Accidental Rock Star (2 page)

She’d hoped to put this
off.

Hunter pulled his
football helmet off, revealing his buzz cut. “Hey, Band Geek.”

He thought the nickname
was cute. If he liked music, it might be. He didn’t. Last night
he’d talked over some amazing songs, and his eyes had glazed when
she’d talked about Rain Spin’s new hit and compared it to Sax
Grayson’s last single.

Hunter cocked his head.
“How about you and me tonight?”

Li-War licked out at
the breeze, offering a reminder of what was in store for her if she
wavered.
No. Hell, no.

“Tonight? Sorry.” Aria
shook her head and squirmed on the inside. “Won’t really work for
me. Got some band responsibilities.” She kept the lie vague.

“Band takes up too much
time.” Hunter jabbed his thumb toward the field house. “All the
guys are going out after the game. It’s going to be a blast.”

“Sounds fun. Too bad
I’m busy.” Get back together with your cheerleader ex. Find someone
new. Whatever. Aria gestured at the band. “Can’t really talk right
now.”

Hunter thumped his
helmet against his thigh and frowned. The deep frown drew his
eyebrows down. “Band’s a real time suck. And a money drain on the
school.”

Aria pushed at the
weight of her lizard-shaped hat and shifted her feet. “Really gotta
go now.”

“Fine.” Hunter turned
and trotted back toward Li-War’s snout.

She was going to have
to do something about that. Aria waved her arms at the drum line to
act like she was doing something in case Hunter was looking.

“What?” Ethan pivoted,
swinging his conjoined tri-toms.

She dodged.

The polyester fabric of
her drum major uniform came close to the lizard’s six-foot claw.
Really close. Creepy, crouching lizard.

“Off Li-War, Band
Geek.” Hunter laughed and sprinted and body-checked the claw from
inside the tunnel. An inflated lizard talon bowed toward her. The
talon breached the gap. Canvas scraped against her polyester
uniform, creating an offensive unmusical screech.

I am touching the
lizard.

The talon further
distended, shoving her into the percussionists.

Dylan shifted,
protecting the snare drums, and caught her side with the corner of
the drums, a solid hit.

Stumbling, Aria reached
out and grabbed Baylee’s flute. A strangled noise escaped her
throat, but she held tight and regained her footing.

Inhale. Exhale. Heart
thumping, face flaming, Aria swallowed, gave a nod of thanks for
the assist, brushed off Dylan’s apology, and moved to the front of
the band. She shot a look of annoyance at Hunter, but he was
already gone. After the last of the B-string players and coaching
staff disappeared beneath the lizard, the crowd quieted.

Performance time.

Stadium lights flashed
on a bit of metal in the grass. Unease moved Aria out of position,
she scooped up a broken saxophone key and handed it to Megan. She
showed her how to position her ring finger so the sound wouldn’t be
distorted.

Three more instrument
keys lay nearby. Three. Potentially three more instruments had
broken down. She slipped the pieces into her jacket along with new
dread. No time to see which instruments they belonged to. She’d
hear soon enough.

The whole stadium
would.

She straightened the
worn lizard-shaped cuffs of her jacket and blew out a breath. Eager
energy coursed through her body.
Please let tonight go
okay.

The deep baritone of
the announcer came on. “And now welcome the Leithville Mighty
Lizard Marching Band, led by Director Roberto Thomas Garcia and
senior drum major Aria Rachel Harris.”

The crowd
half-clapped.

The band deserved a
standing ovation the same as the football team, though maybe they’d
have a better chance if critical bits of their instruments were
still attached. They so needed new instruments.

Aria pushed her
shoulders back. She paced out to the first yard line, pivoted and
raised the conductor’s baton. Up, down. Up, down. Her fellow
bandmates marched past, taking their positions on the field.

Everyone looked good,
pride edged her shoulders back. “Get ready, guys. We can do
this.”

Dylan positioned his
drumsticks. Baylee gave her a thumbs up. Ethan raised his fist in
solidarity.

Aria pointed the baton.
“Baylee. Please give the signal to commence.”

Baylee blew into the
flute. No sound emerged. Her face reddened to the same color as the
rubber bands on her braces. “Grr.” Baylee stuck her finger in the
end, wiggling it around. The game clock clicked on, counting down
their time.

Aria fought back
nerves. This had happened before. Equipment failures. Though not
with the flute. Aria gave Baylee a sympathetic nod and pointed at
Megan. “Saxophone. Jump ahead.”

Megan blew into the
saxophone. Thin notes floated out, too hushed on their own to make
it to the stands. Megan took her lips off the mouthpiece and
repositioned her fingers. “Come on.” She blew again. Nothing. She
shook the instrument, and then knocked it against the side of her
leg repeatedly, as if trying to dislodge something. The material of
her uniform pants caught. The trousers split at the knee like a
pair of trendy jeans.

Aria pointed a tense
finger at Dylan to give the three-tap click with his drumsticks.
Dylan stepped forward, drumsticks out. One drumstick overpowered
the other, forcing it to snap in two pieces.
Click. Crack
.
Dylan cursed louder than any of the instruments had played so far
tonight. “Someone’s screwing with us.”

Drumsticks weren’t that
fragile. Someone
was
screwing with them. Was it the football
team? Fans of the football team? She had to find out who. Aria
assessed the stands with a mixture of suspicion and embarrassment.
The fans seemed indifferent to the on-field drama. The only
onlookers standing were headed down the aisle to the concession
stand for more jalapeno-laden nachos and grape snow cones.

Failure.

Another Friday
night.

Sax blinked against dry
contacts, shoved his black hair out of his face, and rolled over.
His mouth was dry and his brain fuzzy. Must have been some night.
He forced his eyelids all the way open. A plush green lizard stared
back at him. Girls and their stuffed animals.

Who the hell am I
with?

“He’s waking up,”
Marissa said from a distance.

“Come on, Sleeping
Beauty.” Garrett’s heavy Scottish accent hurt his brain. Garrett
spoke loudly, like he knew the volume would cause Sax pain, and he
relished it; the way his people relished the sounds that emerged
from their bagpipes. Douchebag.

Sax flung his arm
outward. Glass clattered. A dull thud jolted up his wrist. He’d hit
a coffee table. He was on a short, two-seater sofa, and his legs
hung off the end.

“Don’t mess with him.”
Marissa’s voice grew nearer. “He’s had a hard weekend.” She took a
seat on the coffee table. The frown on her pretty face reminded him
of the way his label’s marketing team frowned as they went over
sales numbers. The concerned expression in her green eyes meant it
hadn’t been a great week. Like last week when he’d dropped from
second to fourth position on the German Rock charts, and they’d
gone on and on about how he could recapture the Munich market.

Sizzling pops sounded
in the background, accompanied by the smell of frying meat. Marissa
must be cooking something southern-fried for breakfast. His stomach
rumbled, reminding him to be nice because she was a kick-ass
cook.

He moved his hand over,
onto her knee. “Sleeping Beauty got awakened with a kiss.”

Garrett shoved Sax’s
hand off her. “No kiss for you. If Marissa were to graph what she
has planned for you…” Garrett stretched his long-ass arm out to the
left. “It’d be over here.” He stretched his other arm out in the
opposite direction. “And a kiss? Way the fuck over here.”

Sax rolled up to a
sitting position and braced his elbows on his spread knees. His
unlaced black biker boots dug into the seen-better-days brown
carpet. Where the hell was he? Feminine voices sounded from the
kitchen, drawing his attention.

Two women stood near
the stove. One Mom’s age. One young. Braids and braces young. He
frowned and pressed two fingertips between his eyes. Who the hell
were they?

Marissa touched his
arm. “You remember what happened, right?”

He nodded. Gina had
drugged him. Drugged everyone, maybe? Marissa and Garrett had been
there. They’d kept her from dragging him off … somewhere. He
shuddered at the memory, wondering what in the hell Gina had
thought she was doing. He’d obviously underestimated her crazy.

Marissa squeezed his
arm. “We thought you should get out of L.A. for a while.”

No shit.

Garrett laughed. “Your
record label wanted to put you into some kind of protective
isolation. At their recording studio, of course.”

Sax didn’t answer.

“We talked to someone
at Garrett’s studio about security,” Marissa said.

Sax pressed his hands
to his temples, feeling as though he were half asleep. “I have a
security team.”

“Yeah, but they work
for the record label, too. We talked to someone who doesn’t make
money off you. Told them everything. The cards, the gifts, the
anonymous emails. And how Gina’s shown her hand.” Marissa sat back.
“We’re thinking she must be the one who hired the guys to take you
from Garrett’s premiere.”

Damn. Crap. This shit
must be serious. His parents had wanted him to move home after
that. He was keeping this quiet for sure or
adios
penthouse.

Garrett wandered into
the kitchen and suckered the older lady who was cooking into giving
him something. He stuck it into his mouth.

Where the hell am
I?

Garrett turned back. He
had a chicken leg in one hand and was gnawing on the side. “Like
you’d last a day without company. You’d crack faster than—”

“Garrett.” Marissa cut
him off and warned him with her intense gaze.

Sax liked making them
fight, but this was a lot to take in. He didn’t know where he was.
He was wearing last night’s clothes, and now it was dinnertime? And
there were two strangers in here with them. In a house he didn’t
recognize. Did he? Wood paneling. Motel-quality furniture.
Lizard-themed knick-knacks. Nope. He didn’t recognize the room.

“I thought you could
stay with my aunt and cousin in Texas for a while. So we brought
you here.” Marissa flicked her hands like she’d just cleared the
sound board and they were ready to record. “No one else knows
you’re here. We’ll change your look. Your name.” She pointed to the
girl in the kitchen. “My cousin Baylee’s seventeen, too. You can go
to school with her. It’ll be a blast.”

The younger girl
snorted. “Oh, yeah. High school’s a blast.”

High school? What
the fuck.
The idea teased at him. He wouldn’t know if it was a
blast or not. He’d gone from junior high to touring with tutors. He
swiped at his hair. He’d be done when he turned eighteen. This
kinda would be his last shot at high school.

“Baylee,” Marissa’s
aunt said in cautioning tones. She came forward and assessed him
with green eyes that were strikingly similar to Marissa’s. “It’ll
be fine, dear. Marissa explained about the security problem. Since
no one can tie you to us, you’ll be safe here.” She brushed a hand
over Marissa’s hair, and Marissa leaned into her, her arm around
her aunt’s waist. “You can call me Aunt Joellen.”

He didn’t need them
babying him. And what he was thinking was crazy. He couldn’t go to
school here. Sax pressed both hands over his temples. He was a
freaking Rock Star from L.A. Normal was sold-out concerts,
screaming fans, and penthouse suites. Not … crap, what the hell did
they call this kind of place? A single-wide trailer? He could hang
in Hawaii for some down time. Though last time he’d tried that, the
label had set up four interviews, a concert on the big island, and
daily social media marketing. If he went back to L.A., the label
would use this for press. They were trying to make as much off him
before his contract ran out in December when he turned eighteen and
had an out clause. Maybe he
would
hang out here.

Marissa crossed her
arms over her chest and stared pointedly at Garrett. “Gina’s
actions are insane. Tell him.”

Garrett got a serious
look. “Our security guy said she’s the kind of mental that
escalates.”

Sax tried not to
wince.

“He said to get you out
of town for a while. Wait till we catch Gina, then worry about
getting back behind the mic.”

Some of what they were
saying made sense. But not the fact that he was sitting on a
two-seater couch in a single-wide. Sax rubbed the back of his neck.
“Why Texas?”

Garrett looked to
Marissa, who arched her eyebrows. “That was my idea. The other day
at Garrett’s, you didn’t know how to work the garbage disposal. The
garbage disposal
.” She said it like he didn’t flush his own
toilet. Not everyone was a chef.

Baylee snorted.

So.
“So?”

“So that’s not
normal.”

Sax was too fuzzy to
form an argument. Garrett shoved his shoulder with a hand that
smelled like chicken. “Get up. Come on. It’ll all look different
once you’ve had something to eat.”

The five of them
crowded around a table only big enough for four. Sax toyed with a
crack in the linoleum with the toe of his boot while he powered
through the meal. He could get a song out of this if anything
rhymed with linoleum. Or chicken. Or gravy. White gravy. The record
label’s dietician would freak. Hah. Screw that. He cleared his
plate and then shoved back his chair. Dinner had steadied him, but
the exhausted haze returned. He’d talk sense into them later. He
could use a few more hours of sleep, and that cramped couch was
singing his name.