Love Songs & Other Lies(16)

Across from us, Anders has gone back to playing a beat on his bongo drum, while Cam hums to himself, scribbling in his notebook. All he’s been doing lately is writing. When he’s not holding his guitar he’s carrying around that damn notebook. And it really grinds me, because since the moment I stepped onto this bus the one thing I can’t do is write. Not anything I want to write, at least. Everything that does want to come out of me feels like dredging up ancient history. I refuse to put that down on paper. I won’t memorialize this feeling—I’ve already done it once. If you listen carefully to half of the band’s songs, it’s all right there. The story of my life—my pain—set to Logan’s music.

Logan shifts on the couch. “It probably isn’t even that big of a deal. You should probably know, though.” Anders snickers under his breath.

I twist on the couch to face Logan. “Spill it, Hart.”

“It’s about your internship.”

Not what I was expecting. I’ve been anxious to find out more about my internship.

He rubs a hand over his head. “The whole internship—well, it’s a little different than what I had told you…” There’s a long pause and his eyes seem to be fixed on the car driving by, outside our window. “So, well—there isn’t actually an official internship with the tour.” His head is dipped down and he looks at me like he’s not sure he should make eye contact. He shouldn’t. This is such a Logan thing to do. No wonder I got such a weird look from the bus driver—I don’t even belong on his bus!

“What?” I launch myself into the aisle so I’m standing in front of him. I’ve been on this bus for less than a week. I haven’t seen a single city—we’re not even close to Nashville—and I haven’t even seen them perform yet. “Logan, that’s the whole reason I’m here!” Before I can get away, he has me by the wrist.

“Whoa, whoa. Settle down, Little Miss Temper.” He pulls me back onto the couch. “You can still help us—do all the stuff you used to do. You’ll be our intern. It’s practically the same thing.”

Except it’s not anything close to the same thing. Now I really am just tagging along, like some kind of glorified groupie, showing up at every show, acting like I’m a member of the inner circle.

“This isn’t a big deal, Vee—”

The sound of the air lock interrupts us, as the door folds open. A man in his forties in gray dress pants and a bright white shirt steps in, followed by a tall woman in her late twenties. Her hair is bright blond and twisted behind her head. She has a silver tablet in one hand, and a black stylus in the other. Behind them, two guys stand at the bottom of the stairs with cameras hanging at their waists.

The man pulls off a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses before speaking, “I’m Jared, the production manager”—he points to the woman next to him—“this is Jenn, head of tour publicity. I wanted to take a quick moment to introduce myself, welcome you all to the tour.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Go through the lists,” he says, tapping the tablet in Jenn’s hand.

“Sure, I can do that.” Her tone is the same one my mom used with my dad when he asked her to do something that he clearly could have done for himself. She reads through everyone’s names, confirming spelling, asking for ages and what instruments everyone plays. Jared is still running his finger across the screen of his phone, and I swear he’s just fake-busy. It’s been nothing but swipe, swipe, swipe.

Jenn’s eyes settle on me. “And you are?” She looks down at her tablet, like maybe she’s missed something.

Oh, God. “I’m Vee. Virginia. I thought I was—”

“She’s with us,” Logan interrupts, and Jenn’s eyebrow twitches. “I mean, we just figured—since we have an extra bunk and all.”

Jared’s head snaps up from his phone. “You don’t get to just bring whoever you want on the bus.”

“She’s our songwriter, too—” Cam tries to interject.

“This is our bus—not yours,” Jared says.

It’s over. And I’m surprised by how disappointed I am, because three days ago, I wanted to run.

Jenn glances at Cam and then Logan, before looking at me. “Are you together?”

“Yes,” Logan says, as I shake my head no. What is he doing?

“What the fu—” Cam mutters.

Jenn’s shrewd eyes dart around again, from me to Logan to Cam before landing on me again. “You can stay.”

“Really?” Why would they want me here?

“Don’t argue, Vee,” Anders mutters, shaking his head, like I’m an idiot.

Jared looks at Jenn, who nods. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and makes his way out of the bus. The two cameramen waiting outside take his place next to Jenn, who is now, officially, my favorite person on this bus.

“Like Logan said, you guys have an extra bunk.” The way Jenn is tapping her stylus on her tablet so quickly, it sounds like a drum cadence. “It won’t hurt anything.” She points her stylus at me. “You’ll have to sign all the same releases as the bands.”

“Of course.” I’m nodding like a crazy person, relieved—and surprised—I’m not getting booted off this bus on day three. But am I really staying? Maybe, if I just give it some time—even a city or two—I can fix this. Make it worth it. Figuring out how to turn “unofficial groupie” into something resume-worthy seems easier than calling my mother and asking for a plane ticket. That would mean admitting how gullible I had been. How desperate I was to not go home for the summer.