Working for the Band Page 5

  It felt good to tell her about it, but I also sort of loved how distracted she got at the precise moment when Will hauled his toned, wet body out of the pool.

  Hell, even I was distracted.

  When we returned to the bus, I dropped onto the couch between Graeme and Darren, who were playing video games.

  Only moments later, Max arrived, looking raw and defeated.

  Something inside me made me want to go to him, fold him into my arms, and comfort him, but I knew he’d hate that. Especially from me.

  I’d met cacti that were less prickly than Max Lindstrom.

  So I looked back toward the screen and focused on the game, pretending I wasn’t watching him out of the corner of my eye, listening to hear if he said anything. A moment later, as Max moved toward the back of the bus, my phone buzzed in my pocket—a text coming in. I glanced over my shoulder, but obviously it wasn’t Nessa; she was busy questioning Max about his day.

  My stomach lurched as her innocent smile made me realize she must not have known where he’d gone for the day. Nessa, no, I thought, but it was too late. Max walked away from her and climbed in his bunk as she watched him go, a confused look on her face.

  I was going to have to explain. How had she not known? We hadn’t talked about him all day, but Tony had said he’d send her a message. But of course, she was avoiding her phone, especially on her day off.

  Guilt settled in my gut; I should have told her. I should have made sure she knew. Too late to do anything about it now, I told myself. I was going to text her to explain, but what good would that do?

  Still, I pulled out my phone and cringed internally as I saw the message from my father that pulled my focus away from sending Nessa a message: don’t touch 76821322.

  What? Did he mean to send it to someone else? Although the number was familiar...

  I stared at the digits for a long moment until recognition dawned: it was my bank account number. Don’t touch the bank account? What was he talking about?

  Why? I sent back.

  “What’s wrong?” Darren said, but I didn’t realize he was talking to me until he leaned into my shoulder. “T-bow?”

  I looked up at him. “Huh?”

  “You got serious all of a sudden.” He glanced down at my phone and then back up to me. “Everything okay?”

  I put a fake smile on my face and put my phone beside me on the couch, face down. “Yeah, of course. Just my dad...” I shook my head and rolled my eyes as though it was regular stupid parent stuff.

  Even though I had a feeling this was more than your average stupid parent stuff, I was going to have to wait until later to find out what.

  But I knew it couldn’t be good.

  Bessie, My Nemesis

  How was your day off? Ted asked via text later that night. I was in my bunk, trying to sleep but mostly staring at my TV, watching an old episode of Gossip Girl while I was specifically not waiting for him to text.

  What? You don’t buy that either?

  Anyway, I would never admit how much it pleased me when a message finally came in, and I saw it was from him and not my father (who was likely sleeping, since he was on Europe time) and I was hardly eager to hear what he was up to.

  It was pretty late, but that was no surprise since Zen Garden, who was also on the road doing tour stops on the way to Portland, had had a gig that night. I was flattered that he’d taken the time to send it when I knew he had to be exhausted.

  Spa, room service, hot tub, so: Sublime, I sent back.

  He responded with: Good word.

  I smiled and rolled over toward the curtain so the light wouldn’t shine out into the aisle too much. Thanks. I get the word of the day email. Also, I’m very smart. How was today?

  Good crowd, all came together. Nothing remarkable.

  It almost sounded like he was describing his day as mundane, which in the past I would have thought was crazy for a rock star, playing to sold-out crowds. But now that I was living it, and even after just a few days on the road, I could see how it could get mundane—night after night, crowd after crowd. Nothing remarkable would be something to be happy about. Because often times, if something was remarkable, it stood out because it was bad.

  I sent a thumbs up emoji and then just stared at the screen, wondering what was next. If we were done talking about our respective days, then what? I’d worked out all the official band business stuff with Tony and Billy, so that left...personal stuff. Chatting. Flirting? But text was hard—there were no coy looks or subtle signals. No light touches on the arm during conversation. I was the kind of person who thrived on non-verbal communication. I was desperate for context.

  We’re going to the zoo tomorrow, I typed when it started to get too awkward.

  Not even half a second later, he sent: looking forward to seeing you in P.

  Oh. So we must have been typing at the same time. He had said something flirty and awesome that made my heart flutter while I said something supremely lame.

  I returned with, Ditto. It will be good to see you.

  At the same time as he sent, zoo sounds fun.

  STOP. I sent, along with a goofy face emoji. We needed to get into a conversational groove Zoo will be fun, but yes, Portland. Looking forward to it.

  Then there was nothing. For a long time. I began to wonder if one of the guys had stolen his phone again. Ugh, I was so not in the mood for that, especially right in the middle of this conversation that had my heart racing.

  Ted?

  Can I text now? he sent back. You said to stop.

  Ha, yes. It was just awkwrd txting at the same time!

  Can I ask a ?

  You just did, I sent feeling rather smart and dorky at the same time.

  Another, please.

  Go ahead, I typed, suddenly concerned because if someone asks if they can ask a question, nine times out of ten, it’s bad, or at least about something serious.

  This feels like flirting, he sent.

  I stared at the screen and then typed: that’s not a question.

  You’re right. Here’s the ?: Is this flirting? I feel like I need to be sure.

  I would say yes.

  I would like to ask a followup ?

  I smiled. This guy was so good at adorkable flirting, even though he was pretending not to know if it even was flirting. He was pretending, right? Whatever. It was working. Go ahead.

  What’s going to happen in P?

  Oh.

  All right. So that was the million dollar question. I blew out a long breath as I thought about how to answer that because how was I supposed to answer that? Was it honesty time? Or maybe I should answer a question with a question, so I didn’t have to actually give up anything? Yeah, deflecting it off me was my best plan.

  What would YOU like to happen in P?

  That’s a loaded question, he sent.

  And yours wasn’t?

  True.

  But then he didn’t send anything else. How could he leave me hanging?

  Suddenly, the bus hit a pothole or something, and I was almost bashed into the wall. A few groans from other bunks told me I wasn’t the only one jostled around, either. When did I think touring on a bus would be cool?

  Well? I sent once the road smoothed out.

  I’m on tour. For a long time yet. I can’t commit to anything, Sandy.

  What? Was he shutting us down before it even began? How had this gone from super fun texty flirting to it feeling like a breakup? A very premature and unnecessary breakup.

  Whoa, I typed. Getting ahead of yourself.

  It was a long time before his three dots turned into a message. I’m sorry, I guess I thought...

  Look, cowboy, I sent before he could finish. I like you and your awkward texting. But things are crazy for both of us. Let’s just see what happens in P. no pressure, nothing long term K?

  I felt like I could almost hear him exhale in relief, even though he was in another bunk on another bus, maybe even in another state.
/>   Yes. Thanks.

  So now that’s out of the way, I typed and then paused when I was about to tell him I was open to a fling, even a short one. Did I dare put everything out there? I’d be seeing him in Portland, and then if I never wanted to see him again after that, I wouldn’t have to. It was unlikely our paths would ever cross again if I didn’t want them to, so I sort of felt like I could be honest with him now, just...

  Yes? He sent.

  Jeez. Impatient much?

  Very, he sent back. At least when it comes to you.

  I sure liked the sound of that. But then I chickened out. I couldn’t tell him I was open to a one-night hookup. It felt like too much honesty in that moment. Something told me just to wait and see what happened. It was only a few days away anyway.

  Tell me about these sad cowboy songs you write.

  There was a super long pause.

  Ted?

  Not sure what you want to know, but is it douchey and braggy if I tell you that I wrote 8 of the 11 songs on our new album?

  Wow. So that was cool. I did not know that but wait... Are you telling me Zen Garden is going country?

  He sent a tongue sticking out emoji, making me smile because if he was using an emoji, it was serious. No. I don’t really write country songs. The guys just razz me about being a cowboy.

  Oh right, I sent. And I bet you don’t practice flirting on cows, either.

  Maybe if I did, I’d be a bit sMOOOOOther, he sent.

  I had to slap my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

  Oh, pardner, I sent once I got myself under control, you are doing just fine. But seriously you wrote 8 songs for the band?

  Yep. The first single comes out later in the summer. Maybe I’ll play it for you in P.

  I would love that, I sent. Unless it’s about Bessie your favorite heifer.

  I sort of love that you’re jealous, he returned.

  SHUT UP. :P

  I could almost hear his low, rumbly chuckle at that.

  That Bessie was one lucky cow.

  We bantered a bit more, and then Ted said he was starting to fade, so we ended our conversation, both of us saying we’d see the other in Portland. Except we both knew we’d be talking again before then—there were still two long and lonely nights on the road to get through before we’d see each other.

  Talking to the Animals

  My trusty bunk calendar told me I was waking up in—or, more accurately, since the bus was still moving—en route to, Boise.

  That meant I would be spending the day at the zoo with the band. I had no idea whose idea it was to take the boys there for some promo shots in advance of the evening’s concert, but I was happy to do something a little different.

  Already, cutting video of the boys on yet another stage in another town and trying to make it look fresh and unique was getting more and more difficult. Not to mention tedious.

  So, I was looking forward to getting some great footage because, seriously? Hot boys plus cute animals equals swoony fans eating it up. Swoony fans inevitably turns into more viral shares and basically free exposure—win-win. And anyway, who doesn’t love the zoo?

  I lost a little of my excitement when I heard Nessa had to stay behind with her dad so they could have a meeting (Linda was Skyping in). But at the same time, it gave me an opportunity to take charge of the shoot, and I was determined to get some great footage that would impress Tony. Not that he wasn’t already happy with my work, but I loved it when he smiled, put a fatherly hand on my shoulder and told me how happy he was that I was on tour with them. That I was doing a great job and not just for a kid, but a great job, period.

  I guess it was the kind of parental validation that was otherwise missing in my life.

  Speaking of, as we were on the bus getting ready for the day, I opened the text conversation with my father, but the last thing was the message I’d sent to him the night before, asking him why I needed to stay away from my bank account.

  It wasn’t a surprise he hadn’t responded—he wasn’t a great texter at the best of times, and it’s not like I was his top priority. Ever. I’d learned over the years that if he was in the middle of a big deal, he would be eating, breathing, and sleeping whatever slimeball client he was working for at the moment. Even my stepmother couldn’t get his focus away, which was probably why she was at some sort of extended spa yoga retreat in Norway.

  Nope, Dad had no time for his silly teenage daughter who was just bumming around with a band for the summer. Honestly, it was fine by me, especially since his texts were more instructions than invitations to conversation. Though I had to admit I was a little bit curious what he was up to.

  Still, I had other things to worry about, like today’s photo shoot and how that was going to go down. Everyone always says not to work with kids and animals because they’re too unpredictable. I had no choice in the matter and considering the Wiretap guys could be just like big kids, I was keeping my expectations low, determined to remain chill.

  To that end, I knew it was best to focus on simply capturing candid footage.

  That didn’t mean I wasn’t taking my job seriously. Being a pro meant doing my homework on the zoo to know the best way to come at the shoot. So after a bit of searching on Zoo Boise’s website, I came up with an idea where I would pair up each guy with their ‘spirit animal’—one that reminded me of them based on personality. Then, during the course of our visit, I’d try to get shots of them together, or at the very least, shots that I could collage together in Photoshop.

  I mean, anyone could just do regular shots of the band at the zoo, but I was going to make it interesting and fun, sharing a bit more about each of the guys. And if the zoo got some free promo out of it, well, everyone wins.

  The driver of the big Hummer limo came and collected us, including Kiki, which I was thankful for. Because while the guys (mostly) listened to me, Tony wouldn’t be around, and when that happened, they could sometimes get goofy. And when they got punchy, there was always a chance they’d mutiny if I tried to get them to do things they didn’t want to do. But not with Kiki around; the guys did not even consider messing with her.

  We stopped at a coffee shop on the way to the zoo where Kiki and I ran in; we didn’t have time for the guys to mingle with locals if they were recognized. While getting recognized was normally a good thing, but it was a complication that we had to work around if we were on a schedule.

  Once we returned and passed out the drinks, I gave the guys a quick debrief of what I had in mind for the day.

  “I love that idea,” Darren said. “Or, I would love it better if my spirit animal wasn’t a goat. Seriously, T-Bow? A goat?”

  He didn’t look actually offended, but I still felt like I had to defend my choice. “Come on,” I said, nudging him with my toe. “Everyone loves goats, they’re both goofy and adorable.” I gestured at his face as though the comparison was a no-brainer. His smirk only proved my point.

  “Could be worse,” Will said from the other side of the truck where he sat between Max and Andy. “You could be a sloth.”

  I smiled over at Will and was about to point out that sloths were adorable when Andy spoke up.

  “As someone who has had to wait for you to finish in the bathroom, and to get dressed, and to do nearly everything, I think sloth is appropriate.”

  “Too right,” Graeme said with a nod and then looked at me. “But why does Andy get to be the tiger? I’d make a brilliant tiger.”

  Uh, because Andy is the exotic sexy guy in the band, I didn’t say.

  Andy looked Graeme up and down and said, “I’m way more a tiger than you. Giraffe is perfect for you. T-bow knows what she’s doing,” he said to the tallest (and gangliest) member of the band. Giraffe had been the obvious choice for Graeme.

  “Aw,” Graeme said, turning to me and giving me an exaggerated frown. “No one thinks a giraffe is sexy with their knobby knees and long neck.”

  “So yeah, nailed it,” Will said, loo
king pointedly at the knees poking out of Graeme’s board shorts.

  Darren, who’d just taken a sip of his latte, lurched forward, almost doing a spit-take, narrowly missing dribbling it down his front.

  The rest of us laughed.

  “Whoa,” Kiki said. “I don’t have any spare shirts, and we are not turning this truck around. No spilling!” She sounded like such a mom sometimes, but totally the coolest mom.

  As the guys carried on, razzing each other about the animals I’d chosen to pair them with, Max sat at the end of the bench, looking out the window. It was like he was in his own soundproof bubble, completely separate from the others. I wondered if he even heard what was going on around him.

  He always seemed so broody that the way he was right now was pretty much his standard operating procedure, making it hard to tell what he was feeling today after his visit home—worse than normal? Different? Or just more of the same?

  And the way the guys were acting around him, like he wasn’t even there, made me sad. Did he prefer it that way? Or did he secretly wish they’d include him? Was it too awkward for him to break out of his shell and include himself?

  The other guys had likely learned they were better off just leaving him alone—that seemed to be what he wanted, wasn’t it?

  Despite how stupid I knew it would be and how badly it would be received, I was still overwhelmed with feeling like I wanted to wrap my arms around him. He seemed so alone, and it was even more obvious when he was surrounded by the others.

  I doubted he’d had the chance but had he spoken to anyone about his trip home? Had he wanted to? Did he have a friend at home he’d seen during the stopover?

  Did he even have a confidante on the bus? The guys had started out as strangers when Tony had first brought them together months ago. They’d spent a lot of time together since, rehearsing and now living and performing together. But did Max have someone he trusted on board? Tony or one of the guys who he knew cared enough about him to make sure he was okay?