I stumbled away from the set in a daze. Jason came forward and caught me, holding me steady. He looked into my eyes, his expression grim.
“What happened?”
Even when you think you know, and you think you’ve already come to terms with it, there’s still this little part inside you that hopes, desperately, that you’re dead wrong and everything’s okay and you just saw things wrong. And that part of you gets viciously crushed when he opens his mouth.
“Zan,” Jason whispered, even though I was shaking my head, “I’m so sorry.”
And he told me.
A stifled sob came out of my throat, sounding choked, and my bandmates, who’d been coming towards me, froze. I couldn’t bear to look at Jason’s face, and when I turned and saw the looks they were giving me, I couldn’t take anymore.
I ran from them, tried to run from everything. But some things can’t be escaped, even if you slam a door in its face.


♫╠═╬═╦═╬═╣♫


I thought about the last time I’d see my family as, tears streaming down my face, I started to rip apart our dressing room.
It had been five years. Five long years of hoping they were okay, that everything was fine, that they were doing well, because none of my phone calls had ever been answered, and all of my letters came back unopened. All the money I sent to them always sent back (I kicked a chair), denied, like me.
At first I’d thought their ignorance was an accident. I was calling home the wrong time of day, or maybe they’d move and changed addresses. (I knocked the chair over.) But the answering machine was always in my father’s voice, phone unanswered, no matter when I called. And the letters came back with no rerouting address, just labeled with “Return to Sender” in what I eventually recognized as my mother’s handwriting. (I picked up the chair and smashed it on the floor.)
I’d known they would be mad, when they hadn’t wanted me to go in the first place, and when I’d snuck out of the house in the middle of the night to leave, no good-byes. (I kicked the fallen chair, making it slide across the room.) So I gave them time. Almost two years, really. Then, the first time, I just sent them an envelope with some money, unable to put into words what I’d been thinking for so long. (I put my foot through the glass of the coffee table.) How much I’d missed them, how I hoped they were okay, and how I regretted having come out to California. I’d thought the least I could do was help them with money, since that had been our biggest struggle before I left.
And that was one reason why I had left. I’d been doing them a favor in a time when wages and jobs were going down and prices were going up. (I kicked at the frame of the coffee table.) But the money I sent came back, and after a while it was clear they wanted nothing to do with me. (I smashed the wood into the glass, liking the way it crunched under my foot.) I kept trying, though, somehow knowing that eventually they would come around, one of them would break down from my letters or my messages, which grew more and more desperate. (I ripped a painting off the wall and smashed it on the floor.)
I left a phone number with every single voice message I left. But I knew they probably weren’t even listening to them, just like they weren’t reading my letters, because I knew the ones that weren’t sent back were just thrown in the trash.
I had thought, at first, that I had abandoned my family. It didn’t take me long to understand, though, that it was very much the other way around.
I picked up a mirror and smashed it on the floor, watching the pieces crash around the room, my tear-stained face and the empty room around me the only things reflected in them.


♫╠═╬═╦═╬═╣♫


A little while later, the door to the dressing room creaked open.
“Don’t throw anything, it’s just me,” Jason said, glancing around the door at me.
I set the vase in my hand down, and dropped back onto the comfy suede chair I’d been sitting in. Jason came in, closing the door quietly behind him, and then walked over, grabbing up a knocked-over chair and setting it adjacent to mine. He sat down and then looked around the room.
A few minutes later he just studied me as I stared silently across the room, tears still welling in my eyes. Finally, he opened his mouth to speak. “That wasn’t a very grown-up thing for you to do.” He gestured at the room.
I chuckled and immediately clapped a hand over my mouth. He smiled sadly and looked away. “They are worried about you,” he said softly. “I didn’t tell them, because I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to.”
I leaned my face into my hand, willing this conversation, every conversation, about this to just go to hell.
“Zan.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way this was real.
“Zan. Look at me. Alezandra Nicole. Stop ignoring me.”
I looked over at him, and was struck by how much and how little had changed about him in almost four years. When we’d first met, I’d thought he was rather young. Turns out he was a lot older than I’d thought. Still, he looked younger than I knew he was now, his sandy-blond hair mostly untouched by grey yet, the crow’s feet by his eyes evident only of a lot of laughter in his life. His light blue eyes were clear—he hadn’t been drunk since the night I’d “rescued” him. He was wearing a light grey Armani suit with a blue shirt underneath, and he looked great. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, though, and his eyes looked tired, even more so when he met my gaze.
“I know you need time, because this is…” He shook his head, the way he had when he’d found out that his sister had died and he hadn’t been told about her cancer or the funeral. “There must be so much going through your head right now. And you know that I am here for you, one-hundred-percent, if you need anything. Anything at all.” He leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees, and stared intently at me. “I owe you my life, and I want to help you as much as I can. So nothing is too big for you to ask.”
He waited a moment for me to say something, and when I didn’t, he continued. “There’s…there’s one very important thing about all of this. Obviously, this is really…life-changing, of course. But um, there’s another part that’s a bit more… Oh I’m doing a horrible job of explaining this.”
I was watching Jason very closely now. There might be some people Jason had a hard time talking to, but I was not one of them. At least, I wasn’t supposed to be.
“What? What is it?” What else could’ve gone wrong? I almost asked.
“It’s…it’s your sister.”
For a moment, my mind went blank. Then, suddenly, there were a million thoughts at once. Oh God, through all of this I hadn’t even thought about her. Had she been in the car with them? Had she—had she died too? Was she even worse off than they’d been? Thinking this was making me feel sick, and I pressed a hand to my throat.
“No, no, calm down, she’s okay!” Jason said quickly. “Your sister’s fine. Alive and well. She wasn’t with your parents when… She was at a friend’s house or something.”
I covered my face with my hands as more tears sprung to my eyes. It was one thing to imagine my parents being gone for good. But my sister, my little baby sister… I don’t think I could’ve gone on living if she was gone too.
“Where is she?” I asked harshly.
He met my gaze squarely. “Well, that’s the thing. Right now she’s okay and staying with someone in your hometown, but your parents haven’t altered their will since you were born. Meaning, your sister isn’t written into the will. It specifically says where you are supposed to go, if you’re still a minor at the time of their death, but of course you’re already legal.” He swallowed, took a breath, and continued. “The courts have decided that, because of your financial success and lack of a criminal record, your sister should live with you.”
He paused for a long moment to let that sink in. It wasn’t long enough.
His voice was quiet as he continued. “If you decline, she’ll go to your one remaining set of grandparents”—my gaze was sharp as he said this—“who live in Florida, as you know, and do not have much money, as you may not know.”
Dead parents, dead grandparents, and a displaced sister. Was there any more this day could throw at me?
Apparently, there was.
Later that night, Jason dropped me off at my apartment, even taking the time to walk me upstairs and set out a robe and bubble bath so that I could “relax in peace and take some time to think.” Because I didn’t have to make a decision until after the funeral, which was in a few days, he thought it would be best if I didn’t say anything now, and just took some time off to clear my head and have some peace. Meaning, I’d gotten out of that album signing the next day, to the disappointment of my NYC fans. “But that’s their problem,” he told me, as if I actually cared about this. He was watching the TV in my bathroom, which was currently tuned to the news, where some reporter was interviewing a fan about their disappointment at the cancellation. “If they don’t understand that you need time, then they’re not real fans anyway.”
Hearing things like that, “real fans”, “New York fans,” just blew me away, every single time. I’d bought this apartment here a year ago, and had been in New York a thousand times, and I still caught my breath every time I heard my voice playing in a store, or saw my face on a billboard, or had fans—people of all ages—come up to me and ask for my autograph, barely containing their excitement. It was so bizarre. I was born in a lower-middle class family, and I’d worn Wal-Mart clothes for most of my life. Why was I being so idolized?
Jason was studiously ignoring me as I got undressed and stepped into the bubbly bathtub. My muscles screaming in pleasure, having had a workout yesterday at the gym to sitting on a six-hour flight this morning, to having bent and frozen in strange positions today for the photoshoot. This made my heart clench, but I tried my best to ignore it, and reach for the remote to turn up the TV, on its stand across the small room from the bathtub.
The story about my band was ending, and now the anchor came back on the screen. “In a related story”—cue the clever smile—“there has been a response to Zan Mae’s celebrity crush reveal.”
“Oh no,” I muttered, silently kicking myself, while Jason looked back at me.
“What did I tell you? How many times have I told you? If you just ignore them, then they have nothing to use against you.” He rolled his eyes as he leaned back against the marble shower, to the left of the tub. “Sometimes you’re a bit too nice, Zan.”
“On Tuesday the paparazzi released this video of Zan Mae, on her way to an album signing.” The screen cut from the anchor lady to the video, which I had already seen way too much.
It was horrible quality, of course, because all paparazzi videos are, for whatever untold reason. It’s taken from behind a car—you can see it in the bottom of the footage—and the guy’s voice is really loud as he calls, “Hey Zan, how’s your day going?”
I watched as me on the TV turned to look at the camera. Jason on the TV grabbed my arm, muttered a few words—“Just ignore them, it’s a waste of time”—and began to drag me away. “I’m doing all right, thanks,” I answered.
“That’s good to hear,” the camera guy said, voice still entirely too loud. “Hey, I have a question, if you don’t mind me asking.”
He started following us as Jason led me away from the parking lot of the strip mall we were at, toward the book store there. I glanced back at the guy, turned back to Jason—“He just has a question”—“Are you really being this dumb?”—“Maybe”—and then looked at the guy again.
“Um, if you make it quick,” I said, still being dragged along as Jason muttered another string of curses.
“Some of your fans wanna know who your celebrity crush is.”
I blinked. “Celebrity crush?”
“Yeah,” he said, still following. “Like, who in Hollywood would you go out with?”
“Oh.” I stumbled over the curb as we got up to the sidewalk “Well, I don’t really think about stuff like that. I…I don’t know.”
Now I was hurrying with Jason, wishing I hadn’t said anything at all in the first place. Sometimes I was really good at ignoring the paparazzi, just pretending they weren’t there and not responding to their questions and comments. Some days, though, my friendliness got the better of me.
“Ah, come on, Zan.” I hated that the most, when they pretended they knew me or something. “There’s gotta be someone.”
“Um.” We were almost inside the building now. “Well, I guess I think, uh…” I scrambled for a name, any name, of a somewhat popular actor. “I think Ryan Ashford is pretty cute.”
And the video ended after I ducked into the building after Jason, the camera guy thanking me.
In real life, I cringed, hiding under the water. Jason just gave me a look and turned back to the TV.
“…the original video, many people tried to see what Ryan Ashford thought about Zan’s confession.”
“Confession?” I asked, incredulous, while Jason shushed me.
“Finally though, we’ve got an answer from the Silent Boy,” the anchor was saying.
I said, “Oh God.”
“After being pestered for so long, Ryan put this video on his website, courtesy of RyanAshford.com.”
The screen changed again to video, this time the terrifying graphics of a webcam. Ryan Ashford, man of the hour, gazed out of the camera at me, sitting in front of a maroon-colored wall.
While I’d seemed rather absent-minded when I’d named him, the truth was I thought Ryan was just gorgeous. He’d been in movies since we were kids, and even back then I’d thought he was cute. I’d been quietly crushing on this guy for years. He had dark hair that was fashionably unkempt, a solid square jaw, and the most adorable puppy-dog eyes. He was the complete boy-next-door type, and I loved it.
“Hey guys,” he said, “I just figured I’d clear up all these rumors going around. No, I’m not dating Zan Mae, and I haven’t had any kind of relations with her.” He gave the camera a pointed look, and I buried my face even deeper under the water and bubbles. “I’ve never even met her, actually. But it would really cool if I could, and—but don’t tell her this—” He winked at the camera. “—I actually think it’d be pretty cool to go on a date with her.”
With that, the video cut and the anchor made some witty joke about the two of us hooking up or something. I just buried myself under my bubbles and wished it would all go away.

Originally, Jason was supposed to drop me off so I could get ready for our red-eye flight, and he would go to his place to do the same. However, it soon became apparent (to him, at least) that I was completely incapable of doing anything more than sit in my bathtub. “You just stay here and relax,” he was telling me. “Maybe watch some TV? Listen to music? Read a book? Sleep? I dunno, just do something to keep your mind off of it.” He still wasn’t able to say what “it” was, although I figured it was for my sake. He puttered around my bathroom, collecting random things, this and that, from here and there, to stuff into my suitcase. “But you just wait here and chill, and I’ll go pack up your stuff for you. I’m not sure how long you’ll wanna stay, so I’ll pack enough things for a few days, and then we can go from there.” As if I’d wanna stay in that wretched town any longer than I had to. I may have missed my family in the time I’d been gone, but I didn’t regret for a second leaving that f*ing place. He stopped at my sink-vanity, which was cattycorner to the shower, and picked up a couple of things, staring at them for a while before putting some back and shoving others into a bag. “And I’ll make sure to pack a little bit of everything. You’ll need a few formal outfits, of course, but don’t you worry about those, I’ll pick out some of your more conservative stuff. But you’ll need some casual wear, cuz trust me, you’ll get sick of wearing skirts and heels pretty fast. So maybe some sweats, a couple pairs of jeans… Any sort of input on this?” I shook my head. The last thing I cared about right now was whether I should wear sweatpants or jeans. “All right then. I’ll just pack whatever I think would be best, then. You won’t have to worry about a thing; I’ll even set out something for you to wear on the plane. That’s how great a manager I am.” Jason smiled at me, and I tried to smile back, because he was a great manager, and overall, a great friend. But in his eyes I could tell he knew how forced it was, and how sad that made him. “Are you on your period?” For a minute I was sure I’d heard wrong. Here we were, having this moment. There was no way he had just asked me that. “I’m serious—are you on your period?” My eyebrow twitched. “Why, am I too hormonal for you?” He rolled his eyes. “Of course you would think that. No, you little priss, I’m asking because I’m packing your bags and need to know if I should pack tampons or not.” “Oh.” “‘Oh’ is right. I guess I’ll have to pack them cuz you must be on your period, being so uptight…” His voice faded out as he walked into my big bathroom-bedroom closet. “Jason! Jason, don’t worry about it, I’m not on my period.” He poked his head out and gave me a look. “God.” “Are you sure?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. This time it was a natural, if small, smile that came to my lips. “Yes, I’m sure. I’m all good for the next week or so.” “Whoa, honey, I don’t need that specific, you’re gonna turn my stomach over.” He faded out again as he went through the closet into my room. I chuckled a little, but as I settled back, my humor faded away like Jason’s voice, and I was suddenly filled with an intense emptiness. Why was it when we are at our most alone that we need someone else? At the moment I wanted nothing more, so strongly, than to be held by strong arms against a warm body, comforted by even the simple presence of someone else. If I really wanted, Jason would hold me again, but it just wasn’t the same. As much as we cared for each other, I knew there was only so much he could do for me, because things would never be like that for us. “If only you were a man, or if only I was straight,” he’d say to me sometimes, when we were really having a moment together. And it made me sad to hear him say things like that. It was the way I’d felt my entire life, with everybody I interacted with—I was perfect except for one single, overwhelming flaw, and that one thing couldn’t be ignored or changed. What I wanted was the affection of a man who was willing to give me whatever I needed in times like this, when I was desperate to feel something. Not willing to do it out of a sense of obligation, like I knew Jason would, but because he truly wanted to see me happy. Not that Jason… Ugh. All this thinking was starting to give me a headache. If Jason was straight, then he would be perfect for me, I summed up. But he’s not, and there’s no point in dwelling on it because nothing’s going to change that. Summing up the situation did not make me feel any better. I completely submerged myself under the water, holding my breath until I thought my lungs would burst. Then I popped my face out of the water and sucked in air, gasping a little. “Everything okay in there?” I heard Jason call from another room. My heart ached. I was far from okay. But he was doing everything he could to help me out, and so I answered, “Yeah. Everything’s fine.” ♫╠═╬═╦═╬═╣♫ I was startled awake later, unaware that I’d fallen asleep, when my front door slammed. For a minute I couldn’t remember what was going on, or why I was in the bathtub, or who had just walked into my place. But after a moment, I recognized the clink of Jason’s keys and heard him mumbling to himself, and I knew everything was okay. And then I started to think about the other things again. I sighed and started rubbing my face. That was the wonderful thing about sleep—you didn’t have to think about anything. Your mind for the most part just completely shuts off. But what sucks is it’s over in an instant, a whole six, eight, ten hours gone, just like that, in the blink of an eye. In real life it was hours that passed, but in my mind it was just seconds of peace. And I didn’t really like that. “Hey there, princess,” Jason greeted as he came into the bathroom. He pulled my vanity chair up next to the bathtub. “You’re looking pretty tired.” I nodded. “I fell asleep, I guess.” “You needed the sleep, for sure.” “How long were you gone?” “Only a couple hours,” he told me. “I went over to my place and got my stuff ready, and still had time to stop and pick you up a couple of things.” “A couple of things” usually meant some sort of expensive things. I raised my eyebrow at him. “You shouldn’t have done that.” He smiled. “But I did. So. You should finish up here in your bath—it can’t be too warm anymore—and then get out and get ready to go, and then I’ll hand over your gifts. Sound like a plan?” I nodded tiredly, knowing that when he went into freak-out mode like this, when there were meetings/flights/people to get to, there was no stopping him. He smiled again, looking more the worse for the wear. “We can catch up on our sleep on our flight. It’s first-class, straight to Saint Louis, so we’ll have at least a good three or four hours.” “Okay,” I said quietly, as I ducked my head under the water and reached for the shampoo. When I finally got out of the bath tub ten minutes later, I was all pruny but clean and feeling a bit better. I wrapped myself in my robe and stepped through my closet into my room. As promised, an outfit was laid out on the bed, shoes on the floor, purse waiting nearby. The lacy underwear was a bit much, I thought, but the green silk blouse and loose black cotton pants looked comfortable. I got dressed and cleaned up the small mess I’d made, then looked around the room. It was times like these that I was glad I didn’t have a pet. But if you had a pet, then you’d have someone to cuddle with… a dark part of my brain told me. I politely told that part to shut the f*** up, because maybe a pet would be a comfort, but it was far from what I really needed. I sat on the edge of my bed to slip on my tennis shoes, then fell back against the bed. This place always felt more like home than anywhere else, and so of course it was always the place that I had to leave all the time. I heard Jason come up the hall and stand in the doorway, but I didn’t move. It was too easy to just lie here and not move. Sometimes I wondered why I kept pushing through all the hard stuff, when it was so much easier to just give up. “Come on,” Jason said quietly, “it’s time to go.”

Exact details of what was happening in Zan Mae’s life hadn’t been released, but enough information had been pieced together from random people for everybody to assume that something was wrong with my family. On our way down the stairs, Jason warned me about the mass that had collected outside my building. I nodded and pulled a pair of big sunglasses out of my purse.
At the door, he stopped and set our suitcases down. He pulled the duffel bag I’d been carrying off my shoulder and settled it on his own, leaving me with only my purse. “I want you to stay right in front of me, okay? These people are desperate to find out what’s going on with you, and I don’t want any funny business going on where I can’t see it. We leave the building, you get in the car, and then we go, all right?”
I nodded again, sliding my glasses further up my nose, and took a deep breath.
“You ready?”
He asked this every time, before we left a building or got out of the car, because there was always someone there who wanted to see The Lovely Zan, and take pictures and ask questions.
I gripped my bag. “Let’s go.”
Jason rapped on the door, and they were opened by two big doormen outside. Suitcases in hand, Jason ushered me through. Immediately there was the flash of cameras in the darkness and a thousand voices calling my name.
“Zan, Zan! Look this way!”
“Zan, is it true your older brother has been arrested for a DWI?”
“Zan! We heard that you’re going on a surprise vacation to Tahiti!”
“Is everything okay, Zan?”
The things these people came up with. I didn’t have an older brother, and I’d never expressed any interest in going to Tahiti. I rolled my eyes and ignored them, pushing my way through the crowd.
“Get back, people! Let the girl through!” the doormen called, trying their best to hold back the crowd. Jason was shoving at stragglers with the big suitcases, which quickly made them all back up. We made it to the cab parked on the corner, and as the driver came around to help, Jason set down the luggage and opened the door for me, like always. I slid onto the seat and he slammed the door behind me. A few seconds later he and the driver got in on the left side of the car, cameras still flashing through the windows at me.
We pulled away from the curb, and the noise and lights faded away. I released a breath and leaned back into the seat.
“Well, that wasn’t as bad as I’d been thinking,” Jason said, reaching over to squeeze my hand.
“You were expecting worse?”
He smiled. “It could’ve been. There were only a hundred or so people there.”
I smirked. “There were not a hundred.”
“Oh!” He turned himself so he could reach into his back pocket. “Speaking of a hundred, I’m supposed to give you this.”
For a second I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, then, Oh yeah. The presents.
“The first one is in your purse,” he said, voice slightly strained as he wrenched whatever it was out of his pocket. “The second is right here.”
It was a small, clear plastic box that was a little bit bigger than my hand. Whatever was in it was wrapped up in a white paper, with a grey apple shape on the front and nothing else.
“You bought me an iPod?” I asked.
“Not just an iPod,” he answered, rolling his eyes at me. “It’s an iPhone, because you destroyed yours earlier. Which, by the way, wasn’t such a great thing to do. I had to do a lot of fast-talking and write out a big check to get them to shut up.”
“My bad,” I murmured, and pulled the phone out of the case. It already had a new phone case on it, a black, death-metal looking thing that I figured would break glass.
“Yeah, your bad. That’s why I got this new case, so that you can’t destroy everything you get your hands on.”
I hit the power button at the bottom and was surprised to see my screensaver already.
As I unlocked it, Jason said, “I had some time, so I hooked it up to your computer and downloaded all your music, photos, apps, and contacts to it. I figured you’d want the music at the least for the plane-ride over.”
“Thank you.” It was so strange, to see everything that I’d had on my old phone in this new one. It was so easily replaceable. “I guess I’m not a very good client, huh?”
“You sure aren’t.” Jason tried to give me a serious face, but it was only a few seconds before a smile cracked his expression. “But you are a sweetheart, so I can’t be mad at you.” He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead, and my thoughts from earlier ran briefly through my mind again.
“Now. Why don’t you look at the goodies in your purse.”
I glanced down, wondering what else he could’ve picked up. “Is it a puppy?” I asked, shaking the name-brand bag.
“No, silly, it’s a toy train. Duh.”
As I was opening the bag, he put on his commercial voice. “It’s the one thing you’ve always dreamed of…”
I pulled a small paper bag out. “Food?”
“Of course! You can’t tell me you’re not hungry.”
Truth was, I was starving. I hadn’t eaten in hours. I pulled open the top of the paper bag, labeled with a star, and scrounged around inside. “They actually have these up here?”
“Trust me, it was about impossible to find. It’s such a Midwest thing, I thought surely there was no way I could get it…” I glanced up at him. “But it’s your favorite food, and I have my ways.” He winked.
I rolled my eyes but unwrapped a burger and leafed through its contents.
“Oh come on, give me some credit. We’ve been together for, what, four years now? I know well enough to have them leave off all the healthy stuff.”
He was right. Double cheeseburger, lettuce, ketchup, mustard, and lots of mayo, with no pickle, onion, tomato, or other nasty vegies.
“Thank you,” I said again, really meaning it this time. I took a big bite, closing my eyes and groaning quietly. “That’s some good stuff.” It came out much more garbled, though, around my food.
“Gatsum gud suff is right.”
I laughed, and shoved some crisscut fries into my mouth. After a big swallow, I said, “All right, so tell me what the plan is.”
“Our flight leaves at one. It’s—” he paused to pull back his sleeve and glance at his watch. “A little after ten-thirty right now. It’s a four-hour flight, so that puts us there at five o’clock east-coast time. I don’t feel like doing the math for Central.”
“Four o’clock,” I said. “There’s only a one-hour time difference.”
“Right. Don’t judge me, it’s late.” He gave me a tired smile. “So we land in Saint Lambo Airport at four A.M., where there will be a rental car waiting for us.”
“Lambert Airport,” I corrected again, and paused in my eating. Lambert Airport. Already so much of home was coming back. Interstate 70, all the Triple-Digit-Seventy Highways also, which I’d always made fun of, the various towns, locations of malls… It was jarring to remember everything exactly as it had been the last time I’d really been there.
“What, you’re not even gonna ask what kind of car I got?” Jason asked softly, gently bringing me back to the present.
I laughed awkwardly. “I’m sorry, I was just—”
“I know,” he said, cutting me off. “But you’ve gotta be curious, right? I mean last time we rented, you positively flipped when they dropped off that little Nissan instead of the Moon Car or whatever you wanted.”
“Eclipse.” I smiled. “‘Moon Car.’ Jeez.”
He put his hands up. “Hey now, I’m not the car freak, you are. I can hardly tell the difference between an SUV and a truck.”
I rolled my eyes. He was pretty bad at caring about anything about cars. To finally answer his question, I said, “I think I’ll just wait til we get there to see what you picked out.”
“Ooh, want it to be a surprise, huh? I can dig it. I got it from this dealer who has a really funny name. Lee Futz, or something—”
“Lou Fusz. He owns half of the car dealerships in the Saint Louis area.”
“Right. Lou Fusz. I’m really bad with names tonight, huh?” He laughed at himself.
“Yeah,” I chuckled, and let my thoughts drift back to St. Louis.
Of course we’d played in St. Louis before. On a big national tour, it was impossible to avoid. Especially since St. Louis was “our hometown”, so that made it even harder to evade playing. But whenever we did, I always suggested that we stay in one of the really nice high-rise hotels in downtown, like the one with the pool on the roof, or in some cute B&Bs in South County. My bandmates, more than willing to live The Life, always agreed to whatever I suggested. It was the only place I ever wanted to stay somewhere specific, so they figured it wasn’t too much for them to agree to.
Even when we drove to our location I’d pretend it was just any other city by closing my eyes until we got there. Even if the arena—The Pageant, the Verizon Wireless Amphitheatre, Scott Trade Center, whatever—was familiar, once the blinding lights and roaring crowds hit me, it was just that much easier to believe it was just some city.
I was never the one to do any of the “yeah, hometown!” bullshit. The other four were always excited enough about that that I just let them take care of it. Plenty of people had speculated as to why I seemed so passive to my “home fans”, but most attributed it to my happiness for being back “home” and a “sense of Zen” that it brought me.
Anyway, our time spent in St. Louis was short and usually involved no more than what I couldn’t talk us out of.
The rest of the ride to the airport was mostly quiet. When we got there, Jason directed the driver to our terminal, and when the car was parked, he turned to me and said what he always said now.
“You wait in the car until we’ve got everything on the luggage trolley, okay? Then I’ll come get you, and we walk straight into the terminal without a glance at the paparazzi.”
I nodded tiredly. He didn’t have to worry about me spilling any secrets today.
“All righty then.” He stepped out of the car, slamming the door tightly behind him, and I could already see the flashes and hear voices calling out. I slid the sunglasses back onto my face, and a minute later my door opened, Jason’s hand was offered, and I took it.
I didn’t hear what they said to me. I just stepped onto the luggage trolley, grabbing onto the crossbars overhead, and stared ahead as Jason pushed us over the loading lot and into the building.
The silence inside was heavenly, and I was thankful again for the city’s newly-passed law not allowing paparazzi inside the airport buildings.
“Do you think you could’ve packed a little lighter?” Jason asked, voice fakely strained. “This is heavier than usual, I think.”
“Jason, you packed my bags. And are you calling me fat?”
He laughed. “I guess I did, huh? And you know I would never say that.”
I jumped off and walked beside him to the check-in area. We turned in our luggage and, my purse and his laptop case in hand, started walking towards our terminal.
He was quiet for a while. “What’s it feel like to be on your way home?”
We both knew he wasn’t just talking about Saint Louis. He was referring to home. My real hometown. Two hours north of the city that I was forced to visit at least once a year.
“It’s kinda…scary. I’m afraid of how much has changed.” And how much hasn’t, I added silently. “I don’t really know what to expect, and it’s overwhelming.”
Jason grabbed up my hand, tucking it into his upturned elbow, and pulled me closer as we walked. “Well, you won’t be alone. I’ll be there every step of the way.” He smiled reassuringly.
I smiled back and hoped that everything really would be okay.


♫╠═╬═╦═╬═╣♫


I tried wedging the giant pillow into a comfortable place between my left shoulder and the side of the plane. As enthusiastically the stewardess had given it to me, that didn’t necessarily make it any more comfortable. When I started hearing voices near the loading hatch, I decided that it was comfortable enough and, pulling my sleeping mask over my eyes, shoved my face into the pillow.
Jason chuckled at me, but I didn’t respond as the economy-class passengers boarded the plane. We were the only people in first-class, so it didn’t surprise me when some passengers, when they thought they were out of ear shot, started whispering to each other.
“Who do you think that is?”
“Must be someone pretty important, to have the whole first-class bought out.”
“Donald, it’s a midnight flight. Everyone else who can ride in first-class is probably taking a plane in the morning!”
“Was that Angelina Jolie?”
“Hey, I think that was Zan Mae. That’s so cool. I always thought she had her own private jet or something.”
It was when I heard a stewardess’s voice asking Jason if he wanted a drink that he elbowed me in the side. “It’s all clear.”
I ripped off the mask and sat up. “I’ll take something with alcohol that’ll help me sleep,” I told the lady.
“Make that two,” Jason amended. She nodded and walked away. “What’s it like to hear the thoughts of your adoring fans?”
I scoffed. “As if. Most of these people probably don’t even know who I am. Thank God.”
“I always thought you had a private jet too. What ever happened to that thing?” He laughed, and I stifled the urge to poke him.
“I’m just glad nobody stopped to talk,” I said.
“I think everybody’s too tired to stop and gab with their favorite rock star.”
I couldn’t help smiling. “Whatever.”
The stewardess came back with our drinks, both in nice glass tumblers. “Is there anything else I can get for you?” She asked both of us, but her gaze was on me.
I always felt bad asking for things in first-class. It was like I was taking advantage of the people, or something. Not that long ago I’d also been just a normal passenger. The special treatment was taking some getting used to.
“Can I…” Jason glanced at me when I trailed off. “Do you have little cups of ice cream, or something?”
Jason laughed loud now, and although the stewardess was a little startled, she smiled also. “Yes, we serve cups of ice cream, in vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry.”
“I’ll take a vanilla please,” I said in a small voice, which set Jason off again.
As the lady walked away, Jason took a sip of his drink. “Mmm.” He set down the glass and released a satisfactory sigh. “What’s it feel like to be twenty-one and already not carded for alcohol?”
“Funny.” I took a sip of my drink and, as it warmed my insides, let out my own pleased sigh. “That’s really good.”
“Mm.”
The stewardess showed up again and set my cup on my tray. “If there’s anything else you two need, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you,” I told her with a smile, and then she walked away.
“So how we gonna do this? Do you want your own whole row, or what? It’s not like we have to worry about disturbing any other passengers—we can do whatever we want to get comfortable to sleep.”
“Hmm.” It was a hard call. Both rows were three seats across, which made it very tempting to spread out… “I think I’ll just stay here,” I answered. “I’ll just take up these two seats.” I gestured to mine and the empty one between us.
“Okay. If you’re a good girl and finish your ice cream,” Jason said with a silly gleam in his eye, “I’ll even let you put your feet in my lap.”
I giggled, already feeling slaphappy. The ice cream, which came in a clear glass cup, was delicious. I finished it in about five bites.
“That must’ve been some good ice cream. Maybe I’ll have to get some later.”
My smile was interrupted by a big yawn.
“Sleepy-head.” He smiled. “The plane’ll take off soon, and then you can get some rest.”
“You too,” I told him. “You need to sleep eventually.”
“I can sleep when I’m dead,” he answered with a wink. “Don’t worry about me, princess.”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t push it any further. I could hear the stewardesses behind us instructing the other passengers in the emergency exit procedures and blah blah stuff. Our stewardess came back, collecting our empty glasses after we both downed our drinks.
“Do I need to inform you of the safety regulations?” she asked.
“Exit’s in the front, mask things drop from the ceiling, seat cushion is a floatation device, stick your head between your knees in the event of a free-fall.” Jason paused. “Did I miss anything?”
She smiled. “Only, buckle up and have a nice flight.”
“Dammit, I always forget that one…”
I yawned again as the stewardess left to strap herself into her seat up front. The plane was taxiing to the take-off strip.
“Only a little bit longer, honey, until you can spread out and go to sleep.” Jason’s smile was as tired as I felt.
The captain was talking, doing that thing that no one really ever listens to after their third or fourth flight. Soon the plane was building speed and bouncing between air-born and earth-bound. Except for landing, this was always the most nerve-wracking part of the flight for me.
But it wasn’t too long before we were up in the air and gaining altitude. Ten minutes later, we’d leveled out, and the captain turned off the seatbelt light and wished us all a good night.
As soon as he did, I unbuckled my belt, put up the arm rest beside me, kicked off my shoes, and positioned my pillow, legs, and blanket (setting my feet on Jason’s lap) in as comfortable a position as I could manage.
“Make sure your phone’s off before you get too comfy,” he reminded as he pulled out his laptop to do some manager stuff.
I leaned over and grabbed it out of my purse. “Oops,” I said as I saw that I had two new messages. One was from Kaci, the girl guitarist in my band, and the other was from a friend from another band, both pretty much along the lines of hoping that everything’s okay and that I’d call them soon. I sighed and put the phone in Airplane Mode without replying.
I settled against my pillow, popped in my earbuds, and tugged my sleep mask over my face. “I’ll wake you up when the captain turns the seatbelt light back on,” Jason said in a soft voice. I nodded, and before long I was fast asleep.

My band was called Haunted Lily, and it was the reason I’d left home and the reason why I was now nationally famous.
Guitarists Hank and Kaci and bassist Tahoe had all originally formed the band back in high school, under a different name that no one remembered anymore except for hardcore fans. They went to a different school from me, and had some other guy playing drums at the time. They were having a problem with a singer: Kaci couldn’t sing lead in front of a big (or small) crowd, Tahoe had no desire to sing, and Hank, who wanted to sing, was so tone-deaf that I still can’t believe he can play a guitar as well as he can. My younger sister was friends with a couple of Kaci’s sisters, from dance class or something, and one day when I came to pick her up, the band was out in the garage playing. Which, I noted at the time, was also insanely cliché.
Kaci had been singing until I pulled up. She immediately backed away from the microphone and studied her guitar to the point of memorizing every grain of wood in the neck. The drummer stopped soon after and started yelling (he was a pretty angry person). Hank was yelling at both of them, and Tahoe glanced stonily between the three, obviously wanting to be anywhere else.
The drummer was saying how easy it was to sing the song, and he began to say the words. It became pretty clear they were doing a cover of something that had been really popular back then. They hadn’t noticed me since the argument had begun, and as I stepped forward, singing with the drummer, they all turned to me, some looking slightly shocked, others (Tahoe) looking just as bored as before, but if you looked close, you could see the intrigue in his eyes.
That day, I officially joined the band. That was my sophomore year of high school. They had me singing and playing keyboards, synthesizers, and piano, whenever it was needed. I wasn’t real great at reading music and playing, but if you could show me how to do it, then I would. And over time, I got better.
The name of the band changed when two things happened: first, we found out that a band with the same name as us already had an established fanbase (discovered via Facebook, surprise surprise), meaning that we had to change to get any sort of real recognition, and second, some guy (most likely on a lot of drugs) made a comment to Hank about me having sounded really “haunted” in one of our songs, but I was “still as pretty as a lily.” (As I said, I figure a lot of drugs had induced this image.) But, as it was, we needed a new name, and surprisingly Tahoe suggested it. Everyone liked it, and so we became Haunted Lily.
By my junior year, we were a pretty big name in our area. We had fans who would come to every single show (and then tell us about it). We had fans from towns we’d never even heard of. So, one day, we decided that we should head out west to take our chances.
It was a simple yet hard decision for me. My mother had lost her job at the school, which was a large part of our income, and we were watching everything we bought as she waitressed at some local diner and my dad tried to work as many hours at Wal-Mart as he could handle. With me gone, there would be one less mouth to feed, one less body to clothe and keep warm or cool, one less person to worry about. It was ideal; my parents wouldn’t have to struggle so much anymore, and I would be doing what made me happy.
On the other hand, I would be leaving my family. I was youngest member of the band, at seventeen; everybody else had already graduated. Even Kaci, who was two years older than me, had been out of school for half a year when this idea came up. Everyone else was ready to pack up and go, and only I was hesitating. They tried to not pressure me too much, but soon my indecision went on too long, and they cornered me and gave me an ultimatum: come with them to California, or give up my position in the band.
My parents were furious; they couldn’t understand why I was “throwing away everything” so that I could tromp around California with a band that would break up within a year or two.
But I didn’t want to go to college or tech school. There was nothing there that I wanted to do, or that I would be good at. And I knew that. I would never be a teacher or nuclear engineer or doctor or any of the things my parents wanted me to be. And I knew they couldn’t understand that. So one night I just gathered together the few things I could take with me, left my cell phone and a note describing briefly where I’d be and what I’d be doing, and then I got into Kaci’s car, parked down the street in the dark, and never came back.