Chapter 14
The next day, on our way to North Carolina, Romeo looks through the pictures on my camera. “Don’t post any with Riley or Allie,” he says curtly. “Besides infringing their privacy, it feels a little too personal.”
“Okay.” I start deleting some pictures in the current post I’m working on.
“The ones of the concerts in New Orleans are great. Put up as many of those as you want.”
I’m about to say “okay” again but loud shouting comes from the front of the bus. The rest of the guys are watching a Tigers baseball game while Romeo and I are going over media-related items.
He scowls at their yelling, then asks, “Are we up on Twitter followers and Facebook likes?”
I nod. “More than double what we had two weeks ago.”
“Good. I hope the sales numbers on downloads reflect that.” He crosses his legs, stretching them onto the table, and keeps looking at pictures. “I like your idea of putting up a biography for each of us, and these pictures from the photo shoot are perfect. Just keep it simple.”
Even though I’ll remember his request, I jot down a note in my small notepad. He worships note taking, so I’ve learned to appease him.
We go over a few more things before he’s off to watch the game too.
The bus rolling along is strangely comforting. Though yesterday was quite calm—Allie, Riley, and I went shopping and sightseeing during the afternoon sound checks, then I went back to the hotel right after the concert—it wasn’t quite enough to overcome the clusterfuck of emotion and weirdness I’d experienced in the two days prior. The boredom of being on the bus feels like a return to normalcy.
Both Sam and I have been polite, but he has seemed aloof since he helped me back to the hotel. I’m thinking he’s uncomfortable that the past still bothers him, and he’s not the only one.
Talking to Bryce yesterday was a good distraction. While the itch of guilt at the back of my throat didn’t go away, hearing his voice drew me back to the present. Bryce and I fit. There’s no drama. No issues. And though I can admit I’m not head over heels in love with him, I really, really like him. We have fun going out, and neither of us is in any rush to dive into a deeper relationship. We’re both serious about college and our future careers. We’re both stable.
I like stable. A lot.
The day passes as we make the ten-hour drive to Charlotte. I work on loading pictures onto Facebook and writing a couple of new blog posts. One I’m hoping to post today; the other will be for tomorrow. I try to catch the excitement of the show in descriptive words, wanting to convey how incredible Luminescent Juliet sounded. I pull Romeo away from the TV to get approval on the first one, and once he nods, I load the day’s post.
At around seven, I make what passes for dinner on the tour bus—microwaved hot dogs, a bag of chips, and a veggie tray. While he works on business figures at the small table, Romeo tries to get one of the guys to help me. I wave away his bitching. It’s not a big deal to heat hot dogs, but I do almost laugh when I imagine the disapproving comments Riley would make if she saw me taking care of the guys. The game is over but ESPN stays on while the guys eat sprawled out on couches. After dinner, I watch TV in the back room, call both Jill and Bryce, and then decide to get ready for bed, so I can quickly crawl into my rollaway when we get to the hotel later tonight.
I’m brushing my teeth in the minuscule bathroom as the bus slows and then comes to a complete stop. I pause, recalling that we’d entered Georgia just over an hour ago. There’s no way we could be in North Carolina yet.
Someone pounds on the bathroom door.
Confused why we’ve stopped, I slowly open it.
Sam rushes in, whips the door closed, locks it, and opens the toilet. Because the bathroom is tiny, I’m behind him, pressed in shock to the outer shower wall. He furiously begins digging through the backpack in his hands, throwing a myriad of novels onto the floor. Lastly, he hauls out several baggies and begins dumping the contents into the toilet. First, it’s dry, green leafy stems, then a lot of fine white powder.
My eyes bug out at the sight of the drugs floating in the toilet.
“Turn on the pump,” he says over his shoulder.
Shocked, I stand there immobile.
“Turn on the pump!” he hisses.
“It’s already on,” I say in a rush of air, gesturing to the switch on the wall. To get water, the pump has to be on in the bus, and I had it on to brush my teeth.
Sam begins filling the bowl with water and flushing, then re-peating.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask loudly.
“Be quiet!” he whispers. “We got pulled over.”
“Why?” I whisper back.
He shrugs and flushes one last time, then begins throwing the books back into his backpack.
Watching him, I cross my arms and say in a low tone, “Your stash is still going to be in the tank.”
“I’m betting they don’t want to search in a tank of chemicals, piss, and shit for it.”
I wrinkle my nose at him. “That was quite a lot of drugs, Sam,” I grumble.
He tugs his bag on his shoulder. “Do not say anything. To anyone.”
I shake my head at him. “Sam—”
“I mean it, Peyton,” he says, grabbing the door handle. “It’s none of your business,” he adds over his shoulder. Then I’m alone again in the tiny bathroom.
I absentmindedly pack my cosmetic bag back up. I’m shocked. I obviously knew he did drugs, but I didn’t imagine the extent. Although I’m ignorant of the actual cost, he must have flushed hundreds of dollars down the toilet.
I take a deep breath and exit the bathroom.
Justin, Gabe, and Sam sit on the front couches, playing video games. I quickly assume Romeo’s outside with Gary and the policeman. Or men?
Leaning on the small kitchen counter, I ask no one in particular, “What’s going on?”
Justin shrugs. “No idea. Cop pulled us over. Couldn’t be speeding. Gary never drives over sixty in this beast.”
“Beast is right.” Sam’s gaze stays glued to the screen.
Gabe glances at Sam, then me. “Better hide your pot, Peyton.”
I snort, “Yeah, I’ll go do that.”
Gabe laughs. Sam’s appearance remains smooth and calm. Justin yawns.
I head to the back room and put my stuff away. Nervous and fidgety, I sit on the couch and peer out the little window. All I can see out there in the dark are the lights of passing cars and the faint blue swirling lights of the police car, which must be parked ahead of us.
A rush of nervous air escapes me as I fall back against the couch. Sam is sitting up front like a calm zombie and I’m the one freaking out, thinking of all the horrible outcomes if he gets caught. Sam sitting in jail. Sam ruining the tour. Sam getting kicked out of school. I sit up. Can they do that? Is his entire future at stake at the moment?
Finally, the bus lurches back onto the road. I head to the front. Except for Romeo hunched over a notebook at the small table, the guys are still playing video games.
“What happened?” I ask Romeo.
He looks up from whatever he is writing. “The bus has a taillight out. Gary’s going to get it fixed in Charlotte, and the tour will take care of the ticket.”
“Oh,” I say, as the thudding of my heart at last slows. Sam glances at me with a smirk before his attention goes back to the onscreen fighting—and suddenly I’m angry. The dumbass is acting like he doesn’t have a care in the world while I’m stressing out. Over his future. Over his stupidity.
I stomp back past the bunk beds, grab a blanket, and fall onto the couch.
Sam a nice guy?
Yeah, right.
I smack my pillow.
More like a major asshole. Grass-smoking, coke-snorting asshole.