Famous in a Small Town(45)

He opened his mouth to speak, let out a breath instead, looked away, looked back. “I’m … sorry,” he said finally. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I wasn’t trying to.”

“Don’t give yourself so much credit,” I replied, and walked away. He didn’t stop me.

I stowed my bike in the garage and paused at the back door, squeezing my eyes shut against the prickle of tears. I thought about texting Ciara: This sucks, everything sucks, wanna call, wanna come visit.

I told myself she wouldn’t have experience in this kind of thing anyway. Ciara didn’t date until she got to college—not that this was dating, or anything close to dating. She met Ravi at their freshman orientation, and that was it.

I have met a very cute boy, Sophie.

The Very Cute Boy became her boyfriend.

I liked Ravi. We talked on the phone occasionally. His parents had moved from India to the US, and he was born in Maryland. He liked tabletop gaming and rock climbing, and he was always quoting depressing British sitcoms that he insisted were funny. He wanted to go to grad school like Ciara, to study biology.

Maybe Ravi had done stupid things in their relationship—I wouldn’t know. Maybe he and Ciara both had. But they were in a relationship, a real one, whereas August and I were nothing.

That much was clear.





thirty-four


That night I read a profile of Megan from a few years ago, just before her third album was set to release. It was one of the many I had sent to WWYSE over the last few weeks, to little result. I had almost resigned myself to the fact that no one was going to be as into the Megan Pleasant mission as I was, but it didn’t hurt to try.

I skimmed the description of the album, the facts about Megan and her start on America’s Next Country Star, to get to the meat of it.

Pleasant cites traveling and meeting new people as two of the best parts of being famous. “Being able to take care of my family a little, that’s really nice too.” Pleasant’s parents recently moved to Nashville, while her only brother, Connor, is a freshman at Indiana University.

As for the worst parts of fame, Pleasant is not short on thoughts: “Sometimes it feels like people expect you to be different. Like there’s this notion that you’re not a real person anymore. That you don’t like the same things you liked before, or even feel things the same way everyone else does. But I feel the same on the inside. I still want McDonald’s breakfast sometimes, you know? I still watch Friends reruns before bed. I still get nervous before a performance. I’m not different inside just because people know who I am. It still hurts if someone says I suck at singing. It still feels good when someone says that my music has helped them in some way.”

I mention the theory in physics that posits that by observing a phenomenon, you’ve inherently changed it. Does it not apply here? Pleasant doesn’t disagree. “I’m not saying it hasn’t changed me at all. Of course it has. I just mean, people think it makes you into something else. Something above—or below even, I don’t know—just something apart from everyone else. I’m different, yeah, but like the core of me and who I am and what I think and feel is the same as it was before. And I’ll be the same when all of this is over.”

It bears noting that Pleasant has often spoken in absolutes over the course of her career. ANCS was “the best possible introduction to the industry” she could have had. Her hometown of Acadia is “the best small town in the world, bar none.” Here, the absolute is marked—it’s not if this ends, it’s when all of this is over. As if it’s a certainty.

“My mom always says you have to know when to leave the party,” Pleasant says. But with two gold-certified albums, three CMA nominations, and a hint of Grammy buzz for Foundation under her belt, it seems like for Pleasant, the party continues. At least for now.





* * *



My phone dinged late that evening. A message from Brit, although it wasn’t in the chat.

Megan’s brother goes to IU, right?

Yeah, I replied. But how do you know that?

It was in one of those articles you sent us

You read them?

Don’t sound so shocked

She was trying to apologize, I think. For the thing at the party. I started to type a response but a string of messages popped up: I’ve got a lead

His friends are throwing a party in Bloomington on Saturday He’ll be there

Got all the details

I responded with a run of exclamation points.





thirty-five


It was about two hours to Bloomington from Acadia. I told my parents I was going to Brit’s, and that I’d probably sleep over. I felt bad lying, and told Brit so as we sat on her front steps, waiting for Dash. She had a duffel bag at her side.

“That’s good,” she replied.

“Why?”

“If you feel bad about it, it means you’re still a good person.”

“I don’t think it works like that.”

“No, it does. How can you know you’re a good person if you’re never tested?” She knocked her shoulder against mine. “We should all lie more often, just to make sure.”



* * *



Dash pulled up with August in the passenger’s seat.