snuggle back into bed. I’m still tired. And I still have 30 minutes before the interview starts and I can’t go pester Pete. So, as I eat, I call grandma.
“Petal, is everything okay?” That’s how she answers. It makes me smile, but it also hurts.
“Yeah, everything is fine. Just checking in.” There’s a long moment of silence after that. “How are you doing?”
“Good, good,” she says vaguely.
“Did I wake you up?”
“No, I’ve been up since five,” she chuckles. “All this lying around is making me bored.”
“But you must rest, doctor’s orders,” I say. She chuckles again.
“I know, I know.”
And there’s another long silence. I’m so bad at this.
“How was… uh… how was the rest of your day yesterday?” I ask. “Is Jo coming over again today?”
“Yes. She’ll bring me lunch for a few days to spy on me, remember?” she says. I don’t have the heart to scold her. “How was your day? Was the trip alright?”
“Yeah, I ended up sleeping, so I didn’t even see the time pass,” I say.
And, then, for some reason I can’t quite explain, I give her a detailed report of everything that happened since I left—including kissing Tyler and fighting with Pete. I don’t know what comes over me to do that. Maybe because I don’t have my usual trusted confidant at the moment. Maybe because I’m not looking forward to uncomfortable silences again.
I wonder if this is why Pete does it—say everything that’s on his mind unfiltered. Because he dreads the next silence as much as I do right now.
Grandma listens to me patiently, punctuating my pauses for air with a ‘oh, really?’ when I talk about Lindsey staying, a ‘hadn’t you already?’ when I tell her about the kiss, and a ‘oh, no, dearie, that’s bad’ when I recount my earlier interaction with Pete.
“You were right to give them space,” she says when I finish my tale, “but you shouldn’t wait too long to make things right with Peter.”
“I know,” I sigh. “I just don’t know why he’s so mad at me.”
“Then ask him,” she says simply.
“Okay,” I sigh again.
“Do you like this boy?” she asks next, making me confused.
“Pete?” I frown.
“No, silly, Tyler,” she explains. My heartbeat speeds up.
“Uh… I… I don’t really know him all that well,” I say, regretting having told her anything. What was I thinking to talk about kissing a strange boy with my grandmother?
“Oh, goodness, do you need to know his whole background story to decide whether you like him?” she says. “I don’t know him and I like him.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t know how to tell whether I like someone. Because I usually don’t. I don’t like anyone.
“And I think he likes you, too,” she continues in face of my silence. “Just the fact that he’s come with you so you wouldn’t be alone to deal with your old stubborn granny speaks volumes.”
I remain silent. I hadn’t thought of it through that lens. I thought he wanted to just… you know…
“People don’t do that,” she adds, for good measure.
“Okay,” is all I’m able to say.
“Alright, dearie, I have to go now,” she says in a chipper tone than the one she had when she answered the phone. “Time for my medicine and breakfast. Would you let me know how things go with Peter? I’m really worried about him now.”
“Sure, will do,” I say airily. “And could you not tell Jo? I’m not sure if he’s told her anything or not.”
“If he did, that’s the first thing she’ll mention today,” she laughs.
“I guess,” I smile. “I’ll call you later when I have a minute.”
“You can just text me,” she says. “I know how to text, you know?”
“I’ll call you,” I insist. I liked talking to her.
“Okay, petal, I’ll be happy to hear from you regardless.”
My heart aches once again. We say our goodbyes and I immediately put a reminder on my phone to call her later. Whatever this was, I don’t want to screw it up. Again.
I unmute the TV as I eat my breakfast, waiting for the damn show to start. My stomach sinks when the opening theme song starts to play and I curse myself. He’s already ruined me.
The Hacks are announced as the morning guests and the camera closes in their fresh and sleepy faces. All three look too handsome for such an early hour. Bloody genes.
The presenter opens with a few ‘news’—which turns out to be only celebrity gossip. I roll my eyes to most of the things she says. She calls a break and when the show returns, it’s time for the band to play their first song. They play their most recent single, which I still don’t understand why was chosen as a single, since it’s by far the most annoying song on their set.
They get through it seamlessly and go ahead to sit on the couch for the interview part. The presenter is giddy as she makes those cardboard cutout questions everyone asks. A big screen behind them shows pictures that span their whole career. I laugh at their teenage ones—what a weird phase. It’s good to see that even they had a gawky stage with questionable fashion choices.
As the interview advances, I notice Todd is the one to take over most of the questions, even though the presenter talks exclusively to Tyler most of the time. I’m impressed by his public persona—charismatic, sympathetic, warm. Not even close to the control-freak jerk I came to know.
“And you’re touring with a local independent band, is that right?” the woman asks, sending a jolt of energy down my spine. “How did it happen?”
“Well, we try to choose local bands wherever we go,” Todd says. “I think it’s important to help up-and-coming artists. We’ve been there, we know what it’s like.”
What the heck?
“That’s such a nice thing to do,” the woman answers, as if they’re single-handedly ending world poverty. “How did you come across this particular band?”
“That was Tyler’s find,” Todd says, handing it over to him.
‘Are you watching this?’ I quickly text Pete. This is more important than whatever our problem is.
“… you know, how sometimes you fall down a rabbit hole on YouTube…” Tyler is droning on, in a way-too-specific explanation, if you ask me.
‘Watching what?’ my phone buzzes with Pete’s reply.
‘The interview,’ I text back. ‘They’re talking about us.’
I have the urge to run to his room—we should be watching this together. This is great! Right? They’re talking about us on national television. Of course, most of our audience must be asleep right now, but still…
“… and they’re really good,” Tristan is talking now. “I think it’s safe to say they’re some of the best musicians we ever got to share the stage with.”
“Yes, speaking of sharing,” the interviewer says, “you’ve been literally sharing the stage, right? We’ve been seeing videos of you playing each others’ songs, and I have to say, what a brilliant idea! Who came up with it?”
“It was actually Becky,” Tyler says. My heart pounds heavily at the sound of my own nickname on his voice. I think it’s the first time I hear him say it. “She noticed we have some overlapping in our audiences and had this idea. We all loved it, right? Honestly, I was just looking for an opportunity to steal She’s Not Mine to myself, it’s such a great song.”
I smile with that.
“And might I add, it sounds a lot better in your voice,” the interviewer chuckles, touching his arm.
My smile is gone.
‘How DARE she???’ I text Pete.
“You shouldn’t have said that. She’s watching us right now,” Tyler jokes. Damn him. How does he know I’m watching? I could be sleeping. Actually, I’ll tell him I was sleeping and didn’t watch a thing.
“Oops,” the woman laughs again and I roll my eyes.
‘What part?’ Pete asks.
What does he mean, what part? ‘The part where she said our song sounds better in Tyler’s voice???’
“Thank you so much for coming here today and chatting with me. Best of luck with the rest of the tour.”
“Thank you, it was our pleasure,” Todd smiles.
“Would you sing one more song for us?” she asks and they all get up and walk back to their instruments.
Tristan makes the countdown and Todd starts to play a very familiar riff on his guitar. I get dizzy, my sight slightly blurry. My heart is beating so fast I’m certain I’m having a heart attack.
‘PETE??????’ I text him. I need to know I’m not hallucinating.
When the first verse of my song—the song I wrote years ago, alone, in my bedroom—leaves Tyler’s mouth, I fly out of my room. This is too much to take on my own.
“PETE!!!” I screech as I burst his unlocked door open.
He doesn’t even move. His eyes are glued to the TV, his mouth slightly agape. I run and throw myself down beside him. I reach for his hand, holding it tight as we watch our song being played live on national television.
***
It’s a slightly different version than the one we’ve been playing on the concerts, yet it sounds amazing. They sound amazing. Tyler sounds amazing. The song fits his crying voice perfectly, almost as if it was written for him all along.
They finish it up and for the longest time Pete and I just stare at the TV. I turn to him slowly, a shocked expression on my face.
“What was that?” he asks, his voice barely over a whisper.
“I have no idea.” I shake my head.
“What a trip,” Pete says, blinking hard.
“I know.”
“It was our song!” He widens his eyes, finally looking at me.