Love Songs & Other Lies(23)
“Right.” Her eyes seem wild and on fire. A smile slowly pulls at the corners of her mouth. “Could you actually drop me somewhere else?”
I can still feel my heart pounding in my chest. “Sure. Where to?”
“The beach? It’s right down the street.” She looks away from me, her eyes fixed on the window. “But you already know that.”
I can’t help but smile. “I do.”
“I worked at the beach this summer and I saw you there. A lot. Hard not to notice someone on a stupid surfboard for that long every day.” She’s saying it like an apology, but I think I love that she remembers me.
“Hey, surfboards aren’t stupid. Lucy will be devastated by your lack of respect.”
“My apologies to Lucy. It’s not her, it’s just that trying to surf on a lake is stupid.”
I laugh. I figured out how stupid lake surfing was a long time ago. “What’s going on at the beach?” It’s already after midnight. She doesn’t seem like the type to light up in the dunes with the stoners. On really still nights, the sounds of their guitars and bongos float into the open windows of my apartment.
“I actually go there most nights. I guess it’s turned into a bad habit; I can’t fall asleep anymore without sitting there for a few hours, listening to the waves.”
“I totally get that.”
15 minutes later …
Cam:
How’s the beach?
Vee:
The usual. Sand. Water. Someone rocking the bongo.
And crazy waves
You’d probably like that
Cam:
I’ve been thinking about what you said
Vee:
About? I was sort of ranty tonight
Sorry about that
Is rant-y even a word?
Cam:
Gig clothes
Mine=horrible. You won’t approve.
Vee:
Uh oh
Cam:
Road trip tomorrow?
Vee:
Seriously?
Where to?
We have school
Cam:
After school. I’m not a delinquent
Wait. Are you?
Vee:
You’re a funny guy, Cam
Cam:
Finally someone notices
Vee:
No one can notice if you don’t talk
Really tho, where?
Cam:
I was thinking the mall
Vee:
Supposed to help Anders with his history paper
Cam:
You could be my personal shopper
Vee:
You know exactly what a girl wants to hear
Cam:
You can drive my car
Vee:
Tempting …
Cam:
Full music control. Final offer.
Can you really say no?
I thought we were saying yes these days
Vee:
Ok fine. YES
See you in the morning
And after school
CHAPTER SEVEN
NOW
VIRGINIA
Back when I thought I was coming on this tour as an intern—not as a pseudo-girlfriend slash band cheerleader—I decided it didn’t make sense to lug my guitar onto a cramped bus. I would be too busy to play much, anyway. Instead, I have no real job to speak of, aside from taking photos, writing band bios, and posting articles about life on the road. In the mornings most of the guys are still dead to the world, busy sleeping off their hangovers from the night before. It’s the perfect time to work on my own music. At least until I can figure out how to win Jenn over and get more involved with promoting the band.
Logan’s acoustic guitar has become an almost permanent fixture on my lap, and the small leather banquette in the kitchen area has an imprint of my butt. On a bus full of guys, it turns out the kitchen is the easiest place to hide. Stereotypical, but true. There’s only seating for two, and it makes a great hiding spot. Not to mention, the female fans who sometimes accumulate on the bus aren’t exactly Susie Homemakers, looking to bake their one-night guy a batch of brownies. If they were smart, they would. Last week, I figured out how to make Rice Krispies treats in the microwave, and received several marriage proposals. These guys are all about food that doesn’t come in a foil wrapper or paper bag.
The only person who ever infringes on my hiding spot in the kitchen is Tad. He and his camera have become something of my shadow. It doesn’t matter what mundane thing I’m doing—burning a bag of popcorn and filling the bus with smoke, working on the band’s website, unsuccessfully writing new songs, watching TV with the guys—he’s always filming it. Why? I have no idea. Of all of the things happening on this bus, I am far from the most interesting.
For the most part, though, we’ve all gotten used to the cameras. It actually reminds me of being at the nursing home with Nonni. There are always other residents around—playing games, reading books, lounging in the community spaces—but to Nonni, everyone seems to fade into the background. Everyone has an unspoken understanding that they exist in their own bubble. And the cameras have become the same; I hardly even notice them anymore. I don’t usually sing on the bus, but I’m up unusually early, and everyone is still asleep, so I just finished playing one of my favorites. It’s a song I wrote a few years ago called “Catastrophic Love.”