The crowd goes bananas, thank God.
“Well, now, we want to hear our fans sing,” she says, gesturing toward one of the crew in the wings, who brings out a stool. She pats it and says, “Take a seat here, birthday girl. Did y’all know that Bird Barrett turns seventeen today? She’s almost a grown woman!”
Almost. Nice touch.
“Y’all know this song,” Jolene says now, ever the performer. “It’s a classic.” As the band starts to play, the fans cheer before joining her in “Happy Birthday” (which I have to admit is really well-sung). As they go berserk on the last note, a cute roadie in a tight black T-shirt, black jeans, and a to-die-for smile brings out a big bunch of multicolored helium balloons. Kai knew about this.
I grab the balloons from him and shake my head. He winks in reply. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me about this. Grinning, I turn back to the audience and blow kisses. I couldn’t dream of a better way to end my first tour. A little girl in the front row is so happy she’s crying, so I walk downstage and squat, handing her a balloon. Somebody produces a Sharpie, and I sign the balloon. Then as I’m walking away, I see another little kid and do the same thing. It’s not long before I’ve passed out the whole bunch and I’m giddy with birthday cheer.
“Thank you again, Nashville!” I call. I wave at the crowd before turning to Jolene with a sugary-sweet smile. I’m sure none of this was her idea, but like a true entertainer, she played her part, so I play mine. “And thank you, Jolene. I’m so glad I could spend this birthday with y’all, in my own home Sweet Home-town.”
Once I’m backstage and Jolene starts in on her first number, I glance out at the crowd again and laugh. Maybe it’s childish, but I get such pleasure thinking about Jolene having to stare at those front-row balloons with my autograph during the entire set of her final show.
“Hey, guys,” I say to my parents when I walk into my dressing room. My brothers, the Crossleys, and a slew of relatives got tickets for the show, and I can’t wait to go join them in the crowd. “Just let me change real quick and we can head out.”
“Bird, honey,” my mom says, patting the couch next to her. A small box wrapped in bright yellow paper rests on her lap. “Would you mind sitting down here a minute? We’d like to give you your birthday present.”
She smiles, but it’s almost sad. I look at my dad, perched on the arm of the sofa above her as he finishes up a text, and something about him also seems off. I slowly sit, feeling like I’m about to be given bad news, not a gift.
She passes me the box and I unwrap it, a little confused when all that’s inside is a bottle of sunscreen. The brand is California Baby and my heart flutters, although I don’t want to get my hopes up. I look at my parents. “Sunscreen?”
My dad speaks gruffly. “I spoke to Dan.” He clears his throat and my mom scratches his back. “Your mother and I have come to see that he might be right. All of this may be more than I can handle.” He smiles sadly. “I did my best, hon. I wanted to be a good manager. I wanted to take care of you.”
“You do take care of me,” I say, feeling guilty. “Dad, you’re the greatest.”
“You know, Bird, I wanted to be,” he says. “But at the end of the day I think I can only be one thing or the other: your father or your manager. And being your father is just too important a job to let slide.” He swallows hard. “So Dan set up a meeting in California, and we’re going to meet this guy, Troy something or other.”
“We’re going back to LA?” I ask.
My mom nods. “And there’s more,” she says. “While we’re out there, we’re meeting with a real estate agent so we can look at a possible apartment to rent.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“We’d only be there part-time,” my dad says. Then he smiles at me, and I see how hard these changes are—how hard it is for him to let go of the reins and let me grow up. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
I stand up and hug him tightly, feeling so loved. Then I throw my arms around my mom, knowing she’s probably been working hard to broker this arrangement.
“I’m still going to be right here,” my dad says, teasing me. “No chance you’re ditching me completely. I’ll be looking over contracts and overseeing your big offers. Heck, in Los Angeles, I might even turn into one of those stage moms… or dads or whatever.” My mom and I laugh. “In fact, young lady, you’ll probably see me a lot more now that the tour is over, so be careful what you wish for.”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” I say. “You’ll always be my dad, even if you aren’t my manager.”
He sighs dramatically. “I’m sure going to miss that fifteen percent, though.”
“Judd Barrett!” my mom says, swatting him.
But we just laugh. We laugh and I think I see my dad’s eyes well up, and then mine do, so we just laugh harder. That way we have something to blame for the tears.
16
“OKAY, WOULD YOU rather make out with Jolene Taylor…” Stella starts. She, Kai, and I are walking down Twenty-First Avenue playing Would You Rather. We had a blast at the Sweet Home wrap party Sunday night and have been like the Three Musketeers ever since. “With tongue,” she adds.
Kai gags dramatically. “Or,” he prompts her.
She screws up her mouth, thinking. “Or perform one of her songs at the VMAs wearing nothing but one of her rhinestone-covered miniskirts and pink high heels?”
“Oh, ho-ho!” I hoot. I mean, Kai has an awesome body and would look good in anything, but the image of him in Jolene’s “Pink Pumps and Purses” skirt is totally ridiculous.
“The VMAs,” he says seriously. “Anything goes there, and I’d rather stick my tongue in an electric socket than in that woman’s mouth.”
“Well, that’s shocking,” I say.
Kai groans, but Stella loves my corny jokes and gives me a high five. We’ve been playing tour guide for Kai all week, showing off Nashville the way the locals see it. Of course I took him to the Station Inn and Lower Broadway, but I also showed him around my Nashville: Music Row, the studio, Open Highway, our house, Stella and Shannon’s apartment. He especially loved walking around East Nashville, where Stella showed him all her favorite artsy haunts.
It’s been nice reclaiming Nashville from all the memories of Adam, but not necessarily easy. Kai wanted to eat at the famous Pancake Pantry, which I thought would be totally fine, but when Stella and I met him on the corner, I completely lost my appetite. Recollections of Adam and our first date came flooding back—being spotted by my fans for the first time, the car ride to the studio, our first kiss. Stella must have seen the look on my face because she suddenly campaigned for a change in venue. Thank God for two things: the insane line outside the Pancake Pantry and my best friend knowing how to read me. Kai was pretty hungry and was easily convinced to move the party down the block to Fido.
“Ah, so this is the place where your sordid love affair with heartthrob Jason Samuels got started, huh?”
“Ew!” I say, punching him in the arm.
He feigns pain and rubs his biceps, but Stella shoots us both a murderous look. “It’s Mr. Stella Crossley, thank you very much.”
Kai laughs out loud. “Oh, my bad, my bad,” he says, hands up. “Tell your husband that Twisted was the only good movie he ever made.”
She brightens. “I knew I liked you, Kai.”
He looks puzzled. “But I said he only made one good movie.”
She grins. “Yeah, but most guys I know say he sucks in everything. I can see that you’ve got a more worldly perspective on the cinematic arts.”
I roll my eyes. “They’re chick flicks.”
“You said his last movie made you cry,” she says pointedly.
I squirm, glancing up at Kai. “They’re good chick flicks,” I admit.
Inside, Fido is jam-packed and dark, but I leave my big sunglasses on. I think about the last time I was here and how I was conscious of all the other patrons buzzing when they realized Jaso
n Samuels was in line. This time, I feel the stares on me. It’s crazy how much things can change in a matter of months.
“I’m going to grab a table,” Kai says when we join the line. “Just get me what’s good. And a coffee.”
He weaves through the crowd and Stella stares at the menu. “You should get him the Local Latte,” she says. “I’m going to miss those when I’m gone.”
I pout. “I can’t believe you have to go visit your dad the minute I get back to town. You leave for school in, what, a week or something? I wanted to hang out. It’s like the universe is trying to keep us apart.”
“Don’t be sad and don’t be crazy,” she says with a laugh. “You’ll see me at Thanksgiving, and I promise to come visit you in LA. Plus, now you can spend some quality time with Kai without me tagging along as a third wheel.”
“He’s leaving me, too.” I groan. “He’s already booked on his next tour.”
Stella throws her arm around my shoulders and squeezes. “Aw, just you and your instruments. Think how much work you’ll get done.”
I look at her skeptically. “Yeah, but they’ll all be sad songs. Trust me. The label does not want sad.”
We talk a little about her dad and his life in Seattle and a little about my upcoming move out west. The line inches along until finally it’s my turn.
“May I help you?” the barista asks, smiling as if she recognizes me.
“Yes, I’ll have one Warm and Fuzzy—” I start.
“Oh, that’s a seasonal drink,” she says, cutting me off. “We don’t carry it right now, but the current specials are on the board.”
“Really?” I say, bummed. “You can’t make it for me?” I pause. “Special case?”
“Bird,” Stella says quietly, “she said it’s seasonal.”
The barista sighs heavily, but agrees to make it.
“Thank you so much,” I say. “You’re the best.” I give her the rest of my order, pay, and she tells me she’ll bring it out when it’s ready.
Stella places her order next, slips a pretty generous tip in the jar, and then we go to find Kai. “ ‘Special case?’ ” she asks.
“What? You don’t get stuff if you don’t ask for it,” I say. “And it was no big deal.”
Stella looks unconvinced but she shrugs.
We squeeze single file through the crowd, some people taking pictures, and I wonder if I’m being rude by not stopping. “Hey,” I say. “I think word got out that I’m here. Should I just sign a few autographs to keep the craziness to a minimum?”
But then a gap opens up in the wall of bodies and that’s when I see her: Kayelee Ford, my supposed competition, is walking into Fido.
“Bird,” Stella whispers urgently over her shoulder.
“Yeah, I know,” I say, ducking my head and more than a little embarrassed that I thought the fuss was about me.
“OMG,” Stella says the minute we fall into the seats at our table.
“What?” Kai asks, confused.
“Kayelee Ford is here,” I explain.
He still doesn’t get it.
“She’s Bird’s rival,” Stella says as if it were obvious. “Don’t you read US Weekly?”
“How can she be my rival?” I ask. “I don’t even know her.”
Stella arches an eyebrow. “She’s wearing a shirt that says, ‘You Want to Be Me. I Get It.’ ” I roll my eyes. “Exactly,” Stella says.
“Okay, so she kind of seems like the worst, but that doesn’t make her my rival,” I say, glancing back over my shoulder. “Although she did tweet out that TMZ pic from the premiere with the champagne. And she totally exploited that stuff with Bex on Twitter.”
“She sucks,” Stella says.
Kayelee is loudly inviting people in, posing for pictures with a huge smile or biting her lower lip suggestively. Just then, one of the fans talking to her nods my way and Kayelee locks her heavily lined eyes on mine. I give her a weak smile and offer a small wave. She sneers and moves on to the next fan. “Yeah,” I say turning back around. “She sucks.”
Kai glances back at her briefly and shakes his head.
“What?” I ask.
He puts his arm around my chair. “Just her type, you know? Fake tan. Fake hair. Fake nails. It’s so tired.”
Stella nods. “I’ve seen YouTube clips from a couple of her shows, and she’s doing full-on choreographed dance numbers, like a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader or something. News flash, Kayelee: You’re a country music singer. Get a guitar.”
I laugh, and when I glance back at her again, I see that she’s headed my way. “Well, she’s coming this way and I’m going to be the bigger person.”
I take a deep breath and plaster on a smile, but she actually doesn’t talk to me. Instead, she walks right past us, squeezing between our table and another, her butt right in Kai’s face. “Kayelee!” I say loudly before I lose my nerve. She stops and turns around, her friends all but glaring at me.
“Oh, hi,” she says, beaming. She’s a very pretty girl, with deep blue-violet eyes, blond hair that cascades down her back, and the kind of “sun-kissed” skin that only comes from the tanning bed. She stands beside Stella. “Do you want an autograph?” she asks, blinking innocently.
I pause. “Um, no,” I say. “I just wanted to introduce myself, you know, formally. I’m Bird Barrett.”
“Oh, wow, hello,” she says, sticking out her hand. I accept it, and she shakes vigorously, like a politician running for office. “I would’ve never recognized you. You look so… different in real life.”
She smiles and bats her eyelashes. I drop her hand and glance at Stella, who is crinkling her nose as if she smells something rotten. I know I’m not made-up or styled, but come on. The girl knows who I am. I’m already regretting this bigger-person stuff, but as terrible as Kayelee seems, I take a deep breath and press on.
“I just wanted to say that all the stupid stuff in the magazines about us and some rivalry, it’s crazy, right?” I fake a smile. “I wish you all the success in the world.”
“Good,” she says. “Because your wish is coming true.”
I gape. Is this girl for real?
She turns to Kai and touches the woven band he always wears on his wrist. “That’s amazing,” she says in a low, sultry tone as she bends over the table for a closer look. I guess her cleavage wanted to be introduced as well. “I love tribal wear. Is it ethnic to your people?”
Kai’s eyes go wide, and he looks over at me like he’s holding back an enormous laugh. I shake my head and shrug my shoulders, no clue as to what she means, and frankly, ready for this interaction to be over. Her face is earnest, searching his for an answer. “Um,” he says, pulling his arm away. “You mean the Los Angelenos?”
“Oh, I love them,” she says airily. She puts a hand to her chest. “They’re so spiritual.”
Stella covers her mouth to keep a loud laugh from escaping, but I don’t find any of this funny. I tried to rise above, but now I’m mad enough to spit nails. I had wanted to say something like, Sorry Randall pitted us against each other, but I think you have a pretty voice. There’s no hard feelings on my end and certainly no reason why we can’t be friends. But now, as she finally stands up and tosses her hair over her shoulder, exposing her abs and smiling at Kai as if she wants to devour him, I feel what can only be described as disgust blistering my tongue. How could Adam stand playing in her band last winter, even if it was for only one show?
I shake thoughts of Adam from my head and snuggle into Kai, making it very clear to Kayelee and her crew that he is taken. “Well, just wanted to say hi,” I say, waving the fingers of my right hand and indicating that she can move along. I am aware of customers around us having stopped their conversations to eavesdrop, so I want to keep things civil, but if I never see Kayelee Ford again, it’ll be too soon.
“I’m so glad you did,” she says. “Nashville is an awfully small town, huh?”
I nod. “Sure is.”
Too small.
17
AFTER AN AMAZING week in Nashville, the party’s over.
I woke up with dread this morning, knowing that I had to drive Kai to the airport. He’s flying to Louisiana to tour with some indie artist, Astrean, through Thanksgiving before joining one of his favorite bands, Genuine Scoundrels, until Christmas. I want to be supportive because he’s obviously stoked to be on these jobs, but it’s hard to be happy for him when I’m feeling so sad for myself.
“I’ll miss you,” I say quietly. So far I’ve kept my emotions in check, mainly by focusing on the road in front of me. I steer toward the lane marked DEPARTURES.
“I’ll miss you, too,” Kai says. He keeps one hand on my leg. These past few days he’s always had at least one hand on me when we’re together, connected.
At the terminal, I pull over to the curb and pop the trunk. I kill the engine, not caring if I get a ticket, and get out of the car for one last hug. He wraps his arms around my waist and presses his forehead to mine. “We’ll talk on the phone every day,” he promises.
I sniff and nod, determined not to cry.
“You’ll have fun in LA,” he says. “And we’ll be together again in a few months.”
“Yeah, until your next tour,” I complain.
“Or yours,” he says. He pulls away and holds my head in his hands. “Bird, our lives are on the road, but that’s one of the best things that we have in common. The road brought us together.”
“I know,” I say quietly.
“Hey, I’ll miss you like crazy, but you’re about to be really busy and I want to hear all about it, okay?”
I sniff and nod again.
“All of it. Everything. Okay?”
I hug him once more, laying my head on his shoulder. I kiss the side of his neck and breathe him in. And then I let him go. Kai is saying something I’ve heard before: My career is taking off and I’ll be busy with my music. But he isn’t using it as an excuse to end our relationship, like Adam did; rather, he’s giving us a chance in spite of it. So I will, too. Because being busy isn’t a reason to be alone.
The Road to You Page 11