I breathed a sigh of relief and thanked my lucky stars that my roommate had hairy eyebrows. “Off we go, then?” Collin offered his elbow. I took it and twiddled my fingers goodbye to Vanessa.
Half an hour later, we were sitting at a chic little bistro, enjoying eggs benedict and a perfectly ripe bowl of assorted berries.
Collin wiped his mouth with a napkin and exclaimed, “Oh! This is what I meant to show you.” He pulled out his phone and brought up the video he took of me last night. “It’s trending this morning.”
“Are you kidding?” I squealed around a mouthful of food.
He looked at his phone and nodded. “Someone named Kiki Loveless shared it on her page, and that’s when it really exploded.”
I gulped down my eggs and sat up straighter in my chair. “Kiki Loveless? As in the Kiki Loveless?”
“Is there more than one?” Collin asked, confused.
I laughed, “Are you living under a rock? She’s only the most popular singer on pop radio right now. Granted, she’s a bit, um, what’s the word?” I mused, tapping my fingers on my cheek. “Eccentric. But she’s a music icon.”
Collin held up his hands and admitted, “I’ve lost touch with a lot of what’s popular at the moment. Unless it has to do with air foils or computational fluid dynamics or ultrasonic non-destructive evaluation, then I’m pretty clueless.”
“Fair enough,” I conceded. “This is so great, though! One of the biggest challenges for composers is getting their music out there for people to hear. Thank you for recording me last night. It was a momentous occasion.”
Feeling on top of the world—never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined a major popstar practically endorsing my music to her fans—I stood up and leaned over the table to give Collin a kiss on the cheek.
Collin gave me a crooked grin and reached over to grab my hand, sending the rhythm of my heart into erratic palpitations. “That’s exactly how I would have described last night, too.”
It felt like my life literally blossomed overnight. The entire week following my tumble with Collin into the bus stop, we spent every spare moment together, swapping stories over a meal, trying to study for the upcoming end of our school careers, and when we could sneak it, tangled up, intensely kissing until we ran out of breath or Vanessa walked in on us, rolling her eyes while smiling at the same time. Collin complimented my klutziness perfectly, and it seemed he was always saving me from trips, spills, or walking into glass doors. I liked to think I was enriching his life with music, but to be honest, me repeatedly practicing my works and school assignments over and over and over until even I was sick of them would probably have been obnoxious had Collin not had the incredible ability to tune out everything around him when he was studying. Single-minded focus was definitely one of his super powers.
The night before I was to drive home for Thanksgiving break, I was snuggling with Collin on the couch, inhaling his scent to try and memorize it while he combed his fingers through my hair from root to tip. Without warning, Vanessa burst through the door, making me jump. My head cracked into Collin’s jaw, and I heard his teeth clack together, right before he groaned in agony.
“Ruby! I’m so glad you’re here,” she exclaimed breathlessly.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, rushing to her side.
“Nothing wrong. In fact, it’s so, so right.”
I scrunched up my face, trying to make sense of her rambling. “What are you—”
“Have you seen it?”
Still rubbing his jaw, Collin sidled up beside me and draped his arm across my shoulder. “What’s up?”
Vanessa muttered to herself in Spanish, then impatiently slapped her hands together. “Remember how Kiki Loveless posted your video of Ruby singing Heart on Fire?” We nodded, not quite sure where the conversation was headed. “She made a lip-synching video of your song, and it’s all over social media. It’s gone viral.”
“You’re kidding!” I gasped and fumbled for my phone. I dropped it a couple of times, the adrenaline pumping through my veins making my hands shake uncontrollably.
Vanessa wasn’t kidding. Every facet of my social media had exploded. I found the first video of Kiki, the superstar that was taking the world by storm, and played it. Sure enough, she’d made a video of herself dancing around in what I assumed was her living room, lip-synching in an outrageous manner.
Had it been another song, I might have scoffed and rolled my eyes at the ridiculousness of Kiki’s impersonation but the fact that it was my song—my song—that she was parroting sent a jolt of excitement through me.
Collin squeezed my shoulders and kissed the crown of my head. “You’re on your way, Ruby.”
“So, this famous starlet sang one of your songs and posted the video of it?” my longtime neighbor, Ms. Osborne, asked as she blew the steam off her cup of tea.
“Lip-synched, actually. Still, she gave me credit and linked it back to Collin’s video, so the effect has trickled down.”
I was back in Indiana for the Thanksgiving weekend. Vanessa had come with me the previous year since her father was tied up in some huge merger but this year, she was meeting him in the Bahamas to “perfect the golden hue of her tan,” or so she said. I’d begrudgingly left Collin behind, where he was trying to catch up on schoolwork while entertaining his parents who were flying in from England. I’d gotten home early enough to chat with my parents for a few hours, then I’d walked the quarter mile down the road to Ms. Osborne’s. She’d never married and didn’t have any children of her own and had taken me under her wing when we’d moved to the neighborhood when I was in middle school. When my parents couldn’t reason with me, she had a way of validating my teenage angst.
I grabbed a white chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookie off the platter she’d set on her coffee table and sat back on the couch. Ms. Osborne’s enormous Maine Coon cat took it as an invitation and pounced onto my lap. I winced as he dug his claws into my knee to steady himself, then fulfilled my duty of scratching along his spine while he purred. I’d been warned Crocket would go as far as nipping if he was ignored, and out of fear, I heeded Ms. Osborne’s warning every time I visited.
“These are delicious,” I groaned, taking a bite of the cookie. It was still slightly warm from the oven and had a delicious, buttery crunch around the edge. “I wish I would have paid more attention when you were trying to teach me to bake,” I mused as crumbs tumbled from my lips. “I can barely make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without botching it.”
Though I would consider her a close friend, only once had she told me her first name—was it Kate or Kathy? Ms. Osborne had made it explicitly clear with a look over her red half-moon spectacles and a raised eyebrow that she came from an era when those younger than her were to address her formally. I think her strict observance of social niceties had to do with her working for the Reagan administration as one of his personal assistants. She had queens and dignitaries on the phone every other day back then.
She smoothed a loose strand of her ever so slightly graying black hair back into her chignon—timeless looking as always—and shrugged. “You make time for it if it’s important, and once I retired, I had lots of time for baking and knitting and all of those old lady endeavors. I’m seriously considering going back to work, just so I don’t go stir crazy.”
“I hear you,” I said through another mouthful of cookie. “I like having something to do.”
Ms. Osborne scooped Crocket off my lap, and it felt like she’d lifted a lion off of me. “Yes, but you are still young. You have school and your career. Plus, your mom said you have a hot new boyfriend.”
My mouth popped open, and I gasped, “Ms. Osborne!”
“What?” she shrugged. “I can’t gossip with your mother?”
“Nothing’s official,” I countered.
“But he’s hot?”
A blush betrayed me, and I giggled like a love-struck schoolgirl. “The epitome of male perfection.” I took a long draw o
f my ice-cold milk. “What about you? Was there ever anyone special?”
Memory encouraged a thin smile to cross her lips and her eyes looked a little watery as she squeezed Crocket close to her chest. “There was. He was a musician, like you, but we both chose our careers over our relationship. His name was Lyle. Sometimes, I really miss seeing his pert little rear end in a good pair of Levi’s…” Ms. Osborne trailed off dreamily.
I held up my hands and pleaded, “Please, no. I’m going to have to take your word for it.”
She smiled and arched one of her eyebrows. “It may shock you to know that us old people were once young.”
I laughed and shook my head, “It’s not that. It’s that you’re a conundrum.” Trying to direct the conversation away from Ms. Osborne’s daydream, I nudged her with my elbow and said slyly, “It’s never too late to try and rekindle the flame.”
Ms. Osborne tipped her head back and laughed heartily. “Oh, I lost track of him a long time ago. I really should have married him when I had the chance…”
My phone rang in my pocket and I pulled it out. Looking at the screen, I gritted my teeth at the unknown number. “Another telemarketer? That’s like the fifth this week.” I silenced the phone and tossed it onto the coffee table.
“Want me to answer it? I’m pretty good at convincing people not to call back. A presidential secretary does pick up on some useful telephone skills.”
Amused, I picked up the phone, swiped the screen, and offered her the phone. “Be my guest.”
Ms. Osborne smiled, took the phone, and politely said, “Ruby Harkwad’s manager, Ms. Osborne, speaking.”
I stifled a snorting laugh behind one of Ms. Osborne’s needlepoint throw cushions, listening to the murmuring on the other end of the phone. She listened carefully and hmm-ed on occasion, then said, “One moment, please.” She held the phone away from her and covered the speaker. “I think you’re going to want to take this one, dear.”
I rolled my eyes and sat up. “Did I win a cruise?”
I knew Ms. Osborne long enough to know that she had a rather wicked sense of humor and her only tell was a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
A woman confirmed my name before connecting me with a man with a deep, gravelly voice. “Am I speaking with Ruby Harkwad?”
Holding the phone to my ear, I flatly asked, “What’d I win this time?”
Silence met me momentarily. “Win?” the man said, taken aback. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“I know how this works,” I cut in. “You offer me something fantastic, maybe even get my hopes up if you’re really good, then tell me all I need to do is listen to a brief time-share meeting and sign over my firstborn in order to go to an all-expenses paid trip to Jamaica. Am I right?”
“Ms. Harkwad, you misunderstand. I’m not a telemarketer. I’m the CEO of Harper Music. I’m calling because I want you to sign with my record label.”
Chapter Six
My head was spinning. One minute, I was on the phone with Mr. Robert Drake, head honcho of Harper Music, barely able to form a cohesive thought and the next, I was agreeing to fly to New York City to meet him. If I had heard him right, the video Collin had posted of Heart on Fire had been brought to his attention, and he’d personally taken the liberty of perusing some of my other work, ultimately positive I’d be a good fit with his record label. When I hung up, I tried to repeat the conversation to Ms. Osborne.
“That was Mr. Duck,” I said, my mind still in a fog.
“Mr. Duck? That’s an odd name.”
“Maybe it was Mallard. I can’t remember. Anyway, the point is, he wants me to come in for a meeting.”
I skimmed over the details while Ms. Osborne jumped up and down, screeching and hugging me, a living embodiment of my excitement. Eventually, my brain caught up, and I found myself mirroring Ms. Osborne’s shrieks.
When my throat was sore and Crocket had run from the room, sure his fluffy tail would be smashed under someone’s feet, I sucked in a deep breath and tried to relax my cheeks, which felt like they’d cramp up if I smiled any wider. “I should probably go let my family know the good news,” I chirped.
Ms. Osborne agreed. “Don’t forget about me when you’re famous,” she said with a melodramatic pout.
I rolled my eyes. “Like that’s possible. I’m pretty sure I saw you more than my own parents last year. And besides, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Ms. Osborne sent me on my way, leaning out the door and hollering one further whoop that echoed through the thinning tree canopy. As I briskly walked home, I smiled stupidly the whole way and couldn’t wait to tell Collin the good news. His phone went straight to voicemail, so I left a message to get back to me as soon as humanly possible. At my parents’ house, I barged through the front door and kicked off my damp shoes.
“Mom!” I screamed. “Dad! Something amazing’s happened!”
Murphy, my family’s retired racing greyhound came scrambling through the hallway, barely missing a collision with my mother’s cherished grandfather clock. In a few short strides, he bounded across the entryway and planted his paws on my shoulders. I squinted and pursed my lips as he tried desperately to run his hot tongue across my cheeks. Eventually I was able to wrestle away and push him back to the ground.
“I was gone for like five minutes, you silly dog.” Scratching the tip of his chin where white hair had begun to grow through his beautiful brindle coloring, he seemed satisfied and ran back to the couch where he leapt up and turned a few circles to make himself comfortable. His tongue lolled to the side and one ear was pointed straight up as he watched me for a minute before he slumped down to take one of his frequent, daily naps.
I followed the faint noise of chopping into the kitchen, and found my sister, Hannah, dicing a mound of peeled potatoes.
“Where’s mom?” I asked.
Hannah grabbed a handful of potatoes and dumped them into a large stockpot. She answered simply, “She took the kids to the store. Forgot a turkey for Thanksgiving dinner of all things.”
Hannah was my only sibling and while we were once each other’s nemeses, we’d grown exponentially closer once she left for college and we no longer had to share a bathroom.
“What’s with that goofy grin on your face?” Hannah asked. “You look almost as excited as I do when the kids finally go to sleep.”
“I’d say it would rank up there with successful potty training.”
Hannah put down her knife and leaned her hands on the countertop. Raising an eyebrow, she asked skeptically, “Oh, really? Do tell.”
In about thirty seconds, I spilled my guts, replaying the ten-minute conversation I’d had with Robert Drake and what was being offered.
“You have to at least go,” she said.
“Well, yeah…”
“But?”
I swallowed against the unexpected lump that strained my throat and forced myself to say what was lurking in the dark corners of my mind. “What if I’m not good enough?”
Hannah sighed and was quiet for a moment. She picked up the knife and chopped a few more potatoes while she thought. “You’re definitely good enough,” she encouraged, pointing the knife at me. “You just need to get over yourself. You’re your own stumbling block.”
“There are other people more—”
Hannah cut me off, “This isn’t about them. This isn’t even about your perfect Chilean roommate with pipes like Mariah Carey.”
“Columbian,” I corrected.
“Whatever. The point is that Harper Music called you. Not only do you have a beautiful voice and play the guitar like a female Santana, you’re also an exceptionally gifted songwriter. What more could they want?”
Tears stung my eyes, and the lump in my throat now felt like a boulder wedged high in my esophagus.
I swiped away a few tears before they rolled down my cheeks. “That means a lot,” I thanked her, my voice thick with emotion.
“Geez, Ruby,” Hannah scoffed. �
�Is it your time of the month?”
“Hannah!” I yelped and threw a spatula at her, which she deflected without batting an eye. Those were the kind of lightning fast reflexes only a mother of three small children could hone.
“Hey,” she shrugged, “when I’m having my period, I cry whenever Brad Paisley comes on the radio.”
“I’ll be sure to avoid country music whenever I’m around you then.”
Hannah ignored my comment—another talent she’d gained since being a mother—and changed subjects. “Oh, and when you go for your meeting with Harper Music, you’d better not be wearing a sports bra with your hair in a messy bun and your armpits unshaven. You have to look hot.”
I guffawed, “I don’t even know how to do anything else with my hair!”
“You’d better watch some tutorials, then. I’m serious. If you blow this because you’re dressed like your frumpy old self, that’s all on you.” Hannah made me solemnly promise I’d make an extra effort to play the part before she turned her attention back to the potatoes. “And don’t sign anything without Sam looking at it,” she warned.
“I wouldn’t feel right taking advantage of your husband’s swanky law degree,” I quipped.
“Don’t be smart,” Hannah sneered. “Being a copyright lawyer isn’t exactly stretching his brain but he is brilliant. He’d be happy to do pro bono work for his little sister-in-law. If you’re signing over your soul to this Harper Music, at least you should know about it.”
“What is with you and Ms. Osborne getting ahead of yourselves. Harper Music might throw me out just for looking dowdy.”
Hannah sighed and said, “You know, and I know that you have a gift. All you need to do is let other more important people see it. I mean, all your boyfriend had to do for you is put a video out there, and look where it’s landed you. They’re knocking on your door.”
“We’re not official, Collin and me,” I countered.
“Technicalities,” Hannah sniffed. “That’s another thing. You don’t need to be afraid to call things like you see them. I guarantee you guys have had more than one make out session.”
When a Star Falls (Stars Book 1) Page 5