Love Songs & Other Lies
Jessica Pennington
TO MY PARENTS—MY VERY OWN SUPER FANS—FOR RAISING ME TO DREAM BIG.
CHAPTER ONE
NOW
VIRGINIA
It’s black, almost liquid looking, and gleaming in the LA sun, like a sleek, horizontal skyscraper. I’ve only ever seen a tour bus on the highway and I can’t believe how gigantic it looks, looming over us. Maybe my fears of being cramped with eleven guys were completely unfounded. Maybe it’ll be like a rock ’n’ roll palace inside, everything studded and rhinestoned and shimmering. I saw a band special once, where the bus even had a crystal chandelier and a hot tub. How did I even get here? I mean, aside from the four-hour plane ride from Chicago and the completely insane cab-ride-from-hell.
“Are you freaking out?” My best friend Logan’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts. “I can’t wait for you to see it,” he says, pushing me out of the car and into the hot afternoon air. “I dropped my bags off already, but I was waiting on you for the big tour.”
For the nine hundredth time since Logan called me two weeks ago, I wonder if saying “yes” to this crazy idea was the right choice. Who just up and leaves everything to join a band tour for three months? And on national television. The thought of the cameras that will soon surround me sends a flush across my face. “The cameras … they’re 24/7 or just for interviews and stuff?”
“Dunno,” Logan says, hauling one of my bags over his shoulder as I follow him across the parking lot to the last in a row of five identical buses. “But filming doesn’t start for a few days, once all the bands are settled in.”
I’m positive Logan is sick of my questions, but I just want to know what I’m getting myself into. I bet I know more about this tour than he does. Logan probably packed his bags two minutes before picking me up at the airport this morning. I’d be shocked if he even knows which cities his band, Your Future X, will be competing in. I, on the other hand, have been quizzing him for the last two weeks. It’s the most we’ve talked in the last year, since he left school midsemester and moved to LA. I even looked up bios for the other two bands sharing our bus—the four members of Caustic Underground (a hipster rock band out of Seattle), and a folk-rock trio of brothers from St. Louis called The Phillips. Which is not their last name. Or anyone’s first. Go figure. I’m praying they’re nice, even though they’re technically the competition. I wonder what they’ll think about me. Probably that it’s weird an intern is buddy-buddy with another band. “So when do I get this surprise you promised?”
Logan taps twice on the glass door of the bus, and it opens with a loud, breathy sigh. “Right now,” he says, grabbing my hand. Climbing up the stairs into the bus, he pulls me in behind him. “Get your asses out here,” he yells into the empty space. “I’ve got a surprise.”
Before even clearing the last step, the unmistakable shriek of Anders—drummer extraordinaire, childhood friend, and resident loudmouth—assaults me. “The strippers are here!”
Strippers? God, what are they planning to do on this bus? “Sorry to disappoint you,” I laugh as his scrawny body comes barreling down the aisle toward me. “No strippers, just me.”
Anders’s body collides with mine in the front lounge of the bus, almost toppling me over into one of the leather couches. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he says, holding me in a bear hug. My nerves finally start to settle as I’m engulfed in familiarity. I’ve known Anders and Logan since elementary school—of course this will all be fine. Anders has barely let me out of his grip when I notice someone sitting on the couch next to us, long legs stretched out like he’s been here a million times. Eyes that are so brown. And a smile that would probably draw me in, if I didn’t know who it belonged to.
“Hey there, Vee.” I’ve never actually met Your Future X’s bassist, Reese, but from everything Anders and Logan have told me since he joined the band last year—flirt, player, man-whore—I’m not surprised by the look he’s giving me right now. “You’re probably exhausted after your flight.” He looks at me apologetically. “I saved a seat for you, if you wanted to get off your feet,” he says, patting his thighs as he winks at me.
“Seriously?” I say, laughing. “That’s just lazy.”
“Is that a no?” Reese says, giving me a gigantic grin as he pats his lap once more.
That grin probably would have done something for me once. I bet it does the trick for ninety-nine percent of the girls he meets. Maybe when I was seventeen I would have melted for the teasing look he’s giving me right now—or those brown puppy dog eyes. Not today. Seventeen-year-old Vee feels like a different century, even if it was only a year and a half ago. “That’s a no.”
Behind me, Anders is laughing. Logan lets out an exhausted grunt. “She’s like our sister, dude.”
“I guess,” Reese says, shrugging his shoulders. “If you’ve made out with your sister before.”
“Logan Samuel Hart,” I say, turning back to the front of the bus, where my bigmouth best friend is mouthing “sorry.”
“I’m never telling you anything,” he says to Reese, who looks happy with himself.