The Book of Love (9 page)

“Bastian, you are magic,” Olivia said. And then she went up to the desk and paid the absurdly large bill.

The four girls headed back out into the parking lot.

“Well, sisters,” Liza said, her voice a throaty purr, “I guess all that’s left to do is go and break a heart.”

The sky was the color of a ripe nectarine when they pulled into the SoundWave lot and Olivia popped the trunk.

A guy was sitting in the back of a truck with three friends watching them. “Welcome to the Wave, ladies,” he said. He was about their age and had a smooth Southern accent. “Need help carrying your stuff?”

Liza reached into the trunk and yanked out an enormous bag. “Nope,” she said. “But let me know if you boys do.”

Five minutes later, they were approaching Tent City, their temporary home for the duration of the festival. The big show didn’t start until the next morning, but already the campgrounds were starting to look like a tornado blew through carrying a postapocalyptic carnival city, and left it there. There were tents everywhere, from little two-person pop tents to enormous canvas contraptions that could easily hold ten. A few people rolled their sleeping bags out right onto the grass. In the center of the field a girl and three guys were hammering the final spokes into a large teepee that stretched fifteen feet into the air. The outside was decorated with gold flowers that glittered in the orange glow of the setting sun. Off to the side, a girl was playing an accordion and another girl was playing a guitar, and they were singing. Lucy turned to get a better listen and spotted a Heartbreaker tattoo popping over the top of the guitar girl’s tiny stripy strapless dress.

“Olivia,” Lucy whispered. “Look! I think that girl is a . . .” Lucy knew that other Heartbreakers existed, of
course. But she’d never seen one in person before. The girl had short dark hair, high cheekbones, and bright red lips. She was stunning.

Olivia just shrugged without turning. “Yeah, you’ll see some of that here. I’m sure we’re not the only ones who picked Beacon as a target.”

“Don’t look so worried, Lulu,” said Liza, “they have nothing on us. Besides, if it was too easy”—she turned and grinned—“it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.”

Fourteen

W
ithin an hour the place was packed, but once Lucy got used to looking for other Heartbreakers, they were easy to spot. They had a glow around them, a shimmering golden sort-of-halo that Lucy remembered seeing that very first night, when through Olivia’s window she watched Gil break
Ethan’s heart. Gil and Lucy wove their way through the crowd of cute music nerds, design geeks, hipsters, festival followers, and photo junkies taking pictures with their fancy giant-lensed cameras. Lucy spotted four girls with the glow to her right, laughing as they dipped their fingers into a tiny pot of what Lucy knew must be Empathy Cream. But none of that mattered now—Gil and Lucy were on a mission.

They passed through a high chain-link fence out onto the enormous field where the concert would officially begin in the morning. A half-dozen eighteen-wheeler trucks were parked on the grass. Dozens of people in SoundWave Crew shirts were busy unloading equipment. A hundred yards away the main stage rose up into the sky.

There was a very tall woman standing in the center of the field, black hair flopping down over her face, her head shaved on either side of the flop. She was holding a tablet computer and tapping at it in a way that implied she was very important, or at least very official.

Gil marched right up to her. “Hi,” said Gil. She smiled brightly.

“What do you want?” The woman put her hand on her hip. The tips of her nails were painted red, as though she had been clawing at something bloody.

“We’re here to see Vicky,” Gil said.

“And you are?”

“I’m no one.” Gil smiled. “But my friend is Lucy Wrenn.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” She gave Lucy a look. Lucy felt herself shrivel.

“She’s singing tomorrow in the New Voices tent. We were told to come by and check in?”

“And who are you, her manager?” The woman snorted. “Well, the good news is that you don’t have to look for Vicky anymore because you’re standing right in front of her. The bad news is she has no idea who the hell you are or what the hell you’re talking about. And Vicky doesn’t make mistakes.”

“Our mutual friend Paisley played you her tape and helped set this up.”

“I don’t have a friend named Paisley.”

“Are you sure? DJ? Really hot?”

Vicky shook her head. And then snorted again. “DJ? What is this, 1998? You must be talking about Vicky, V-i-i-k-i is how she spells it, which should give you some sort of idea of the type of person she is.”

“Well, can we see V-i-i-k-i Viiki, then?” said Gil.

“She’s gone.”

“Where is she?”

“She left.”

“But she was supposed to put Lucy on the list of performers.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you—she didn’t do lots of things she was supposed to do, hence my being here right now.” The woman clenched her jaw. “The lineup is already full. And your friend isn’t on it.”

Gil smiled calmly. “She was only going to sing one song, though. So you could probably put her on the roster, right?” Out of the corner of her eye Lucy saw Gil grabbing something out of her little brown leather purse. Then Gil pretended to scratch her neck and as she did, slipped what looked like a glittering earplug into her ear.

“Yeah, I
could
,” Vicky said. “But why would I?”

Gil paused for a moment. “I’m sure you were dealing with enough already, having to work with that girl in the first place. And now that she’s gone, you’re probably doing two full jobs. Sorry, that’s a really crap situation. We’ll leave.” Gil linked her arm through Lucy’s as if to go. Then she stopped and cocked her head. “Out of curiosity, where did she go? Run off with some guy or something?”

Vicky rolled her eyes. “Yeah, good guess. One of the guys in Monster Hands, actually. Last night.” A frown flashed across her face. A moment later it turned into a scowl. “And she left me to clean up her mess, of course.”

“From what Paisley said, she was always a star-chaser. Not even cool or hot or interesting, she just fawned over anyone famous. Pathetic.” Gil shook her head. “I’m sure in a week they’ll be back, her begging for her job and him wishing he’d never made such a dumb choice. Sucks that she left you so much to do, though.”

Vicky nodded. “Yeah.” She took a breath. “It kind of does.” She paused. “What did you say your name was again?”

Gil smiled. “I’m Gil. And this is Lucy.”

Vicky nodded again. “Listen, I shouldn’t be doing this, but”—Vicky smiled a tiny little smile—“Viiki had added a couple of her friends to the list last minute when we had a few spots left to fill. How about we just say she forgot to tell me about one of them . . .” Vicky swiped her finger across the screen and drew up a list of names. She crossed one out. “. . . but remembered to tell me about you. What’s your last name, girl?” Vicky looked at Lucy.

“Wrenn,” said Lucy. “W-r-e-n-n.”

Vicky typed it in. “Well, there we go,” she said. “You’re on tomorrow from four fifteen until four twenty-one. And you know what? What the hell, here.” She reached into her pocket and fished out a couple of vinyl straps. “These are all-access bracelets. Put these on and show them at any of the restricted areas, like the backstage pavilion or the jam tent.” She cocked her head toward a large white tent off behind the stage. “It’s this corny idea the organizer had, supposed to foster collaboration or something.” She waved her hand. “Anyway, wrists.” Gil and Lucy stuck out their arms, and Vicky snapped the bands around them. “Technically these are only supposed to be for the ‘big names,’ but whatever. Most of them think they’re too important to have to wear them.”

“Thank you so much,” Gil said. She leaned in and gave Vicky a hug.

“It’s nothing,” she said. But behind her grimace was a hint of a smile. “Just promise me you won’t fall in love with any rock stars.”

“Oh, trust me,” said Gil. “That is the very last thing that would ever happen.” Gil slipped her arm through Lucy’s again. “Good luck with the guy, by the way. He doesn’t deserve you.”

Vicky stared wide-eyed as Gil led Lucy away.

“What was that about?” Lucy whispered. “What did you put in your ear?”

“A Listen Between the Lines Plug,” Gil whispered back. “Turns down the volume on what doesn’t matter, turns up what does. And it turns out our new buddy Vicky over there thought
she
was going to run off with the guy from Monster Hands and . . .” Gil stopped. “Lucy,
LOOK.”

Without another word, Gil pulled Lucy toward the jam tent, and as they got closer, Lucy realized someone she recognized was standing outside. She’d last seen his face in a puff of smoke. And before that, in a million ads for his album. Standing right there, talking on the phone, was Beacon Drew. Gil pulled Lucy forward. Her stomach tightened.

“Shouldn’t we go get Liza?”

Gil shook her head. “By the time she gets here, he could be gone. And she doesn’t have a bracelet. Besides, look. . . .” Gil motioned to two girls approaching from fifty feet away, surrounded by the Heartbreaker glow. “Magic or no, when a moment presents itself, you grab it and you hang the hell on.” Gil smiled, but there was something fierce in her eyes.

She started toward the tent again. Lucy followed. An enormous mountain of man stood in front of the tent flap, blocking their way.

“Bracelet, girly,” said Mountain.

“Oh, sorry, of course.” Gil pointed to hers and then moved like she was about to enter.

Lucy glanced to the side. Beacon was still on the phone.

“No,” Mountain said. He held up his laser scanner like a gun. “I need to scan it.” And he held up his scanner gun like he was getting ready to shoot. Gil glanced at Lucy and shrugged. She held out her wrist, and Mountain flashed a red line of light across the band.

Then he gazed in the back of the scanner and shook his head. “Well, I’m sorry
, Mr. Deruth
, but I believe you’re already right over there enjoying our delicious selection of microbrews.” He pulled back the curtain and pointed
toward a short round man draped in gold chains, drinking a beer.

“Oh, oops,” Gil said. “We must have gotten the wrong bracelets or something.” She smiled.

Mountain leaned down and lowered his voice to a soft growl.

“Listen, groupie, if you belonged inside, I’d recognize you. I don’t know how you got those,” he said, “but it’s time for you to move along.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Gil smiled again. “My friend is a performer. So I’m sure there is some mistake. . . .” As she spoke, Gil reached into her purse.

Mountain stood back up and crossed his arms. “The only mistake here is the mistake you’re making in not getting out of my sight before I stop feeling so generous and get you kicked out of the damn festival.”

Lucy felt herself blush and her heart began to pound. Beacon was off the phone now, and he was walking toward them. If Gil was going to do anything, she was going to have to do it damn fast because five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . .

“Gil,” Lucy whispered.

But it was too late. There he was, Beacon Drew, beautiful and cocky in a brown leather jacket. “Hey, Steve.” He patted Mountain on the back. “What’s going on over here?”

“Just a couple of groupies trying to sneak in, Mr. Drew—don’t worry, I’ve taken care of it.”

“Groupies, you say.” He grinned and rubbed his hands together. “I love me some groupies.” He turned. “It’s cool, I’ve got this, man.” And with a final irritated glance at Lucy and Gil, Mountain Steve backed inside.

“So, groupies,” Beacon said. He crossed his arms. “Who are you here to groupie for?”

“No one,” Gil said. “Lucy’s a singer. She’s singing in the New Voices tent tomorrow.”

“Oh, is she?” Beacon raised an eyebrow. “So . . .” He faced Lucy. “Sing something, then.” It sounded like a challenge. He leaned back, waiting for her to begin.

“Right now?” said Lucy. Her voice cracked.

“Well, you could sing two minutes from now instead, but I won’t still be standing here. . . .”

Lucy’s throat was so tight. It was one thing to sing in front of a bunch of friends at Pete’s. But this . . . this was an entirely different thing. She looked at Gil, who was nodding. Gil mouthed,
Go.
But Lucy couldn’t make any sound come out.

“So is this supposed to be some kind of avant-garde silent singing thing?” Beacon smirked. “I don’t know if the SoundWave crowd is evolved enough to appreciate it.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy saw Gil stick her hand in her bag again, and when she took it out, the tip of one finger was covered in red powder. She popped her finger in her mouth, took it back out, clean, and then she leaned in toward Lucy. Very quietly she hummed a few notes, then blew a stream of cinnamon-scented air between her pursed lips. Lucy felt it curling up her nose. “Sing, Lu,” Gil said. And then, without thinking about it, Lucy opened her mouth and a song came out.

If you’d give me one chance

To show you my love, baby