Fan Girl (3 page)

I shake my head, not really understanding what a trust was.
What did they trust me with?
“Not really. I always thought business because it’s broad enough for me to do anything.”

Granddad nods in approval. “That is smart of you, Alaina. You have a long time to decide. Don’t you worry about anything.
  Apply to whatever schools you want and go where your gut tells you.”

I take a moment to absorb this gift they’ve just given me. My mother has been relentless about my going to Stanford since before I’d known what college was. Honestly, I don’t have anything against the school, but to be that close to my parents, possibly having to live with them since they would be footing the bill… just thinking about it gives me shudders. I also know the tuition at Stanford is close to twenty-five grand a semester. If they say I can go anywhere, they’re giving me some serious dough.

“Thank you for giving me this opportunity. I won’t waste it,” I tell them.

They shake their heads in unison, but it’s Grandma that speaks. “Don’t feel any pressure. If you want to change your major ten times it won’t matter. You can stay in college until you’re thirty. Just be happy, honey.”

I ask the question that’s been driving me insane my whole life. “Why is my middle name Dawson?”
If my parents hate these people so much, why did they give me my dad’s last name as a middle name?
My parents are so weird. My dad took my mom’s last name when they got married.

Granddad sighs. “They didn’t like the stigma of our last name. We invested in coffee from Hawaii that is doing quite well. But we choose to travel on the interest alone, never touching the bulk of our fortune. We don’t live in the luxury and high circles befitting our bank account. That has never been important. Your father, however, disagrees. He felt it a wise business decision to take your mother’s more prestigious name when she suggested it, on the condition that their children be Dawson-Pierce. Your father had to leave for a business meeting after your birth and Victoria changed Dawson to your middle name. Your father didn’t notice until years later. Be forewarned, he wants his share of our fortune, but won’t get it.”

I look back at their tattooed arms. “Did those hurt?”

Grandma looks down. “Oh Lord yes! Sometimes the pain feels good, sometimes it just hurts.” I’ve never been around someone who had so many before.

“Why do you have them?”

“It’s an expression of yourself. How you feel on the inside. I love flowers, how they grow and blossom, giving life by their pollen and nectar, nurturing until their time is passed and they fade away.” She holds out her arms and they’re covered with different flowers. I don’t know the name of all of them, but they were all different colors and sizes, covering both arms.

“How good are you at drawing, Alaina?” Granddad asks, suddenly. I look at him and shrug. “As good as the next person, I guess. I can do better than stick figures, but I haven’t taken that many art classes.”

He reaches in his back pocket and tells me to put the number on the card in my cell phone. “This here is Reed Evans. He’s in New York. Best tattoo artist around. If you ever want one, you go to this guy. And he also teaches, takes interns. NYU is in the city. If it’s something you’re interested in, you can’t find anyone better than him.”

I put the number in my phone and think New York is just far enough away from my parents. After that, we talk for a long time about all of the places they visited before they decided it was time to have kids. Unfortunately, because they waited so long, menopause kicked in before they could add any more. Now they’re traveling off of the interest from investing in coffee fields in Hawaii, or something crazy like that.

We hug and they tell me that they love me. For the first time, I actually feel like I could be worthy of love. After they get in their rental car, I sit in my car for a long time, digesting how these wonderful people have changed my life with the gift they have given me. In the coffee shop of a bookstore I have learned the meaning of unconditional love. I start my car then go home and research NYU. Turns out it has a thirty-five percent acceptance rate. Looks like I need to make sure I don’t get any more B’s. They have a business school there where I can get an MBA. I need to talk to a guidance counselor. It’s only my sophomore year, but if I’m going to get away from my parents, I need a plan.

Chapter 3

Three Years later

I graduate at the top of my class, but not as the valedictorian, much to the disappointment of my parents. I have a 3.9 GPA, but I didn’t do all of the volunteer work January Feller had done. I had concerts to go to. She could have her humane societies and highway trash pickups.

Rolling Bridges has actually started playing venues. They put out their first CD and have been touring the world for two years now with no end in sight. As promised, I always have tickets waiting at will call. There’s no bumping into the band anymore, they’re the real deal, up-and-coming famous. I see them on television and Stacie is, of course, back on the Rolling Bridges bandwagon. They just won the MTV Music Award for Best New Group. Their songs play on the radio, and their videos play on the music channels.

I burst with pride when I think about how far they have come. That I was there for most of it is an awesome feeling, and that they still remember to put the tickets aside for me makes me feel special. Stacie goes with me to all of the concerts since they leave two tickets. Her brother Bobby is a roadie just like he wanted to be. He’s perfectly happy setting up and breaking down stages in record time while traveling all over the world.

We travel for the concerts when we can. We went to Vegas on a cheap flight out of LAX for our version of a senior trip. We’ve also driven up to six hours one way. It’s mostly me instigating and organizing our trips, but Stacie loves bragging that her brother is in with the band. Stacie has also decided to get away from her parents and join me at NYU. She’s already gotten her first tattoo, which got her grounded for the rest of senior year. She’s adopted the rockabilly style as her own, and pulls it off well.

Now, two weeks after graduation, we are going to a RB concert, then the next day our flight takes off to New York. I’m wearing a t-shirt from one of the bars they played in a few years ago. The spotlights skim over the crowd. Bodies are undulating, hands in the air, mouths screaming in unison. Every breath I take resonates with the tempo. I close my eyes and feel the vibration of the bass in my heart. My soul is bring shaken clean of negativity. Sweat falls in rivers to the ground, making me feel like a snake shedding its skin. Endorphins course through my blood, forcing me to smile for the first time in forever. Concerts are my drug of choice.

At intermission a security guard comes up and tells me the band wants me to stand at the side of the stage. I turn to Stacie in confusion. She shrugs, and I pull her with me until the security guard notices and puts his hand out. “Just you. They said Ali Pierce. That’s you, right?” I nod. Stacie takes her phone out of her pocket looking shocked and waves to me.

I stand at the side of the stage right next to the stairs as the band comes back out. They start playing their instruments, just jamming out. Then Deklan comes to the microphone and says, “We know we have the best fans in the world. You guys are awesome!” The crowd cheers. “There was one girl, though. She has been watching us play since we were still practicing in our garage and playing dingy bars. We just wanted to tell you how much we appreciate you, Ali. Come out here.”

I’m trying not to hyperventilate as I take the stairs. How in the hell could they think it would be okay to bring me up in front of all these damn people?! I make my way to the stage, the guys stop playing for a minute to clap for me, and Fandy gives me a sweaty hug. “Thanks for sticking with us, Ali. Please don’t ever stop,” he says in my ear. I smile at him and move to the other guys.

When I get to Deklan he’s already dripping sweat, but he hugs me tight and talks into my ear so I can hear him. “I’m counting my chickens, babe.” My heart makes a slow slide to the speed of his sweat on its way to the floor.

I pull back in surprise. He remembers that conversation from three years ago? And more to the point, did he just call me babe? He smiles a beautiful, megawatt smile that makes me want to drool. The dimple gets me, especially when paired with the sparkling white teeth and five o’clock shadow. I look away quickly and get a hug from Alan, who doesn’t say anything. Or then again maybe he did and I’m just deaf to anything but the blood rushing in my head. I wave to the crowd when Deklan yells for them to cheer for me then leave the stage as quickly as I can.

When I get back down to Stacie in the second row, she’s squealing and waving her phone. “I got it, I got it all! Oh he’s talking,” and she points her phone to the stage again.

“This song is for Ali; we wouldn’t be here without fans like you sticking with us all of these years.” Then they start playing their first single. They have four out now, and two have made it to the top ten on the Billboard charts. The videos are insane, with car chases and half-naked girls. They really are rock stars.

We sing, dance, and laugh. Girls are asking who I am but we ignore them. As we leave the arena I realize I just had the coolest experience of my life. When we get to Stacie’s house I ask to see the video. She pulls out her phone, and we mash our heads together to see the little, tiny screen.

My heart stops and I feel instantly nauseated as I watch this overweight blob in a black t-shirt waddling across the stage. What the fuck is that? I watch the guys hug me, and Deklan can’t get his arms all the way around me. I give a sob and Stacie still thinks I’m excited. “I know, I bet he was all sweaty and yummy, huh?” She looks over at me and sees the expression of absolute horror on my face.

She sits up quickly. “Ali, what’s wrong?” She’s scared. I’m going to kill myself, that’s all there is to it. I sit up, with what I observe now to be noticeably more effort than skinny Stacie.

“What’s wrong?!” I shrill at her. “Look at how fucking fat I am! Why haven’t you told me I look like the Pillsbury dough boy?! Are they going to let me on the plane tomorrow? Forget it, I’m not going.”

She looks at me in confusion. “Ali, you’ve been the same size for years. That’s never made a difference to me and it shouldn’t to you. Who cares?”

“Who cares?! I care! That video is disgusting! That girl on the stage that Deklan can’t even get his arms around? She is disgusting. No wonder I’ve never had a date, and never been to prom or homecoming. I’m disgusting!”

Stacie straightens her shoulders. “You stop it right now, Alaina Dawson Pierce! You will not talk about yourself like that! You’ve never even wanted to put up with boys or go to prom because it was what your parents wanted. And you are going to New York if I have to drag you on the plane.”

“Stacie, you would have to roll me, not drag me,” I tell her in despair as tears roll down my face.

Her face gets soft. “You’re exaggerating, but if you feel that way, then why not think of going to New York as a chance to start over. A whole new you. We’ll go to a gym, give you a makeover, whatever you want to do.” I plop back on the bed and notice for the first time how much the bed dips and put a pillow over my head and cry.

~

So, I chickened out. I let my parents send in the tuition to Stanford and make the dorm arrangements, never telling them my grandparents had paid for my tuition for NYU from the trust. I wait anxiously in my room for my grandparent show up, and get me the hell out of here. I didn’t want to take anything that they bought, including my car, to the airport in case they went crazy and accused me of stealing.

Watching out the window, I mutter, “Finally,” when I see a little Hyundai rental pull into the driveway. Grabbing my suitcases of mostly concert t-shirts, I drag them down the stairs making a racket as they hit each step. The doorbell rings.

“What is that noise? And who is at the door? Alaina?” Mother calls as she click clacks her way from the kitchen. I have no idea what she does in there. Certainly not cooking.

“I’ll get the door, mother!” I yell, trying to get there before she does.

“Stop that incessant thudding,” she says as she pastes on a smile, swinging the door open. Bang! I make the last step down onto the hardwood floor and pause to catch my breath. Damn overweight cow! Why didn’t I notice how out of shape I was? Probably because I’ve never been IN shape.

“I’m ready,” I say breathlessly, but my mom hasn’t stepped out of the doorway to let in the people on the other side. “Mom, it’s been… Well. Anyway, I need to be going.”

Mother turns to me wide-eyed, her blonde coif never moving as she looks between her in-laws and her daughter. “You know these people?” she asks me incredulously. I nod briskly, trying to make things as quick as possible.

“Victoria Pierce, meet Bernie and Estelle Dawson. Your husband’s parents. If you will excuse me…”

“You are not going anywhere with these… these vagabonds Alaina! They could kidnap you and hold you for ransom for all we know. I cannot imagine how you’ve been in their acquaintance.”

I wave that off as my brow starts to sweat. “Oh, they sent me a letter asking to meet me. I agreed, and they told me about my trust fund and a really cool tattoo artist named Reed. We’re going to see him now. Gotta go.” I know I’m being a bitch, but I’m almost free. Turns out I shouldn’t have said the last part.