by Meg Haston
Paige coughed something I couldn’t understand into her teacup.
The gut-wrenching guilt that had been writhing in the pit of my stomach all week was so strong that I barely noticed the sharp metal of Molly’s skull ring digging into my skin. How could I sit here and pretend to be supportive when all I could think about was Zander, and proving to him that I’d changed? I’d never felt so fake in my life. Maybe Zander had a right to be confused about the real Kacey Simon. Maybe I didn’t know who she was, either.
“And that was Musikal Mutiny, with the first track off their debut album.” The lanky emcee behind the mic wore a plaid flannel shirt and black skinny jeans, which reminded me of Zander. Then again, everything these days reminded me of him. “Heads up: After the showcase, the bands will be signing autographs and selling CDs in the lobby out front.”
“My BF’s famous!” Molly piped up.
“Now for the last band of the night, Gravity. Make some noise, people!”
Molly shrieked as Zander and the guys hustled into the spotlight.
I watched the band settle into their places. Even though our table was just a few feet away, I felt miles from the band, like I’d never been a part of it at all.
Zander settled onto a stool front and center, holding the guitar he’d tried to give me at Millennium Park. He was wearing a brown leather jacket I’d never seen before. I searched for the cuff bracelet, but it must have been hidden beneath his sleeve.
“What is UP, Chicago?” He grinned and adjusted the mic stand. “We’re Gravity, and we’re psyched to be here with—” His glance fell on our table, on Molly’s beaming, proud face. His eyes shifted to me. He froze for a second, then shook his head violently, like he was trying to rid his brain of any memory of me. “Uh, to be here with you guys.”
My fingers curled around my coffee cup. I squeezed so hard, I thought the ceramic might crack.
“We’re gonna start you guys off with something a little different. It’s an acoustic cover of one of my favorite tunes by a classic band. Hope you like it.”
Acoustic cover? The second the house lights darkened, I shifted forward in my seat. I knew instantly what song he was going to play, and he couldn’t sing it without me. Gravity had never done a cover before, had never even considered it until after I’d borrowed Zander’s Fleetwood Mac record. I’d told him I wanted to sing—
My eyes stung as the opening notes of “Go Your Own Way” filled the silent coffee house. Zander’s fingers slid expertly around the fret board, coaxing beautiful notes from his guitar. Even the rest of the band seemed mesmerized, hanging on his every note.
He leaned toward the mic and his lips parted.
“Loving you…” As he sang, Zander let his chin drop to his chest. I bit my lip so hard that I swear I tasted blood. Molly couldn’t see me cry.
“Isn’t the right thing to do.” Suddenly, Zander’s voice cracked. His fingers slipped out of position on the fret board, and a lone C note sent a shudder through the crowd. In the back, someone gasped.
“Ohmygod.” Molly hissed behind her coffee mug. “What is he doing?”
I shook my head, unable to look away from the stage. Zander’s eyes were cast downward in humiliation. Each time he tried to pick up the song, it sounded out of key. Wrong. My heart stopped in my chest for a full measure.
“If I could—” This time, Zander’s voice crack was worse than a sixth-grade boy’s, and he was completely off key. Bright red was starting to creep from the collar of his jacket into his cheeks. Behind him, the rest of the band’s faces were frozen. Mortified.
“How could he do this? I’m totes humiliated.” Molly lifted a café menu and shielded her face. “Kacey. Do something.”
“Me?” I choked. I wanted to do something; wanted to prove to Zander once and for all that I was a real friend. That I cared about him. But what could I do? I wasn’t even in the band.
Zander coughed something into the mic.
“Kay. Cee.” Molly hissed through gritted teeth. “Get up there.”
“Get off the stage, dude!” Somebody booed.
I whipped around angrily, but couldn’t see anything in the dark. And then suddenly, I was on my feet.
I watched myself climb onto the stage, striding toward the mic. Saw Zander stand, saw his blue streak dip as he nodded. For a full beat, it was just Zander and me, alone on a silent stage. And then everything came screaming back: the restless shuffle of the audience, the bitter, acrid smell of burnt coffee. The piercing heat of the spotlight.
I tilted the mic, and we both leaned in close. So close that our lips were almost touching. But I didn’t get the same jittery, lightheaded feeling I’d gotten when I’d been this close to Quinn. Instead, I felt powerful.
“You can go your own way,” I belted. My voice echoed over the speakers, filling the coffee house.
Someone whistled, and a few claps sounded from the crowd.
Zander picked up the rhythm on the guitar, his head bobbing hesitantly to the beat.
I caught his eye and nodded. You can do this. A tentative smile flickered across his lips.
Behind us, the band launched into a full-scale rock attack, and the audience burst into cheers as we sang together. The Beat was pounding so loudly on the drums, I could feel my teeth start to chatter. My entire body was soaking in the music.
I let the spotlight wash over me, let the crowd fade away as Zander and I brought the house down. Together.
ENCORE
Friday 9:16 P.M.
The rest of the set slipped by in a perfect, easy blur. We were in sync like we’d never been before, and the band rocked for three more songs, plus two encores. We played like it was just the five of us in Zander’s loft, alone and uninhibited. Standing next to him, gripping the mic stand as I sang, it felt like I’d never left.
And then the set was over and the house lights brightened over the audience, snapping me out of my dream and into the real world. The world where Zander was dating my best friend, and didn’t want me in the band anymore.
“You, uh…” Without looking at me, Zander fiddled with the silver tuning pegs on his guitar while the rest of the band packed up behind us. His blue streak slipped over his eyes, making it impossible for me to read him. “I really—”
“Yeah,” I said softly, watching as the audience downed the last of their cappuccinos and herded toward the lobby. “No problem.” I wanted to ask him what this meant, if this changed anything between us. If he’d forgiven me. But the words just lay heavy on my tongue, refusing to leave my lips.
“Z.” At the foot of the stage, Molly stood with her arms crossed tightly over her ripped Gravity tee. She was giving Zander the same look she’d given me when I’d opened my mouth at rehearsal and my lisp had come out. Pity, with a serious dose of disgust. “What. Just. Happened?”
Zander’s head snapped up, and his forehead crinkled with confusion and hurt. “Excuse me?” he said sharply. “You were there. You saw.”
“Duh.” Molly took a step back, as if Zander had a debilitating disease and was highly contagious. “I’m the one who told Kacey to rescue you. Soooo, you’re welcome.” She cocked her head to one side, waiting for his gratitude.
“Uh, thanks?” Zander’s eyes cut in my direction. They glinted like he was on the verge of laughing.
Molly flushed. “So we’re going to get some autographs from some of the other bands,” she informed me as if Zander weren’t standing right there. “Meet us in the lobby in ten?”
“Yeah. Okay.” I tried to send him an apologetic blink, but the light in his expression had faded and he was staring at the stage, tracing a circle in the dust with the toe of his sneaker.
“Perf.” Molly whipped her hair over her shoulder and sashayed back to our table. She slipped her black leather jacket off the back of her chair and put it on, dragging the zipper just high enough to hide the Gravity logo on her tee. The other girls gathered their bags and coats.
I coughed. “She’s, uh…”
Trailing behind the girls, Paige turned and flashed me a quick thumbs-up. I tried to send her a telepathic plea to stay so I wouldn’t have to be alone with Zander. Before I could, she hooked her jacket over her shoulder and started toward the lobby.
“Don’t worry about Molly. She didn’t mean it.”
“Course she did.” Zander’s laugh sounded harsh, tinny. He slumped onto the wooden stool.
“Well, she could have said it another way, at least.” Irritation edged my voice. “She didn’t have to be so mean.”
“Whatever.” Zander shrugged. “She’s right. I screwed the whole thing up.”
“Dude. S’okay.” The Beat came up behind us and clapped Zander on the shoulder. “All worked out, thanks to Mainstream.” He gave me a playful nudge. “We’re gonna go sign some napkins. Meet us out there whenever.”
“Yeah.” Zander’s voice was barely audible over the sound of the guys shuffling off the stage. Once we were alone, I studied his face: the worry lines around his eyes, his tight, pursed lips, the way the color had left his cheeks. I’d never seen him look so depressed. It was like he was letting Molly’s words demolish his confidence.
I blinked back tears. Maybe he cared about her more than I thought he did. Maybe I’d been naïve to hope he didn’t really like her. To think that he could like me instead.
“Zander.” My voice cracked. “Nobody cares that—”
“I care!” His voice was so strong that I took a startled step back, almost tripping over a speaker. “Don’t you get it? This was supposed to be it, you know? Our big break.” He jumped up and raked his hands through his hair. “And I couldn’t even hold it together without y—” He stopped himself before he said it. “Whatever. It’s done.”
“But it’s not!” The back of my neck suddenly felt hot. “You were amazing once we got going, like you always are! Are you really too dense to figure that out, or are you just enjoying your little pity party?”
Surprised, Zander opened his mouth, as if to argue. But I wasn’t finished.
“So maybe you screwed up a little. But that’s not the only reason you’re upset.” I took a bold step toward him, my voice getting louder.
“It’s not?” Zander sounded more confused than angry.
I shook my head. “It’s killing you that for once, you actually cared what people thought. So what? Everybody cares what people think, at least a little. It just means you’re human.”
Zander lifted his guitar strap over his head and tucked the instrument into its case. The muscles in his face relaxed, but I still couldn’t read his expression.
“Could you say something, please?” I snapped, suddenly feeling drained.
“You’re… right.” He ducked to find my gaze, and held it. We were standing only inches apart. My body temperature went from tropical to subzero and back again. “I mean, I did care what people thought. But mostly I cared”—his eyes flicked away—“what you thought.”
“What I thought?” My voice came out sounding raspy.
He shrugged. “I guess I didn’t want you to see me mess up and think that the band was dying after you left. Even though…” His voice trailed off, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It’s just different, is all.”
“Oh.” I bit my bottom lip, my mind reeling with all the things I wanted to tell him. I was desperate to explain why I’d deserted the band, but telling would be betraying Molly. Blaming her, when really, she hadn’t forced me to quit anything. I’d been the one to make the choice. And now I had to accept the consequences.
For the first time all night, Zander cracked a grin. “An entire monologue, and then all I get is ‘oh’?” He punched me lightly in the shoulder. “Come on, Simon. Gimme your best shot.”
“I—” My eyes found his, and tiny bursts of electricity flooded my body, like a million sixth senses at once. My journalistic instincts were kicking into overdrive, and I knew what I needed to do. I needed to tell the truth, to be completely honest. And I could do that without blaming Molly or making her look bad. “I’m just so sorry about everything, Zander. It was so stupid of me to leave the band, only I didn’t think I had a choice.” My voice faltered. “And I should have been honest and told you everything, like how the band’s the best thing that ever happened to me, even if I didn’t know it right away. But I was too scared. And now you hate me, and—”
“Whoa! Hate you?” Zander gripped my arms like he was about to shake me. But instead, he just held me steady. “I never hated you. I was just mad when I thought you were using the band.” His grip tightened. “I could never hate you. I just really… the band really missed you, or whatever.”
“Me, too.” A wave of relief washed over me, and suddenly, I was squeezing him. And he was hugging me back. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled into the soft leather of his jacket. The zipper was digging into my cheek, but I didn’t care. “I totally screwed up.”
“Just makes you human,” he said into my hair before we pulled away. “This girl told me that once.”
“She sounds amazing,” I half laughed, half sniffed. Our noses were almost touching. I suddenly felt like I was going to vomit. In the best possible way.
“Yeah. She is.” He coughed and released his grip. We both stumbled backward a few steps. “So.” He scratched the back of his neck, peering at me from beneath his blue streak. “Since your afternoons are free now, do you maybe wanna… I mean, the band’s not the same without you, and—”
“Yeah. Yes. Totally.” I cut him off before he could finish his thought.
“Rock on.” He lifted his fist.
“Rock on.” I bumped it lightly, sealing the deal. Zander and I were bandmates again. And deep down, I knew we were becoming something more than friends. I couldn’t explain how, exactly, but I just knew.
Because even former journalists have a sixth sense.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I feel deeply grateful for the many souls whose support, insight, and care have held me up throughout the writing of this book. To acknowledge a very significant few:
Thank you to the lovely folks at Alloy Entertainment. Les Morgenstein and Josh Bank: Thank you for being brilliant, and for giving me the opportunity to bring this story to life. Sara Shandler: Not so long ago, you read two sample chapters. (And you liked them! You really liked them!) For taking a chance on a new writer, and for your guidance and encouragement along the way, I’m so thankful. Nora Pelizzari: You got this ball rolling, lady. I will never forget that.
To my thoughtful, hilarious, and genius editor, Lanie Davis: Thank you for… well, just about everything. For your wisdom in editing this book. For laughing when you think I’m funny and talking me down when I’m anxious. Most important, thank you for encouraging me to focus on my health when I needed to. You’re more than a rockin’ LP. You’re a dear friend.
And to the masterminds at Poppy: Cindy Eagan and Pam Gruber. You are truly a powerhouse of a team, and your direction and creativity have made this book what it is.
Rebecca Friedman, agent extraordinaire: Thank you for your enthusiasm, your wonderfully critical eye, and your vision. What a beautiful beginning.
Jessica Parrillo: You were an Anam Cara in an unspeakably difficult time. Without you, I could not have finished this book. Connie Staton: You have always been there, and I know you always will be. I love you. Gayle Spears and Georgia Calhoun: You nurtured me inside the classroom and out. You made me a better therapist, which has made me a better writer and, I think, a better human being. Kelly Boswell: Bless you.
And most important, to my family: Mimi, Hugh, and Molly. You are an unfailingly supportive force, standing with me always. I love you.
Thank you.
mh
KEEP ON ROCKIN’ WITH MORE
HOW TO ROCK
Turn the page for a sneak peek at How to Rock Break-Ups and Make-Ups, the hilarious sequel to How to Rock Braces and Glasses, coming in September 2012.
CUE THE NEW TRACK
Monday, 6:5
8 A.M.
I have a unique talent for remembering the soundtrack to every significant life moment in my twelve and a half years, including epiphanies, crises, and unbeatable hair days.
The morning of my very first Simon Says television broadcast for Marquette Middle School’s Channel M last September, I blasted Beyoncé’s “Diva” on my iPod for the entire El ride to school. Four years ago, when my dad told me he was moving from Chicago to Los Angeles and that it was “best for everyone involved,” creepy carnival music whistled from the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier.
And as I waited for my best friend, Molly Knight, at Sugar Daddy this morning, the clink of ceramic mugs and the sleepy chug, chug, ding! of the old-fashioned cash register blended together in familiar harmony. Outside, my city was starting to rouse, and pinkish light shone on bleary-eyed passersby. For the rest of Chicago, it was just another Monday morning.
The rest of Chicago had no idea how easy they had it.
I sat on one of the cracked turquoise leather couches at the back of the bakery and willed my knees to stop bouncing. But I was too riled up to sit still. Two weeks ago, after a humiliating tumble at Molly’s thirteenth birthday party, I’d gone from
KACEY SIMON, SEVENTH-GRADE JOURNALIST, ADVICE GURU, and MOST POPULAR GIRL BASICALLY EVER
to
KACEY SIMON, LISPING, BRACES-AND-GLASSES-WEARING, FRIENDLESS REJECT.
Luckily, my literal fall from grace was yesterday’s headline, and now I was back on top, thanks to some major soul-searching and a genius plan I’d executed with my friend Paige Greene. And after I’d saved my best guy friend (and Molly’s boyfriend), Zander Jarvis, during the Rock Chicago showcase last Friday night, Zander had even asked me to rejoin Gravity as lead singer.
Friends? Check. Popularity? Check. Band? Check.
Unquenchable crush on my best friend’s boyfriend?
CoughCHECKcough.
The scratchy clang of the bell over the door startled me, sending a wave of scalding liquid over the edge of my cup.