Love Songs & Other Lies(19)

The guys jump off the stage one by one, and Logan grabs me around the waist, pulling me off the ground as he spins around with me. This is Flying High off a Performance Logan; my favorite Logan. He uses his palms to wipe my cheeks. I hadn’t even realized the tears had started.

“You’re a giant, sappy nerd. You know that, right?”

“I do.” I drag my sleeve over my wet eyes. “But you guys were incredible.” The tears are coming even heavier now, even though I’m smiling. “This is going to be amazing,” I say, and suddenly I’m throwing my arms around Cam, engulfing him in a hug. He just stands there at first, frozen in place. Then his arms wrap around me, his hands barely brushing my back. I can smell the mint of his breath, feel his soft T-shirt under my fingertips, hard muscles just underneath. What am I doing? Giving him a tight smile, I extricate myself, before hugging Anders. I give Reese an awkward high-five, which turns into him pulling me into a hug. Then he hoists me over his shoulder, spinning us in circles.

I’m screaming, as the lights of the stage become a twist of blurring red lines. “Down!” There’s a new band setting up onstage and I can hear their laughter as their faces blur by me. Stage left, Tad has his camera trained on us, and beside him, Kaley is spinning her finger in the air, egging Reese on.





CAM


It’s been almost two years since the last time I was onstage, playing songs that I wrote, feeling the energy of the music moving through me, electrifying me. Being onstage tonight, under the hot lights—the audience a mass of blacked-out faces—it makes me feel alive. I can’t see them, but for once, I feel like they see me. They hear me. Without saying the words, I share everything I’ve ever felt. Everything that I try to keep hidden. By the time we finish our fourth song of the night, and relinquish the stage to Caustic Underground, everything in me is laid out in the open, exposed and raw under the black lights.

Vee is standing in the wings, in the purple Melon Ballers shirt she’s always worn when we play. A good-luck shirt. That’s what she told Logan, when he asked why she wouldn’t wear one of the new Your Future X shirts being sold at the shows. When we met with Jenn to discuss the promo for our band, Vee had suggested the shirts be purple. We all agreed. Not because we care, but because she does and we don’t. The shirts are already being sold tonight at our first show, and it’s pretty hilarious to see girls in the audience wearing T-shirts that say YOUR FUTURE X. Maybe it’s prophetic.

By the time the other two bands finish playing it’s nearly midnight. As the last of our equipment is loaded, Vee is standing in the alley. Leaning against the metal door, her face is illuminated by the glow of her phone. The bus is idling, ready to take off for the next stop, when Vee finally makes her way back onto the bus. She lies down on her bed, pulling the curtain closed until the last foot. She never closes it all the way, she always leaves a gap. So I do, too. That way I get to see her face. And when she sleeps, it doesn’t feel like we’re us. It feels like we’re them. The people we were back before there was ever a Me and Vee. As she rustles around behind the curtain, I know she’s trying to change into her pajamas in the tiny space.

“Everything all right?” I say.

One of her feet slips out of the curtain. “Yes.” With a final grunt, she pulls back the curtain. “I’m actually getting pretty good at this.”

“I meant the phone call.” I give her a half smile. “But you really are getting good at the undercover changing. You know you could use the bathroom.”

She snorts. “Totally not worth having to walk through this bus in my PJs, thank you.”

“So…”

“Oh.” She’s not saying anything. Maybe she’s gone back to ignoring me. “I was just calling home, talking to my mom.”

“How is she?”

“She’s fine.” Both of us are lying on our backs, whispering in the dark.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Just some stuff going on at home with my parents. It’s a long story.” She’s lying still, looking up at the ceiling, and I think our conversation—if you can call it that—must be over already. Finally she breaks the silence. “I haven’t told her yet—about the internship.” She makes air quotes with her fingers.

“Would she care?”

“That I’m spending the summer with a bunch of wannabe rock stars, instead of working, or getting college credit, or living at her house?” She rolls her eyes. “Yes, she’d care.”

“It’s not like she can make you go home.”

“Sure she can.”

“You’re nineteen, Vee.”

“And she’s my mom.” She rolls onto her back and rubs circles on her temples. “My mom, who pays for college.” At the end of the bed, her feet are tapping a hectic rhythm against the wall, and it won’t be long before she wakes up Pax in the bunk above her.

This is what Vee looks like right before she starts panicking.

“Relax. She’s not going to find out.”

“And I just don’t tell her? I keep it from her?”

“You can tell her when you get back. It’s not a big deal, Vee. It’s a tiny lie.”

Vee’s eyes are cold, and fixed on mine, and I regret my words before I even hear hers.