Over the Hills and Far Away (NOLA's Own #1) (2 page)

I didn’t stink of patchouli. I stank like a bakery with my vanilla oil perfume. At least I smelled tasty.

After splashing a few drops of Visine in our eyes—no need to look stoned out of our gourds—we traipsed downstairs and grabbed our bags—not purses
,
bags.

My mom, Laurie Craddock, and grandma Betty were sitting in the living room, watching TV.

As of late, I had been getting a small pang in the region of my heart whenever I looked at my mother anymore. She appeared so tired all the time, and I knew—we all knew—that her heart was getting weaker and weaker as the days sped by. It made me wonder if I should even be going out.

Mom caught my eye, and like she always did, she caught my train of thought. Shaking her head with a weary smile, she said quietly, “Go have fun, sweetheart. I’ll still be here when you get back.” She sniffed at me as I bent down to kiss her cheek, smelling the pungent weed in my hair and clothes. “Mmm.”

Under my grandma’s nose, I saw Lili sneak Mom a joint. Both Lili and Alys gave her a kiss.

“Have fun and be careful!” she told us.

“We will!” we chorused and headed out the front door.

“Love you!” I called out. I shut and locked the door behind me.

Alys was the one driving tonight. She had the most reliable car, a used gold Honda Accord that was her graduation present. I got shotgun—it was my birthday, after all—and I popped in the NOLA’s Junk demo CD before cranking the volume. Machine-gun drums, shredding guitar riffs, pounding bass, and Phil Deveraux’s throbbing baritone vocals filled the car.

There really was nothing quite like listening to amazing music. When the magic of it pumped into the ears and electrified the brain—making synapses, lobes, and cortices fire up—it would create a domino effect throughout the whole body. It hit the chest, deep into the heart, jump-starting the blood flow, swelling the lungs, making fingers and toes tingle. This feeling I could only describe as an orgasmic, cosmic high.

Well, that was how it was for us.

That’s what Phil’s voice does to me,
I thought as we pulled out of our neighborhood.

We arrived at Bougainvillea at seven thirty, and this place appeared to be a bit spooky. Located along the river, surrounded by mangroves and willows, it was off a long dirt road where most people found parking. The actual lot could hold maybe ten cars at most.

“I don’t like having to park here,” Alys said quietly as we found a spot that was a good five-minute walk from the door.

Liliana sparked another joint from the backseat. “Oh, come on, Alys. It’s not like it’s a new car, and it’s not a very remarkable one either.”

“Hondas are the most stolen cars, no matter what year!” Alys snapped back.

Just then, a cherry-red sports car of some make pulled in behind us. I really wasn’t good with cars unless they were classics.

“Phew. Would you look at that?” piped Lili, handing the spliff off to Alys. “If a car’s gonna be stolen tonight, it’ll be that one.”

We watched as five scantily clad females exited the car, which was pretty impressive, considering the tiny size of it. I noticed that they couldn’t be much older than us, but they were dressed in heels, miniskirts, and slinky tops. One of them, a really cute blonde, was wearing what appeared to be silver tissue paper that tied in the back for a shirt, showing ample amounts of side boob.

“Well, shit!” Alys snorted. “We’re dressed like nuns up in here!” She passed the joint to me.

“If dressing like that is how we snag dudes, then I’m not sure I want anything to do with those types of dudes,” I said.

Alys and Lili grunted in agreement.

“I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it, if that’s all you’re looking for. I’d just rather have a guy attracted to me for
me
, not for what I’m
not
wearing.”

“Hey, that isn’t a talking stick you’re holding,” Lili chirped.

One more quick hit, and I passed the spliff back to her.

“You want Deveraux to see you for who you are.” Alys laughed. “But let’s face it. He’s gonna have about three of those dripping off of him tonight.”

“His loss,” choked Lili as she exhaled.

I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Like there’s ever been a chance of the two of us actually meeting. So, I have a crush on the singer of one of my favorite bands. It’s not like you guys can’t say the same.”

“Eddie Vedder,” Lili sighed.

“Josh Homme,” breathed Alys.

“See?” I laughed. “I’m not alone.”

We exited the used and slightly abused gold Honda Accord, accompanied by a thick, billowing fragrant cloud. Two guys walked on by as we did, and they turned their heads to smirk at us. By the look on their faces, they’d recently smoked themselves.

Alys clicked the button on her key, setting the alarm. Lili snickered.

Jimi was at the door. He dutifully checked our IDs, for appearances’ sake, and stamped our hands with the under twenty-one stamp.

Awesome
.

Not that we’d planned to drink, but there was no need to advertise that we were that fresh. It was fifteen bucks a head, and Lili and Alys were treating me for my big day.

Bless them.

A few minutes after we got in, the floor lights dimmed down, and the stage lights blazed high.

First Blood was a good thrash metal band, but we weren’t bothered with forcing our way to the front just yet. The pit looked fierce, and we wanted to be undamaged for NOLA’s Junk. Sitting at a small table next to the bar, we bobbed our heads and watched the crowd get amped up.

“These guys are pretty good!” Alys yelled at us over the music.

Lili and I nodded in agreement.

The set finished at nine o’clock, giving everyone fifteen minutes to get ready for
Our Boys
—that was what I called them. The floor lights turned back on. We bee-lined for the restroom and then went straight to front and center at the stage. This would be the closest I’d ever been to Phil fucking Deveraux.

Maybe I’ll be able to see his eye color.

Since Lili was the smallest, Alys and I flanked her. Several other females were squeezing in around us, aiming to grab a hold on the stage barricade. The five chicks in sparkle tops—
Seriously, is that tissue paper?
—and stilettoes pushed their way in on the left. They must be some
crazy-ass bitches. These venues could get violent, not to mention that their choice of footwear could put them in the hospital with one misstep.

The blonde with the tissue-paper top grabbed the barricade next to Alys and tried to shove her out of her way.

Soft-spoken, sweet, sensitive Alys turned to the skank and shoved her back. “First come, first serve,
bitch
. Try it again.”

Lili and I turned, and we all sized each other up. I knew I could handle three of them on my own. I was taller and bigger than all of them in my sneakers, except Silver Tissue Paper was of a similar height to me. But she was a waif. I would bet my breakfast weighed more than she did.

The bitches thought better of this and stayed where they were.

Cunts.

The crowd behind us swelled and pushed forward. Big rocker and metal dudes were all gearing up for NOLA’s Junk. I loved this bit, the feel of the rising energy about to get unleashed. I would get high off it, get off a little on it. It was like a great pulsing wave that lifted my soul and carried me away into the music.

The lights went down, and the crowd surged, squishing us into the barricade. That was all it took. We were screaming and cheering our heads off with everyone else.

Bam!
Stage lights exploded with blinding bright whiteness.

Jason Jones’s guitar screamed, Xavier Johnson’s bass throbbed, and Felix Bouvier kicked the bass drum. Phil fucking Deveraux charged out, wailing into the mic.

He’s right fucking in front of me!

Yes!

The gods were in a very, very good mood when they’d created this man. His plain black T-shirt clung across his broad chest and shoulders, showing off the serious strength of a decently trained body. He had on baggy beige cargo shorts that went to his shins and battered black Army boots that had seen much better days.

He towered
over the three of us. At right that very second, I knew that Liliana and Alys were just as appreciative of his glorious physique as I was.

Headbanging and shouting the songs along with them, we pumped our fists like the secret savages we truly were.

Next to us, the Cunt Crew, as I’d named them, looked a bit out of their element. Tissue Paper was holding her own, bobbing like a skeleton on a hook, but it was obvious that they had no true appreciation for this type of music. Maybe I’d have more respect for them if they just started to rock out with the rest of us. They looked terrified, and I felt justified in my jeans and Adidas.

Okay, I just realized I’m a bit of a snob.

But, damn it, my girls and I had earned this spot. We loved these guys, we loved their music, and we could hold our own up here in the crush of things. We loved the crush of it.

At about halfway through the set, NOLA’s Junk cut the music, so their front man could make an announcement.

“I see some of NOLA’s finest out tonight!” he said.

His deep,
deep
voice penetrated straight into my chest and cocooned my heart in a vibrating warmth. I could spend my life blind as long as I got to listen to that voice every day.

“We’ve got a special bit of news to share with NOLA’s Own.” That was what he would call us fans from New Orleans, like we were some sort of tribe. “Just this afternoon, we got signed with Rattlesnake Records, and we’re headin’ into a proper studio to record a decent album.”

We—the crowd—went fucking
wild.

Letting out a shout of laughter, Phil’s enormous smile lit up my insignificant little world for a brief moment.

Damn. He’s got
dimples!

How could anyone be so fucking blessed with that amount of good looks?

“It’s really down to you, NOLA’s Own, who have supported four guys from your neighborhood, your hometown. You’ve allowed us to follow our dream by comin’ to our shows and buyin’ our demos and T-shirts. But it’s you guys who are
our
heroes. You’ve made this possible for us, and for that, we are eternally grateful.”

Phil looked to my right, his eyes landing on the Cunt Crew, and his mouth twisted into a bit of a smirk. I was glad to see he didn’t think much more of them than we did.
They thought that he was checking them out and erupted into squeals and cheers.

Then, his gaze traveled over to the three of us—and then
me
. He stared at me with a look of complete surprise. For the next few heartbeats, the rest of the world melted into nonexistence, and Phil and I simply gazed at one another. It was as though I knew him—which was ridiculous, I knew—and that I was looking at the face of the future,
my
future.

Felix started pounding on the drums, kicking off the next song, and pulled us back into the present.

Phil tore his gaze away, and for another forty-five minutes, they blasted our eardrums and rocked us down to our headbanging souls.

Phil didn’t look at me again, not like he had. I caught him glancing at me here and there, but when our gazes met head-on, he’d look away.

It didn’t matter. NOLA’s Junk had just put on the best show they’d ever performed. I was so proud of Our Boys.

While Glory Hole made a hot mess of a noise, my best friends and I sat once more at the small round high-top table next to the bar, sipping our sodas and bottled water.

“Wait, wait, wait!” shouted Alys. “What time is it?”

Lili whipped out her beeper from her pocket. “Twelve oh three!”

We let out some whoops and cheers, and Lili produced a Bic lighter from her pocket.

“Time to make your birthday wish!” cried Lili. With a flick of her thumb, the flame sparked to life.

Closing my eyes, I scrunched up my face for dramatic effect
. What do I wish for?
My brain dangled that shared look I’d had with Phil in front of me…but then my mother’s tired smile and her exhausted but still beautiful face filled my head.

Making my wish, I opened my eyes and blew out the flame. When it snuffed out, my vision focused on the bar in front of me. Across it, I found Phil’s eyes staring right back into mine.

Holy
.
Shit
.

Xavier Johnson shouted something in his ear, but Phil didn’t take his eyes off of me. When the bartender handed him a beer, he still didn’t tear his gaze from mine.

This isn’t real. This can’t be happening. I’ve smoked too much pot. There’s
no way
Phil fucking Deveraux is checking me out!

My best friends sang “Happy Birthday” to me. They laughed and gave me hugs from both sides, and I wrenched my eyes from his as I embraced them back, laughing with them.

My heart hammered madly, and my hands started sweating. Sneaking another glance at the bar where Phil’s massive self had once occupied, I saw it was now occupied with other people vying for drinks.

Okay, so maybe I’d just imagined it, wishful thinking or some such shit. Suddenly, I was able to suck in a lungful of air and laugh with my friends again.