Authors: Katy Atlas
The hotel. Since New York, we’d all been sleeping on the bus, in the bunk beds or on the couches, depending on the night. But tonight was the first night we didn’t have to be somewhere else the next morning -- there were three Chicago shows, big shows on Friday and Saturday, and a low key acoustic show at a smaller venue on Sunday. And the band had rooms in a trendy hotel near Lake Michigan for all three nights.
Each band member had a room, at least. I didn’t. I wasn’t sure what Blake planned to do, so I hadn’t brought it up yet, but part of me couldn’t wait to get off the bus and find out.
Blake changed the subject. Sophie’s aunt and uncle live here, he said offhandedly. She promised to go see them after the show -- they’re going to make a late dinner for us. Do you mind?
That sounds amazing, I said genuinely. A week on the tour bus had been great, but the idea of eating dinner in a real home sounded a whole lot better. I found myself wondering if Blake was tired of being on the road, and bit my tongue. Homesickness was for preteens at sleepovers and lame freshmen who went to boarding school -- not Blake Parker.
As if she’d heard us, Sophie bounded out of the back of the bus, a small suitcase rolling behind her.
You’ll love my cousins, she said to me. They’re twin boys, nine years old. Literally, the cutest kids I’ve ever seen. She put the handle of the suitcase into my hand. I packed for you.
I stuttered out a thank you, completely overwhelmed by how much Sophie looked out for me. Without her, I probably would have gone home after Massachusetts. Ever since I’d agreed to borrow her clothes, Sophie had dressed me like her own personal Barbie doll every morning, picking out expensive jeans and flowy tops that PR companies had sent her. She accidentally left the price tag on one of the tee-shirts she lent me, soft cotton with a silkscreen print. It cost $120.
I wasn’t complaining. It was a lot better than trying to squeeze a wardrobe out of my parents super-conservative gifts and my meager allowance.
I have a ten year old brother, I grinned at her. So I’ll be right at home with your cousins.
I still hadn’t called my parents. I’d called Madison the previous day, and she said she’d finally had a conversation with both our parents, and all of them had given her the third degree.
I just repeated that you’re eighteen, over and over, she said. I thought my parents were going to ground me too, but after yours left they said it was none of their business.
I should call them, I said, but the words sounded hollow because I knew I wouldn’t. Each time I picked up the phone, tried to actually dial the numbers for my house in Rockland, I chickened out. If they knew I was safe, I didn’t have to call just yet.
There was, however, something I did have to do. I’d promised Trevor a video game, and today, now that we were in a real city with Best Buy and Gamestop, I was going to buy it.
Blake, I said quietly, there’s something I need to do before the show. Can I meet you there?
Sure, he said, and then hesitated, lowering his voice. Should I put your stuff in my room for now? He said it as if he was worried about offending me. I’ll sleep on the couch, don’t worry.
I wrinkled my nose, confused. On the couch?
Blake misinterpreted my reaction. Or in Sophie’s room? Either way, he looked at me, concerned.
I laughed. I didn’t know what else to do. It was the most awkward conversation we’d had the whole week.
No, I said, smiling at him. Your room is fine.
We’d sort out the bed or couch issue later. At least, after a week, Blake and I might finally be getting some privacy. I tried not to let my stomach flutter, thinking about it.
Blake took the suitcase handle out of my hand, his fingers glancing over mine and pausing for a moment before moving away.
Come on, lovebirds, Sophie giggled, scooping up an oversized duffel bag and leading the way down the bus’s steps.
I blushed, happy Blake was walking in front of me and couldn’t see my embarrassment as he carried my suitcase down the stairs.
It was a relief that, by now, I could sing along to all of Moving Neutral’s songs without having to pretend I didn’t know them. At the concert that night, I stood just off the stage, fingering the plush velvet curtains that felt like they belonged in another time.
The theater, Blake had told me during the sound check, was built at the turn of the century as a vaudeville house, and it still looked as if women in corsets and parasols should be arriving for the show. The borders of the stage were laced with intricate gold patterns, and there were small boxes with a few seats on either side, which the record label reserved for the press. The ceiling of the lobby was covered with a painted mural that Blake told me was over a hundred years old.
How do you know all this? I’d asked.
Sophie spent a few years in Chicago, when she was growing up. She saw her first concert here.
The venue seated almost two thousand people. It was their biggest show on the whole tour.
And it was obviously one of the best crowds they’d played to. They did two encores, and when Blake finally set his guitar down at the end of the last song, I could see he was grinning.
I was worried the theatre would be half empty, he yelled to me, still barely audible over the clapping of the crowd, as he jogged offstage.
Hopefully tomorrow will be this good, Sophie said behind him, and I followed as they walked back to the green room, April lagging behind after blowing one last kiss alone on the stage.
I checked my watch. It was a little after ten -- and I was starving. I looked over to everyone else, hoping that they felt the same way.
April took a handful of skittles from a bowl in the center of the room.
So, she said, are we going out?
I looked awkwardly down at the floor. Was it possible they hadn’t invited her?
My aunt and uncle are making us dinner -- remember? Sophie said it nicely, but I could tell she was annoyed.
Right, April said, pursing her lips as if she’d eaten something sour. Sounds fun, she said it so sarcastically that I couldn’t even bring myself to make eye contact with Blake.
Come on, April, Jesse said it quietly. Sometimes it felt like he was the only person she’d listen to. When’s the last time you ate a home cooked meal?
Yum, she turned away from everyone else, but I could tell she was rolling her eyes. I liked April a lot better when she was just the lead singer of my favorite band, before I had to actually spend time with her.
They’re picking us up downstairs, Sophie said quietly, her voice tense with barely controlled anger. Be ready in ten minutes if you want to come. She walked out of the room, and I followed her without waiting for the others.
I found her in the dressing room, curled up on one of the oversized armchairs. At first I thought she was listening to music with headphones because the room was so quiet, but when I got closer, I realized I was wrong. She was crying, her whole body shaking without making a sound.
I crouched down on the floor next to her, not saying anything. A moment later, she seemed to have recovered, and her voice only wavered a tiny bit as she spat out words.
Why does she have to be like that? she said, looking at me as if I could answer. Every time we want to do something that’s not going out to some dumb bar or throwing a party for a zillion people we don’t even know.
Soph, I’m so excited to meet your family, I said it completely honestly. Don’t let this spoil it.
Do you know she wants us to do a reality show? Sophie looked at me, her eyes wide and curious. Has Blake talked about it?
I shook my head, dumbfounded. A reality show, with cameras on the bus and in the dressing rooms? With no privacy, ever?
No one really wants to do it except her. Maybe Jesse, Sophie continued. Please, Blake already gets mobbed walking down the streets. Does she really want to turn us into the Kardashians? Sophie rolled her eyes. Sorry, I shouldn’t be bothering you with all this, she paused. It won’t happen unless Blake changes his mind anyways. I thought he might have talked to you about it.
I shook my head blankly, trying not to feel slighted that he hadn’t mentioned it.
Sophie sat up, shaking her head. Look at us, she joked weakly. We’re falling apart at the seams. You’re not going to tell the tabloids, are you? She smiled sheepishly.
You guys will be fine, I said, squeezing her hand. Come on, let’s get cleaned up before your aunt and uncle get here.
Sophie’s uncle picked us all up a few minutes later, April plastering on a superficial smile as she climbed into the back seat next to Blake. Their house was only a few minutes away from the concert, and I looked out the window as he turned into the driveway of a red brick townhouse, three stories tall with large windows and a white painted door. Even in the dark, I could see a garden stretching around the side of the house, budding flowers in neatly lined rows. We pulled into the garage and entered the house through a mud room, lined with kids raincoats and puffed ski jackets, various sizes of sneakers sitting below a bench.
It felt like a home. I smiled, registering the smell of something delicious.
Thanks for having us, Jesse said, but his words were cut off when two identical boys about Trevor’s age barreled into the kitchen, obviously extremely excited about getting to stay up until almost eleven o clock.
They screamed Sophie’s name, and she bent down to hug them, laughing and shrugging her shoulders helplessly as they pulled her out of the room, talking over each other about some toy they wanted her to see.
You guys can go hang out for a few minutes, Sophie’s aunt said, brushing her hair out of her face with her wrist while holding a spatula in her hand. Dinner won’t be ready for a little while.
Sophie’s aunt was probably in her early thirties, petite and pretty, her brown hair pulled into a loose ponytail. She was wearing jeans and a faded, oversized tee-shirt, and looked more like Sophie’s older sister than the mom of two kids my brother’s age.
I followed where Sophie had disappeared through the doorway, and pretty soon I came to a very familiar sight. Both boys were crouched over a video game console, inserting a CD into the opening.
Apparently ten year old boys are the same anywhere in the country. I thought about Trevor’s World Cup game, which I’d bought that afternoon, still sitting in one of my bags. I hadn’t been able to mail it yet, but I was sure I could find a post office tomorrow -- we had the whole day free.
You’re going to love this, one of the boys said, almost yelling by the end of the sentence. Hang on, he called over his shoulder, already running out the door into the next room.
He emerged dragging a plastic set of drums and a foot pedal, a long, black cord trailing behind him. Blake scooped the drum set out of his hands, and then looked at it as if he didn’t know what to do with it.
I laughed. Haven’t you ever seen Rock Band?
He looked at me incredulously, as the second twin pulled a guitar out from underneath one of the couches in the living room.
Come on, he said impatiently. Let’s see if I can drum better than Sophie can -- I beat the whole game on the expert level, he said, gloating.
I’d played Rock Band with Trevor a thousand times. I actually wasn’t that bad at it, unlike most of his games, where I could never figure out which button did what.
It’s fun, I giggled to Blake, taking the guitar out of the kid’s hand.
The first boy, who was either Max or Charlie, depending on which twin was which, took a microphone out of a cabinet and handed it to Sophie.
Oh, not a chance, she said, calling out April’s name to the other room. At least there’s something she’ll like tonight, she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear.
April came into the room and the boys were suddenly quiet. Trevor started paying attention to girls the year before, and I always knew when he had a crush on one of my friends -- he’d clam up, suddenly turning shy.
April probably didn’t even register it, she was so used to guys acting that way. Her short green dress fell loosely around her hips, long legs extending into platform heels, making her as tall as Sophie’s uncle. She hadn’t changed her hair or makeup from the show, because April was the only one in the band who never seemed to sweat on stage.
She actually looked pleased as she took the microphone from one of the awestruck kids, setting the difficulty level to hard. I set mine to easy on the guitar -- after playing this game in groups occasionally, I knew how embarrassing it was to be the one who always failed out.
I was on the guitar, so the controls were up to me. What song do you guys want? I asked, scrolling through the list of potential options.
The Killers, April said after I’d gone through a dozen choices. Let’s do that one.
The guitar started the song, so I was already focused by the time the others joined in. Sophie hit every note, not surprisingly -- I knew from playing with Trevor that the drums were the hardest instrument in the game, but she was rocking them. I was concentrating on the screen, trying my best to follow the chords as they lit up, when April started to sing.
Sometimes it felt like April’s voice was in my head every time I listened to music, like every other singer was trying to be as good as her, but never succeeding. On Moving Neutral’s albums, her voice brought this pitch-perfect intensity, sometimes lilting and soft, sometimes almost growling and wild. Her voice combined with Blake’s lyrics was unstoppable -- it was why I’d fallen in love with the band in the first place.