Moving Neutral (18 page)

It sounded good to me, but I didn’t really know how to judge music without lyrics.

It’ll be great, I said, feeling confident that it would be. If Blake wrote it, it would be incredible. A thought occurred to me, something I’d been wondering for all three Chicago shows. Why don’t you play All or Nothing?

It was my favorite Moving Neutral song, and they hadn’t played it in concert once this whole tour. I’d heard every other song off their album, plus a few covers that they added for fun. But they hadn’t played my favorite song, not even once.

We never play that one, he said. You like it?

It’s my favorite, I answered honestly. A pang of guilt hit me for not telling him it had been my favorite for two years, not two weeks. Why not?

I don’t know, he said. It’s not that catchy, no one felt really strongly that we should include it. Somehow it just didn’t make it into the set list.

Play it now.

Blake didn’t need much encouragement. Grinning like a kid showing off his favorite toy, he strummed the opening chords.

You don’t want me to sing it, trust me, he said. You do it.

But I was feeling self-conscious. Blake was used to performing every night, but the idea of singing in front of him, undistracted, terrified me.

Also, I couldn’t help but wonder, would he be suspicious if I knew all the lyrics to a song they never played in concert? The closer I felt to Blake, the more I worried that he’d figure out my lie -- that I’d somehow let on that I knew some creepy fact about him that he’d only mentioned in one interview, and the whole summer would fall to pieces around me.

I took a middle ground -- laying back on the bed so I didn’t have to see Blake watching me, I hummed the lyrics until he was done playing.

When his fingers picked out the last notes, I closed my eyes, not wanting the moment to end.

Blake? I sat up, curling my knees to my chest, and looked at him. How did you guys get the name Moving Neutral?

I already knew. I just wanted him to tell me.

He looked up from his guitar, his eyes softening for a moment as he thought about the story. It was when we first got started. We played all these awful shows, anywhere we could, trying to get noticed. I’d get blisters from carrying around equipment and then try to play guitar through the band aids.

I nodded, trying not to smile. It was the kind of story that turned funny in retrospect -- not so much at the time.

We had a different name for every show for the first month or two -- I had this dumb idea that we’d go with whatever name we were using when we got signed. Like we were leaving it up to fate. But that summer, April put her foot down -- she said we were never going to develop a fan base if we kept changing our name every night.

And you picked Moving Neutral?

Sort of. The name I picked was Still Moving, Still in Neutral. That’s how I felt that summer -- like we just kept going, going, going, but we couldn’t get anywhere. The record label shortened it when we got signed, he grinned, pausing. I never say that last part in interviews -- don’t tell on me, okay?

I smiled back. Who would I tell? I don’t even have a cell phone.

Blake set his guitar back into its case, shutting it and clipping each buckle. He walked over to the bed and sat down next to me, sliding his arm easily around my shoulders.

I thought about Blake’s summer before Moving Neutral got signed, playing show after show, wanting everything to change. It was the opposite of how I felt now -- if we could just keep moving, night after night in a different place, I’d never have to go home. Staying in neutral was just a matter of perspective -- sometimes it was better than the alternative.

I felt Blake’s fingers in my hair and tilted my head to meet his eyes, as blue as I’d ever seen them. Taking a deep breath, I wished, not for the first time or the last, that this summer could go on forever.

No one had hotel rooms after the show in Cleveland, but Jesse talked the bus driver into waiting till two in the morning to leave, which meant that we could all go out for drinks after the show.

Blake’s fake ID was the best I’d ever seen, and he broke into a fit of laughter when I showed him my Minnesota Non-Driver ID that I’d bought on Saint Mark’s Place my sophomore year of high school. I’d named myself Ashley Brett, after the character in The Sun Also Rises, inverting the name. Blake appreciated the reference, but informed me that we were better off leaving the ID on the bus.

We’ll go somewhere near the show, he assured me. Besides, pretty girls never get carded.

An hour later, it was clear that either I wasn’t that pretty, or pretty girls do, apparently, get carded in Cleveland.

After the third bar turned us away, April looked as though she was ready to strangle me. Maybe we should split up? She suggested, linking her arm through Jesse’s.

Why don’t I just go back to the bus? I sighed. The whole I left my ID at home ruse wasn’t getting us very far, and I felt bad making the band miss their first night out in over a week.

I’ll go with you, Blake said immediately, taking a step in my direction.

No, stay, I said. I already felt like I was intruding on them half the time, and a night out without me around might not be a bad thing. I’ll call Madison or something, I said, smiling as Blake pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to me.

See you later, he said, a half-smile lingering on his face as he turned back to the others.

Have fun, I said. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

I tried not to notice as April rolled her eyes.

I woke up to the sound of wedge sandals clomping on the floor next to my head. I’d fallen asleep on one of the couches, and as I woke up, I found myself staring at two tan, thin legs.

She’s awake, a girl’s voice called out, and I sat up, curling my legs underneath my body and rubbing my eyes with one hand.

Oh, hey, sorry, Casey, Jesse’s voice called out from the back of the bus, and I hear the sound of glasses clinking against each other.

Hey, do you want to do a shot with us? the girl asked, grinning at me and swaying a little bit in place.

I’m okay, I said, pulling one of Blake’s hoodies over my head and rolling up the sleeves.

You sure? Jesse called to me, emerging from the back of the bus with two shot glasses full of clear liquid.

The Moving Neutral tour bus -- this is so cool, the girl said, taking one of the glasses out of his hand. Hey, can you take a picture of us? She handed me her cell phone, pressing a button to activate the camera.

Oh, wait, Jesse said, taking it out of my hand before I could even look down. Maybe later, okay? He winked at me. You never know what’s going to end up on the internet.

The girl drew her lips into an exaggerated pout, sitting down on one of the loveseats and crossing her legs. Jesse sat down next to her, slipping one arm around her shoulders.

It was pretty clear what he’d brought her to the bus for. I looked around awkwardly, wondering if I should have just pretended to still be sleeping.

So who are you? she asked me, swatting Jesse’s hand away as it started to inch along the edge of her shirt. I was having trouble continuing the conversation, but neither of them seemed to mind it.

Oh, I mumbled. I’m not in the band.

Casey’s Blake’s girlfriend, Jesse said, pulling the girl into his lap.

Ohmygod, really? the girl squealed. Like, his real girlfriend? I looked at her, a little confused, and she kept going. Oh, no, I mean, it’s just that my friend said she hooked up with him when they came through here last year. But she wasn’t, like, his girlfriend or anything, the girl continued, as if trying to reassure me.

I shrugged in a way that I hoped was casual, trying to look as if I could care less. Jesse’s hand was still hovering around the edge of the girl’s skirt, and I was trying to look anywhere but at them.

He looooves her, Jesse drawled, snickering a little bit. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to make me feel better or making fun of me -- maybe a little of both. It’s like a whole new Blake Parker, he paused, looking off into space for a moment. He used to be such a great wingman.

All the better for you, the girl giggled, halfheartedly moving Jesse’s hand off her thigh. Less competition.

Jesse threw back his shot in one gulp, and stood up. Ginger, he said, let me show you the rest of the bus.

Jennifer, she corrected him, not seeming to mind, standing up too.

What time is it? I asked, wondering if everyone else was going to be back in a few minutes.

One fifteen, Jesse said. Casey, you might want to go for a walk or something, he suggested, and the girl giggled, punching him in the arm in a flirty way. I felt myself blushing, and looked around the floor of the bus for my flip flops.

Jesse grinned at me, totally unembarrassed, and shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. I wondered how I was ever going to look him in the eyes again.

Picking up Blake’s iPod, I took a deep breath and walked off the bus, sitting down on the curb at the edge of the parking garage. I couldn’t help but wonder, yet again, what on earth I was doing here.

When Blake was around, it was so easy to forget everything else. He was like a filter on this world, making everything feel breezy and clean. Making me forget there was ever a time before he met me -- until someone else brought it up. Every time I heard a story like that, I couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be enough, just to have me.

It was starting to feel like I crashed every time Blake left me alone, like everything hit me harder when he wasn’t there to smooth it all over. Seeing Jesse and some girl shouldn’t have bothered me -- once the awkwardness of the moment was over, even, it didn’t really bother me.

But the image of them stuck in my mind, digging into me painfully. Only in my mind, it was Blake she was whispering to, Blake’s hand she was playfully swatting away. And it wasn’t one Jennifer, it was dozens, hundreds, around every corner. And they were tan, skinny, pretty, made up, hair curled, skirts shortened. And then there was me.

I had Blake now, I tried to reassure myself. But for how long?

The first day of the drive south to Jacksonville, we were all exhausted from staying up too late the night before. Jesse recounted the story of Ginger’s arrival on the bus, and I tried not to blush when he told them I’d slunk off into the parking lot with a book until they were done. I didn’t bother to correct him about the book. Or her name.

We slept most of the day, all the way through Indiana, then stayed up most of the night through Kentucky. By the end of the following day, we were sick of watching television, listening to our iPods, checking Facebook, updating the band’s blog (actually, that had become my job, and it was pretty cool, and I wasn’t sick of it at all, but you could only update so many times a day before people started getting sick of reading it). And, of course, of talking to each other.

We stopped for dinner at a rest stop full of greasy fast food on the border of Tennessee and North Carolina.

Maybe we’ll have time to stop somewhere tomorrow, just to walk around or something, Sophie said optimistically as we climbed out of the bus.

Like where? Jesse countered, pulling up a map on his phone. Picturesque Spartanburg, South Carolina? Swainsville, Georgia, maybe?

We could go east, I said, playing along. I’ve heard there are some really cool Amish towns in Pennsylvania.

Sophie stuck her tongue out at me and walked through the door that Blake was holding open. Just imagine the girls Jesse could dig up there, she giggled.

What about Savannah? Blake suggested, taking Jesse’s phone and zooming in on the border of Georgia. We should be around there by tomorrow afternoon, it could be fun.

No one disagreed, so I assumed it was about as planned as anything ever got. I liked the sound of the name Savannah, and anything would be better than sitting around on the bus for four days straight.

We picked the burger place out of the three fast food options -- none of which looked particularly appetizing, or even clean.

April looked at the menu with revulsion and ordered a diet coke. I wanted to do the exact same thing, but couldn’t bring myself to. Sophie and I ordered milkshakes instead.

We sat down at one of the tables, none of us really in the mood to talk.

I wish I could just sleep straight through to Florida, Sophie complained. It would be so much easier if we could just fly.

They could just fly us down, and the bus could meet us there, April agreed. So much better to be waiting in a hotel in Jacksonville than to spend all our time cooped up on that stupid bus. I tried to do yoga in my bed yesterday, she said. It’s like I can feel my thighs expanding.

I looked at April’s thighs, which were about the size of my little brother’s, and then looked away. My anger had lessened over the past few days -- it was too exhausting to stay mad at her -- but I wasn’t exactly in the mood to compliment how skinny she was.

When do you start work on the next album? I asked Blake, changing the subject.

As soon as we get back, he said. There’s some stuff in my head now, but that’s when the real work starts.