Over It (The Kiss Off #2) (25 page)

I threw my hand in the air in a wave and dashed for the door, amazed that my head hadn’t actually caught fire. “I’m sorry!” I squeaked. “Big fan!”

I opened the door to the hallway and scurried toward the elevators, my cheeks burning and water dribbling down my face from my hair.

Of all the rooms I could climb my way into, it had to be hers.

I stab–stab–stabbed the down button on the elevator and shifted my weight from foot to foot, glaring at the floor number as the elevator oh, so casually, ambled up the shaft toward me. The other elevator raced down toward the lobby, the parking lot and who knew where else after that. It’s not like Astrid would have been in it anymore, she was long gone.

And how exactly was I planning on chasing her? How was I going to get there? Don the driver was probably on a break or parked at the festival fence line, waiting for the boys, the hotel shuttles would be too slow… shuttles. Hamish! Hamish took the shuttle, which meant his beloved car was still here! Hopefully his keys were in the room and not his pocket. I had to take the chance.

I stabbed the down button again with my thumb. And again and again. What was Astrid planning on doing with the laptop, anyway? With my song? I glanced around the empty hallway with Lexie De Graff’s clothes bundled in my arms. I dropped the tank top off to the side, wrung out my hair into a little puddle on the carpet, pulled the robe belt tight around my waist once more and stuffed a leg into her jeans, hoping she wasn’t quite as skinny as she looked.

The elevator finally arrived and the door opened, but it wasn’t empty.

The woman took in the scene before her, looking me up and down, taking in my drowned rat hair, sopping bath robe and half–on skinny jeans like she couldn’t believe her luck.

I was the one who couldn’t believe my luck. The lack of it, I mean.

“
You
.” I sighed with exasperation as the reporter from
IndiePop
openly smirked at me and stepped aside, motioning for me to enter.

“Please, come on in,” she said.

If I was going to get that laptop back, and get to Ty before Astrid poisoned him further, it wasn’t like I had a choice. I spun my back to her, sucked my stomach in and jumped a couple of times until the jeans were up and I could button them. Success! I couldn’t believe it, I was (almost) the same size as Lexie De Graff! I scooped up the tank top, stepped in beside her and punch–punch–punched the button for the third floor.

“So how’s it going, Poppy?” she asked. I could feel her laughing at me as I turned my back to her and awkwardly tried to put the tank top on without removing the bathrobe. “Going down?”

“Yes,” I muttered over my shoulder. Thank God the walls weren’t mirrored.

Ooh! I stepped through the neck of the tank and hiked it up over my boobs. I dropped the robe, thrust my arms through the straps and was fully dressed, thank you baby Jesus. I picked up my tote and slung it over my shoulder, kicked the wet robe into the corner, crossed my arms and stared at the numbers slowly ticking down as the elevator descended.

Eleven.

Ten. Why did they have such slow elevators? Seriously, did they not think their guests (or guests of their guests) could be in a hurry?

“Interesting decision, getting dressed in the elevator instead of your room.”

“Not listening, not listening…” I said. I punched the ‘three’ button again. I wasn’t buying it this time; whatever she wanted to say to get a rise out of me, she could go right ahead and say it. I had bigger things to worry about.

“Oh come on now,” she said, “don’t be like that.”

Nine.

Eight.

She knew she only had thirty seconds – less, even – left with me trapped in this sardine can with no escape.

“Actually, I do have a proper question for you,” she said, fishing around in her messenger bag. She pulled out a voice recorder, pressed record and stuck the thing right in my face.

Rude.

“What do you have to say about two of pop’s most eligible bachelors starting a public brawl last night over you?”

I pressed my lips together. Ooh she was good. Firstly I wanted to tell her that:

A) they weren’t fighting over me, and

B) they didn’t start a brawl, it was just the two of them in the most embarrassing shoving match ever, and

C) go to hell.

I was on to her tricks; she probably got the details wrong on purpose so that I’d correct her.

I didn’t say anything, didn’t look at her, didn’t anything. I stared at the floor numbers as they lowered, muttering, “come on, come on,” under my breath.

Five.

Four. Nearly there.

“In a hurry, Douglas?” she asked.

The elevator stopped, did its little upward jerk and the doors opened. I hurried out, robe discarded in the corner.

“Where are you coming from, anyway?” she called after me. “Gordo’s room?”

I turned around and glared at her self–satisfied face.

“Got any comment about that?”

I stuck my middle finger up at her as the doors slid shut and she was gone. I looked up to see the number scroll down to two and breathed a sigh of relief. I was about to run to my room when I noticed the other elevator. The floor number read 8, and it was flashing. What did that mean? I watched it for a moment, but it didn’t move. Was it stuck? Maybe it was stuck! Maybe Astrid was in the elevator with the laptop and hopefully no cell service and wasn’t halfway to the festival grounds already, after all!

I ran down the corridor to our room, feeling around in the bottom of my bag for the key card as I went. At least I thought the room key was in it… Got it! I had to swipe the card three times before the stupid thing would work, but eventually it did and I shoved open the door with my shoulder and promptly trashed the place.

I upended all of Hamish’s belongings, threw his clothes into the air and patted down all the pockets. Keys, keys, keys… where were they? Where did he keep his car keys? I hoped to hell and back they weren’t in his pocket at the festival. I didn’t know what I’d do then, it’s not like I had a plan B.

I opened both nightstand drawers, tossed the quilt off his bed, then upended his empty suitcase and shook it, hoping they would fall out from some hidden pocket I hadn’t noticed.

But they didn’t. I groaned and darted around the room, scanning every surface. Where the hell were they? It really did seem like he’d taken them with him. He was so-

A long black lanyard hung from the bathroom doorknob, and on the end of it was Hamish’s car key.

I snatched it up and ran out the door, knocking straight into a woman and her husband. She shrieked and stared at me in a wide–eyed “she’s loose from the asylum!” way, but I ignored it and bolted back to the elevators.

It was there! The doors were closing!

“HOLD THE ELEVATOR!” I screamed. I reached it as the doors were six inches from kissing.

On the other side was a very surprised–looking Astrid. “Hey, give me that!” I reached forward but I was too late; the doors closed.

I grinned like a fool and gave myself a mental high–five.

It
had
gotten stuck! Maybe my luck was turning around! I punched the down button yet again, but the other elevator was all the way up at the twentieth floor. I ran for the fire stairs, Lexie De Graff’s flip–flops flipping and flopping with each step. I should have taken her Dr. Martens. I jumped the bottom five steps or so (that’s what they do when they’re chasing people in the movies) and instantly regretted it as both flip–flops floated in the air a little longer than my feet did, landing several steps up. I scurried back up the stairs to retrieve them, did the little hop–skip dance when trying to put shoes on at the same time as walking, slammed open the door and ran straight across the lobby for the parking lot. I glanced at the elevator bay, but Astrid was nowhere in sight.

I’d never had such an easy time getting through fans and paparazzi as I did when I charged through them like I was being chased by the grim reaper. It helped that the pap ranks were low since most artists were at the festival right now (except for Lexie De Graff, unfortunately), but I was so focused on my goal that I didn’t care who fell down in their startled attempt to jump out of my way. After I accidently–on–purpose shoved the first girl into the doorman, the tide of fans quickly parted as I bolted right through the middle and across the lot without even looking back.

I scanned over the tops of car roofs for Astrid’s long blonde hair, squinted at drivers and passengers of the couple of cars leaving the lot and figured, unfortunately, she’d regained that head start she’d lost and was already speeding toward Ty.

I ran around the lot like a headless chicken, flailing, running in circles, searching for Hamish’s stupid red pride and joy with no central locking. I couldn’t even click a button and follow the beeps.

Where would he have parked the thing? It had to be here somewhere… there!

I dashed toward the car, my (Lexie’s) flip–flop slid through a puddle and I landed on my ass in the water. I got up and didn’t even brush myself down before planting my mud-caked butt in the driver’s seat. The engine roared a little too ferociously for my driving comfort levels and I bounced over the curb on the way out of the long driveway. It had been a while since I’d last been behind the wheel; maybe I was a little rustier than I realized. Maybe Hamish had been right about not letting me drive his car after all.

I pushed the thought aside. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

It didn’t take long to get out onto the main road to the more heavily populated – and slower traffic of – central Tallulah Bay.

The windscreen wipers scraped across the glass and I sat hunched forward, tapping my fingers impatiently on top of the wheel.

“Come on, come on,” I muttered as traffic slowed to a stop at a roundabout in town. Drivers amiably waved each other through, being careful in the wet weather and slick roads after the scorching dryness of the past couple of days.

I checked the clock readout on the dashboard: 6:43pm. Ty would be on stage in seventeen minutes. But if Astrid was already there, it wouldn’t take her that long to talk to him. Hell, she could be on my phone to him right now. I had to get there to set the record straight. I had to get the laptop back.

Why couldn’t I have showered
after
emailing the song to Paul? Why couldn’t Astrid have broken into the room an hour later? Or never? Never would have been good.

I honk–hoooooonked the horn and bounced in my seat as precious minutes ticked by. Holiday–makers took their sweet time on the roads, careful not to hit pedestrians and puppy dogs and children.

I passed through town, passed the camping ground archway and followed the signs for general admission parking.

I swerved around the corner onto the grass and the wheels spun for a second in the mud before gaining traction again and speeding toward the parking attendant as he waved me over.

He wore a wide-brimmed hat from which water gushed onto the shoulders of his plastic poncho and fluoro yellow event staff vest. He leaned down toward my window, trying not to look too miserable. I wound down the non–power window.

“Not many spots left, love,” he said, frowning up and around at all the cars, vans and Winnebagos parked in neat lines as far as the eye could see. It was amazing so many people had come out; the weather had sure taken a turn, not to mention it was the final day. Yet no one really seemed to be making attempts at beating the traffic.

“Follow Johnno over around to the other side. There should be a spot or two up there if you’re lucky. Better be quick because someone else is looking for it too.”

He moved away, pointed me forward and I raced the car up to Johnno who, startled, jumped out of the way and pointed frantically away from himself so that I wouldn’t run him down.

Wherever it was, the spot was
mine
.

I could hear the other car the next aisle over. I spotted an extra–large gap between a four–wheel–drive and a Taurus. The space! The other car rounded the corner and revved toward it. I slammed my foot on the accelerator and the wheels spun for half a second before it leapt forward and jerked toward the space. I was half turned in before I realized the other car was still coming and coming fast; they wanted it as bad as I did.

But they didn’t get it!

And neither did I.

The other driver slammed their car into the back flank of Hamish’s baby and it jerked diagonally like a carnival bumper car. The bonnet bounced off the four–wheel–drive and the corner of the front bumper sort of wedged in under the wheel well and Hamish was going to kill me.

I sat, stunned for a second, wincing at the pain in the back of my shoulders where they had hit the back of the cracked leather upholstery and scratched up my burn. At least I didn’t seem to have whiplash.

I turned to the driver with a “WTF you psycho” glare and holy moly it was Astrid. She was half out of her car, laptop–filled messenger bag over her shoulder, scowling at me as the parking attendants and event marshall slipped and slid in the wet grass and mud, hurrying toward us. No.
No
. She wasn’t getting away.

“
Astrid
!” I screeched. I shoved open the door and grimaced as I scratched the Taurus. I grabbed my tote, dodged around her car which she had left, abandoned, in the middle of the aisle, and bolted after her. Lexie De Graff’s flip–flops flipped right off, but I didn’t stop running.