Songs About a Girl

by Chris Russell

  “Because trust me,” continued Barry, “you really don’t want to go there.”

  I rarely watched Make or Break, but even I knew that Barry King was blunt and short-tempered and had no time for people who didn’t do exactly what he asked, whenever he asked it. He had a reputation on the show for making contestants cry and even sacked another judge once during a live broadcast. Melissa told me there were rumors he had connections to organized crime, though they were probably started by one of the many wannabe pop stars he’d trashed on his program.

  Either way, he was a frightening man.

  “I gave you everything you’ve got. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that before you met me you were just some scruffy little runt with an attitude.”

  “You … gave me … everything? That’s a laugh,” scoffed Gabriel, and I could just imagine him standing there, chin held high, arms crossed in defiance. “Where would you be without my songs? Still trying to break that crap string quartet—what were they called?”

  “You can leave Paradiso out of this, son,” replied Barry, his patience clearly thinning. I remembered Paradiso. They were supposed to make classical music sexy, but in the end they just made it annoying. “Listen, I’m first to admit you’re good at what you do, but that doesn’t give you the right to act like the bloody king of the world. You’re not Axl Rose, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Who’s Axl Rose?”

  “Good one, mate. Hilarious.”

  A member of the hotel staff passed by and nodded me a “good morning.”

  “Point is, I own you. You know that; I know that. When I tell you to do an interview, you do an interview. When I tell you to sing, you sing. When I tell you to put on a leotard and dance the Macarena, you bloody do it.”

  I leaned back against the wall, flicking through last night’s photos on my phone. Even on the small screen, they were looking fantastic, and I couldn’t wait to see how the fans would react to them. My favorites were of Yuki and Aiden singing together backstage, Aiden on the guitar, Yuki spinning a drumstick and tapping it on the tabletop. I’d even managed to capture one of Gabriel and Olly together, and getting that picture was never easy.

  I had come downstairs to see Gabriel, but it sounded like Barry wasn’t planning on letting him go any time soon.

  “I was great onstage last night though, right?” Gabriel was saying when I tuned back in. I smiled. He was right—last night had been the best I’d ever seen him perform. His energy was insatiable as he swept from one side of the stage to the other, his face lit up, his voice soaring.

  I dared to think, just quietly, to myself, that our kiss might have been responsible …

  “People, let’s hear ya!” Gabriel had called out to the vast, rippling crowd, who roared in response. “This next song, we think you just might recognize it. Number one last week, and hopefully staying there tomorrow…”

  The fans whooped and cheered. Yuki sauntered up behind Gabriel and draped an arm around his shoulder.

  “You wanna tell ’em what it’s called, Yuki?”

  Yuki leaned toward the crowd and said, very slowly, into his microphone: “‘Dance … with … You.’”

  The audience erupted, and the guitarist began playing the insistent, echoey riff that opened the song. I stood backstage, a tingle on my spine, waiting for those lines. Take me home, ’cause I’ve been dreaming of a girl I know. The truth about Mum’s notebook might not have been quite what I expected, but it didn’t matter. The words still lit me up inside. They still made my heart ache and shudder and sing.

  When the song ended, a triumphant Yuki lifted his hand for Gabriel to high-five and, when their palms met, for a fraction of a second, Gabriel’s eyes locked onto mine.

  Behind him, thousands screamed his name.

  “That’s not the point,” Barry was arguing irritably, as I drifted out of my daydream. “I set you up with one of the top music magazines in the country yesterday, and you don’t even bother turning up! You’re off gallivanting with that, who is she, that amateur photographer you boys have all got the horn for all of a sudden. She’s not even famous.”

  “Not even famous” was becoming my tagline. Perhaps I should put it on a business card.

  “Don’t talk about Charlie like that,” said Gabriel sternly. I pressed my ear to the wall, imagining him on the other side, defending me in front of Barry King, the most powerful man in the music industry.

  It gave me chills.

  “I’ll talk about Charlie Bucket, and you, and every last one of you whining little divas however I want. And I don’t want to be in here again, having this conversation. You understand?”

  No response from Gabriel. I glanced up and down the hotel corridor, wondering how long I’d have to stand out here. Maybe I should take a walk on the bea—

  Ping. A message on my phone. Melissa, no doubt, pressing for an update. I hadn’t told her about the kiss yet: I was waiting to see her in person. I was worried she might spontaneously combust.

  I looked at the screen. An unknown number.

  Screw u bitch

  For a moment, I stared at the message, unable to process the words.

  Then another arrived.

  Hands off gabriel

  And another.

  Lying slut

  Ur pathetic

  Ur not good enough for gabriel

  And another, and another, and another. Different numbers, every time.

  With trembling fingers, I opened my web browser and tried a few search terms.

  Fire&Lights

  Fire&Lights news

  Fire&Lights groupie

  The third attempt brought up a string of fan sites and gossip pages, all queuing up to shout different versions of the same thing.

  GABRIEL TAKES MYSTERY GROUPIE ON ROAD TRIP

  SECRET PHOTO OF GABRIEL WITH RANDOM FAN

  IS SHE GROUPIE OR GIRLFRIEND, GABRIEL WEST??

  Hurriedly, I clicked the images tab. The top hit was a horrible, grainy photo of me, rain-soaked and white-skinned, stepping out of Gabriel’s car outside the hotel.

  Someone had been watching us. Paul Morgan, perhaps? Or some other reporter? Whoever it was, they—

  My phone buzzed in my hand. A new message lit up the screen.

  I know who you are

  It was another unknown number, a string of unfamiliar digits. And moments later, from the same sender, a follow-up message arrived.

  Charlie bloom

  I blinked, horrified, at the screen. They knew my name.

  Panicked, I opened the Internet again, scrolled down the search results, and at the bottom of page two, found a familiar site: FIRE&LIGHTS FOREVER. I stared in disbelief at the headline.

  * * *

  REVEALED: THE IDENTITY OF GABRIEL’S MYSTERY GIRL

  You don’t wanna miss this one, readers!!!!

  This is a big one, guys … we’ve found out who the mystery girl is. Aaaaaagggghhh!!!!

  Her name is Charlie Bloom, and she goes to Caversham High in Reading—which is where Olly went to school (gold star if you knew that!!;);))

  Also, she’s not just some random fan, she’s actually the band’s new backstage photographer … which is pretty amazing!!! We know that some F&L fans have been trolling her, but that is NOT COOL, people.:(:(PLEASE stop and think before you post mean things about someone. It’s so not worth it!

  Sooooo … what’s going to happen with Gabriel & Charlie?? What does the pic of them outside his hotel MEAN?!?! Leave a comment below, and tell us what you think!!! :) :) :)

  xox FIRE&LIGHTS FOREVER xox The best Fire&Lights fan blog on the web!!

  * * *

  As the words throbbed and shivered in front of me, I felt the walls closing in.

  Three more messages hit my phone.

  U make me sick, charlie bloom

  Stupid bitch

  Haha I’m comin to ur house charlie

  This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real.

  But it was. Because underneath th
e blog was a comment, posted within the last five minutes, by a user called Wattsgoingon.

  The name sent a shiver through my blood.

  It had to be Aimee.

  charlie bloom is asking for it. i go to her school and she’s telling everyone she slept with gabriel, it’s BS

  And then, five words that made my insides crawl.

  this is her phone number

  My mind went dark, a pulsating, black space, a scream of nothing. A single sob burst out of me and I clamped a hand to my mouth, forcing it back down.

  Gabriel’s door swung open.

  “… So just, you know, think in the future, will you?” Barry was saying as he left the room. “You might be Gabriel West, but you’re not above the law.”

  He noticed me.

  “Oh. Hello.” I quickly wiped my eyes, and Barry considered me in silence. He nodded back in Gabriel’s direction. “Sort him out, would you? Apparently he listens to you.”

  Barry’s phone started to ring and, as he walked down the corridor, he whipped it to his ear.

  “King?”

  Gabriel was leaning against the door frame, watching him go.

  “Charlie Brown, what’s new?” He saw me, and his face fell. “Oh my God, Charlie…?”

  He ducked out of his room.

  “What’s going on?” he said, glancing up and down the hallway.

  “Nothing.”

  “Come inside…”

  Gabriel backed into his room, and I followed him in reluctantly. The door clicked shut behind us.

  “You should sit down.”

  “I’m OK,” I said, hovering by the door. Gabriel reached out to touch me, then thought better of it.

  “Tell me what’s going on.”

  I avoided his gaze, my eyes brimming with tears.

  “Charlie, talk to m—”

  “I can’t, it’s too … it’s just…”

  Gabriel switched off the television and tossed the remote onto the bed. I took a deep breath, and the words stumbled thickly out of me.

  “There’s another photo of us online. They know my name. And my phone number’s been published.”

  I pulled out my mobile, opened the message inbox, and passed it to Gabriel. He scrolled the screen, eyes widening as he read.

  “Jesus, Charlie … this is horrible.” He set the phone down on the desk and dropped back against the wall. “Where did the new photo come from?”

  I looked up. An angry heat was growing inside me.

  “You’re the celebrity—you tell me.”

  His face crumpled in confusion, and I felt guilty, instantly, for taking it out on him.

  “Sorry, I—”

  “You don’t still think I had something to do with all this, do you?”

  “No … no, I don’t. It’s just…”

  “What?”

  I dared to look at him, properly, for the first time.

  “All I know is that when I’m around you … bad things happen.”

  Gabriel’s jaw twitched. I closed my eyes, and two hot tears dropped down my cheeks.

  “You know I’d never do anything to hurt you, don’t you?” he said after a pause, but I didn’t reply. I just wiped away the tears and stared at the carpet. Gabriel paced to the window and leaned on the ledge, thinking, his fist pressed to his mouth.

  “I can’t change what Carla did, starting all this,” he said, patiently. “Believe me, I would if I could. But I can’t. We just have to get past it.”

  “Get past it? Gabe, this is my life.”

  A second wave of tears was building in my throat. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror: a mess of matted hair, big red eyes.

  “What’s in the photo? The new one, I mean.”

  “It’s us, getting out of your car. On the driveway, outside.”

  Gabriel’s head lolled backward, like it was suddenly heavy, and he let out a deep sigh.

  “That guy from the cliffs followed us home.”

  “So he did all this, then? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I don’t know, Charlie, but this is exactly what losers like that are paid to do. Make people feel crap about themselves. Because that sells.”

  The idea of that creepy reporter following us in the dark, watching us from his car, twisted me up inside. I fought off a shiver.

  We both fell silent for a while, listening to the sound of the churning sea. I stared out the window and felt homesick.

  “I can’t take this,” I said finally, in a very small voice. “I’m not strong enough.”

  Gabriel walked back toward me.

  “Yes, you are. I’m not letting you go.”

  I hung my head. A numbness was spreading through my body.

  “You don’t need me. You’re Gabriel West. You could have any girl on the planet.”

  “Maybe I could,” he said. He touched one finger to my chin and lifted my gaze to meet his. “But the only one I want is you.”

  His amber eyes sank into mine, and my feet curled with desire.

  “Every single person I meet treats me like Gabriel West, pop star. But the way you look at me, it’s as if … as if I’m just like you.”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

  “You make me feel normal again.”

  I gazed up at him, eyes stinging with tears. Everyone I knew wanted to be a celebrity, and yet the world-famous Gabriel West missed being normal.

  But he could never be normal.

  “I have to go. I’m sorry … I can’t do this.”

  “Charlie, come on, this is crazy, stay h—”

  “I just want to go home. I can’t be here anymore.”

  Pulling away from him, I stood up and walked to the door. He was saying my name as I left, but I ignored him, swinging the door shut behind me. I only made it a few steps down the hall before stumbling to the wall, covering my eyes, and sliding down to my knees, sobbing.

  I was in a strange place, with people I barely knew, while the world gossiped about me over the Internet.

  I felt, suddenly, very alone.

  25

  Aiden sat down next to me on the leather sofa and pulled his knees up against his chest.

  “You OK, Charlie?” he said in his soft, lilting accent.

  “Uh-huh.”

  He gave this some thought. In front of us, through the windows of the tour bus, the trees and fields flew by under a gray sheet of rain.

  “You’re kinda quiet. I’m worried.”

  I shook my head and tried to smile. Aiden’s eyebrows were raised in concern, his lips thin.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m fine.”

  The long journey back to London was passing painfully slowly. Yuki was lying along one of the other sofas, reading a book, his legs crossed over the edge of the flickering pinball machine. Olly was sitting in the corner, scribbling in a notebook, and Gabriel, who had shunned the tour bus, was driving his new car back to London, accompanied by a bodyguard. It seemed quiet without him.

  “I heard about what happened.”

  I kept my eyes on my lap. I’d been hoping the rest of the band wouldn’t find out.

  “It’s nothing, really.”

  Aiden bit one of his nails.

  “Right…”

  There was a long silence. He cleared his throat.

  “I don’t like getting papped either.”

  I blinked at him.

  “What?”

  “It makes me sad.”

  “Yeah,” I said, taking my hat off. “Me too.”

  We both looked out the window, and a service station drifted by. Concrete towers, queuing cars.

  “Two weeks after we won Make or Break,” Aiden began, turning back to me, “the papers printed this photo of me, my sister, and my ma, out for a fish supper. It was dumb, really, it wasn’t even a posh place, just this little café in Galway, but they still papped us. And I wasn’t ready for it. I didn’t like it. My baby sister, she’s only seven. She’s a kid.”

  He
paused.

  “It was like they owned me, or something.”

  There was the screech of bus brakes as we slowed for a traffic jam.

  “I guess what I’m saying is … I know how you feel.”

  I tugged at my sleeve.

  “Thanks, Aiden.”

  “S-sure,” he said hesitantly, standing up from the sofa. He hovered for a moment, unsure of what to do.

  “If you want to talk or anything, you just shout, OK?”

  I looked up at him.

  “I will.”

  He nodded thoughtfully, then walked over to the drinks machine, looked it up and down, and settled on the top button. A can of Pepsi clattered out the bottom.

  About an hour later, as the rain finally cleared, Olly appeared above me, holding his notebook.

  “This seat taken?” he asked, pointing a pen at the empty space next to me. I shifted uncomfortably.

  “Um, not exa—”

  “You don’t have to talk to me,” he said, with a calming hand. “I just thought you might like some company.”

  I shuffled up against the window.

  Olly sat down next to me and opened his book.

  “Olly, I—”

  “Hey,” he said, a smile playing on his lips. “I thought I told you not to talk.”

  “I just … about yesterday, on the beach—”

  “I get it,” he said, setting his pen down between the pages. “You and Gabriel have … something going on. And whatever that is, it’s none of my business.” He shrugged. “I just wanted you to know, that’s all.”

  I stared at my hands.

  “I’m not sure what to s—”

  “Pipe down, you,” said Olly, returning to his book, a twinkle in his eye. “I’m trying to work.”

  He smiled again, and for the first time in hours, I almost did too.

  We sat there for a few minutes, the engine whirring beneath us, while outside the window, moody blue skies began to break through the clouds. Olly was scanning the text in his notebook, twirling his pen between thumb and forefinger and reading very faintly to himself. I lifted up my feet to sit cross-legged, caught a glimpse of the page, and realized it was his song.

  Drowsily, I read the lines in the chorus, remembering his voice from yesterday, the sand between my fingers, and the hypnotic sound of the sea.