Like my little ducklings, they jump up. For the rest of the night, we sit around and watch reruns of motorsports and pig out.
Something new we’re doing for this tour is the meet and greets after sound check and before the actual concert. Our fans had the option of purchasing VIP tickets. There was only a limited amount of tickets available to the public, so whoever was able to snatch them up was lucky.
We take pictures with the fans, answer their questions, and sing three songs before going backstage to prepare for the show. Initially, I thought this would make me exhausted, but connecting with our ride-or-die fans reminds me why Iusedto love stepping on that stage.
Amelia pulls out a piece of paper from a bowl that holds questions from our VIP fans and reads it aloud. “Do you have any preshow rituals or lucky charms?”
Amelia crosses her legs and folds up the paper. “Speaking for myself and not my brothers, rituals are so important to me before doing a show. Touring can be physically and mentally exhausting. That’s why I stay offline and present while I’m not onstage. I meditate and get ready in a specific order. That’s a must for me.”
“I never take off my rings.” Leonidas shows the small crowd the silver rings that shine on his slender, tattooed fingers. “I’ve never taken them off, so I’m scared what could happen if I do.”
The crowd laughs.
“Elijah, do you have any preshow rituals or lucky charms?” Amelia asks.
Tilting my head to my shoulder, I think. “I can’t think of any lucky charms I may have. But I find having a routine while touring is very important. It helps me have a clear mind, which can feel impossible while constantly on the move.”
Amelia rushes to pull out another slip of paper from the plastic bowl. “Next question is …if you weren’t a singer, what would you be doing?This is such a good question. Leonidas, do you want to answer first? I need a second to think.”
Taking her cue, he muses, “I think I’d be a hockey player.”
The fans ooh and aah, definitely picturing him in hockey gear.
“Growing up, I never watched hockey, but my girlfriend is Canadian, and since the sport is practically a religion there, she made me get into it. Now I’m just as obsessed as any other Canadian. So, I would like to say I would be a player, but getting checked into the boards doesn’t seem like a fun time.”
I let out a booming laugh. “I would pay for front-row tickets to see that. If I wasn’t a singer, what would I be doing?” I ponder my answer. “When I was younger, I wanted to be a bus driver. I thought that was so fucking cool—I still do.”
Amelia cracks up and slaps my knee.
“I think I would look sick in a firefighter uniform though …” I trail off, looking at my siblings because I don’t have anything else to say.
“I could picture you saving cats from trees.” Amelia winks at the crowd, and they all cheer. “I would like to be an entrepreneur. Creating my own makeup line is an absolute dream of mine.”
“Do it!”
“I would go bankrupt.”
All I can see are people’s arms jumping up, flailing in the air.
With pursed lips, my sister extends the bowl full of questions to me. “Maybe one day. Nothing is ever impossible … remember that,” she points out in a motherly tone.
I will my fingers to stop the slight shake as I grasp a piece of paper. My face goes blank as I read the question. The writing is messy and sloppy.
What the fuck?
A team meeting is needed after this because these questions should always be reviewed before we get them. Now I’m sitting here, flabbergasted, trying to find a way around this question without giving anything away.
Seeing that my face has turned white, my brother and sister give me questionable looks, urging me to saysomething. Don’t they get it? I don’t want to bring Lily into this life because I know how it feels for your life to not be your own anymore.
Who’s the girl with the black hair? She looks a little too comfortable for someone who just showed up. What’s her story?
I see red. Is steam coming out of my ears?
I hold back the urge to find the person who asked this and shake them.
“Noticed a new edition to the group. Who is the girl with the black hair?” I simplify the question and give the audience—specifically for the person who asked this—a stern look. “She’s a staff member,” I say, but what I really want to say is,Fuck off.
I can see the uncomfortable gulp that travels down Amelia’s delicate throat.
