Love Songs & Other Lies(9)
A few months ago, when Logan jokingly asked, “Wanna make out?” for the nine hundredth time, I figured why not? For a while it was great. It was casual and fun and comfortable. Until it wasn’t. There were no lines, no rules to follow. Sometimes he’d grab my hand in public, or try to kiss me when people were around. And other times he ignored me, and that bothered me too. Even though being Logan’s girlfriend was not what I wanted. I think about things too much to do the whole friends-with-benefits thing. I knew it had to end. To preserve my sanity and our friendship.
Push me, pull me, take me or leave me … the way I am, can’t be like them … the words buzz in my head, and I begin to hum a soft melody as I grab my notebook. Music takes over my mind the same way a fever takes over a body: in a hot, unexpected rush. One minute it’s quiet and the next there are words and notes and magic swirling around in me.
Logan looks at me like maybe I just changed my mind about the make-out session. “Song?”
I nod. I haven’t written a new song in months. Not one I could share, anyway. My thoughts have been wrapped up in the weirdness of our situation, the lyrics much too literal to put in front of the band—friends or not. Logan retrieves his guitar, sitting back down on a stool in front of me while I scribble. I pass him the first verse, and he starts plucking strings and putting it to music as I continue to let my feelings bleed out onto the paper, line after line. We write and hum and play, and hours later we have the beginnings of a song. I’ll let Logan finish it, but when I get home—in the privacy of my room—I’ll put the words to my own music. Just for me.
CHAPTER THREE
NOW
CAMERON
When Vee finally pries Logan’s arms off, she paces to the back of the sleeping area, throwing her bag on the bunk across from mine. The bunk farthest from the one I was sitting on when she arrived. I know why she did it. I can’t imagine she’ll be thrilled when she realizes that bunk wasn’t mine. She’ll be sleeping less than three feet away from me. For three months. This is either amazing news or the worst idea ever. I can’t decide, because my brain isn’t really processing anything beyond the fact that she’s actually here. And she looks like a different version of the girl I used to know. Her hair is still long, but wilder than it used to be, and a lot more blond than brown. But it’s not just the way she looks, it’s the way she feels. Like she’s off limits.
Logan is standing next to his bunk, across from Anders’s. “You going to bunk all the way back there, Vee?”
“I’ll see you guys all the time. A little space might be good.” Vee never looks at me as she speaks, but she sounds exactly like I remember. Like the recording on loop in my head. As I slowly approach the back of the bus, I wonder if she’ll completely flip when she realizes who her new bunk neighbor is. I duck my head and drop onto my bed, waiting for the shit storm to begin. Maybe I’m an idiot, but I’m strangely eager to get this over with. The sooner she yells and tells me how much she hates me, the sooner we can move on. To what, I’m not sure. I don’t even know if she hates me, like I suspect she does, or if she doesn’t think anything of me at all. Is there a chance we could actually be friends? Tucking my hands behind my head, I brace for her reaction. Maybe she’ll make one of the guys switch with her. Or insist that I move.
Instead, she unzips her bag and begins to pull out small stacks of books and journals, setting them in the tiny ledge that lines her bunk wall. When she’s finished she gives me a forced smile, pulls the blue curtain closed, and walks away without a word.
*
When Logan tracked me down six months ago at UCLA and invited me to join Your Future X, I knew I’d hear about Vee once in a while. Maybe I’d have to sing lyrics she wrote. I told myself I could do it—convinced myself it was just a stupid high school romance. That it felt so intense because it was first love, and it was new and exciting. It was nothing special; I was over her. I never expected I’d actually have to see her again. Let alone be on the same bus for twelve weeks. I know I shouldn’t be, but I’m surprised by how unsettling it’s been seeing her again. How confusing. I spent months thinking about how I could get her back, and another year dating girl after girl to convince myself she wasn’t that special. Why isn’t she in Chicago? I could ask her, but no matter what we’re doing or where we go, Vee has managed to avoid me, while still being right there.
I’ve endured two nights sleeping four feet away from her. Trying not to think about what it used to be like to kiss her. To touch her warm skin, sleep in the same bed. What she looked like lying on the beach at midnight in soaking wet clothes. Shit. This is going to be the longest twelve weeks of my life. Of course, twelve weeks is the dream. We don’t just have to beat eleven other bands to get to the finale, we have to pray the show doesn’t get cancelled between now and then. I overheard our tour bus driver on the phone with his wife, saying what a stupid idea this was. He figured he’d be home in a few weeks. God, I hope he’s wrong. Even just making it through a few rounds would take us to a whole new level. We’d be able to play bigger clubs, maybe go on our own tour. Not in a bus like this—hell, probably not in a bus at all—but even a van tour would be cool.
Vee has gone out of her way to greet every new band member—excuse me, every new guy—who has loaded onto this bus in the last two days. Everyone is nice to her. Of course they are. Everyone always loves Vee—that’s the norm. Whether she realizes it or not—which she doesn’t—something about Vee makes people comfortable. She’s like the human version of an anti-anxiety pill or something. We’re three days into the tour, making our way to Houston, and the only person she hasn’t gone out of her way to talk to is me. I’ve always pictured us hashing out our past in private, but Vee seems opposed to us having even ten seconds alone.