Drive(7)

“You planning on joining us?”

“Nope.” I turned the page, though I hadn’t read a word. “As of today, I’m done with being gender social, especially with the musical kind.”

“I wasn’t hitting on you.” My face burned slightly as I again peered over my magazine. He towered over me, and I squirmed a little under inquisitive hazel eyes, more on the green side than brown. He’d been blessed with a broad, Roman nose, and beautifully sculpted jaw. The darkened skin of the arm that wasn’t bandaged told me he’d been in the sun all summer. His hair had dried and shortened into onyx pieces that worked together to form the perfect, silky mess. He was heavily inked with a thick black band around the wrist I could see and solid and distinct patterns of tats that disappeared at his bicep under his T-shirt. Though he wore a white smile, he was dark from the tip of his head down to his black boots. He oozed confidence and had no issue staring me down to the point I felt completely uncomfortable.

Though my pride had just taken a lashing, I met his eyes with a dead stare. “I didn’t think you were hitting on me.”

“You totally thought I was,” he said as a dimple peeked out next to his bottom lip behind the stubble on his face. “But don’t worry, little sister,” he said with sarcastic assurance, “you’re safe.”

I rolled my eyes and looked back down at the Spin that covered my thighs.

Seconds later, the door slid closed. Minutes after that, I looked back out at the patio to see him conversing with Paige, positive she was telling Reid exactly why I was no longer dating musicians.

“Fuck you very much, Paige,” I sighed out as Reid again glanced back at me, his dark eyes covering me in mild indifference.

“Well, thank God I’m safe,” I said sarcastically as he watched me mouth the words. Slowly, a new smile appeared, one that told me he knew exactly what I’d said.





Word Up

Cameo



“Stella, go, baby, go!”

Mom?

Dazed from my afternoon nap, I looked around my sister’s empty bedroom. I’d woken up restless that morning after another night on her quicksand couch and I’d exhausted my list of things to do. Again, I cleaned her spotless, one-bedroom apartment that, at that point, could’ve passed a white glove inspection. On my laptop, I’d filled out twenty applications and watched four hours of reruns of VH1’s Behind the Music—my proverbial bible and the starting point of my obsession with the behind the scenes life of musicians. I loved the stories about those with the hardest struggles and their epic turning points.

With both Neil and Paige at work, I was forced to pace the complex in the nightmarish Texas heat outside the door until I found myself exhausted. I’d opted for a few hours on her mattress rather than the couch that swallowed me whole, so that I actually slept inside of it rather than on.

“Look at her go!” My mother’s voice was unmistakable as I shot up from bed, utterly confused. I could clearly hear my parents in my sister’s living room. When I emerged in a sleepy stupor, I was surprised to see Mom and Dad weren’t there. Instead, Paige sat on her couch laughing, with Reid next to her doing the same. Both their eyes were fixed on the TV.

“She’s got rhythm, that’s for sure!” my mother cooed with pride as realization dawned. Reid was the first to notice me standing in the hallway, and his eyes rolled over me before they moved back to the screen. I followed his stare and leapt toward my sister, who had the remote in her hands.

“Paige, what are you doing?”

“Your birthday video came,” she said, amused at my discomfort.

“I can see that,” I said through gritted teeth. “Why did you open it? Not cool.”

“God, you were cute,” she said, ignoring me as she lifted her chin toward the home movie. All eyes in the living room were on a miniature me, jamming on the kitchen floor of my parents’ house. I was sitting in a diaper, flailing chubby arms, and rocking away while Cameo’s “Word Up” blared through the surround sound Neil had just installed.

“My boo bear,” I heard my father chuckle. “Look at her go. She can really move.”

“Boo bear?” Reid asked.

I opened my mouth with something other than an answer, but Paige beat me to the punch. “She had no hair until she was two. And what she did have stood straight up on the top of her head. See?” Paige pointed at the screen. “Cute, right? She was rocking a mohawk before anyone else!” Paige nudged Reid before they both looked at me with matching grins.

Ignoring them, I got lost in the movie, watching as my parents fawned all over the fat, mostly bald toddler on the floor of their kitchen. My mother was drenched in youth as she kneeled on the tile, setting a large pot in front of me, along with a wooden spoon. She tapped it twice with the utensil before she handed it to me. Her dark hair flowed past her shoulders, and I felt the nostalgia punch when I noticed the dress she had on. It was stark white and laced with purple flowers. It still hung in her closet, yellowed and forgotten. Still, on screen, she was breathtaking as she urged me to hit the pot with the wooden spoon. Greedily, I took it from her and began to pound. No longer interested in Paige or Reid’s reaction, and camped in the solitary chair next to the TV, I watched my first attempt at being a musician, just as Paige took another jab.