Fangirl (19 page)

Before opening the pool gate and leaving, D told her student, “Just promise me you will stop saying ‘totes.'”

Self-satisfied, Josie rested the back of her head on the tub's concrete edge and stared up at the clear blue sky. A few minutes later, the jets timed out and she could see her skinny, pale thighs, and the first thing that came to mind was how much she really was going to need a tan . . . that was, if she could scheme up a way to come up with a hundred bucks. She remembered that she still had that twenty-five bucks that her dad gave her last week for groceries but never spent. So, if her calculations were accurate, all she needed, really, was seventy- five dollars.

When she got back to her apartment and her mom was waiting in the living room to greet her and hug her again and say she was sorry for being so harsh earlier, Josie sweetly hugged her and told her it was okay, that she knew she was just being a good mom, looking out for her.

Then, before walking into her room so she could excitedly start texting with her gorgeous boy crush, she flashed the most innocent doe eyes and reminded her mom that this weekend was her BFF Ashley's camping weekend up in the mountains
and—gee golly gosh-oh-gosh—how much she was looking forward to just getting away and being with her friends.

“Oh, honey,” her mom cooed. “Of course you do.”

That's when Josie went to hit the golf ball that she had just so manipulatively set on the tee: “But can I borrow fifty bucks to buy a present for her? She's been such a good friend to me; I would die without her.” Josie flashed the doe eyes again. “And, oh, I also need like twenty-five bucks to buy some camping supplies, food, and stuff.”

After her mom promised to leave a check on the counter in the morning, after Josie hit that perfectly teed-up ball smack down the middle of the Mommy fairway, she texted D.

J—got the hundy.

D—sexy.

J—so noon Friday?

D—yup. Noon it is.

It was seven o'clock, and, even though she knew that Peter was set to go onstage in Kansas City at eight, she texted him anyway, because at least he might see the text when he got offstage.

so, good news. Im in!! I can go. See you Friday.

Then she clicked on her Peter Maxx playlist and on came his hit “Like We Rock.”

Shake you, take you

As you are

Make you, never break you

That's who we are

Like we rock. . . .

Josie stood in front of the mirror listening to what was by far his sexiest song, brushing her wet hair and puckering her lips and singing along. She cocked her hips to the side like a supermodel at a photo shoot and wondered if this was what it felt like to be not a girl, but a woman.

Peter and his dad
were arguing—again.

After their midflight spat on the way to Kansas City, they hugged it out over dinner later that night. Peter apologized and Bobby suggested that the stress and strain was natural—and expected. Forty-city tours were hard on experienced performers, so of course a sixteen-year-old performer would have his moments of cracking. They both agreed that Peter being happy was most important and the last couple days went on as planned. Strong as oak, Bobby promised.

A day later, in the dressing room at the Sprint Center, they were back to battling.

“Your fans don't want acoustics, Son. Well, maybe like one or two a night to slow it down, pace your set out. But mostly they want you to rock. They want bass and drums. They want to feel the energy in their bodies. They wanna dance. That's why they come out to see you live. And they want to hear your hits and have fun—not hear some drippy folk song you wrote on a napkin.”

“But they also have the Web and know my set playlist better than I do. I just want to mix it up. This isn't the '90s, Dad. You gotta stay ahead of the fans. I don't want to be so predictable. They deserve to see a different kind of show every night.”

Bobby was shaking his head and if he went a few seconds more without inhaling Peter was convinced steam would start puffing from his ears and nostrils.

“Trust me, Peter. Sappy doesn't work for you. Look what it did to
my
career!”

“Don't start in with that, Dad,” Peter demanded.

“With what?”

“With your do-what-I-say-or-be-washed-up-like-me BS.”

Just as Bobby was about to argue, all five of the G Girls, with Sandy leading the pack, ran by them in their skimpy girl-group getups. Sandy high-fived Peter, then Bobby. They offered a lifeless high-five back to each of the girls as they disappeared down the hall.

“That's just not realistic, Peter,” Bobby continued, a little less riled up. “We can't crank out a different show every night. Name one band that does that. Okay, the Grateful Dead used to, but besides them—no one. No one! You want me to go tell your musical director you want a different set list every night and we have to rehearse with the lighting crew, the sound guys, the backup singers, the band, everyone. We have a formula for a reason.”

“Dad, it's one freakin' song. That's all I'm saying. I just want to play one song. I don't need the band. All I need is my acoustic guitar and one light on me.”

“Fine,” Bobby said. “I hear ya. Loud and clear. You want to do your own thing. It will make you ‘happy' blah-blah-blah. Wish granted.”

Bobby grabbed his earplugs from his front pocket. “But not tonight, Son. I want you to rehearse it first. Maybe in a few days. Maybe in Vegas.”

“I want to play it in Vegas.”

“That's in three days. We'll see.”

“Deal,” Peter said.

And they shook on it.

Peter had a few minutes to kill before sound check and there was only one thing he felt like doing to kill the time. And it wasn't his tutor's geometry homework assignment on vectors.

P—hey hey hey

J—yay. Ur back!

P—ever play the ask-me-anything game?

J—duh

P—K . . . you first. Only yes or no answers.

J—no, you first

P—damn ur a tough one

J—no, just dont like to make the first move hehe

P—ever?

J—if poss. haha

P—hard being a guy, always gotta make the move haha

J—and ur question???

P—ok ok ok

P—thinking . . .

P—ever been to Tennessee?

J—NO sadly. I want to though!!!

J—do I still get to be ur friend?

P—is that an official question?

J—sure. haha

P—of course u do. YES --> Nobody from LA ever has been to Tenn. Youd be like the only 1 ever

P—ok, next quesht . . . hmmm

P—whats your favorite book?

J—so many I cant just say one. . .

J—Beowulf.

P—REALLY?

J—jkjkjkjkjkjk. That book is sooo boring! Had to write a book report on it and almost wanted to kill myself.

P—LOL

J—but honestly I really like The Great Gatsby.

P—wow, I just read that for school!

J—um you dont go to school. . . .

P—well, my homeschool hahaha . . . my tutor is amazing. Why do you like Gatsby so much?

J—because the romances are so intense. Like they all have money, but they are obsessed with what they dont have—LOVE. People always want most the thing they dont have. Kinda profound. . . . And plus I like reading about rich people, since I am so not rich. At all FYI!

P—rich is overrated, trust me. And, sorry but I didnt like the book so much. Maybe because it hits close to home . . . and it was kind of depressing!

J—why?

P—well, because basically everyone dies. And it is so cynical about wealthy people

J—r u ever cynical?

P—only when I realize I am not living the life I want to live, or when I feel like I am doing something for the wrong reasons.

J—like . . .

P—like not being friends with a girl just because im afraid of what people will say or cuz I dont trust someone. But I trust you. . . .

J—;)

P—ok, I have one more question before I gotta go to work

J—go for it

P—do u believe in God?

J—yes.

P—why?

J—Because I believe in love. And God is love.

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In all the time I have been tipping off your website, I've never been wrong. I have never given you a tip that wasn't true. I guarantee you that the Peter Maxx Marriage story is true. He did propose to Sandy. But she said no because she felt they were too young, though she loves him crazily. Of course, he is denying it ever happened to save face. Why? Because there is an even bigger story about to come out about Peter's love life and he doesn't want to look bad. HE is obsessed with his image. The god's honest truth is that he has a secret GF. Not Sandy. In fact, poor Sandy doesn't even know about it herself. In fact, Sandy is totally in the dark and, well, you gotta really feel bad for the girl. She is blinded by her love, I suppose, as are many young girls in her position. Poor girl. All I can tell you is that you should have a photographer staking out the lobby of the Palazzo hotel in Vegas this Friday. I wish I could tell you more, but I have been sworn to secrecy.

Packing for
a trip to Las Vegas is no easy task. Especially when you've never been there and your only scant knowledge is pretty much what you've gleaned from TV and movies and those funny commercials. Especially when your mom can't know you're packing for Vegas because, if she did, you would be grounded for life. Especially when your closet isn't exactly brimming with outfits that scream “Las Vegas.” Luckily, Josie had one day before she and D slipped out of town and made the five-hour drive across the Mojave Desert into Nevada.

Even though Josie knew she would be spending less than forty-eight hours in Vegas, the trip suddenly seemed complex fashion-wise. First off, there would be a Peter Maxx concert, which, naturally, meant a concert-appropriate outfit. Josie figured kids in Vegas dressed a lot more glamorously than kids in Bakersfield, so she pulled out everything that sparkled, including a tank top with silver sequins and a black blouse with a swirly design made of silver beads. As for shoes, she tried on a pair of black platform sandals she hadn't worn since last year and black boots that zipped up to just below her knee. They both fit, but barely. She had grown two inches taller and a half shoe size bigger in the last six months.

The last time Josie had actually enjoyed wearing a skirt
was when she was four and wore her Snow White dress like every day. She didn't like skirts. They weren't very practical, and she thought they made her legs look too skinny. Nevertheless she noticed that Sandy Jones almost always wore them, which led Josie to conclude that she probably should. Peter must have liked them. She would have to suck it up and wear one—at least one of the nights.

She pulled from her drawer a black cotton skirt she'd gotten last Christmas from her grandmother. It had been knee-length, but when she tried it on, it only covered halfway down her thigh. Josie stretched it down, wiggled her hips and adjusted it as low as she could without looking like a total slob. She filled her suitcase with the “best” of everything she owned: her
best
pairs of shorts, her
best
TOMS, her
best
two tanks (a black and a white), her
best
pairs of jeans, her
best
two-piece black bikini, all of which she modeled in front of her bedroom mirror. “Thank you, Peter,” she said to the invisible pop star standing beside her at an invisible hotel pool. “I will have a Diet Coke, my love.” Thank God, there wasn't a hidden camera in her bedroom.

Josie, still in her bikini, grabbed a towel, stuffed the tiny, old-school Samsung cell she had borrowed from Christopher into her bikini top and stepped out of her room. “Mom, I'm going to lay out on the grass for a little bit,” she announced through the wall to the kitchen where her mom was cleaning.

“How's packing going?”

“Good,” Josie replied. “Hard to pack for camping since I
haven't camped in
ages.”

“Do you have bug spray?”

“Um, no, but Ashley said she'd have all the hard-core camping stuff. She said it would be like staying in a hotel.” Josie walked out the front door before her mom asked too many more questions that might catch her in her giant lie of the century.

Josie unrolled her towel onto a patch of grass in front of her apartment building and lay down on her back under the midday sun. If she could afford it, she would spend twenty bucks at a tanning salon, but seeing as though she had given D all her money (except for twenty bucks for spending), she had to tan herself the old-fashioned way.