by R H Tucker
“You’re not.”
“I am!”
She walks over to the couch, falls down on it, and turns on the TV. Switching the channel, she points the remote at me. “Come on, let’s just watch some Cooking Channel shows and drool over deep-fried food.”
“Fine.” Letting out a sigh, I hop off of the counter and trudge over toward her. “At least food hasn’t betrayed me yet.”
“My mom says that happens in our forties.”
I shoot her a confused look for a second; she smirks up at me, then I let out a loud laugh, falling down next to her. Leah has been my best friend since freshman year. Her blonde hair falls just above her shoulders, while my light brown hair drops to almost the middle of my back. We met Roxy sophomore year, the same year we started playing music together, discovering we all loved the same bands. Even though we’ve only known one another for a few years, there’s a kinship with them, unlike anything I’ve ever had. We’re all only children, but we’ve become sisters. I couldn’t imagine being in the band with anyone but them.
We’ve been compared to other three-piece bands like Nirvana or Blink 182. Roxy’s our drummer, Leah sings lead and plays guitar, and I play the bass. It’s incredible getting to tour around and hang out with them. But what I love the most is our bond. Especially on days like this, when I feel like crap after hearing more stupid rumors. At least I have my sisters who are always there for me.
“Let’s order room service,” I tell her, watching the cooking show that’s showing a chef prepare a burger.
“Girl, we’ll be ordering room service all month long as long as the record label’s paying.” She giggles, picking up the phone, and orders a large pizza and an appetizer assortment plate since she knows I love mozzarella sticks.
Hanging up the phone, she hits my elbow with hers. “Can you believe I just ordered room service, in a hotel suite we don’t have to pay for in Las Vegas, where we’ll be staying for the next month?” I smile. “Who would’ve thought this would be our life?”
I shake my head in agreeing disbelief, letting out a chuckle. In light of everything else, she’s right. I just need to remember that for the foreseeable future.
Easier said than done.
3
EJ
We’ve been sitting at our autograph signing for over two hours. I smile at the next girl who’s jumping up and down, and sign her poster, then pass it over to Maddox. Pulling out my phone, I check the time: three hours now.
It’s not the signing that’s annoying me. I love our fans. We wouldn’t be in the position we are without them. It’s events like these where I have to be around the fans in addition to being next to Maddox and Derrik. It’s hard to miss it.
The fan comes up, excited to meet us. It’s flattering, and though I’ve never let the celebrity thing go to my head, it does puff up your ego a bit. But there’s a reason I try to sit on the end and next to Jade. Most of the time, I get the spot, but sometimes Jade’s already sitting down, and I don’t want to make it seem like a big thing. Even though, to me, it most definitely is a thing.
That’s what happened today. Jade sat next to Derrik, then Maddox, leaving me at the end next to him. And as the girls come up—because most of our fans are girls—they’re a ball of excitement. I sign their poster, or whatever they want to be signed, but they immediately start jumping higher, screaming louder and seem like they’re going to pass out.
Sometimes I think they actually will, though none of them have yet. And why? Because they see Maddox. The bad boy of the band. They’re drawn to him. In addition to our band tattoo, he has a few others. Most of the time, he wears a hat, covering his shaggy black hair, and leans back in his chair like he doesn’t have a care in the world. When a girl comes up, he lays it on thick. Only, with him, it doesn’t seem like he’s laying it on thick. It’s just Maddox. I can see the appeal because, as they say, girls love the bad boys. But here I am sitting next to him, feeling like chopped liver. It’s the same if I’m next to Derrik, though to a lesser extent.
The signing is being held in a music memorabilia store. Once it’s over, we’re escorted to the back, and I try to distract myself, as we wait for our car to arrive and take us back to the hotel. The place is enormous, and I make my way up to the second story, where I find Jade and Maddox looking over a row of bass guitars.
“Holy crap.” Jade kneels closer to a display case. “An original nineteen sixty-two Fender Bass. John Paul Jones played one of these in Led Zeppelin.”
“That’s awesome.” I kneel down next to her. “You gonna get it?”
She lifts her shoulders. “I don’t know. Last month I bought a sixty-eight Stratocaster. It was fifteen grand.” She unleashes a smiling grimace, making me laugh.
“Yeah, but how often will you see one of these beauties for your taking?” I counter.
“You can say that again,” Maddox whispers, walking over to me and tapping me on the shoulder. Standing up, I shoot him a confused look. He points across the store. “Check it.”
Finding what he’s pointing at, I see a beautiful girl who appears to be around our age standing behind a counter, with light brown, curly hair. She’s talking to a customer.
“Great. Have fun with that,” I tell Maddox, rolling my eyes.
“No, man!” He slaps my shoulder. “Remember what we were talking about yesterday? Now’s your chance.”
“My chance to do what, Maddox? I’m not gonna hit on a girl while she’s at work.”
“Why not?” He throws his hands in the air. “This is what I’m talking about. You just have to do it, bro. Don’t think, just do. Come on, I’ll show you. I’ll help you out, and you’ll see. It’s easy.”
Without waiting for a reply, he wraps his arm around my neck and brings me with him, walking over to the girl. The man she was helping turns away, looking over a row of saxophones. At first, she doesn’t notice us. Then she does a double take, and her eyes widen.
“Ohmygod,” I hear her gasp, but tries to keep it to herself.
“Hey, how you doing?” Maddox says, his voice low and smooth.
“Holy crap,” she replies. “You’re the Kings. I knew you guys had the signing downstairs, but I thought you left already.”
“Naw, we thought we’d stick around a little and see what we see.”
See what we see? I quirk an eyebrow, looking at him like he’s both crazy and lame. To my astonishment, the girl doesn’t flinch. On the contrary, she giggles and then leans closer to him over the counter.
“So, I was talking to EJ, and we were trying to think of some places we could visit while we’re in town this month.” The girl hangs on every word Maddox says. All he’s doing is asking for Yelp reviews, and she’s paying attention to him like what he’s saying is top secret. “Know of any places?”
“There’s this amazing club down on Jasper Avenue, but it’s twenty-one and over,” she says.
Maddox flashes “The Grin.” It’s a grin I’ve seen him use time and time again. And it never fails. Never. Leaning a little closer, he reads her name tag. “Clarissa, we’re Kings. We can go where we want. Isn’t that right, EJ?”
“Yeah,” I respond, but I’m entirely uninvested in this exchange. She hasn’t even looked in my direction since I walked over here. “I’ll let you guys figure out the logistics.” I turn to walk away when Maddox grabs my arm.
He spins me back to face him and lowers his voice, staring at me like I’m crazy. “What are you doing?”
First, I stare back at him with the same expression. Then, I look over his shoulder and see Clarissa eyeing his butt. “Dude, this is all you.”
“I told you I was gonna help you.”
My eyes dart back and forth. My jaw drops, and then I start laughing. Like, gut-wrenching laughter, doubling over. A quick glance up, and I see she’s still not paying attention to me even though I’m literally acting crazy now. “Right,” I whisper back. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out on my own.”
“How?”
> “It doesn’t matter,” I respond through my fading laughter. “No matter what you do, I’ll always be the side dish, and you’ll be the main course. It’s cool, Maddox.”
I don’t wait for him to reply. What’s the point? He may be the bad boy of the band, but he has a good heart, and I know it’s in the right place for me. He cracks jokes here and there, but he’s never actually mean about teasing me and how nice I come off. All that being said, he and Derrik are the eye candy. I’m the Other Guy.
You know the other guy, even if you think you don’t. Tons of bands have them. Red Hot Chili Peppers have Anthony Kiedis, Flea, Chad Smith, and Other Guy. For the record, it’s Josh Klinghoffer, and he’s the youngest person to ever be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. But ask any casual fan on the street, and they probably won’t know that. Sometimes they have more than one, like Fall Out Boy. Pete Wentz, Patrick Stump, and Other Guys.
With a heartthrob lead singer, a walking party in a bad boy drummer, and a hot bass player, I’m the Other Guy.
It’s not that I have a low opinion of myself or my looks. I stay in shape. I might be a bit on the pale side, but I’ve got some abs. I’m fit. Maybe it’s my boyish looks. While Maddox and Derrik are the same age, they come off as handsome young men, and I still have the high school kid look. Whatever it is, I’ve learned to live with it.
“Have fun,” I tell him, low enough so Clarissa doesn’t hear, and head back to Jade. Where I’ll assume my non-relationship status and geek out over guitars and other musical instruments.
4
Skye
We’re two days away from our first performance for the festival. The shows play Friday through Sunday, with different bands performing each day, for four weekends in a row. Even though it’s not like one of those outdoor festival shows, it’ll still be amazing to see everyone dancing around, rocking out to the music inside of the arena. Twenty thousand people screaming their heads off, enjoying our music.
I can’t tell if the city is getting more crowded than when we first arrived. It seems Vegas is continuously busy, with languages of all kinds buzzing through the air. What I have noticed is more shirts supporting favorite bands, walking by on the streets. There are a few Lost Link shirts, some Harry Goes Bye-Bye sweaters, and a whole load of Kings of Karmichael merchandise. Hats, hoodies, pants, and anything else you can put a logo on. Seeing all of the bands plastered across the clothing of fans keeps reminding us that we’re about to perform on our biggest stage.
None of us have seen anyone wearing our shirts, but I wouldn’t expect there to be. Not that we’re not good, but we’re new. Our set time every weekend is at seven in the evening, while bands like the Kings or Lost Link are headlining on their days, not performing until eleven p.m.
The bright glow of the Strip blurs things together. Even though it’s an assault on the senses, there’s also something about Vegas that has a care-free attitude about it. Maybe it’s the city’s nickname, or perhaps it has to do with the whole “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” branding, but it leaves me with a sense of possibility.
The girls and I decide to abandon our suite for the night and check out some stores and shopping areas that are close to our hotel. Nestled between two massive resorts, there’s a small alley that’s lined with novelty stores, boutiques, and niche cafés. Leah is a huge fan of boba and has since converted Roxy and me, so she’s ecstatic when we find a local café serving the drink.
“What are we doing for dinner?” Roxy asks as we sip on our drinks in the store.
“I know what I’m having,” Leah whispers back, looking over her shoulder. I follow her line of vision, which is locked on a bartender standing at a bar stand outside.
“Have fun.” I raise my cup, offering a half-hearted salute to her, shaking my head.
“Maybe he has a friend,” she adds.
“Oh, no. I’m strictly on a no-guy diet for the foreseeable future.”
“Come on, don’t say that.” Roxy pushes my shoulder. “We’ll be playing at the festival all month long. You can definitely find someone who’s on the same wavelength as you. A musician or something. You know, someone who gets us and our world.”
“It doesn’t matter if they’re a rock star or a janitor, Rox. I am so not taking a chance on some guy using my name to try and benefit his career. Working an angle to try and get media coverage as a sympathetic, broken heart victim, leaving me as the love-destroying evil queen of hearts. It’s not worth it. I’m just gonna focus on us and leave that stuff on the side for now.”
Leah and Roxy exchange uncertain looks.
“What?”
“Hey, I’m all for you doing that if you want,” Leah starts.
“But?”
Another exchange between them and Roxy leans forward. “We were talking about this earlier.”
“Great.” I roll my eyes with a laugh.
“It’s not bad,” Leah tries to put me at ease, tapping my hand.
“Yeah,” Roxy agrees. “We were just thinking; you need a makeover.”
“A makeover? I’m not changing my hair, you guys.”
“No,” Leah shouts, laughing. “Not that kind of makeover. Like, a PR makeover. Damage control.”
“That damage has already been caused.” I stare back at my drink, chewing on the straw.
“Skye, it could work. What you need is to find a guy—”
“I just said—”
“Just listen. We find you a guy. It doesn’t have to be someone you’re head over heels for. As a matter of fact, it’d help a whole lot more if you’re not gaga for the guy. You two go out for a bit but keep it completely neutral. Then, in a month, you break up. Together.”
Twirling my straw in my drink, I watch the boba balls swirl around, contemplating their plan for a moment. Then reality surfaces.
“There’s one little flaw with your plan. The past relationships I’ve been in could’ve ended amicably. They should’ve. But the guys were trash hoes, who decided to use my quasi-celebrity rock star status to try and bolster their even less than quasi-celebrity status. I didn’t have a clue. How would that change? I’d still be at this new guy’s mercy, should he choose to try and capitalize.”
“Then we find someone more famous than us. Like a Danica Parker, only the guy version.”
I let out a laugh. No, not a laugh. I let out a hysterical bellow, throwing my head back. I love Leah and Roxy, but this is the most asinine plan I’ve ever heard. “You guys are insane. Where would I even find this year’s Hollywood It-Guy? And how could I make a plan with him to do that? Look, thank you. I appreciate it. And I love you guys, but no. This isn’t happening.”
“Oh, come on!” Leah pleads. “We can get someone at our record label who has an in at one of the movie studios. Maybe find a co-producer or something like that. It doesn’t have to be a megastar, just someone slightly more famous than us.”
“No.” I shake my head.
“Skye—”
“You guys, no. I’m not doing that. I can’t control what other people do, all I can do is control who I choose to be around. And you girls are enough for now.”
They look at one another with disappointed faces, but finally give up on the plan. And I take a defeated sip of my drink.
Tomorrow is the big day. I still don’t feel the jitters I thought I might, but then again, I usually only start feeling the nerves about an hour before we get on stage. It’s not so much nervousness, but a thrilling tingle. And tomorrow we’ll be playing in front of twenty thousand people, the biggest crowd we’ve ever seen. I expect to feel some kind of way tomorrow, but for today, I’m still enjoying Vegas.
I’ve decided to do a little sightseeing on my own and visit the New York, New York hotel, and the line of shops they have inside. As I’ve been walking around, I notice a ton of people, mostly girls, with Kings of Karmichael shirts on. At first, I think it’s because of the concert, but they’re everywhere. When I walk into a small novelty store, searching fo
r something to get my mom, the girl at the counter is giddy. She’s all smiles, practically vibrating.
Handing over the small keychain, which is a yellow cab that has “Las Vegas” written in cursive over the front of it, she stumbles with it, and it drops to the counter.
“Sorry.” She offers me an embarrassed smile.
“It’s okay.” I smile back. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, yeah.” She fans herself, scanning the keychain. “It’s just, I’m off in five minutes, and I’m going to run down to the other side of the hotel for a Kings of Karmichael signing.”
“The Kings are here?”
She nods furiously, her grin spreading ear to ear. “They had a signing at Planet Rock, and I was going to go earlier, but someone called off of work, so I got stuck covering her shift, but I’m almost off.” She rapid fires the information, clenching her hands together, still shaking.
“Awesome,” I reply, trying to match her smile, but there’s no way I could smile as big as her. “Have fun.”
For the first time since our interaction, her grin falters. She stares at me, confused. “You’re not a fan?”
“Oh, I like them,” I try to explain. “The Kings are awesome. But I’m …” I don’t want to sound stuck up or like a celebrity, so I cringe a bit. “I’m playing the festival this month with my band. I’ll probably see them around or something.”
“You’re in a band?”
I nod. “Yeah, The Electrocutes.”
“The Electrocutes!” she shouts. “You guys are amazing!”
I feel the heat spread across my face, a tinge of embarrassment rising. I don’t get starstruck and hardly every fumble over my words when meeting someone famous. And it doesn’t happen to us very much, but the few times it has, I don’t know how to react. It’s flattering, but we’re still a band on the first rung of the rock star ladder, so it catches me off guard when someone knows us. Not that she did, but now that I’ve told her who I am, she does.