by Tracy Deebs
Which is why I’ve been such a freak about attendance since I started here. Whether it’s logical or not, whether it could really happen or not, I can’t help seeing every missed class or screwup as bringing me one step closer to being under his thumb again.
I fly through the front doors of the school’s main building—the only ones in the whole building that are actually unlocked after the bell for first period rings—and take the necessary detour into the front office to pick up my tardy slip. Dammit.
I get into line behind a couple of drama kids, and can’t help listening as they go on and on about the whole Mariely/Jacen/Cabot/Himesh scandal that rocked the school a few weeks ago. I don’t see what the big deal is—everyone involved seems to be happy at this point, so why rehash it? Sure, Mariely and Jacen were kind of the school’s it couple, but hard to make that work when one of them turns out to be gay. Besides, I think Mariely and Cabot make a much cooler couple…not that my vote matters, but still. They seem good together.
The tardy line—like all bureaucracy—moves slowly and ten minutes later I’m still not at the front of the line. At this rate, it’ll be second period before I’m out of here. Which sucks considering one of the reasons I overslept is because I stayed up doing my first-period homework.
My phone vibrates in my pocket for the third time since I got in line, and this time I pull it out to check it. I smile when I realize it’s Keegan who texted me a link to Snow Patrol’s “Chasing Cars.” It’s perfect and I start to text him back—The White Stripes “In the Cold, Cold Night”—but then I realize that the other texts I got aren’t from him. They’re from my manager.
I almost don’t even look at them. But we argued a lot over me having at least a few months without being Cherry, and Ben had finally conceded. Which means he wouldn’t be contacting me unless it’s something important.
And still it takes me long seconds to swipe his name, longer seconds still before I actually look at what he’s written. The first text is pretty simple.
Ben: Hey babe, how are you! Great news! Call me!
The second text was sent ten minutes later—like he was too keyed up to wait for me to call him back to deliver the news.
Ben: MTV Europe Music Awards wants you to HEADLINE. Ceremony in December. Call me so we can talk deets. GREAT OPPORTUNITY CAN’T MISS.
I start to respond, but stop because I don’t know what to type. I don’t know how to answer him. Ben has worked a long time to get me on this show as more than a presenter because he thinks it will not only build my brand, but expose me to a larger audience in Europe and really grow my career.
It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time, what will push my next album to number one in Europe instead of hanging out at three or four. Except now that I’ve got it, now that it’s right here in front of me, I don’t know if I want it anymore. Don’t know if I want any of it anymore if my father’s not shoving it down my throat.
That’s what this year was supposed to be about, after all. A chance for me to explore my voice, to see if there’s something more inside me than just another pop princess. Going to this awards ceremony—even headlining it—won’t necessarily change that quest. Plus, it’s just smart to do it, especially since their coming after me to headline means I’ll be nominated for several awards. Which, not going to lie, would be really nice considering my previous album was all but shut out of this awards ceremony.
And still I don’t text him back. Still I’m not sure I want to do it, not sure I want to leave here. It’s been over two months since I’ve had to be Cherry, two months since I’ve had to wear her clothes and live her life. I just don’t know if I’m ready to go back—or if I ever will be.
Still, I can’t just ignore Ben. This is my career we’re talking about, the source of revenue that gives me the opportunity to take a year off without sweating it financially. Sure, most of my money has gone to my dad because of contract loopholes I never questioned until it was too late, but there’s enough left for me to live comfortably for a long while. Not lavishly, not like a rock star—or even a pop star. But comfortably while I try to figure out what I want to do with my life. And my voice.
Finally, I decide to think about it—and have just started the text to Ben telling him I’ll call him after class—when the door to the vice principal’s office opens and I’m left staring straight into Keegan’s mom’s eyes. And she doesn’t look happy.
“Dahlia,” she says, glancing between me and the tardy line that I’m finally at the front of. “I was just coming to find you. Come into my office, please.” She steps out of the doorway and waves for me to precede her into the room.
I’m a little confused, but I go anyway. Not that I have much of a choice…
“Have a seat,” she says, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk as she walks around to the other side.
I sit. My heart is beating fast, and I don’t even know why. Except for being tardy today, I haven’t done anything wrong. But there’s just something about sitting in front of the vice principal in charge of discipline—who also happens to be Keegan’s mom—that freaks me out. A lot.
I wait for her to say something, but for long seconds she just stares at me, brows raised and hands folded on her desk. The weird feeling in the pit of my stomach gets even more uncomfortable. Something is wrong—I can read it in her eyes—but I don’t have a clue what it is. And I hate, hate, hate going into a situation blind, especially one that might end with me in God only knows what kind of trouble.
Finally, I can’t take the silence—or the tension—anymore. “Is something wrong, Mrs. Matthews? The front office told me they had my transcripts sorted a few weeks ago, but if there’s a problem—”
“There’s no problem with your transcripts.”
Oooookay, then. “Is this about the tardy? It’s my first one—”
“Not about the tardy, either,” she says with a shake of her head.
I’m starting to get impatient now. Whatever her problem is, she needs to just tell me because I am so done with these guessing games. The whole thing is ridiculous and I am not going to play anymore.
With that thought in mind, I lean back in my chair. Stretch my legs out in front of me. And wait for her to do whatever she’s going to do.
It doesn’t take long. Guess it’s not as much fun playing with your prey if they don’t fight back…
“I know who you are,” she says.
That has me sitting up straighter. No one but the principal is supposed to know who I really am—or why I’m here. It was part of the agreement we made when I enrolled here. Even my teachers aren’t supposed to know.
“Look, I know why you’re here, and I understand you wanting anonymity. I want anonymity for you, too. Having Finn McCain here has been a logistical nightmare, so I can only imagine what it would be like if the student body knew Cherry was enrolled here, too. Believe me, your secret is safe with me.”
“I appreciate that,” I tell her even though I don’t buy it for a second. She obviously wants something, or I wouldn’t be sitting in this chair.
“Then let’s just cut to the chase, shall we?” She clears her throat, straightens a couple of already-straight piles on her desk. “I know you went out with my son last night. That needs to stop, now.”
It’s the last thing I expect her to say, and for long seconds I just stare at her as I try to make sense of her words—and the reasoning behind them. It doesn’t work. “Keegan and I are just friends—”
“Maybe,” she says. “But I still want this to stop. Today.”
I’m reeling. “I don’t understand.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Oh, I think you understand just fine. Keegan is a great kid. He has everything going for him and a really bright future—”
“You think I’m going to do something to jeopardize that future? We’re friends. I would never hurt him.”
“I think that he has a lot going on in his life right now with his father’s illness, and I don�
�t think he needs the added stress of dating a pop star on top of everything else.”
“But I’m not a pop star when I’m in Austin. Besides, I already told you we were friends. We’re not dating.”
But we could be, especially after that kiss last night. I want to date him, I realize, and I can’t help thinking that, Dream Girl or not, he wants to date me, too. Not that I’m about to tell his mother that when she’s obviously on the warpath.
“I know my son. And I know what I saw on his face when he got home last night. And I’m asking you to put some distance between the two of you.”
“I don’t understand why it matters. I’m just me, just Dahlia right now. I’m not Cherry. I’m not—”
“Really? You’re not Cherry? So if you walked out to those photographers out there”—she points out her window to where the paps I hid from earlier are still hanging out—“and told them who you are, they wouldn’t go nuts? Because you’re just Dahlia now?”
“He doesn’t have to be a part of that.”
“Darling, he absolutely would be a part of it, and if you don’t know that, then you’re fooling yourself. Maybe that’s what you need to do to get up in the morning, but you don’t get that luxury when you’re involved with my son. So back off Keegan.”
The emphasis in that last sentence puts my back up. “Or what?” I demand, suddenly as annoyed as she is.
Her eyebrows hit her hairline. “Excuse me?”
“What are you going to do if I don’t back off? Keegan is my only real friend here, and I think it sucks that you just want me to walk away from that. What am I even going to tell him?”
“I don’t care what you tell him as long as he understands that there is nothing between you, and that there will never be anything between you. As for what I can do…”
She reaches into her desk and pulls out a manila folder. Then she slides it across the desk at me.
I look from the folder to her, but I make no move to open it.
“Go ahead. Look inside.”
“I don’t care what’s inside.”
“You should, if you want to keep your emancipated status.”
My blood runs cold. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, since I’m head of discipline and attendance, the principal has put me in charge of the monthly reports to Judge Abernathy telling him if you’re complying with his orders.”
“I am complying! I’ve been here every day. I have straight As.”
“Really? Because I’m pretty sure I just fished you out of the tardy line.”
“One tardy doesn’t mean noncompliance.”
She makes a point of glancing at the clock on the wall. “I think you mean one absence and one tardy, don’t you? You’re already late for second period.”
“Because you made me come in here!”
“I can make you come in here every day if I want to, Cherry. You should probably remember that.”
“Are you serious? What kind of Machiavellian shit is this?”
“Really? You’re going to add swearing at the vice principal to your list of transgressions?”
“You’re blackmailing me! What am I supposed to say?”
“You’re supposed to say that you won’t see my son anymore. And then everything will go back to the way it was and you’ll get to spend your senior year here at NextGen doing whatever musical thing you’re trying to do, instead of in L.A. with your father.”
“You’re a real bitch, you know that?”
“What I am is a mother concerned about her son. Keegan is already suffering because of his father. The last thing he needs is to have his heart broken by you, too.”
“I already told you that I’d never hurt him—”
She gives me a disbelieving look. “The whole world knows you leave a string of broken hearts wherever you go, Cherry. I’m just making sure my son’s isn’t one of them.” She picks up the file and puts it back in her drawer with great ceremony. “Now, get to class before I decide to give you a detention for swearing.”
“We’re not done with this conversation.”
She stares me down as she stands up and walks over to the door. “Oh, yes, we are.” She holds the door open for me.
I want to stay and argue. If I were Cherry right now, I would stay and argue. And I would get my way, too. Because one of the big rules in the entertainment industry is to keep the talent happy—at least on the surface.
But I’m not the talent here. I’m just another high school student, and she’s the one with all the power. It sucks. It really, really sucks.
I can feel tears blooming in my eyes, but I beat them back out of sheer will. No way am I going to cry in front of her. No freaking way.
I grab my backpack off the floor and sling it over my shoulder. I need to get out of here, now.
I’m halfway to the main office door when Mrs. Matthews calls, “Don’t forget to get a tardy slip, Dahlia. For the attendance record.”
The threat of it all hangs in the air between us for one second, two, before she retreats back into her office and closes the door. I’m out of the front office—and out of the school—in five seconds flat. Screw second period. There’s no way I can sit in a classroom right now. Not when I’m so close to falling apart completely.
Chapter Sixteen
I flee the school parking lot like the hounds of hell are after me. I think about going to the lake or the graffiti park, but in the end I just drive around for a while. Thinking. Trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
Not that I need to figure anything out when Mrs. Matthews pretty much drew me a road map, after all. Stop hanging out with Keegan voluntarily or she’ll find a way to make me do it—by having the judge send me back to L.A. Back to my dad.
Just the thought makes my skin crawl. I can’t do that. I can’t go back there. I can’t go back to him using me or telling me to “make nice” with producers or DJs or whoever the hell he thinks can help my career and make him more money.
The worst part is that I get it. I do. If you believe even half of what the tabloids say about me, then Cherry has left a string of broken hearts all around the world. She’s dated guys much older than she is. She’s broken up relationships, friendships, marriages. In breaking out of the Disney mold, she went too far in the other direction, used her sexuality to sell records and concert tickets and merchandise.
But none of that’s me. Not really. Most of those stories are exaggerations and flat-out lies planted by my team—my father—to increase my exposure. Even the stories that are mostly true have important details missing or wrong. I’m not the person the media and the record label and my father have made me out to be.
That’s why I’m here. That’s why I filed for emancipation, why I’m hiding in Austin, why I’m trying to write the songs I want to sing. Why I’m trying to be the person I’ve always wanted to be.
And Keegan, he makes it easy for me to be that girl. More, he makes it feel natural. He’s my first real friend here, besides Finn—who is friends with Cherry, not Dahlia. He’s the first person I feel like I can talk to, really talk to. And no, he doesn’t know about Cherry, but he gets me. He gets Dahlia, even though it’s only been a few days. I don’t want to give that up.
I don’t want to give him up. Especially not after that kiss last night—and the sweet, funny string of emoji texts that he’s sent since. Keegan’s not like other guys I’ve known. He listens to me. He’s nice to me. He did all those cool things for me last night because he wanted to make me happy, not because he wanted me to do something for him or his career. And not because he wanted bragging rights about sleeping with Cherry.
But what am I supposed to do here? Even if I tell him who I am and he’s okay with it, his mother won’t be. She’ll make sure I end up having to go back to California, and then I won’t get to see him anyway. Plus, it’s not like I want to cause any problems between him and his mother. His father already has cancer. Keegan doesn’t need to deal with any
thing else right now.
Which means I really don’t have a choice, do I? I have to give him up.
It sucks. It just totally sucks.
My phone vibrates with a text and I almost ignore it. But Keegan’s name flashes across the top of my screen, and I can’t let it go. I swipe across the screen, pull up his message—a link to Stevie Ray Vaughan’s Love Struck Baby.
God, he’s good. He has yet to text me a word, but from the song alone I know that he wants to take me to the park down the street from the school for lunch. There’s a statue of Stevie Ray Vaughan in the middle of it, and a lot of seniors hang out there when they can sneak off. His way of introducing me to more of his friends? I wonder, as I ache with the need to return his text. Or just a chance for us to hang out together some more?
Either way, I want to say yes. I want to forget the conversation I just had with his mom, want to forget all the reasons being with Keegan is a bad idea. I want to pretend I’m just a normal seventeen-year-old and he’s just the boy I like. Why is that so hard? Why is everything so hard?
Another text comes in while I’ve still got the phone in my hand. But this one is from Ben, telling me he’ll expect my call at two o’clock California time so we can discuss the European music awards.
Screw it. Just screw it.
Instead of ignoring him, instead of texting Keegan back, I do what I should have done when I got his message earlier today. I call him.
“Cherry, babe! How are you?” he says as he picks up the phone on the second ring.
“I’m good, Ben. How are you?”
“I’m excellent. Especially with the news I got today. Can you believe this? They want you to headline the MTV Europe Music Awards. Best news ever, right?”
“It’s great, yeah.”
“It’s better than great, babe. It’s fantastic. This is going to do what we’ve been trying to do for you for three years. Open up the mainstream European audience instead of just the kids. Everyone will get a chance to see you and man, when those guys get a load of you, we’re going to sell so many albums you’re not going to know what hit you.”