“Who would want those losers’ leftovers?” Jeremy asked. Jilly lunged at him.
Mikey G. appeared. “Problem?” He would have looked menacing if he wasn’t in the middle of eating one of his beloved WHEY OUT! protein bars. I thought WHEY OUT! smelled like glue. Mikey G. once offered me a piece of one, and it tasted like glue, too.
“She didn’t sign a confidentiality agreement.” Jilly pointed to Lola, who began to protest when Mikey G. gently took her by the arm. Jeremy didn’t protest when he saw Mikey G. charging Lola’s way.
“I’m not signing a confidentiality agreement!” she said stiffly, and that’s all Mikey G. had to hear before he led her out a side door and onto an Upper West Side sidewalk.
In the middle of the commotion, I saw Cody turn to Jilly. “Cool kicks,” he said quietly. I looked down at Jilly’s sneakers—one was pink and the other was white. They both had sparkly silver laces.
“Meep!” Jilly sounded like an alien. “I mean, you’re not allowed to like my shoes!” Then Jilly started coughing so hard I thought she was going to throw up. Cody walked away, and Mikey G. raised an eyebrow at me.
“Are you okay?” I asked her.
“I must be allergic to Cody’s cologne,” Jilly said.
“Or to Cody,” Mikey G. joked, and we both laughed.
“Did you fill out a confidentiality agreement?” she asked me stormily. We stopped laughing. “Everyone needs one. I already did mine.”
I was the tour manager’s daughter. Why would I need a confidentiality agreement? “Ummm…” Mikey G. was staring at me like he had Lola. “I’ll do it now. I would never do anything to hurt PS.”
I imagined myself in a courtroom signing the agreement in front of Perfect Storm and onlookers. An image of my journal lying in the recording studio flashed through my head. “At least not on purpose,” I added.
“What does that mean?” Mikey G. asked darkly.
“I think you need to tell Mikey G. what happened—or didn’t happen,” Jilly said. I protested. “Maybe he can help you keep it from happening—or not happening—again.”
Mikey G. took another bite of his bar. “I’m very confused.”
Jilly was right. Mikey G. was the best bodyguard I knew. Well, he was the only bodyguard I knew, but still! Maybe if I let him look after my journal when I wasn’t writing in it, I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone getting their hands on it again. If someone even got their hands on it in the first place, and… Oh, this was so confusing! I looked around the crowded area. Mom hurried by, calling out orders. People were shouting for equipment and craft services spreads. I couldn’t talk about this here. I pulled Jilly and Mikey G. out the side door he’d just pushed Lola through.
“If I tell you something, you have to swear on your love of all things PS that you will never breathe a word of this to another soul,” I said.
Mikey G. exhaled sharply. “You didn’t write another one of those poems asking the guys to a dance, did you?”
Once again my face felt like it was boiling. “How did you… NO! I did not write anyone a letter.” Jilly tried not to laugh.
Mikey G. took another bite of his WHEY OUT! bar. “Spill.”
Better to just blurt it out and get it over with. “I may have accidentally left my journal with Kyle’s lyrics for ‘The Story of a Girl’ in the recording studio.”
“YOU DID WHAT?” Mikey G. yelled. People walking by on the street gave us nervous glances.
“No one took it,” Jilly said quickly. “We don’t think.” Mikey G. raised an eyebrow. “Mac’s mom found the journal when she went back to grab something later.”
“At least someone was thinking,” Mikey G. said.
My eyes narrowed. “That horrible moment made me realize how valuable my journal is. I write in it almost every day about everything that happens on the road. If it fell into the wrong hands, people would know all kinds of secrets about the guys.”
“Maybe the best thing to do is to stop writing in your journal,” Jilly suggested.
“Stop writing?” I repeated in shock.
“She’s an artist,” Mikey G. explained to Jilly. “She lives to create.”
I felt myself get a little misty. Mikey G. got me. “Thanks. I always thought—”
He cut me off. “But it’s dumb to carry something that valuable around. If you were to lose it, it could be a disaster.”
“I know,” I said with a sigh. “What am I going to do?”
“Let me hold on to it,” he said, taking it from my hands before I had time to react. “When you want to write in it, I’ll give it to you.”
“Okay.” I looked longingly at the journal in Mikey G.’s hands. I was a little nervous knowing I wouldn’t always have it at my fingertips. What if Mikey G. read it? What if he left it out and Kyle read it? Or Heath? I’d never live it down! “But don’t read it,” I blurted out. “It’s private.”
“I know,” Mikey G. deadpanned. “I have no interest in reading it, and I don’t want anyone else reading it, either. That’s why I’m hiding it in my Life After Life DVD case.” He sized up my journal with his beefy hands. “No one will look in that thing.”
“That’s for sure,” Jilly said with a snort, and Mikey G. and I glared at her. “I mean, I like the show, but it’s not my favorite. Geez.”
As Kyle would say, Mikey G.’s hiding place was “brill.” “Thanks, Mikey G.”
His serious expression turned into a slow smile. Then he fist-bumped me. “Don’t worry. I’d do anything for the boys and you. I’ve got your back.”
Friday, June 17
LOCATION: Home after the disastrous Beacon Theatre show
Mikey G. may have had my back, but Mom seemed to think I did not have Perfect Storm’s tonight. I’m still fuming about the fight we just had. It ended with us slamming doors and not saying good night. And we always say good night!
Now I’m too wound up to fall asleep. Thank God Mikey G. gave me my journal back to write in. (“But you just put it in my trust!” he complained as he took it out of the Life After Life case and handed it to me backstage. I swore I’d have it back to him when we got on the tour bus tomorrow morning.)
We’re heading out on the Sizzling Summer Boys Tour tomorrow, and I haven’t even packed yet. That’s how mad I am. I could pinkie-swear Jeremy Callum screwed up tonight’s tour kickoff concert on purpose.
Here’s what happened: Obviously Perfect Storm is the bigger act, so Briggs said management agreed Thunder and Lightning would be the opener. They hoped the groups would do an encore performance together. But that seemed unlikely even before tonight’s disastrous performance.
After Jilly and I gave Mikey G. my journal, we headed backstage again, where Jeremy was throwing a rock star tantrum.
“Why does their set get to be longer than ours?” he bickered with Ronald. “This is a joint tour, and Perfect Storm is trying to hog the whole show!”
Jilly and I dived behind a giant speaker to hear more. I could see Jeremy perfectly. He had his guitar slung over his shoulder, and he was wearing a plain white tee and ripped jeans. It was very much an I’m too cool to care what I wear look, and I hated it. Cody had at least put in the effort with a black jacket, black jeans, and Converse.
“Jeremy,” Ronald said patiently, “you guys are the openers. You only have one single, and we had to fight to even keep that one. Take the gig and run with it.”
“I want six songs, not three,” Jeremy pouted.
“What a baby,” Jilly whispered to me.
“Maybe Ronald’s right,” Cody tried. “Let’s nail the three songs we’ve got and leave the stage with the fans wanting more.”
“They already do want more,” Jeremy said, and held out his phone as proof. “Look at this video Lola sent me of girls singing our song.” He pressed play, and I heard girls singing “The Story of a Girl.”
I wanted to scream. That was my song!
“Our Twitter followers doubled this week, and I’m sure it’s thanks t
o that Bad Kitty vlogger. People love T and L, and with Bad Kitty telling them how jealous Perfect Storm is of us, their days are numbered.”
That was it! I began to march out from my hiding place, but Jilly held me back.
“They’re not worth it,” she whispered. “At least Jeremy isn’t.”
“Thunder and Lightning on in five!” a roadie announced.
“You guys have to get out there,” Ronald said. “Make nice, stick to a fifteen-minute set, and we’ll ask for more time on the next stop. Okay?”
Jeremy didn’t answer, but Cody nodded. “Sounds good, Ron. Thank you.” He put an arm around his brooding brother, and they headed to the stage just as Heath flew by on his skateboard. He came to a stop right in front of Jilly and me.
“Spying on the enemy?” he asked with a grin.
“No,” I said, but I’m a terrible liar. My nose starts to twitch, and I begin to sneeze. It’s not attractive. “We were just—ACHOO!”
“Gesundheit!” Heath said. “And you’re lying. Just admit it. What did they say?”
“They want more time onstage,” Jilly said. “Jeremy was complaining that you guys are the headliners.”
Heath looked to the side of the stage where Jeremy and Cody had disappeared. “I hate that we’re going on the road with them.”
“It’s only for nine more shows,” I said. I had to keep reminding myself of that, too. I liked having PS all to myself on tour. I also liked not worrying every second of the day that someone was trying to steal my journal to ruin PS’s reputation.
“That’s more than half the summer,” Heath pointed out. “I can’t even—OUCH!”
A foam pellet hit him in the side of the head, and I heard giggling.
“Get out of here, rats,” Heath called. I saw his mischievous twin brothers, Tristan and Isaac, appear from behind a vending machine and a light-up PS sign that wasn’t being used tonight. I’d forgotten his little brothers had flown into New York for tonight’s kickoff show. “Briggsy will kill me if he knows you have those things backstage.”
“You gave them to us,” Tristan said. Or maybe it was Isaac. They were identical, and their shaggy brown hair would have matched Heath’s if his wasn’t dyed bright blue today.
“You said to aim at those guys.” The other twin pointed to Jeremy and Cody.
“Yes, and instead you’re aiming at me.” Heath whipped out a mini toy blaster. The three of them ran around in circles hitting each other with foam pellets while Jilly and I watched from outside the line of fire.
Zander stormed out of a dressing room with Kyle on his tail. “Would you guys keep it down?”
Kyle gave a little wave. I shyly waved back. We hadn’t had a lot of time to talk since his song was stolen. I felt like I should say something to him like “It wasn’t me! At least I think it wasn’t. Not on purpose!” But no matter how many times I rehearsed it, I couldn’t say the words.
“Kyle and I are trying to write an epic new single, and all this yelling is distracting us,” Zander fumed. One of the twins responded by hitting him in the chest with a foam arrow. “We don’t have time for games.”
“Sorry,” I said, looking directly at Kyle. Because I was. The last thing I’d ever want is to screw up things for him and the band. “We’ll keep it down.”
Jilly was less diplomatic. “You guys need to chill,” she said, taking a spin on Heath’s skateboard. “Aren’t you going on soon, anyway?”
I could faintly hear cheering from the audience, so I knew T and L’s set was still going. I looked at my watch. Huh? They’d gone way over their time limit already!
“We should be.” Zander frowned and walked over to the side of the stage. We all followed, including Heath’s brothers and Mikey G. That’s where we saw Briggs and my mom arguing with Ronald. Briggs and Mom walked away in a huff.
“I’m sorry, boys,” Mom told the guys when she saw us. “They were supposed to be off the stage ten minutes ago so that we can reset, but they keep playing all these cover songs!”
Jilly and I peeked around the curtain. Jeremy and Cody were running around the stage with their guitars, singing in unison. Annoyingly, they sounded pretty good, and the crowd was eating them up. “Want another one?” I heard Jeremy say when the cover they were singing ended. The crowd screamed their approval, and I spotted Lola Cummings, her bestie, and her babysitter in the front row. Lola held up her phone, recording the concert. I felt like steam was escaping out of my ears.
“They can’t do that,” Heath huffed. “We’re supposed to go on by nine, and we haven’t even set up yet. You have to pull them.”
“I’m trying!” Briggs sounded agitated. “Ronald can’t get their attention.”
“There are all these bloggers out there,” Mom added. “We don’t want to cause a scene.” Mom looked at me as if to say Help me. But help her how? I felt my pocket vibrate, and I pulled out my phone. Scarlet was group-texting me and Iris. Neither of them could make tonight’s show because they had the junior chorus concert (Mrs. Southers didn’t take too kindly to them asking to skip the concert to see PS).
SCARLET’S CELL: OMG, are T and L really still onstage? Bad Kitty is tweeting that the guys are so hot, no one wants PS to come on!!!!
IRIS’S CELL: T and L can’t cut into PS time! Why isn’t your mom doing something!!!??? PULL THEM OFFSTAGE!
“This is rubbish,” Kyle said. “They’ll never leave if we don’t make them.”
“I’ll have the lighting crew dim the stage or cut their mics,” Mom said, and gave us all a pointed look before rushing off. “Don’t do anything rash.”
I think that last remark was meant for me. I was a little insulted. When was I ever rash?
Zander groaned and held up his phone. “Did you guys see these tweets? Bad Kitty says: ‘Who wants PS when T and L are killing it? Hashtag PSGoHome.’”
“We have to do something,” Heath agreed.
Jeremy was playing his guitar close to our side of the stage. He winked at Heath. “Who wants to hear our hot single, ‘The Story of a Girl’?” Jeremy asked, and the crowd went wild as they began to play.
“Why, that little…” Zander ran for Jeremy, and Kyle held him back.
“He’s not worth it, mate,” Kyle said.
“Heath!” one of his twin brothers whined as I listened to the words I knew by heart. They didn’t sound the same with Jeremy and Cody singing them. “Let’s play more.”
“Later, buddy,” Heath said. His eyes were locked on the stage, where Cody was now heavy into a solo. “First, I have to deal with these guys. I can’t stand hearing them sing our song.”
“I’ll get ’em!” the other twin said, and before anyone could stop him, he took aim at Cody. A pellet whizzed past us and hit Cody in the back of the leg. No one in the audience seemed to notice, but Zander and Heath did. They looked at each other.
“Guys,” I heard Kyle say warningly.
“It would get them off the stage,” Zander said to Heath.
“It’s not like it’s going to hurt them,” Heath added.
“Piper said she’d take care of this,” Kyle tried as Heath took a blaster from one of the twins. Zander grabbed the other one.
“Ready, aim, fire!” Heath aimed at Jeremy’s guitar. Zander did the same.
The pellets hit Jeremy’s cheek and his guitar. He stopped singing for a second and turned toward our side of the stage to see what was going on. That’s when Heath shot a pellet right into his open mouth. “YES!” Heath high-fived his brothers.
Jeremy came storming toward us and shut off his mic. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Getting you off our stage,” Zander said.
Jeremy held out an ear to the audience. “Do you hear that? They’re chanting our name, not yours. I don’t think anyone wants us off that stage. We’re not leaving.”
“Get off now.” Heath shot another pellet at Cody, who was looking bewilderingly offstage.
“Make me.” Jeremy stole the blaster
from Zander and headed back out with it. He aimed at us.
“Incoming!” Jilly said, and we all dived for cover.
Heath fired back and looked at his brothers. “What else do you guys have with you tonight?”
“We have those bows and arrows Mom says will cause an eye injury,” one of the twins said hopefully.
“And two Star Wars blasters that shoot Silly String,” the other twin added.
“Get them!” Heath said. “And fast.”
The twins were back quickly, and within minutes we all had something. At least T and L wasn’t singing at this point. The band tried to keep going for a few minutes, but eventually they took cover. Jeremy slipped on an arrow and tripped, which made Heath roar as he rushed the stage. Soon the guys were chasing each other around in front of the audience. Jilly and I were cracking up.
Until we heard Mom.
“WHAT IS GOING ON?” Mom bellowed as an arrow whizzed past her ear. “Mackenzie Sabrina Lowell, I told you to keep an eye on them!”
“She did,” Jilly replied. “She hasn’t taken her eyes off them—while they battle.”
Mom’s walkie-talkie was going mad. I could hear different people yelling about the destruction of the set and the mess the boys were making. Heath pulled down a Thunder and Lightning sign, and Jeremy grabbed a PS prop from the other side of the stage and threw it into the audience. The audience seemed to think this was all part of the show, because they were still cheering wildly. (Louder, I might add, since PS got out there.) Things were quickly getting out of hand.
“Jillian Michelle, this is not funny!” Briggs said, running over a few seconds later. He got on one of the walkie-talkies. “Shut the show down. I don’t know for how long. Just shut it!”
“You’re shutting down the show?” I was flabbergasted. “PS didn’t go on yet!”