. . . And then nothing. I’m stuck on the next line, and even though I have three dozen previous drafts of this verse, nothing seems to fit.
Tony sighs and lets go of me. I slowly release a breath and unconsciously flex my shoulders, checking for damage.
“I’ve told you before,” he says, “stunts like this could ruin you. We’ve all seen it happen before. One bad media story can flush a music career down the toilet.”
“I don’t care,” I mutter, knowing I sound like a three-year-old.
“And what about the rest of the band? Are you willing to ruin their careers, just because you’re too petty to make things up to this girl?”
Damn it, I hate it when he does this. He’s pulled the think-of-your-bandmates card plenty of times before to convince me to act like a nice little rock star. He knows our band is a family, and that I could never hurt any of them. Never.
I raise my hands in exasperated defeat. “I’ll give her the tour. Just don’t expect me to suck up to her or anything.”
Tony rolls his eyes. “I’d never expect you to suck up to anyone.”
“Good.”
A knock comes at the RV door. Before I can even respond, the door whips open and Killer pokes in his head. “The deaf girl is here!”
I rub my eyes with my palms and bite my lip to hold back a yell of frustration. “Thank you for announcing that to the entire neighborhood, Killer.”
“Dude, she’s deaf. You really think it matters how loudly I say it?”
I sigh and stand from my chair, stretching to work out the kinks in my neck. This is the part of the job I hate: the people. I got into this business because of the music. Not for the fans, not for the attention, and definitely not for the socialization. Unfortunately, all those things are necessary if I want to keep the band alive.
Tony gives me a pat on the back, which I shoot him a glare for. How hard is it for him to keep his hands to himself?
“Thirty minutes,” he says. “That’s it. Give this girl thirty minutes of your time, take a couple of smiling pictures with her, and then you can forget about her forever.”
I walk out of the RV, silently chanting his words: thirty minutes, thirty minutes, thirty minutes.
And then forget about her.
Forever.
7
ALI
I CROSS MY arms over my chest and gaze around, taking in the empty stadium. One of Tone Deaf’s tech crew members greeted me at the entrance gates and led me here to the base of the stage. Then he ran off to fetch Jace, leaving me to wait.
It’s been hardly one day since the concert, but everything looks different. The giant screen is off, and the only lights on the stage are the dim backup ones. There’s no audience, no sound vibrations or packed bodies. Just plain old silence.
I take a deep breath to calm my nerves and tap out a beat with my foot, driving my frustration into a steady rhythm. I guess I should just be happy I’m getting eight grand out of this. But I’m not happy; no amount of money is worth the sort of humiliation Jace flung in my face. A soft breeze ruffles my hair, but it does nothing to cool my flaming temper.
I look over the seats in the stadium, toward the lot in the distance where I parked. My dad let me borrow his old Pontiac tonight, like he sometimes does. My feet itch to run back to the car and drive away. This was a mistake coming here. I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be giving in to Jace’s bribe. It’s not right.
Before I can convince myself to leave, I see Jace coming toward me. He emerges from one of the hallways right beside the main stage, moving like he has a lead ball chained to his leg.
As Jace approaches, his expression isn’t predatory, but instead wary, like he’s afraid of what he’ll see. He comes to a halt right in front of me. “Thanks for coming, Alison.”
“I go by Ali,” I say in what I hope is a growl. “Not Alison.” Only my dad calls me Alison.
I stare at his feet, not wanting to even see whatever scathing response he comes up with. I’m surprised to find he’s wearing a beat-up pair of Vans instead of some designer brand. Huh. I guess he’s not into the whole “famous and fashionable” thing.
Jace strides back toward the hallway he just came out of, motioning for me to follow. I stay at his side and try to keep my expression neutral. I can’t let Jace see that he’s getting to me. He’s not even apologizing for what happened last night. No, he’s just acting like nothing is wrong, like I’m just another obsessed fan who actually wants this tour.
I force in a deep breath. It’ll be over soon. I just need to get through it.
The guy from the tech crew who greeted me earlier meets us in the hallway. He’s scrawny and wears thick glasses, and I’d bet he’s hardly any older than Jace. But as he follows along with us, he gapes at Jace like he’s witnessing a god, and he keeps snapping pictures of us with his phone. Great. I guess those images will be the evidence Jace needs to keep away a media scandal.