Open Road Summer(11)

They became a couple at age twelve—a puppy love that turned into something more over the years, something solid and real. Falling in love with Jimmy boosted Dee’s songwriting to another level. She and her mom recorded a few songs, and the record labels went nuts. Then, before high school, Dee grew into her body. She got her braces off and learned how to tame her hair. This transformation gave her enough confidence to get up onstage and sing.

There are thousands of guys who’d duke it out for a single date with Dee. But all she wants is her cowboy—the same boy who rides horses, helps his family with their business, and always gave her homemade valentines. The boy who loves her too much to keep her.

“Oh, Reagan,” she says, sighing. “I just don’t know what to do.”

I climb under the covers of the king-size bed we share. The record label offered to find me a separate room for our hotel stays during the tour, but we declined. I’m here because she needs me here and because I need to not be alone.

“I wish I could go back to yesterday, before the world knew about Jimmy,” Dee whispers. “He’s a part of my life that I never wanted them to have.”

“I know. But they’ll forget it soon enough.”

“Yeah. But I won’t.” She’s going to cry again. When I reach for another tissue, she whispers, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m still crying.”

“Are you kidding me?” I pass her the tissue. “If I were you, I would have had an all-out diva fit. I would have broken lamps, and, let’s be honest, probably wound up in jail somehow.”

This gets a small smile.

“You wait.” I’m pillaging my brain for a convincingly positive outlook. “By August, we’ll look back on this and think, ‘Oh yeah—remember that? That sucked.’ And that will be the end of it. One bad memory in a whole summer of good ones.”

“You’re a really good liar, so I’m not sure if I believe you,” she says, and a laugh breaks through. “But I want to.”

We lie in the quiet for a while, Dee staring into nowhere. When her eyes finally close, there’s such heaviness to them—like they should click shut with the weight of a door. I turn off the lamp and stare up at the ceiling, settling my head against the starched hotel pillow. I use my good arm to pull the comforter so that it covers Dee to her shoulders. The girl on the magazine covers looks so small and helpless, curled up with a crumpled tissue still in her palm. A thought hits me like a pang, as it occasionally does—where would I even be without her? I’ve taken so many side roads and built so many walls that I created my own labyrinth, trapping myself inside. When things went too far in April, and even I knew it, Dee pulled me out and directed me straight into her world. She’s letting me hide, sliding her life over mine.

I owe Dee for so much, for the pinkie links and kindnesses and phone calls and bail-outs. This is the currency of friendship, traded over years and miles, and I hope it’s an even exchange someday. For now, I do what all best friends do when there’s nothing left to say. We lie together in the darkness, shoulder to shoulder, and wait for the worst to be over.





Chapter Four

Charlotte to Richmond


Dee didn’t sleep well last night. Though her mumblings were nonsense, she sounded troubled. Her restless movements jostled me from sleep, which is one of many detriments to bunking with another person. Still, I can’t fall asleep next to anyone but her.

So far, this morning has been a special kind of hell. Dee woke up, realized that the photo leak wasn’t a bad dream, and started crying all over again. We wait in the suite area of the hotel room until Dee’s publicist bustles in, looking prepped for scandal damage control. Dee sits on the couch, stony-faced, with her arms folded tightly over her chest. Peach greets Lissa, then goes back to toying with the ends of her hair, while I attempt to drown myself in hotel coffee. I’m still two cups away from being caffeinated enough to summon language—not that my opinion will matter in this forum.

The first time I met Lissa, she reached one hand out to shake mine while using the other to grab a nondisclosure contract. Next thing I knew, there were several pages of legal text in front of me, much to Dee’s mortification. She reached her hand over mine to keep me from signing, all the while explaining to Lissa that she trusts me completely. Lissa looked like she felt sorry for her, like she’d seen too many starlets sold out by their best friends. I scratched my signature onto the page before Dee could stop me. Legal document or not, I’d never sell her out.

Now, Lissa wears the same pitying expression on her otherwise inexpressive face and a skirt suit that is the sartorial equivalent of a stern talking-to. Standing in front of us in the hotel suite, she clasps her hands like she’s about to begin a formal presentation.

“Obviously, we have a situation here,” she begins.

This complete understatement gets an eye roll from me. I hate her pandering, brusque tone, as usual.

“The Muddy Water management team had an emergency conference call late last night,” Lissa says, folding her hands primly in front of her, “and we all agree that the key here is going to be reputation rebuilding.”

I make a snorting noise to convey the ridiculousness of Dee having a bad reputation.

“While we will likely pursue some course of action in regard to damages, the fact remains: the picture is out there, and we have to direct attention away from it. Although I will note that in the past twenty-four hours, your name has been searched for online more than it ever has been before. As they say, no press is bad press.”