by Rae Kennedy
“Ky,” I say in a low tone, and I stare at her with wide crazy eyes. She knows what the crazy eyes mean. She ignores them.
“I was just about to get up, anyway. I’ve got peacocking to do. I’ll come find you in a bit.” With a wave, and a not-so-subtle wink, she walks away.
“Peacocking?” Logan asks.
“Yep.” I really don’t want to expand any further than that.
He just shrugs in acceptance and starts tearing into his food. “Oh my god.” He talks between bites of food, licking his fingers. “This is so good. Have you tried the ribs yet?”
“Yeah, I helped make them.”
“No shit? That’s so cool.”
“Thanks.”
“Seriously, it’s so nice to have a home-cooked meal like this right before we head out. We always eat like crap on the road.”
“You guys are going on the road, like on tour?”
“Yep, all summer. Thirty-one shows, all across the country.”
“Wow. That sounds exciting. I’ve hardly been anywhere.”
“This is our fifth tour, but yeah, still just as exciting as our first time.”
He continues to tell me a bit about the band and their past tours as he polishes off his plate. I’m done eating—though you wouldn’t know it by the mountain of food still sitting in front of me. Logan casually reaches over and takes a remaining short rib off my plate without skipping a beat in his story about when they’d played a teeny tiny venue in New Jersey and a fire broke out halfway through their set. No one had been hurt, thankfully. They finished their set outside the club in the sprinkling rain for whoever wanted to listen while they waited for the first responders.
“So,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “The bride’s sister. Younger, I’m guessing?”
“Yeah.” That’s obvious. I’m six years younger than Court, and I have a naturally heart-shaped baby face.
“You’re like, what, twenty-two, three?”
“Nineteen.”
“Huh. I would have guessed older. Not because you look it, just you seem mature. I don’t know, like there’s a depth in your eyes.”
Not often have I—as a bouncy blonde cheerleader—been called deep, but I’ll take it.
“I kind of have a lot on my mind right now.”
He nods knowingly. “Is that why you said you wanted to run away earlier?”
“You heard that?”
“Yup. I also heard you say you wanted to see new places, have new experiences.”
“Does that make me sound lame? Like I’m a sheltered girl from a small town who hasn’t seen or done anything?” I guess that’s exactly what I am.
He puts his hands up in apology. “Hey, no judgments here. But you don’t seem like the kind of girl who would run away.”
“I’m not. Maybe that’s why I want to so badly.”
He looks at me for a beat, running his index finger along his jaw, a spark in his dark eyes. “You could run away with us.”
“What?” I nervous-giggle, but he looks completely serious.
“Come on tour with us. We’re going to leave tonight around two, heading for LA. You’ll get to see the whole country. It’ll be an adventure.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t.”
“All right. Hey, I’ve got to go announce they’re cutting the cake, but—” He pulls a black sharpie out of his pocket and scans the table. Not finding what he’s looking for, he takes my hand and starts writing on my palm. “Here’s my number. Text me if you change your mind.”
CHAPTER 2
“Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod, he asked you to go on tour with them? I told you he’s so into you, now do you believe me? Are you going to go? I think you should go,” Kyla says with wild eyes.
I drop the forkful of decadent chocolate cake to my plate. “Are you serious? Of course I'm not going.”
“Why not?”
“Ky. It’s crazy. I don’t even know these guys. Following them on tour would be reckless and possibly dangerous. Don’t you watch Dateline?”
“Gracie. These are the years in our life when we’re allowed to be reckless. Take a risk. You don’t always have to be the perfect daughter, or the perfect friend, or the perfect student. I mean, you have the whole rest of your life to settle down and be boring, so go have some fun now while you can. Plus, aren’t they good friends with Tuck’s best friend?”
“Yeah, that’s true. I still just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“What’s the worst that could happen? If you’re not having fun, you can get a plane ticket home. I know you have money saved up that was supposed to be for your summer school program—just think of it as being used for a different kind of learning experience.”
Actually, the worst-case scenario is that I get sold into some human sex trafficking ring, but I keep that thought to myself. I hate how she’s actually making some sense.
“Just imagine what any one of those guys could teach you. I bet they’re really good at eating pussy.”
“Kyla! Oh my god!”
“What? I bet they are.” She gets out her phone and types furiously. “Here, found them.” She reads as she scrolls. “Wicked Road is an American rock/alternative band... Started playing small bars in Chicago... They have three albums with an indie label no one’s heard of... They have a huge underground following though. And their tour this summer is sponsored by, wow, Universal. That’s the biggest record label in the country. You have to go. For me.”
“I’ll think about it.”
I look over to the dance floor where couples are dancing under the lights, the night sky a black backdrop. Wes and the youngest of my three older brothers, Eric, are chatting near the corner of the stage, both dateless.
“I’m going to go talk to him,” Kyla says, standing then licking her fork clean before throwing it down to her plate.
“Good luck.”
She saunters away, and my gaze drifts back to the band. They’re good. Logan’s fingers move effortlessly over the strings as he keeps a mischievous grin on his face. He seems like a genuinely nice guy, which is why I feel bad when I find myself staring at the singer again. His voice rolls through my body. I’m drowning in it and can’t get up for air. I'm drawn to him when he closes his eyes and pours every emotion into a single note. And when he opens those eyes, they’re so intense.
Then a deep green dress catches my eye. A smile breaks across my face as I watch Kyla lead Wes out to the dance floor by the hand. He puts his hands on her waist, her arms go around his neck and she’s beaming as she looks up at him. Their dancing is a little awkward and they almost bump into the best man and maid of honor, Cade and Haley—who are definitely going to bone immediately after this—but she did it. She finally made her move. She took a risk.
I want to take a leap, too. Screw anyone else’s expectations. I’m going to do it.
I’m going to run away with the band.
* * *
Kyla squeals and jumps up and down when I tell her.
It’s almost one in the morning and everyone left over an hour ago. Kyla stayed to help me and my brothers clean up. She really is the most supportive friend I could ask for, even if she talks nonstop and has zero filter.
“Hey.” Eric runs over to us as we’re carrying the last of the chairs to the shed. “I’ll take these for you, ladies. Thanks for staying to help. I know it’s late, and you’re leaving in the morning.”
I just smile awkwardly and hope he drops the subject.
“I probably won’t see you again before you leave, so—” He leans over and pulls me in for a hug while making a grrr noise. Then he ends the hug and holds me firmly by the shoulders. “I know it’s a school thing, but promise you’ll try to have some fun too.”
“Oh, she’s going to have lots of fun,” Kyla says over my shoulder.
I shoot her shut the hell up crazy eyes. She’s unfazed.
When we run inside the house, clanking noises are coming from the kitchen, where my parents are workin
g on the dishes.
“Hey. Mom, Dad?”
They turn around with tired smiles. Mom’s washing a bowl and Dad’s drying a serving spoon.
“‘Sup, Gracie Lou?” Dad asks.
“Yeah, so I know you were planning on driving me tomorrow, but Ky and I haven’t been able to really hang out since I’ve been home. So...I was wondering if I could spend the night with her, and she can drive me in the morning?”
“Oh, but dear, I was looking forward to seeing you off.” A dangerously deep crease forms between my mom’s eyebrows.
Dad puts his giant paw of a hand gently on her shoulder. “Bev.” He tilts his head and looks at her with soft eyes when she turns to him.
She momentarily frowns but then sighs and nods. “All right, honey,” she says, turning back to me. “Of course that would be fine.”
“Thank you!” I bounce toward them, and they surround me in a warm bear-hug sandwich.
Kyla and I race up the stairs to my room.
“Remember to call me!” Mom yells from downstairs.
I immediately rip off my dress and Kyla grabs my suitcase. I put on a pair of cut-off denim shorts, a soft white T-shirt, and my Chucks, then head to the bathroom to get my toiletries. Meanwhile, Kyla is throwing clothes into my bag in a frenzy. I walk back in and find my suitcase overflowing with possibly the most obscure clothing items I own—several shorts and tank tops, but also skirts I didn’t even know I had and a little black dress I haven’t worn in years. Like, I think I was fourteen, and I cannot put enough emphasis on the little part.
“I don’t think I’ll be needing this dress.”
“You never know,” Kyla says, digging through my top dresser drawer. “Where’s your sexy underwear? These all look like your time-of-the-month underwear.”
“What? I don’t have different types of underwear.”
She shakes her head at me with a silent, stony look on her face. “I’ve failed you as a best friend.”
I roll my eyes.
She returns to rummaging through the drawer. “I know you have some thongs from cheer. Where are they?”
“Try looking in the back.”
“A-ha!” Her hand emerges with a fistful of tiny thongs. She stuffs them in the corner of the suitcase. “Trust me. You’ll thank me for that.”
“If you say so.” I toss in my phone charger and hastily zip up the bag.
We dash toward the stairs, giddy and giggling.
“Wait—” I say.
Kyla’s already halfway down the flight of stairs when she turns.
“I just need one more thing. Go on down and I’ll meet you in a sec.”
I jog back to my darkened room and slip my hand between my mattress. I pull out my little leather notebook. I hold it for a moment, unsure if I should bring it or not. Finally, I tuck it into the side pocket of my suitcase.
* * *
Bright blue lights display 1:45 on Kyla’s dashboard as she pulls into the dark parking lot. I rub my sweaty palms on my knees.
When I’d texted Logan earlier, he’d replied almost immediately, telling me where to meet them—followed by approximately a hundred emojis to convey his general excitement.
I’d been excited too.
In fact, my heart has been pounding the whole drive out to this motel on the outskirts of town.
There are only a few cars in the lot in front of the shabby one-story building. It has peeling mustard-colored paint and a red glowing sign with only the letters M and T still working.
At the far side of the lot is a large silver van. Three figures stand near it, silhouetted by a street light. They appear to be talking, laughing even, and passing something between them. A puff of smoke billows out around one of the men’s heads and gets swept away, dissolving into the breeze.
I recognize the relaxed posture and the way Logan runs his hand through his hair.
“That’s them.”
“You sure about this?” Kyla asks, her voice higher than normal.
Nope.
“Yeah.”
Wasn’t she the one convincing me to do this earlier? It’s okay, I can hype myself. Once a cheerleader, always a cheerleader, right? I’m only about to leave in a dark van from a seedy motel in the middle of the night with four men I don’t know.
Am I being kidnapped?
I reach for the handle, and if I thought my heart was racing before, it’s now a jackhammer against my ribs as I open the door and climb out of the car.
CHAPTER 3
“Text me every day to let me know you’re all right.”
“I will.” I snatch my bag from the back seat.
“I want constant updates. I need to know what city you’re in at all times.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it! If I don’t hear from you I will tell your dad and brothers. And we will all hunt you down. I’m so serious.”
I believe her, and it makes me smile.
“Bye, Ky. Love you.”
I swear I see her wiping a tear away. “Love you, too. I'm going to stay here for a bit. Just in case.”
“Thanks.”
With a little nod and a big breath, I turn and walk toward the van.
I cross half the distance of the parking lot and stop. I shouldn’t be doing this. This is nuts. I should just turn around and get right back in the car. And go home. And tell my parents the truth—that I basically flunked last semester, got kicked out of the summer program, will have to redo eighty percent of my classes to get back on track, and will probably—definitely—be on academic probation come fall, which will result in the loss of at least one scholarship.
The thought makes me want to vomit the entirety of my stomach contents onto the pavement. It would be mostly chocolate cake.
“Hey, Gracie!”
Logan has spotted me. He’s jogging over.
It’s now or never.
Turn around or go forward.
“You made it!” Logan reaches me, a bit out of breath, with a huge grin that lights up his entire face. “Come meet the guys.” He puts his arm around my shoulder and steers me toward the van. I feel a bit braver, my feet moving faster with Logan walking by my side. His happy, easy energy calming my nerves.
And then we’re standing behind the van with two other guys. The bassist with the slicked back hair and facial piercings is leaning against the bumper, the end of his cigarette a faint red glow. The other guy, the drummer, is not much taller than me but easily twice as wide and is holding a crinkled brown paper bag in his left hand.
“Hey guys, this is Gracie! She came!”
“Hi.” I hope my smile looks natural and my little wave isn’t weird. It feels weird and unnatural. Also, is that my voice?
“This is Joey.” Logan gestures to the shorter one.
“The drummer, right?”
“Yeah.” His voice is soft, almost a husky whisper, and he gives me a nod and a small smile. His eyelashes and eyebrows are so light they’re barely noticeable, and his skin is fair and rosy with tiny, faint freckles. The freckles are splattered on every inch of his face—they even cover the hand that holds the paper bag.
“You’re amazing. Seriously, you’re awesome to watch. Your arms move so fast!”
He mouths the word, “Thanks,” but I don’t hear it before he looks down, a blush coming to his cheeks. He takes a swig of whatever is inside the bag.
“And this is—” Logan looks to the bassist.
The bassist stands, throwing his cigarette butt to the asphalt and putting it out with his shoe.
“I’m Dean.” He reaches for my hand and gives it a nice, strong shake.
Up close, I can’t help but look at his eyes. It’s strange to see Logan’s same brown puppy-dog eyes surrounded by metal balls and rods—and is that eye shadow?
“I’m the better-looking twin,” Dean adds.
Twins?
“Yes. He’s the pretty one, and I got the glowing personality.” Logan leans closer to me and whispers, “Don’t remind
him that we’re identical. If he knew I got all the personality and I’m just as good-looking, that’d be a real hit to his ego.”
I smile and nod as he gives me the cutest wink.
“Whatever he’s telling you, it’s all lies,” Dean says.
Headlights flash in my peripheral vision as Kyla’s blue car turns out of the parking lot and heads down the street.
Joey holds the paper bag up, offering it to Logan, who takes it eagerly. He takes a big gulp, tossing his head back. Then he extends it toward me, his eyebrows up in question.
I look at it for a second. The glass lip of a bottle is clearly protruding from the brown paper.
“Umm...” What the hell? I’m already doing something crazy. Might as well go all in, have some new experiences. “Sure.”
He hands me the bottle, and I grip it around the neck. It’s heavier than I expected. I bring it up to my face and catch a strong whiff of alcohol tinged with spice and caramel. It burns my nose, and my stomach tightens with an immediate aversion. I shouldn’t have hesitated. I shouldn’t have breathed. But it’s too late now.
I put it to my lips and take a drink. I try to shoot it down quickly, but I don’t know how to do that. I taste it and it’s horrible. I feel the alcohol go all the way down my throat, searing my flesh like I imagine acid would. I immediately start coughing, my eyes water, and I desperately try to keep from gagging.
“Whoa.” Logan starts patting and rubbing my back in circles. “You okay there?”
“Shit, Logan.” Joey opens the back of the van and retrieves a water bottle. “Always offer a lady a chaser.” He hands me the water.
“Thanks,” I say in a croaky voice.
“Not used to drinking it straight?” Logan asks.
Not used to drinking at all, actually.
“No shame. I prefer mixed drinks myself.” Dean stretches his hand toward me, and I happily pass the bottle to him. He takes a big swig and makes a tight face, breathing through his teeth. “Yeah, this shit’s awful.”
I take a few sips of the water—it’s not particularly cold but my esophagus no longer feels as though it’s on fire, so there’s that. Dean and Joey both seem to be watching me carefully. The genuine concern on their faces is sweet and surprising.