Love Songs & Other Lies(20)
“Right. Just tiny lies.” She shakes her head and turns her back to me, her voice muffled by her pillow. “Those never come back to haunt us, do they?”
CHAPTER SIX
THEN
CAM
Two hours into my first Melon Ballers practice, I feel like things are clicking into place. We’re meshing, finding our groove.
Vee looks up from her notebook between songs. “Don’t forget to bring your clothes to practice Thursday night.” She tosses the red notebook onto her bag and turns toward us. “Please.” Her voice is dramatically sweet as she gives the guys an exaggerated Cheshire cat smile.
“Creepy, Vee,” Logan mutters.
I’m confused. “Our clothes?”
“The clothes you’re going to wear for the gig at Carnivale on Satur—”
Anders doesn’t let her finish. “Vee likes to make sure we’re dressed appropriately.” His tone is sarcastic, but a smile spreads across his face. “She just likes to watch us change. We’re her man meat.” Logan almost chokes on the beer he’s drinking.
Vee picks up a random sock lying next to her and chucks it at Anders. “Gross. I think you mean ‘man candy,’ because I’ve never seen your man meat. And I don’t plan to.” Her nose is scrunched up like she’s disgusted by the idea. “And if you want a manager who doesn’t care about anything, then ask Drew to make some time for you in his busy college schedule. I’m just trying to avoid a repeat of the great farm convention incident.”
Logan shakes his head. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“You guys played a farm convention?” I’m having a hard time picturing it.
“No.” They all say in unison, sounding annoyed.
Vee turns to me. “Last year, we played at Fall Fest. It was one of our biggest gigs ever, and these guys”—Vee stabs a finger at each of them—“all showed up in flannel.”
Everyone is laughing, except Vee. And me. I don’t even own flannel. I think the state of California actually banned the sale of it.
“Oh, yeah, laugh it up. One person wears flannel, okay. Fine. But all of you show up in flannel, and you look like those freaking animatronic bears from Disney World who play banjos and wear suspenders and scare the kids.” Anders is hunched over his set, shaking with laughter. Vee looks like she wants to hit him with something much worse than a sock. “So yes, I’m checking your clothes. Because I love you. And because I—not you—get blamed when you show up looking like you should be carrying fiddles and washboards.”
“So is there a uniform, then?”
She looks surprised, but come on. She can’t be serious with this.
“Anything that makes you look like you belong in a band.”
I smile at her. “I kind of thought the guitar did that.”
“I guess the polo shirt was distracting me from the guitar.” She cocks her head to the side and gives me an odd smile.
Maybe I should tell her that I used to have a lot of really kick-ass clothes. But moving to Michigan meant a fresh start—in every way. And pulling my guitar out of storage doesn’t mean I have to go back. “I’ll see what I can find.”
“And you’ll bring it Thursday?”
“If I remember, yeah.”
She’s trying to look annoyed, but the tiny turn of her lip is giving her away. “Do your best to remember, okay? I’d hate to see anything happen to your beloved polo collection.”
“What are you wearing?”
She blushes, and all I can do is smile.
Personality Traits: Sadistic fashion cop. Control issues. A little tightly wound? Very tightly wound.
*
We don’t wrap up our last song until close to midnight. I’m hunched over my guitar case, clicking the locks into place, when I see her eyes. Vee has beautiful eyes—deep brown rings that bleed into green centers—but right now they look like giant white marbles. Before I can ask her what’s wrong, I hear footsteps behind me. A bony set of ribs jabs into my back, lurching me forward. Vee lunges, pushing my guitar case out of the way. Under the weight of the monkey on my back, I slam into Vee. I try to land my hands to either side of her, but one of my elbows jabs into her ribs.
“Shit,” she yells. She’s pinned under me, the bottom of a three-person pileup.
I shake Anders off of me, pushing myself up to kneel beside her. “Shit. Are you okay?”
“What about me?” Anders is lying on the floor next to me, his eyes closed, laughing hysterically. He smells like beer and sweat—which he’s drenched in. Drumming is a full-body, cardio event for Anders.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Vee’s voice is shrill.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t—” I just look at Anders and shake my head.
She pushes herself onto her knees. “Steve, get your stuff. I’m taking you home.”
“No way are you driving my car again.” Steve shakes his head maniacally, his eyes half closed. Also drunk. “My transmission can’t handle it, Vee.”
“Should have thought of that before you got trashed here … again,” Vee says.
“I’ll drive it.” I basically just assaulted a girl I barely know, with my elbow. A girl I’ve sort-of, kind-of, but-not-really, been stalking. I have to do something to redeem myself. “I can drive a stick. Vee can follow me and bring me back to get my car?” I look to her for confirmation.