Ah-mazing.
She still only gives me two seconds to clean my teeth. As soon as she can drag me out of the wee lavatory, we’re out of the house and heading down the road—both of us still wearing the same clothes as yesterday.
I flip on the radio, curious to see if there are any reports about the show last night. Instead, though, they’re on it about another murder.
The woman’s nasal voice continues on: “That is the fourth teen killed in twelve months in and around the Fairfax County area, and a fifth teen is still missing.”
I’m completely unaware of anything wrong in the car until I hear a sniffle. I switch off the radio, leaving the news lady talking about law enforcement’s new measures to prevent more murders.
“What’s happened?” I ask, and my heartbeat stumbles when I notice the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Nothing.” She swallows hard and keeps her eyes trained ahead of her. “I’m just tired, and all that violence with the broken necks. It just sucks.”
Now I look away. My stomach clenches at her tears, much different than when over-excited fans cry over us. But I guess I understand her being quite emotional. I get so tired sometimes I’d like to cry.
Turning back to her, I give her shoulder a few rubs. “You should just bunk off and try for a kip, you know?”
She clears her throat then smiles with trembling lips. “Sometimes you need a translator, Julian.”
“Sorry. I mean stay home from school and get some sleep.” I almost suggest she come along to our interviews, but where’s the sleep in that?
Emilie leans down and wipes her cheek on her shoulder. The tear on this side is still there. I reach up and wipe it away with my thumb.
“Thanks.” She glances over at me and wrinkles her nose (ah, my stomach again). “When do you leave?”
“This afternoon.” I rub my tumbling stomach. “We have thirteen interviews to do, visit with the president and then we’re off. So you’re positive your parents will let you come see us in Los Angeles?” It wasn’t exactly hard to get her to agree to a visit last night—another sign she’s not so tight with her boyfriend. But I mind her dad’s mysterious words in her room earlier.
“Yup.” She shakes her head. “Why didn’t they make it twelve interviews? Sounds like they’re inviting chaos to me.”
“You’ll get to see my chaotic life soon, won’t you now? And I’m glad of it. I truly do like—I mean, get on with you.”
Oops.
“I’m talking about bad luck,” she says, but she doesn’t seem fussed about my almost confession.
Actually…her eyes are trained ahead of her while we’re waiting at a stop light. I look to where her gaze is pointed.
A sign. Travel in Pairs is in standard block print across a purple slip of paper stapled to the wooden post. I guess that’s the extra safety precaution the radio lady was talking about.
Is Emilie at risk? Of course the man is killing boys, but he could change his mind at any moment. And it’s all around this small area that it keeps happening. I wish she were going with me…on tour.
Ah, fash. It’s time to finally answer Doug’s texts. There’ve been eleven this morning.
I text him to meet me at the same side entrance we’ve been sneaking in and out of—the hotel’s gym. He rings me, but I’m not picking up.
“Is that your security people?” She nods toward my mobile then flips her blinker on. “They’re probably throwing a fit.”
A picture of a toddler throwing a tantrum comes to mind. “A massive fit.”
Emilie pulls up to the hotel a few minutes later.
“Over there beside that pair of dumb bins,” I tell her.
Once she stops the car, I drape an arm over her seat. “Thank you for ferrying me around.”
“You’re welcome. Uh, Julian?”
“Yeah.” Och! I roll my eyes at the sudden lack of vocabulary again. A wee smile curves her lips. I told her about my frustration last night. Aye, I told her everything last night. So much for not talking about myself.
“I really like your wish song,” she says. Her eyes meet mine, and I melt into the seat. “You’re a lot more talented than you give yourself credit for. If you weren’t a rockstar, you’d make a great poet.”
Clang. My shoulders tense up—I don’t have to look to know I’ve been found out. Either a fan or a pap is hiding between the dump bins.
“I’ll ring you,” I say and hug her. She weaves her arms around my waist, and it feels like a drum solo in my chest. I want a kiss! If I only had more time to work up to it… But with someone over there watching—not a good idea.
After kissing her cheek, I pull back for one last eyeful.
“Bye,” she says and looks away.
She doesn’t like someone looking at her very long, does she? I pop out and run to the glass door Doug is holding open. All the while, I hear scuffles coming from the dump bins.
Once inside, I turn to make sure Emilie doesn’t dawdle. If they get the chance, the paps will ask her a dozen questions. I wonder how long it’ll take for pictures of us hugging to get online.
I text her.
Jules: You might see your picture on news stories or something. People hiding at the dump bins but don’t know you so it’s fine. Have good day at school
Emilie: Thanks
Jules: Quit texting and driving
Emilie: At a stop sign!
The passageway carpet silences our steps, but Doug’s scowl is loud. I smile back. “Doug, I won’t make a thing about you not protecting us from the killer of teenage boys last night if you’ll leave me alone about my night.”
“Deal.” He looks down at me with a smile and shakes his ginger head. “But I’ll kill you myself if you sneak out again.”
We walk into the lift, and he presses the button for our floor. “Joe’s looking for you, Jules. You have little more than an hour to get ready.”
Magic. My assistant will welcome my story of last night. I shoot ahead of Doug once the lift opens and head to the one person who’ll listen about my night with as much excitement as I feel. Joe’s not so bothered about my safety, but he loves a good romance.
Chapter 5
I watch as, for the second time in less than ten minutes, Luke leaps up to snatch a beanie out of the air. Parker laughs, Kasen tries to pay attention to the radio host, and I try my best to ignore their larking around and the question that was just asked since my answer has been the same for a year. Luke is like a dog—anything thrown around him and he has to try to catch it. Nevermind it makes him look like a complete nutter. It’s the maddest practice to have when performing a concert and girls’ underthings are thrown at us. Maybe Luke does it because of all the basketball he plays some nights in hotel gyms. And off the backs of bedroom doors.
“What about you?” The radio host tucks her blonde hair behind her ear and smiles at me.
“What I prefer is brown hair, lovely blue eyes…just a beautiful face.” It’s supposed to be a more generic answer and not based on appearance, but I just want to describe Emilie.
Kasen elbows me, and I glance over. His black eyes are intense on me. Yeah, I know I’m digging a grave. “Aye, and someone with good self-belief, you know.”
Kasen smiles at me, seemingly happy that I hit on at least one trait that isn’t about appearance. He turns to the mic dangling in front of him. “He means self-esteem.”
“The brogue is back,” Parker says, shooting me a grin. He turns back to the mic. “Uh…what I like in a girl is kinda what Jules said. Someone I can get on with.”
“And she’s fit,” Luke says.
Parker squeezes his eyes shut and smiles. “And fit.”
Ha, looks like everyone is willing to stir up trouble today.
While both of them try to ward off a new fit of laughs, my mobile vibrates in my pocket. I lean up off my stool and ease it out. Keeping it as low as possible, I quickly glance at the screen. Emilie’s ringing me. I look around in a panic. N
ow I know how the other boys feel when they have girlfriends. I could make a trip to the loo. Taking a deep breath, I put my mobile phone away. It’s fine. I’ll call her back as soon as this is over. Which is?
I swivel my hand in front of Kasen and tap my wrist. “How much longer?” I ask out the side of my mouth.
“Fifteen,” he whispers. In-the-station interviews are always longer. And there’s one more after this. Normally I like these better—more time in between. Less herding to the next interviewer, the next set of questions. Robotic farm animals.
And now I’ve missed the lady’s question.
“The best thing,” Luke says, “is our fans. The worst thing is missing our families.”
The lady perks up. “But, Kasen, your little sister went on tour with you a little while, didn’t she?”
Kasen answers just as my pocket vibrates once—a text. No, two texts.
Emilie: Way to make my life miserable. There are pics from last night and this morning. Then you describe me on the radio! Why would you do that?
Emilie: Everyone at school is listening on their phones.
Fash! Caught on the hop.
What do I do? This is… Wait. Pictures from last night too? Who? Oh, my God! We had on the same clothes. The pictures are probably being compared side-by-side this very moment. Gah, I just had to give her that cuddle before leaving her this morning.
Fear pummels every one of my nerve endings.
Kasen elbows me. “What?” he whispers.
She’s going to be more than just miserable. I show him the text, already thinking of a thousand explanations to give fans—the ones who might react terribly. How disciplined is her school? What if she isn’t safe?
Kasen shakes his head and whispers, “Why did you describe her?”
I can’t stand it anymore. I walk out of the room and right into the hard chest belonging to Doug. Thick muscular arms come around to hold me steady.
“We need to go,” I say. “There’s pictures from last night and this morning.”
He doesn’t say anything to me, only starts ringing someone. Putting his mobile to his ear, he shakes his ginger head at me and rolls his eyes. Oh, get off it! Every one of the boys has gotten into a pinch apart from me. Until now.
He mumbles into the phone while I text Emilie back.
Jules: You need to leave school quickly.
Emilie: Um no. I have SGA meeting.
Jules: Bunk off.
Emilie: You bunk off!
Language, Jules. She speaks American.
Doug puts his mobile against my ear, and I crook my neck to hold it there.
“Get on Twitter or Tumblr—wherever you have the most followers,” comes a shrill voice. Whoa, Doug has pulled out the big guns. “Tell them that this girl is the winner of a radio interview,” Lauren Holt, our producer, screeches into my ear. “And do it quick.”
“I did have a radio interview winner, and they videoed it. Emilie looks nothing like her.”
“Who’s your assistant? Joe?” Lauren answers her own question. “Get him to pull the video.”
Is she listening to anything I’m saying, or what? “It’s a radio station. They only edit for swearwords, and I didn’t swear. They probably had it up ten minutes after we wrapped last night.”
She breathes into the phone. “And what is this Emilie saying about all this?”
My phone lights up and vibrates.
Emilie: This is crazy! What did you do to me?
“She’s flipping out, you know.” I sigh and then mumble, “I like her.”
“Like her?” Lauren shouts. “Do I have to remind you how badly they harassed Parker’s last girlfriend? She broke up with him, Julian, broke up with a famous musician because the band’s female fans hated her so much. Oh, God. Look at these pictures. You both have on the same clothes as the night before. Did you sleep with her? How old is she? Is she with you now?”
“She’s not of age.” In America she isn’t. I cringe, knowing I’m pure about to get telt. If any of us boys get involved, it’s only supposed to be with over-eighteens. This way we’re not liable, no lawsuits. “But we didn’t have—her father knows we were together all night and is okay with it.”
Well, that’s a wee stretch, but…yeah.
“Where! Is! She! At!” Lauren likes shouting.
“School,” I answer while texting Emilie back. “I think it’s getting bad there.”
Jules: I’m very very sorry. You all right?
While I’m waiting for her reply, and Lauren to shout at me some more, I search my name online. Och, there’s the picture of me kissing her cheek this morning, except from this angle it doesn’t look quite as innocent.
Julian McLane Making Out With His New Fling is the headline.
“Okay, Julian. Get back to your interview. Try to smooth things over. Use your training. I’m sending part of the security team to get the girl—”
“She’s called Emilie Gold.”
“I know who she is! I’m looking at her feed right now. Damn, it’s not good. Get online. Say she’s your stylist’s daughter or something. Security will take her to her parents and sort things.”
Ugh. Most of our fans are magic, but some can get quite intense. “What are they doing? They’re talking rot, aren’t they?”
“They’re calling her a slut.” She rings off.
My chest burns and the fire drops to my stomach.
Emilie: OMG do something. I’m hiding.
I hand Doug’s silent mobile back to him. He pushes his in-ear tighter and listens. After a curt nod to me, he addresses the three guards who are lining the narrow passageway, “Come, we have a situation.”
They head toward us. Their slicked-back dark hair gleams under the fluorescent lights, except for Gregory’s whose hair is almost white. Doug rests a massive hand on my shoulder but keeps his eyes on the approaching men. “Son, you’ve stepped into a bear-trap this time. Keep your head, though. We’ll get it sorted.”
While Doug fills them in on their purpose, I slide back into the sound room. It’s the perfect timing too. The host is crying he’s laughing so hard at something either Luke or Parker just said. “Where do you come up…?” The host turns and tugs a tissue from the table behind him.
“Trouble,” I whisper to Kasen. “Tell listeners that the girl people saw me with is our lyricist and that’s all. Give no other details.”
“I know the drill,” he says. “Got your back, bro.”
But I’m out the door again with no time to respond.
Once in the passageway again, I spot the muscled backs of the three guards, black t-shirts and brown cargo pants walking away from me. Doug grabs my arm when I attempt to follow. “Julian, you need to finish this interview.”
He lets me jerk my arm away—lets me because he’s twice as big as me. “I can’t. I did this to her. I’m going to fix it.”
With that I turn again and he doesn’t follow. He can’t; the other boys need Doug at the room’s entrance. He swears up a storm, but I continue following Gregs and the others.
I ring Emilie as we step into the lift.
“I told you thirteen was unlucky,” she says by way of greeting.
It won’t help to tell her that I didn’t quite make it through the twelfth interview. She’s a little stubborn and a lot superstitious. “I’m coming to get you, hen.”
“No, they’ll mob you too.” Her voice shakes. “Hold on. Did you just call me a chicken?”
“I’m bringing security.” I look around at the big guys surrounding me in the tiny lift. They all scowl back. “Emilie, where are you exactly?”
“I’m in the smallest closet ever,” she says and gasps. One of the many things I learned during our all-nighter: she’s claustrophobic. “Please hurry.”
“You’re going to be fine.” I sound much more positive than I feel. What I’d like to do is tear someone’s hair out for scaring Emilie. “It’s just four totally innocent walls that aren’t going anywhere.”
br /> She half-way laughs. “Don’t call them innocent. They’re evil. But at least there was one of those hook thingies to lock it. These people would have come in after me already.”
It’s best to keep her on this bantering track.
“I don’t know what the big deal is. The big spaces are what you should be witless about,” I say and step out of the lift. Gregory stretches his arm out in front of me and won’t let me pass. I whisper, “I will be going with you. Leave it be.”
“Huh?” she says.
“Nothing.” All three guards glare at me when I file into the passageway with them. “Open places are scarier. Me and the lads were deadly bored after rehearsing at an arena one time, so we played lights-out hide and seek. I was looking for them, going through random doors. I nearly weed my pants when I ran right onto the empty stage. This huge empty building…the silence was so loud.”
“Loud silence?” she asks, and there’s a bit of shuffling. “I’m shaking s-s-so hard.”
I answer quickly, “There’s never pure silence. Just a deadly hum.”
Then I hear a buzz coming through my speaker and a voice droning out words that sound like a foreign language.
“What’s that?” I ask while we load up into the Sprinter van.
“It’s Principal Childree.” I have to strain to hear her; the guards are arguing about the best route to take. We’ve only just left the car park. “Julian, he’s telling everyone to clear out of the cafeteria.”
Thank you, Principal. At least someone is trying to take charge. “The cafeteria, aye?”
“Yes…you know, where we eat.”
Of course I know what she means—I’m just trying to keep her mind off. “You mean the canteen?”
“Cafeteria.”
I love her stubbornness.
“But they aren’t going away, Julian. Are you close? Wait, the office won’t let me go with you. I need to call my dad.” She lets of some gibberish that I can’t understand, though some of it sounds like fused cursedwords. “Really? This is happening. Damn, he’s gonna freak. I’ll call you back.”