“It’s good, Adam,” I say. “It’s really good.”
He nods. “I think it’s got legs,” he says. “I just—there’s something…”
“The chorus?” I ask delicately.
He laughs. “Yeah. Okay. So you hear it, too.”
I reach out and squeeze his arm. “It’s not bad!” I assure him. “It’s just—the rest of the song has this kind of tough, almost cowboy roughneck feel to it and that ‘sing across the miles’ and ‘one that needs her smile’ stuff is a little… soft.”
“I know!” he says, laughing. He scribbles on the envelope in front of him, and I wonder briefly if that’s a piece of our mail. It reminds me of how I would sometimes scramble to write lyrics on beverage napkins in the honky-tonks where we used to play. “So what if I was like, ‘if I have to walk a mile’ instead?”
I chew my lip, strumming the chorus again as an idea forms. I sing to myself softly, “Gotta prove myself, gotta make her see, gotta stay the winding way…”
“Oh, that might—”
“ ‘That I’m the man for her, she belongs with me, and I’ll make her see one day,” I finish, looking up at him for his thoughts.
“Or better,” he says determinedly: “And I’ll make her mine one day.”
“Yes, I like that,” I say enthusiastically.
“Oh, I’ll make her mine one day,” he repeats. He stares at me, unblinking, his smile gone. I don’t know if he’s waiting for more feedback, but I think it works. I smile at him encouragingly. He finally grins and looks away, leaning back against the couch cushions as he plays.
And then I am struck with a crazy thought: Is this song about me?
I turn my attention to my guitar and feel my cheeks flame. If it’s about me, then I could’ve been his, like, already. Does he regret calling things off? Maybe he hasn’t moved on?
We sit still for about a minute, my mind spinning. I never did finish that song I was working on before I went on tour, the one about Adam, back when they were all about Adam. I met Kai. I fell for Kai. So why do I feel a little sad now that Adam’s finally writing songs about me?
I shake my head and focus on the chords I’m playing. More than likely, the song is about another girl, somebody he’s met in Texas, another touring artist maybe, so I settle back into the couch and do what I always do when I can’t figure guys out: turn to my music. The Christmas tree lights twinkle against the glossy finish of my guitar, like little fairies in the room, sprinkling us with creative energy as Adam strums softly and I pick a little riff that complements what he’s playing.
Then he turns to me and asks, “Bird? Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, looking at him with a contented smile. “It’s just so nice to have the music come easy again.”
“No, I mean—” He stops playing. “I don’t want to overstep or whatever, but you seem a little down lately. And this whole thing with Kayelee. It just—I guess it just doesn’t feel like you. Are you doing it for publicity?”
I frown. “No. Not at all,” I say, eager to defend myself. She’s the one that keeps provoking me, I want to say, but then I stop and think about it from Adam’s perspective. He’s known me a long time, and honestly, the old me never criticized anyone else’s music. Why am I so caught up with her beating me on the charts? That’s energy that could be better spent writing songs like the one Adam just cranked out. Songs sprung from inspiration rather than imitation. Embarrassed, I look down. “It’s so stupid.”
Adam nods. “It’s hard being under constant scrutiny, I’m sure,” he says graciously. “I just don’t want you to get lost in it.”
I sigh. He’s so right.
“And I don’t want to make you mad or anything,” he continues, “and I feel like I maybe did when I saw you in LA, but Kayelee really isn’t the villain she acts like.”
“Aha!” I say. “So you do think she’s a mean girl.”
“No,” he says. “I don’t. I think she tries to be, but I don’t think that’s who she is inside. Honestly, I think she’s jealous of you, and I think her label has pitted you two against each other and you’re both buying in. And Bird, her mother is hands down the worst stage mom I have ever encountered, and her dad is this huge jerk who keeps reminding her how much he’s ‘invested’ for her to ‘make it big.’ To tell you the truth, I think she’s terrified that she’s going to let everybody down.”
I blink. “Oh.”
“And I just don’t see how the bad blood helps either of you,” he says, shrugging. “Seems like a waste of energy and a huge distraction to me.”
I chew my bottom lip and look down at my guitar. I shake my head and sigh, feeling tension I didn’t even realize I was holding loosen its grip from my shoulders. He’s right.
“You know, my label wanted me to write six new songs while I was on tour, and I thought it would be so easy,” I say. “But I’ve had the worst writer’s block of my life.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Luckily Shannon cleared her schedule for me the past couple of weeks and managed to help me get back on track, but this album has been brutal.”
“What’s going on?” he asks.
I shrug. “Maybe I’ve been distracted, like you said. But also, I think there’s just so much pressure this time.” I glance up at him and confess, “Adam, it got so bad that I actually wrote a song called ‘Friends Don’t Snuggle.’ ”
Adam guffaws, a loud hearty laugh that makes me jump. We both crack up laughing and I’m not even embarrassed. “Bird, I shouldn’t laugh,” he says as he collects himself. “I once wrote a song called ‘You Make My Heart… Burn.’ ”
“No!” I say. He hangs his head in shame, and I kick back against the couch with glee. “Oh, Adam. Tell me that was while you were in Texas. The chili too hot?”
“Ha-ha,” he says dryly, rolling his head on the couch to face me. We are only a foot apart and when he blinks, I am reminded how long his eyelashes are. He really is a good-looking guy, but he’s also just a good guy. I am not stirred, not nervous or giddy or overcome by an old crush. Instead, next to Adam, I feel at home.
“You know, if you want to return the favor, there’s a song that I really want to work, but it needs some help,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says as if coming out of a daze. “Let’s hear it.”
“It’s in G,” I say.
He nods, and I start to pick the melody of “Worth Being in Love,” the song I tried to write about Kai. “So Dan wants it to have a pop sound,” I explain as I strum, “but Shannon thinks it’s too schizo, like the verse and chorus are really two different songs. And my boyfriend—” I say, pausing to glance up at him. If he’s jealous or if it bothers him that I’ve moved on, his face betrays nothing. I look back down at my fingers and start to pick out the melody, thinking how I never could tell what Adam was thinking. “Anyway, Kai thinks it’s too teenybopper or not deep enough or whatever.”
“You know what I think?” Adam asks.
“What?”
“I think you ought to stop stalling and sing.”
“Okay, okay,” I say, grinning. I sing:
“You—
Got me wrapped, you
Got me rolled, you
Got me restless.”
As soon as Adam gets a feel for the song, he joins in, slapping the strings and adding an almost doo-wop sound that makes me laugh out loud. But then, when I realize that he’s being serious, I see that it actually works. I loosen up and we have fun, joking about other awful symptoms of being in love and weaving them into the lyrics.
Adam suggests a pre-chorus to transition between the distinctive styles of the verses and chorus, and as he plays, a lightbulb goes off. From there, the song totally comes together. I grab his pen and flip over the envelope he was scribbling all over, correct in my assumption that it is our electric bill, and start to scrawl out lyrics. We work together, hammering out a pre-chorus in five minutes. Then we tweak the third and fourth verses and add some percussion in
the hook. It’s not a long song, but the final product is more heartfelt than anything I’ve written yet for my new album.
When we finally play it all the way through, the deep tone of his voice the perfect complement to the softness of my own, it’s inspired. I’m so glad I didn’t give up on it.
With Adam here, it all falls into place.
30
“WHOA, THIS PLACE is no joke,” Stella says to me under her breath as we pull up to Bria and Bridget’s New Year’s Eve party. I’ve been here a few times before, as well as to Devyn’s ginormous house, and the girls have invited me to brunches and get-togethers at a few other Hollywood homes since we started hanging out. I guess the grandeur of it all has kind of worn off for me already, but now, as I look at the mansion through Stella’s eyes, I realize why she’s awestruck. Her entire apartment would fit in the twins’ dining room. She’s seen a few episodes of their reality show, but this is the first time Stella has visited me in Cali, and I don’t think she was prepared for how different life is out here.
“Wait until you see the inside,” I whisper as I climb out of the limo behind a very drunk Devyn. Apparently the best way to ring in the New Year is to black out on the old one, which really stinks because this is not the way I wanted my two closest friends to meet face-to-face. The girl taking shots in the limo and screaming out the sunroof is not the same always “on” Devyn that I’ve come to know. Then again, I’ve never partied with her before.
I’ve spent most of my time in Nashville since the CMAs, only coming back to LA for a couple of pre-Grammy press events. When I am in town, I’ll shop or get my nails done with the girls, but I also see Devyn tweeting a lot from clubs and parties where I’m not allowed to go. Her dramatic eye rolls let me know exactly how lame she thinks my parents are, but I try to brush it off. Honestly, I wasn’t sure they’d let me come tonight, but it helped that Stella’s in town and that the twins’ parents are going to be here.
I follow the entourage up the path to the gorgeous, white, three-story super-modern Hollywood Hills mansion and try to get as excited as everybody else is. A Pitbull song is blaring from inside the house and colored paper lanterns hang around the pool. It looks and sounds like the place is packed, but the one person I would give anything to see is in New York.
“Do you think Mr. Crossley is here?” Stella whispers excitedly as we step into the mansion.
“Devyn said he’s shooting in Vancouver,” I say.
She shakes her head dramatically. “I’m finally in LA and now he’s off to Canada. We are such star-crossed lovers.”
“I completely understand,” I say, showing her my phone: 8:55 PM. Almost a brand-new year on the East Coast.
Stella fake pouts and puts an arm around me. I lean into her as we follow our crew toward the pool out back. Devyn may be short, but she stands out in her backless, red, shimmery mini, and she certainly knows how to steamroll her way through a crowd.
“Happy New Year!” she shouts when we finally find our hostesses among the throng. The twins are stunning in matching illusion dresses, Bria in silver and Bridget in gold, with sequins covering just their plunging bustlines and short skirts. My dad wouldn’t let me out of the house dressed like that, but with their light blond hair smoothed over one shoulder and their makeup light and shimmery, I think the effect is breathtaking.
“Happy New Year,” they say as we all exchange air kisses. I glance at my phone. It really is a new year for Kai. It’s midnight in New York.
“Thanks for inviting us,” I say with a big smile. No sense ruining anybody else’s night with my bad mood. I turn toward Stella—my rock—genuinely happy to finally introduce her to the people she’s always hearing about. “This is my best friend, Stella Crossley.”
“Well, Nashville best friend,” Devyn corrects as the twins move in for air kisses with Stella. “We’re like divorced parents. You get Bird half the year, and I get her the other half.” Devyn laughs at her own joke, but Stella looks at me with an expression that conveys her colossal irritation. I cringe. This night is already anything but what I expected.
“Oh, you guys, there’s Josh Hutcherson,” Devyn says, narrowing her eyes as if closing in on a target. She grabs a glass of champagne off a cocktail tray as a waiter walks by, flips her wavy black hair over one shoulder, and completely ditches us all as she power walks toward the Hunger Games star.
“She’s the best,” Stella says wryly.
Bria and Bridget exchange a look.
Uncomfortable, I try to defend my friend. “Devyn was pregaming,” I explain to the twins. “I think she saw that ‘Who Wore It Best’ shot in US Weekly and clearly—”
“Gisele,” the girls say in unison.
“Right, so that,” I say, turning to Stella, “plus I think being single on New Year’s Eve has really gotten to her.”
“Sure,” Stella says, nodding. “It’s probably that. Or maybe she’s just awful. One or the other.”
Bridget’s eyes are twinkling as she looks at Stella with both admiration and disbelief. Devyn isn’t necessarily nice to the sisters, but she’s still their queen bee. “We need to go check with the DJ about something,” Bridget says, clearly wanting to distance herself from any Devyn bashing… as well as pass it along.
“Right,” Bria says. “Have so much fun, guys.”
I force a smile and drop it once they’re gone.
“So now what?” Stella asks. “Want to walk around?”
“Sure,” I say, already dialing. “And I want to call Kai.”
We walk toward an enormous ice sculpture, grab a couple of mocktails, and follow the crowd of people gathering around a small stage by the pool. Kai answers, but he’s right in the thick of things in Times Square, not to mention that Lil’ Thunder himself takes the stage here at the party, complete with voluptuous backup dancers at least twice his age. Kai shouts, “Hello?” right as the reggaetón blasts on a speaker near me. I hold one ear and yell into the phone, “Happy New Year!” I wait for his response, see that our call is still connected, but can’t hear a thing. “Kai!” I shout. “Kai?” After a minute, I hang up and just text him, but the whole thing is stupid and anticlimactic.
I feel my throat tighten, but Stella grabs my phone and puts it in my clutch. Then she kisses me on the cheek and holds up an air mic, scrunching her face as she raps along with Lil’ Thunder. The lyrics are super fast and a little crude, and it cracks me up that she knows them all.
“Dance with me,” she commands as the song segues into his newest single. “This was an amazing year! Let’s celebrate!”
I nod. “You’re so right,” I say. And she absolutely is.
I grab Stella’s hand and let loose as we shake our hips shamelessly to his hit, “Make the Room Boom.” This was the best year of my entire life. I’m at a Hollywood mansion right now, I’m dancing with my best friend, and I have an amazing boyfriend, even if he is far away. Not so long ago, I would’ve killed for any of those things, and now, I’ve got all of them.
“Happy New Year!” I shout to no one… to everyone.
For the next few hours, Stella and I mingle and start having a really great time. We try not to make it obvious, but we are more than a little starstruck when we run into Rihanna in the bathroom and overhear her talking to her friend about Drake and Chris Brown. That sparks the idea to tweet snippets of conversation we overhear as we wander through the house with the hashtag OverheardNYE, like: Can you tell this is a spray tan? and: So that’s when I knew I needed rehab. My fans keep tweeting back, asking who’s saying what, which just spurs Stella and me on.
“TMZ should hire us,” she says.
“Oh my God, Stel,” I say, reading a new post. I feel a quick stab of worry. “Someone just tweeted me, ‘Is it Devyn Delaney? I heard she’s always wasted.’ ”
Stella shrugs. “I heard that, too. And now I’ve seen it.”
I glance around the room for her. “Devyn’s addicted to Twitter, and this would kill her. And then she’d ki
ll me.” My thumbs fly across my phone screen, and I mumble as I type: “Not Devyn, you guys. She’s just high on life!”
Seemingly out of nowhere, a couple of cameramen appear. “Paparazzi?” Stella asks over the music. “They need to fire the gate guard.”
Lil’ Thunder walks by with a girl on each arm, and I fit the pieces together. “Ah, it’s probably for their reality show. Thunder is a preteen play-ah.”
Stella and I are cracking up at that when I hear Devyn squeal, “OMG, you made it!” When I turn, she runs toward me with her arms stretched wide, her face ecstatic.
“Um, we came together,” I say, but then she whisks past me and embraces none other than Kayelee Ford, who looks like she just walked off the cover of Maxim magazine in a slinky, provocatively draped pink dress. I wasn’t expecting to see her here, and I definitely wasn’t expecting to see Devyn hugging her like they’re besties. Suddenly Bria and Bridget also magically appear with their air kisses, and I feel so betrayed—and lost. Since when are they friends with Kayelee? They’re supposed to be my friends.
“Let’s go check out the upstairs,” Stella says, linking her arm through mine. “I’m always interested to see how rich people decorate.”
We start to walk behind the cameramen, but I make the mistake of glancing over at Kayelee one more time. Her lips curl into a mean smile. “Oh, don’t fly off, little Song Bird,” she says loudly. A couple of heads turn, and Devyn covers her mouth, trying not to laugh.
“Hi, Kayelee,” I say, determined to be the bigger person. “It’s nice to see you.”
The Road to You Page 20