I nod. I haven’t written a new song in months. Not one I could share, anyway. My thoughts have been wrapped up in the weirdness of our situation, the lyrics much too literal to put in front of the band—friends or not. Logan retrieves his guitar, sitting back down on a stool in front of me while I scribble. I pass him the first verse, and he starts plucking strings and putting it to music as I continue to let my feelings bleed out onto the paper, line after line. We write and hum and play, and hours later we have the beginnings of a song. I’ll let Logan finish it, but when I get home—in the privacy of my room—I’ll put the words to my own music. Just for me.
CHAPTER THREE
NOW
CAMERON
When Vee finally pries Logan’s arms off, she paces to the back of the sleeping area, throwing her bag on the bunk across from mine. The bunk farthest from the one I was sitting on when she arrived. I know why she did it. I can’t imagine she’ll be thrilled when she realizesthatbunk wasn’t mine. She’ll be sleeping less than three feet away from me. For three months. This is either amazing news or the worst idea ever. I can’t decide, because my brain isn’t really processing anything beyond the fact that she’s actually here. And she looks like a different version of the girl I used to know. Her hair is still long, but wilder than it used to be, and a lot more blond than brown. But it’s not just the way she looks, it’s the way she feels. Like she’s off limits.
Logan is standing next to his bunk, across from Anders’s. “You going to bunk all the way back there, Vee?”
“I’ll see you guys all the time. A little space might be good.” Vee never looks at me as she speaks, but she sounds exactly like I remember. Like the recording on loop in my head. As I slowly approach the back of the bus, I wonder if she’ll completely flip when she realizes who her new bunk neighbor is. I duck my headand drop onto my bed, waiting for the shit storm to begin. Maybe I’m an idiot, but I’m strangely eager to get this over with. The sooner she yells and tells me how much she hates me, the sooner we can move on. To what, I’m not sure. I don’t even know if she hates me, like I suspect she does, or if she doesn’t think anything of me at all.Is there a chance we could actually be friends?Tucking my hands behind my head, I brace for her reaction. Maybe she’ll make one of the guys switch with her. Or insist that I move.
Instead, she unzips her bag and begins to pull out small stacks of books and journals, setting them in the tiny ledge that lines her bunk wall. When she’s finished she gives me a forced smile, pulls the blue curtain closed, and walks away without a word.
***
When Logan tracked me down six months ago at UCLA and invited me to join Your Future X, I knew I’d hear about Vee once in a while. Maybe I’d have to sing lyrics she wrote. I told myself I could do it—convinced myself it was just a stupid high school romance. That it felt so intense because it was first love, and it was new and exciting. It was nothing special; I was over her. I never expected I’d actually have to see her again. Let alone be on the same bus for twelve weeks. I know I shouldn’t be, but I’m surprised by how unsettling it’s been seeing her again. How confusing. I spent months thinking about how I could get her back, and another year dating girl after girl to convince myself she wasn’t that special.Why isn’t she in Chicago?I could ask her, but no matter what we’re doing or where we go, Vee has managed to avoid me, while still being right there.
I’ve endured two nights sleeping four feet away from her. Trying not to think about what it used to be like to kiss her. To touch her warm skin, sleep in the same bed. What she looked like lying on the beach at midnight in soaking wet clothes.Shit.This is going to be the longest twelve weeks of my life. Of course, twelve weeks is the dream. We don’t just have to beat eleven other bands to get to the finale, we have to pray the show doesn’t get cancelled between now and then. I overheard our tour bus driver on the phone with his wife, saying what a stupid idea this was. He figured he’d be home in a few weeks. God, I hope he’s wrong. Even just making it through a few rounds would take us to a whole new level. We’d be able to play bigger clubs, maybe go on our own tour. Not in a bus like this—hell, probably not in a bus at all—but even a van tour would be cool.
Vee has gone out of her way to greet every new band member—excuse me, every newguy—who has loaded onto this bus in the last two days. Everyone is nice to her. Of course they are. Everyone always loves Vee—that’s the norm. Whether she realizes it or not—which she doesn’t—something about Vee makes people comfortable. She’s like the human version of an anti-anxiety pill or something. We’re three days into the tour, making our way to Houston, and the only person she hasn’t gone out of her way to talk to is me. I’ve always pictured us hashing out our past in private, but Vee seems opposed to us having even ten seconds alone.
At a pit stop in Fort Worth, I finally decide that I may never get her alone. I just have to go for it. One way or another, we need to push past this, so I can focus on what I came here for. I’m sitting two seats down from her, squeezed between Logan and a red tiled wall. We’re in a tiny truck stop diner grabbing dinner at ten o’clock. It turns out that music tours have very little regard for normal meal times. We’re all getting used to stocking up on food at rest stops and gas stations, cooking half-assed “meals” in the bus’s tiny kitchenette, and grabbing real food when the buses stop once a day. Thankfully bus drivers have to eat too.
Across from me, Anders is wedged between Reese and our bus mate Pax, the lead singer of Caustic Underground. A foldedgas station map is laid out in front of them and Pax is using a thick red Sharpie to trace the path of the tour. Through the South, then up to Nashville, looping through New York before traversing the Midwest, and finally landing back on the West Coast. Twelve cities in twelve weeks.
“So Vee, what tour stop are you most excited about?”Light and easy small talk. Nothing sticky there.
Silence.
I feel Logan shift next to me as he nudges her.
“Oh. Probably Nashville.” Three words. “Pass me the salt, please.” Her voice is small. I’m pretty sure she was talking to Logan, but I’m not letting her off the hook that easily. I scoop up the glass globe before anyone has a chance to touch it, and hold it out to her. She makes zero effort to get it, waiting until Logan plucks it from my hand, passing it over to her. “Thanks,” she says casually, to no one in particular.
“You have to make it through Houston, New Orleans,andAtlanta to get to Nashville,” Pax says casually, dragging his finger along the red route on the map. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Reese says, flicking Pax in the head with his finger. “We’ll give you a shout-out from Nashville while your ass is back on your couch.”
Vee laughs, and it irritates me that she seems amused by Reese, of all people.
“So what are our cheesy tourist stops in Nashville?” I lean forward so I can see Vee around Logan.
She’s shuffling eggs around with her fork. “I didn’t really have anything in mind.”
Anders’s head pops up. “Bullshit. Like you don’t have an itemized list of where you want to go in each city.”
I laugh. Vee had The Plan mapped out since the day I met her. Where she would go to college (Michigan State), what she would do (become a publicist).
Vee scrunches her nose up as she shakes her head at Anders, like he’s an idiot. “I’m spontaneous now,” she says. And she’s looking at Anders but I think she’s talking to me. “You probably didn’t know that about me, did you?”
Logan stabs one of the sausages on Vee’s plate. “I heard the top bands get to go backstage at the Ryman.”
Vee’s eyes light up. “No way. I’ve always wanted…”
Logan throws his hand up and Anders high-fives him over the table. “Predictable,” Logan says, giving Vee an exaggerated grin as she pokes him in the shoulder.
Reese reaches across the table and grabs a piece of bacon from Vee’s plate. “Hey,” she says, slapping his hand. She pouts when the greasy meat lands on the speckled green tabletop. “Now neither of us gets it.”
