Hidden in the Stars (Falling Stars #2) (28 page)

Still not allowed access to my cell phone or computer, Elliot was kind enough to smuggle his inside. Having hidden it in the acoustic guitar case I've been given permission to have, along with my black lyric book.

"Well, look who just can't stay away from a rehab or psych ward." Elliot grins widely as Chris enters the room.

"Asshole," Chris greets him.

"Captain Emo." Elliot salutes.

Chris turns his scowl on me.

"What's wrong?" I close the laptop, silencing my snake charmer.

"You're gonna want to open that back up." Chris motions to the laptop as he approaches the bed.

I lift it open just in time for Chris to turn the computer toward him. He starts typing and when he turns it back around, nausea assaults me.

"When—?"

"An hour ago," he answers before I can finish asking.

"What the fuck?" Elliot's voice comes from over my shoulder.

"Who is that?" Kat asks, leaning forward.

She starts scrolling through picture after picture of Liza and me going into the hotel, Liza coming out of the hotel, and a fucking video of her leaving my room. The images are blurred and grainy. It would be hard to identify her,
if
you didn't know who she is.

"This shit is fucking viral." Jimmy drops his phone in my lap.

The images are all over the entertainment websites, being used as teasers for upcoming 'news' shows.

"I need my phone." I clench my fists.

"You can't—”

"I need to call her, to prepare her. I need to talk to Una," I growl, focusing on Christopher.

He shakes his head.

"Una is already on this, but…"

"But what?" I scream. "Una was supposed to be on this shit. She said she had Kristy under control."

"You think it's her?" Kat asks.

"Who the fuck else?" I start to pace. "I need my phone. Her number is on it."

"It could be any fucker looking to make some cash," Jimmy argues.

"You heard what that bitch said before she stormed out of the hotel room," Elliot counters.

"I need my—”

Chris' phone chimes, cutting me off. He answers, looks at me, and holds out the phone.

"It's Una. She needs to talk to you."

I snatch the phone from his hand. "What the hell, Una? You said you had this," I snap.

"Jackson, I know you're pissed, but I can't trace it back to Kristy."

"You know she—”

"Yeah, I do, but we've got a bigger problem."

"What?"

"Your drug use is getting more attention and rumors are flying around saying the girl in the pictures is a stripper you were getting high with at a club. They're also claiming they have clearer photos showing her with bruises and a swollen lip," she finishes with an exhausted sigh.

"What the fuck! That's a goddamn lie," I growl.

"Jack, I've got an anonymous message threatening to expose Liza and implicate you in some serious drug and abuse related shit. This isn't good. I know you want to immediately act on it, but I need you to take a breath and let me work this out."

I inhale deep, swallowing the roar threatening to escape.

"You better work it out right fucking quick."

Ending the call, I toss the phone onto the small table in the room.

"One of you needs to get to her."

"To who? Kristy?" An evil gleam flashes in Kat's eyes

I shake my head, even though I like how she's thinking.

"No. I need you to get to Liza. This is my fault and I need to fix it."

Chapter Fifteen

Liza

"No one can tell it's you," Sid reassures, dropping my cell to the counter between us.

"Then why would someone purposely send it to me?" I snatch the phone off the table and scroll through the grainy pictures sent by an unknown number. They also felt the need to include the word “whore” along with the website link.

Sid growls, "Damn it, Liza. Whoever released the pictures sent it, or someone involved. Nowhere on any of the websites does it say your name." She sweeps her hand over my laptop, her tablet, and our cell phones. "If they released your name or found out who you were, trust me, they would post it everywhere."

Realization smacks into me. It had to be that bitch.

"Kristy," I groan out her name, closing my eyes.

"You think that skank did this?" Sid slides my laptop in front of her and starts tapping on the screen.

"Yes. No. I don't know." I rub my tear swollen eyes before refocusing on my cousin. "Who else would do it?"

"Maybe it's not about you." Sid doesn't look up from computer. "It could just be about profiting off Jackson's drug scandal."

"Great." Rolling my eyes, I walk around the counter and slip onto the stool next to her. "That makes me feel so much better."

On a tired sigh, I ask, "What are you doing?"

"Tracing the phone number." She shrugs.

"Please don't do something that will get my laptop confiscated." And then, for good measure, I add, "Again."

She looks up and flails her arms into the air. "Once. It happened once." She holds her pointer finger up in my face. "You're never going to let me live it down, are you?"

"Sid, the FBI took my eleventh grade English essay and computer," I remind, trying not to smile. As scary as it was at the time, the memory of three agents arriving and the look on Aunt Char and Uncle Mark's face is funny now. Though, it wasn't funny when they showed up again, much later in high school.

"I replaced your essay," she blurts before turning back to the computer. "And I bought you a new laptop," she concludes on a mumble.

Covering my face with my hands, I lean forward, elbows on the counter.

"This isn't going to be the end of this," I moan.

"You don't know that." She tries sounding positive, but I can hear the lack of surety in her voice.

Later that night, I receive another unknown text.

Unknown Number: He's sorry about the photos and worried about you. He's trying to fix it.

Tired of unknown numbers, I hit reply to finally find out who this is. But before I can type a letter, I lose my nerve, afraid to scare off my one link to Jackson.

I'm a pathetic loser.

"You realize you're on the live show, right?" Sid greets me from my seat in the dressing room.

"Voting doesn't close until midnight." I shoo her from the chair at my dressing table.

Sighing, I sit, exhausted. Between sleeping next to Sid, the stress from the show, my current life changes, and dreaming about Jackson, my brain and body are close to a complete shutdown. Letting my body sag, I take three deep breaths.

"It doesn't matter," Sid continues. "There's no way anyone can knock you out of the top twenty."

A rush of nerves spikes my energy level. Straightening and turning, I look at Sid.

"What?"

She sits in Bethany's chair, flipping her tablet around for me to view.

"You're number five, my darling cousin." She grins, wiggling her brows. "Even with an hour to go, no one can knock you out of the top twenty now."

"How did...? I was at…" A lump of nervousness clogs my throat.

"Your numbers jumped over the past hour." She turns the tablet back to her.

"I'm going to the live show," I whisper.

"You're going to the live show," Sid confirms, grinning.

Our eyes lock for a second before we burst into squeals.

"Oh my God, I knew you would dominate!" Sid claps.

"Did you make it?" Bethany stumbles into the room, trying to walk and remove a platform heel.

Sid slips from her chair and moves over to the worn loveseat.

"She's top five and there are only minutes left before voting closes."

Bethany drops into her chair and lets the heel fall to the floor.

"Oh. My. God!" she screams, grabbing my hands and squeezing them in hers. "Are you excited?" She drops my hands and continues before I'm able to respond. "Of course you are. Why wouldn't you be? Did you tell Red?" She fires off the questions while touching up her makeup.

Pulling pins from my hair to change over for the last performance, I respond, "More nervous, I think. No, I haven't been able to tell Red yet, besides it's not final."

With a shrug, I roll the sides of my hair and pin them back, sticking tall feathers into the knot I created. Leaning toward my mirror, I grab my lip brush and touch up the bright pink lip stain.

"It might as well be official," Sid scoffs.

"Ten minutes," Jennifer yells through our door.

"Okay," Bethany and I yell in unison.

"I should've gotten the taxi like I wanted to," Sid growls from the bus seat. "It always smells like hooker armpits this late at night." She wrinkles her nose.

"And how would you know what a hooker's armpit smells like?" I raise one brow.

In a flash, she grabs my arm and leans into my pit.

"That's gross," I laugh, pulling my arm away.

"Well, now I know, don't I?"

"Bitch," I say on a giggle.

Ignoring the insult, Sid launches right into her favorite topic of the night.

"What song are you going to sing for the show?"

Shrugging, I tilt my head back and forth.

"Not sure yet."

I drop my head onto the back of the seat and close my eyes. Jackson's face flashes behind my lids as my brain rushes through the current state of my life. A pang in my chest joins in at the moment.

"You would totally win if you wore the pink corset with the black stripes."

"I don't think that would go over very well with the show producers," I respond, amusement in my voice.

"Liza?"

"Yeah?"

"You aren't really excited about this, are you?"

Taking a deep breath, I lick my dry lips.

"I'm just nervous."

"Liar." She knows me too well.

Lifting my head, I turn to look at her. Our eyes meet.

"I am a bit nervous, that’s not a lie, but it's more than that." I shift my gaze to watch the dark city pass by through the bus window. "I don't know if this is something I want anymore."

The warmth of her hand on my arm draws my attention.

"You've wanted this for forever. What's changed?"

With a humorless laugh, I give her the most honest answer I can. "Me, Sid. I've changed."

Our eyes meet again and we sit in comfortable silence. With a quick nod and a small smile, she turns to look out the window.

"I think you should sing something sweet, but sad." Sid doesn't turn around to me when she finally speaks.

I nod, even though she's not looking.

Two days later, an assistant producer for Hidden Talent calls to confirm my qualification for the live show. Papers arrive by courier an hour after the call, who waits for me to review and sign the documents so he can return them the same day.

Signing my name on the bottom line was bittersweet. All the years I wanted this very thing—to be noticed, discovered. Now…I'm not sure what I want anymore.

During club rehearsal, Red is more than thrilled I made it to the live round. He's pretty sure this will be great publicity for the club. Though, he's not happy I have to miss Friday night's performance. And again, he's expressed his concern over me leaving once fame takes hold, but his genuine belief in me is touching. It makes the thought of having to walk away from the club even harder to stomach.

The bus arrives at my stop and I step off onto the sidewalk, ready to just be home and in bed. Tonight's rehearsal combined with my nervousness about tomorrow's first stage rehearsal for Hidden Talent has me completely exhausted.

"No," Kelvin barks at Sid.

"Come on," Sid whines. "We all have to match."

"Match what?" I set my bag down and close the apartment door.

"She wants to wear matching shirts for the show." Kel rolls his eyes, answering my question.

"And what's so bad about—?"

"Oh, it's not the shirts. It's the bedazzling she wants on them." Looking away from me, Kel narrows his eyes on Sid. "I'm not wearing t-shirts that say ‘Liza's Bunch’ in rhinestones."

"But it will look better when the light hits them, especially for the cameras," Sid informs.

"I don't care. I'm not wearing rhinestones. Pick another design." Kel walks out of the room and down the hall to show the finality of his statement.

"Fine," Sid barely agrees.

I know that little glint in her eye all too well.

"What are you planning?"

She shrugs.

"He said no rhinestones, but he didn't say anything about glitter." With a large grin, she turns to the open laptop and taps away on the keys. The grin never leaves her face.

Too tired to attempt to sway her, I walk into the kitchen. Grabbing a wine glass, I fill it to the rim before taking a seat on the couch.

"I ordered pizza," Sid says to the computer.

"We just ate pizza the other night," I remind.

"So." She shrugs. "Pizza can be eaten at least three times a week. In fact, if you're a college student, it can be eaten twice a day, every day."

Shaking my head, I take a long drink from the glass and put my feet up.

While Lucas and Sean get ready for bed, Kel helps me clean up from dinner. Sid ordered pizza alright. Three different pies, cheesy bread, cinnamon sticks, and a family size salad. The kitchen looks like a Dominos explosion.

"Liza, come here." Sid's urgent tone draws my attention away from dishes.