The Tour (28 page)

It never snows in Sacramento, so this is new to me, but our parents used to drive me up to Lake Tahoe and let me slide around on orange plastic down little hills. They never bought the right kind of boots, though, and I’d get snow inside the rain boots Mom put on me.
‘No one sells the right boots for snow in Sacramento,’
she’d say. I remember Dad telling me about these weird snow boots from when he was a kid in Alaska. He said his dad wore them, and they were called bunny boots, and they were temperature controlled and white. I always thought that was a funny name. Later, after my dad fell into his depression, Mom would take Riley and me to the snow without Dad. I realize now how I missed his stories. He was a good story teller.

“Mia,” he says. I look up, realizing I’ve been deep in thought.

“Hey Kenny,” I reply.

“I was wondering. Do y—y—you want to go to lunch? Nothing big. There’s a place called Fuse Bistro in downtown Lowell. L—l—looks like they put chips on their burgers. I—I—I’m just hungry and thought you might be, too.”

“I could eat,” I say, smiling, feeling impulsive. It’s my first genuine smile in a while. “Just let me grab my bag.”

As we walk outside to take the taxi that’s pulled up, Mayra shakes her finger at me. “You’re not going anywhere,” she says.

“Yes, I am. We’re hungry,” I explain.

“To where?”

“It’s a bistro.”

“Mr. Royce doesn’t want you taking any unplanned trips,” she repeats, as if verbatim.

“Fuck Mr. Royce,” I blurt and walk past her. She huffs and climbs in next to me, squishing me into Kenny. All the way there, she’s mumbling about getting fired and texting on her phone. I guess she’s telling on me so she doesn’t get in trouble.

When we pull up to the cute restaurant with tall black curved and engraved wooden doors, Mayra makes us wait while she walks inside for a couple minutes. She waves us inside, and then stands by the door as Kenny orders a crunch burger with chips on top and I order a dinner salad with a small margarita pizza.

“Thanks for asking me to come out here. I’ve been cooped up for so long it’s starting to make me stir crazy,” I say, playing with my hair. I nervously touch my face, where the scratches are nearly healed.

“I’m g—g—glad you could come,” he says, genuinely. As I look at him under this lighting, he seems older and more mature.

We have an awkward moment where we obviously don’t know what to say to each other. So I blurt, “I didn’t hit her first, you know.” The waitress brings my salad at that exact moment. I catch her trying to conceal a nervous smile. Kenny’s eyebrows rise, and he hides a chuckle with his hand. When she walks away, he puts his hand down. He looks contrite.

“Blaire told me. But she s—s—said you were pissed about the video—so…” he says, as I take a bite and think about how to answer to that claim. I guess I could ask him what he thinks about the video.

“Well. I’ve deliberately avoided it. Kolton didn’t want to talk about what happened, and I was trying to give him space to cope.” He nods, and scratches his chin, nervously. “Do you think he did something wrong, Kenny? I mean—did he kiss her?”

The look on his face changes to one of concern. It’s like he’s going through each word he could say, and what that would do to me if he did. He shrugs. “I d—d—don’t think it’s for me to j—j—judge what he did. He almost d—d—died.” I’m taken aback. He’s right. Maybe I’ve focused too much on him lying to me instead of giving him credit for saving our lives.

“But you’ve seen the video, right?” I ask, just as they bring his burger and my small pizza. He rubs his hands together, anxiously, before putting the top bun over the potato chips and nodding before taking his first bite. “Would you be mad if you were me? I mean, having seen the video, would you be mad?”

“I don’t th—th—think I could watch the video if it w—w—was me and that were my g—g—girl.”

I take a big bite of pizza. I don’t know what that means. I look up and Mayra is watching the people at the bar who are turned around, looking at us and whispering. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch one of them walk toward us.

“Can we take a selfie with you?” the young woman asks, waving her pink phone at us. “I’m a huge fan, Mia. I voted for you every show.” Mayra walks closer, and I nod, telling her it’s fine.

“Thank you so much. Sure, let’s take a picture,” I say. Kenny and I stand up as she holds her arm stretched out. On the screen, I see all three of our up-close and smiling faces before she snaps the photo.

“What about my friends?” she asks. “Can we take a group pic?” she asks.

I look at Kenny, who nods, and we walk toward the bar, standing with two smiling guys and three blushing girls. Kenny puts his arm over the top of my shoulders as we all pose for the camera. They thank us, and he and I sit back down. It’s odd how dirty it felt, for some reason. I guess because Kolton would never have let me do that. He wouldn’t even let me come here to eat at all. We would have had to eat a catered meal inside the tour bus or something. I’d have to be an idiot to think that those pics aren’t already on social media, and that I’m tagged in them.

And Kenny had his arm over my shoulder. It was like a big huge ‘fuck you!’ to Kolton.
See what I do when you’re ignoring me?
should be the title of those pictures.

While we eat and exchange small-talk, I can’t help but think about what Kenny said. I get the weirdest feeling about this. People aren’t concerned about him kissing her, or whatever happened. But they acknowledge that they’d be upset if it was the other way around it and it was their girlfriend or boyfriend who’d done it. We did almost die that night. And should decisions made during a moment of survival warrant all of this conflict?

And what are we going to do when we see each other in two days? Is he going to keep ignoring me? If he’s not, am I ready to really deal with the truth?

Intentions

“H
appy birthday, Riles,” I say into my tablet’s Skype app. “You look bigger already!” She smiles and starts doing the funny little dance. “Do you feel ten?”

“No,” she laughs. “I feel the same as yesterday.”

“Well, that’s weird, because when you’re double-digits, you’re supposed to feel like you’re double-digits,” I tease.

“I mean, yeah, I guess I do feel a little different,” she says, sticking her bottom lip out in contemplation.

“Did you get your present?”

“I did! Hold on,” she says, running off and then coming back with the bag in her hand. She throws the tissue paper everywhere, pulling the game out, she squeals. “Pokémon Omega Ruby and Alpha Sapphire! How’d you get this? How? Oh my God! It’s not even out yet!”

“I called Gina DeYoung, my publicist. She helped me,” I explain. “But you’re going to have to write a review. It’s part of being a beta tester, ’kay?”

“I can’t wait!” she says. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“You’re welcome, Riles. What time’s your party?”

“At two,” she says.

“Well, you have fun, ’kay? And then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Love you, Mia,” she says.

“I love you, too.” I wave once more before closing out Skype and walking from the bus toward the Memorial Auditorium. I’ve gotten good at packing up my Birkin so I don’t have to roll my case into the dressing room.

As I turn the corner, I see a bottle sitting on top of the counter in front of the mirror with my name on it.

“You have something this time,” Tarise says. She’s not being bitchy. It looks like she’s genuine. I nod toward her, but I feel stuck in place. My heart feels like a clock ticking far too fast. I drop my Birkin on the chair and pick up the bottle. As I take the cork out, there’s a string. As I tug on it, a paper pulls out of it.

On it there’s a quote. It says,
“I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions.” –Augusten Burroughs

Well, now. Is this him saying he’s sorry? Is he trying to explain himself and his lies as good intentions? I hold the note in my shaking hand and hope he’s finally going to be honest, and that when I find out the truth I’ll still want to understand the meaning of this quote even better.

*     *     *

Jessie and I board the airplane alone on our way to the EMAs. Mayra stays behind, thank God. I’m sick of her bossiness all the time. We need a break. We’re seated in first class, which surprises me. I figured
The Stage’s
budget for transportation was tighter than this. “The seats are huge,” I say, shocked. I’ve never flown first class before.

“It’s nice,” she says. “I’m so tired. This tour is exhausting.”

“It is. It’s been rough on me, too.”

“For different reasons, though. I mean, the fight and all that. It’s a lot of stress,” she commiserates.

“I guess. Yeah.”

“I know she hit you first,” she whispers. “I told the cops. I told Joyce, too.”

I look at her differently in this moment. I’ve always admired Jessie but right now she seems almost like a friend. “Thank you, Jessie. Sometimes I feel so alone.”

“I just… I saw an interview with you where you defended me. They were asking if you’d lost because of your relationship with Kolton, and you said that I’d won because of my talent. And honestly, it didn’t seem like you were saying it because someone told you to, or whatever. I felt like you’d meant it.”

“I did. I
do
mean it. I’m glad you won. You deserved to win, Jessie.” She smiles and leans her head against the back of her seat.

“Thanks, Mia,” she says. And then the plane starts to make its way toward the runway.

After we’ve been in the air for a while, Jessie falls asleep propped up with an airplane pillow. But I can’t sleep, by mind meandering around and around my troubles, one of which is the contract Kolton is offering me has been sitting in my inbox, having been sent by Bob several days ago.

After letting my finger hover over the file waiting for me at the bottom of the email, I bring up the file and find the details laid out similarly to the way Ceol’s was offered.

…55% of the royalties will be split with Mia Phoenix after the advance is earned from record sales, ticket sales, and merchandise…
.

…The duration of the contract will run one year, with no options…

…No lock-out clause…we make no claim to own the rights to the artists’ name, likeness, and songs for the duration of the contract.

…Advance: $1,000,000…

As I read and then re-read this unmatched deal, I see that Kolton was right. What Ceol offered comes nowhere near Kolton’s deal. When I read Bob’s comments on the document, he says, “
It would be very difficult for me to advice you against this contract. I’ve never seen one this open ended or with so high a royalty. They’re letting you get out of your contract owning all of your music and your name. And that advance is higher than any new artist I’ve ever represented.
”

If I thought I couldn’t sleep before, now I’ve made that task even less likely to take place. I’d be crazy not to take this deal. But it’s too soon to decide when there are so many other issues between Kolton and me. He was truthful with me about his contract, and that eases some of the worry. In just a few hours, I’ll be in LA, whether I’m ready or not. I’ll be there, and so will he.

*     *     *