My mind raced. I was painfully aware of the cab driver, sitting there listening. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“She barely talks anymore,” Edgar said. “I tried to ask her what was wrong one night on the tour and she just stared at me, like she didn’t understand what I had asked. Like I was speaking another language or something.”
“I don’t think anything is wrong,” I said. “She seems fine to me. She talks all the time.”
Socks frowned. “She’s not like she was before and you know it. What are you hiding?”
I glared at him. “Nothing. If Fern is going through something maybe she just wants to be left alone. Did you ever consider that?”
Edgar touched my arm. “You know it’s just because we care about her. Look, is she okay?”
I guess I really hadn’t considered that Socks or Edgar would notice anything wrong, even though I knew Fern was visibly withdrawn and had been for months. I wasn’t sure if I was even acting like myself anymore. I don’t know why I was so surprised that our friends would care. Of course they would. I had no idea what to say. After a few seconds of fumbling for words, I finally spoke. “You’re right, Fern is in a bad place right now. It’s sort of private, so I don’t want to speak for her.”
“Is she okay?” Socks said.
“Yes. I think the best thing for her is for the band to move forward. To keep her mind off things, and to have something to look forward to. Like a big tour.” With DED.
They both nodded. Then there was quiet for a few moments. I stared out the window at the rain as we neared my neighbourhood.
“Are you okay?” Edgar said after a minute.
I felt both their eyes on me, watching closely. “I’m totally fine.”
xXx
I don’t know if they believed me or not, but as I climbed out of the cab and waved goodbye I tried to give my most convincing smile.
I walked up the driveway and through the side door of the house. Immediately I heard two kitchen chairs scrape back as my parents jumped to their feet. Mom and Dad were both wide-eyed, exhausted-looking, totally freaked out. I froze. “What’s wrong?”
They stared at me and relief swept over their faces. “Rachel,” Mom said. “You’re home!”
I couldn’t tell if I was in trouble or not. They’d been agreeable when I had asked them if I could go on the tour. I had told them everything about it, and they had been okay with it, especially once I’d shown them the plane ticket and they realized the whole thing was legit.
“Yes,” I said. Their eyes followed my movements as I put my dirty, reeking shoulder bag and backpack down. “I’m home. Is everything okay?”
“Are you okay?” Mom said.
They both looked pretty stunned. I fumbled to grasp what was going on. “Yes, I’m totally fine.”
Dad sank down into his chair, rubbing his temples with his fingers. “When we agreed to let you go to England, I don’t think we’d really thought it through. I visited Germany the summer after I graduated from high school. Saw the sights, visited, and travelled. Backpacked from hostel to hostel. Berlin, Frankfurt, Ingolstadt. Met so many incredible people.”
I had heard Dad’s Trip to Germany story many times. When I’d told them about going to England, Melissa and I had sat though another memory lane diatribe. “Yes, Dad, I know.”
“So when you wanted to go to England, I guess I thought it would be similar to my trip. And a great experience for you.”
“We figured if the group of you were there together, you would be safe,” Mom said. “Your dad had such a great time.”
“But then as the reality of it sunk in — touring, bands, being around alcohol and drugs — we started to worry maybe we had made a mistake in allowing you to go.”
“Okay, but remember, I don’t drink or do drugs,” I said. “We were on a schedule. We weren’t just goofing off or whatever. We were paid to be there.” I did my best to be patient. Of course they couldn’t understand. Of course it wasn’t like Dad’s stupid backpacking hostel trip.