Fan Girl

Copyright

FAN GIRL © Copyright 2014 by Brandace Morrow

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, printed, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without the express permission of the author.  Please do not participate or encourage piracy in any capacity of copyrighted material in violation of the author’s rights. 

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events, occurrences, places, or business establishments is purely coincidental. The characters and story line are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN-13: 978-1494935955

ISBN-10: 1494935953

Editorial Services by Jennifer Sell

Proofreading Services by Jenny Sims

Cover Design by Najla Qamber Designs

Acknowledgements

There are a lot of people that contribute to the writing process.  First and foremost my husband for telling me from the beginning to do whatever made me happy.  For almost ten years he’s been encouraging every wild hobby I come up with and this was no different.  I just didn’t know at the time that my ‘story’ would turn into a full novel.  

To my children for not freaking out too bad when a laptop was taking up precious lap space.  I wrote this whole book with at least one kid in my lap, not easily I can assure you.  For all of the forgotten chicken nuggets in the oven, or when I forgot to even turn the oven on, I apologize.

To Bonnie, my fellow Army wife and friend who was the first to read the roughest of rough drafts.  Thanks for actually saying it was good. My blurb would not be what it is without your help. Thank you!

To my grandma Peggy Allen who stayed up reading this and told me how famous people had ‘posses’ and Deklan needed one. You rock.

My beta readers! Jen, Mary, Jenny, Atalia, Amanda, Tara, Ashley, Gina, Cassie, Chundra, Lisa, and Misty, you girls have given me immeasurable feedback, and this book wouldn’t be the same without you. 

Faith, thank you for letting me bounce ideas off of you. I don’t know what my experience through this writing world would have been like without your thoughts and opinions.

Katie and Becky, thank you for always standing behind me and encouraging me along the way.

To my dad for giving me my first romance novel all of those years ago, this is all your fault.

To Calia and Syreeta for your suggestions and advice. Thanks for answering all of my questions.

Najla, thanks for taking what was in my head and making an amazing cover. It’s exactly what I wanted.

Jen and Jenny, thank you for shaping my ramblings into shape. This story is immensely better because of you two.

Last, but not least to Brittany. Thanks for ‘daydreaming’ with me for all of those years. One day I will find our old written stories. So sorry you wound up being a red headed bitch. I have a feeling you’ll love it though.

For my mom, who always took me to every concert she could.

Prologue

Bodies leaning toward each other, hands squeezing tightly together, palms sweating, and knees shaking under our evening gowns, we look toward the lights. Sitting in our plush velvet seats, with smiles so wide our cheeks hurt, we don’t look away from the men on stage. As the lead singer thanks me for being the ultimate fan girl, I reflect on the journey that brought us here over fifteen years ago.

Early 2001

Once upon a time, there was a girl who was too stubborn for her own good. Her parents wanted her to be a Barbie doll, so she strived for the opposite. They wanted her to wear cardigans and pearls, but she opted for nose piercings and concert t-shirts. And when she would reach for a cookie, her mom Veronica would admonish her craving for sweets by saying, “Do you really need that?”

This is my story. I'm that girl who wants to defy her parents, yet I failed to accomplish my objective. Rather, I added fuel to my parents’ antagonism. At five foot two and a size fourteen frame, at least I was consistent at something: maintaining my weight at a solid one hundred eighty-five pounds. Instead of turning to drugs or alcohol to cope with my overbearing never-satisfied parents, I turned to food, and thus became a statistic.

Chapter 1

Hearing the sound of a muffled car horn from my room, I grab my backpack and stomp down the stairs.

“And where do you think you’re going, young lady?” My mother comes from the kitchen and meets me at the bottom of the stairs. She is dressed perfectly, as always, in her pant suit and perfectly coiffed hair.

I smile my brightest, and fakest, smile. “Out with Stacie, Mom! Then I’m spending the night. Gotta go!” My sneaker squeaks on the polished hardwood floor as I spin and turn to go. I slam the door behind me, and I hear the predictable, “Alaina!” screamed from inside.

A ‘96 two-door blue Tercel waits for me outside. I slide in and set my backpack down at my feet. Twisting around, I turn to look at Stacie in the back seat with her punk outfit, and I feel my chest burn with envy. My mom would brick up my bedroom door if I ever wore anything like that. Stacie’s brother Bobby is behind the wheel, and he is dressed the same way. Heavy eyeliner, tight black jeans, silver jewelry everywhere, and lace-up black boots.

“Hey Alaina,” Stacie calls from the back seat.

Automatically I reply, “It's Ali now.”

My plain-Jane outfit that consists of an old pair of jeans, Nikes, and a hoodie stands in drastic contrast to their punk style.

I ask, “Where to tonight, guys?”

My mom does not approve of Stacie and Bobby, or how they dress. Their dad, however, is my dad’s boss. It helps my parents to have the connection of me hanging out with their rebellious teens to help step up the corporate banking ladder. That’s why I can spend time at their house. It gives my mom a reason to come pick me up and commiserate with Stacie’s parents about our shenanigans.

“There’s a garage band I want to hear, and you guys better not do anything embarrassing,” Bobby orders us.

I roll my eyes at Stacie. I don’t embarrass anyone but myself. I don’t shovel food into my mouth unless my mom is being a witch, and I only do it in front of her. I don’t try to dance, because who wants to see that travesty. I sit in a corner, bob my head, and shake my foot to the music. The only reason we even get to tag along with the ultra-cool seventeen-year-old Bobby is because Stacie started getting boobs, and in turn, is getting him in with the bands. He wants to be a roadie when he grows up. This is distressing to their parents, but it won’t stop him. He’s looking to find the next big thing and ride the wave to success.

“Shut up Bobby,” Stacie fires back at him.

“This one is it, I know it,” he fires back.

Bobby likes to think he’s clairvoyant. But he says this every time, and it’s just wishful thinking. Stacie and I nod our heads obediently in agreement, as our parents have taught us.

An hour later I’m in someone else’s backyard in L.A., sitting by the in-ground pool and watching six boys in lawn chairs on the other side as they perform covers of bands like Pearl Jam, Queen, Nirvana, and Lonestar; a very diverse set of music, it must be noted. Taking out my video camera from my backpack, I tape a few songs. I do this every time we go to a show; Bobby insists. But this time I tape a little longer.

The band plays like they practice in their sleep, but it’s the lead singer that has my attention. His chin length hair is tied back in a bandana, and his bright green eyes draw me in. There’s stubble on his chin that’s dark, making him look older. His voice is raspy, but smooth, yet gravelly when it calls for it in a song. He’s got a high falsetto and scrunches up his face when he hits the high notes. I shiver as I feel real attraction for the first time. At nearly sixteen years old, I have yet to even experience holding a boy’s hand, and that has never been more blatantly obvious to me than at this moment.

The band takes a break, and they all get a drink of water. I watch Stacie saunter over and start flirting with the band. The guys eat it up, but the lead singer already has three other girls surrounding him, so she can’t get too close. She smoothly introduces her brother and then rushes over to me, a skip in her step.

“Ohmigawd?!” she gushes, turning it all into one word. “They are
so hot
! I love my brother!”

“What’s their name?” I ask.

She turns to me and grabs my forearm, squeezing in her excitement. “Their band name is Rolling Bridges. Isn’t that brilliant? There’s Tag, Peter, Alan, Tommy, Fandy, and Deklan. Tag has the frizzy curly hair, Tommy has the mullet, Fandy has the afro, and Deklan is the lead singer. Did you see his
eyes
? Ohmigawd,” she says in a rush. Not in one breath, but it’s close. That leaves me with Peter and Alan to match faces. “I feel like I’m obsessed already! Is this what it means to be a teeny bopper? I think I just became one. I’m going to see where their next gig is. You have to go with me!” She bounces up before I can say a word, and walks back to the band. I watch green-eyed Deklan schmoozing with the skinny girls clad in bikinis hanging around him. He smiles, laughs, and pushes the hair over one girl’s bare shoulder.

I sigh. He
is
good looking. Probably the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in person, but I’m the equivalent of a potted plant. No one notices unless you bump into it.

Three hours later, Stacie and I are in her pink frilly laced bedroom, and she’s still talking about him. We have the video camera pulled out, and she’s rewinding it over and over again. “Look at his hands on the guitar, ugh. I love him!” She’s pointing out every single thing Deklan does, including every twitch of his lips.

“You should go for it, Stacie,” I say. ”You are way prettier than those other girls.”

“You are so right, Ali. Next gig I’m totally giving him my number.”

“What are you going to do, though, if he wants to take you out on a date? Your parents said you can’t date until you're sixteen.” I can’t either, but that’s irrelevant. I don’t have anyone to go out with.

She shrugs. “I’ll just tell them I’m going to your house.”

~

The next weekend Rolling Bridges is playing at a little bar on the outskirts of L.A. that doesn’t card. The bar doesn't have any bouncers, and they don’t have windows either. They do, however, have t-shirts with the bar’s name, Dickey’s
,
in extra-large, which is just my size. The band plays more covers, including “
Ice Ice Baby,”
which gives me goose bumps when I hear Deklan saying
baby
over and over again.

Stacie is determined and marches right up to him before he’s even off the stage. He smiles and puts his arm around her. They’re cute together in a dark, grunge punk way. She’s taller than me, five foot four or so, and her boobs are way more proportioned to her body. I’m a 40C, but it looks like I’m a 40A. She’s already got an hourglass figure happening, and I’m more of a tater tot.

Stacie walks with Deklan to a table across the room from me, and she doesn’t look back at me once. She has mastered the art of flirting. I see the hair flips and hear the giggles, even over the music from my spot twenty feet away. I watch like a voyeur. He looks at her hair every time it flies over her shoulder, and by the fifth hair flick, he glances away from her like he’s trying to find someone. Bobby swoops down on him seconds later, and Deklan gets up and walks away with him, leaving Stacie alone. I watch my best friend, and see the disappointment on her face as it quickly turns to anger.

Stacie stomps back to me. “That bastard cock blocked me! I hate my brother!”

I pat her shoulder. “It’s okay, Stacie. I don’t think he was into the hair tossing and giggles. Or maybe he knows you're a statutory rape case
waiting to happen.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ll be sixteen in three months, Ali. Geez!”

I smile encouragingly, or so I hope. “Maybe you should try in three months, then?”

We stay at the bar, listening to the other cover bands. Both of us wince at the screeching electric guitar and too loud bass that Rolling Bridges doesn't need. Bobby comes to gather us like children, and Stacie lets loose on him for putting a stop to her advances with Deklan.