Star Struck (16 page)

“I am twenty-one, Mom.  That means it’s legal.” Noticing how tense her shoulders have become, I feel a little guilty for taking the joke this far. So I shrug. “I don’t really drink, Mom. I was just teasing. I’ll have a soda.”

Dad exhales. I don’t dare look at Tate.
It’s not like I have to see him to know he doesn’t approve of my joke, especially since he’s the main reason we don’t drink in this house. The tension is so thick you can cut it with a knife. For the next hour or so, Dad, Tate and I make small talk in the family room while Mom finishes dinner. My stomach growls at the scent of turkey and spices. Finally Mom announces that dinner is ready, so we all file into the small dining room.

Dad whistles after taking in the spread. He places a hand on Mom’s arm. “This looks delicious
, honey.”

“Thanks.” She leans over and kisses him softly on the cheek.

Ignoring them, I pull out a chair and sit down. Tate takes the chair next to mine and Mom and Dad sit across from us. Silence descends on the table as food is passed and everyone dishes up. The food is delicious, and I eat greedily without saying a word. It is the first home cooked meal I’ve had in forever. Mostly I eat take out or grilled cheese sandwiches. I make a mean grilled cheese, which is good thing since it’s pretty much the only thing I cook. Glancing up at Mom and Dad, I see them giggling together and touching affectionately. They’ve always been like this. It used to embarrass me when I had friends over.

Dad’s words from the other evening play in my mind. He said that he never regretted his choice, and the truth is that he has always seemed happy with his life. Even though I’ve never understood it, he does seem to be. My thoughts flit to Star, and I wonder how her Thanksgiving is going. Picturing her sweet face and rocking body, I contemplate sending her a text, or giving her a call.
As much as I hate to admit it, I have missed her over the last couple of weeks. And maybe allowing Star in won’t ruin everything. Dad seems happy. Then again, maybe he would’ve been happier had he stayed in the band. We’ll never know. And I’m not Dad. I want different things out of life. Forcing myself to abandon thoughts of Star, I take another bite of food.

21

Star

“You’re enjoying school so far?” Mom asks as she passes the mashed potatoes to me.

I nod, unable to speak past the mouthful of turkey.

“Have you made any new friends?”

Beckett’s face flashes in my mind and my face warms. “A couple.” I still haven’t told my parents about the band, and I don’t plan to.

“Why is your face all red?” Leo teases me. He sits to the right of me, and nudges me in the side with his elbow.

“It’s not.” I scoop potatoes onto my plate.

“I think someone has a boyfriend,” he says in a sing-song voice, reminding me of when we were little kids. Even though Leo’s practically a grown up now, sometimes he can be so immature.

“No, I don’t.” I shove the bowl of potatoes into Leo’s hands a little too forcefully, hoping he’ll take the hint.

“That’s good, because you should be focusing your energy on school,” Dad interjects, and I’m not at all surprised by his words. Dad would keep me locked in my room for eternity if he could. He never wants me to date at all.

I eat in silence for a few minutes, my mind whirring with images of Beckett. When I came here for the week, I assumed it would be the perfect opportunity to get my mind off of him. Only something about this place makes me think of him more. I feel so suffocated in my hometown. When I’m in Seattle with Beckett and the band I feel a freed
om I’ve never experienced. Before coming here I confided in Lola that I was thinking of dropping out of the band. It’s just so awkward between Beckett and I that I figured it was for the best. But the more I ponder that, I know I can’t do it. I love being in the band. It’s the most fun I’ve ever had. I can’t let go of it. Not now.

“What kinds of things do you and Lola do for fun?” Mom takes a sip of her red wine.

My stomach twists. I decide to start small with my parents – baby steps. “We go to this coffee shop near campus a lot. They have open mic nights and sometimes I perform there.”

“That’s nice,” Mom says in her placating voice while setting her glass down. “As long as your music doesn’t take you from your studies I’m okay with you dabbling in it a bit.”

Nodding, I pick my fork back up. I feel a little guilty for not telling them about the band, but after her last statement I realize that I can’t. My parents would totally freak out if they knew. When I lean down to take another bite, my cell vibrates in my pocket. For a brief moment, I imagine that it’s Beckett. Then I glance down and see that it’s Lola. Of course Beckett wouldn’t text me. What was I thinking?

How is it going?

Brutal,
I respond.

Did u tell them about the band?

No. Did u tell ur parents about Ryker?

What do u think?

I almost laugh out loud. Lola’s parents are really rich and have high hopes of their daughter snagging a doctor or lawyer. They would not be excited that she’s dating a guy who is majoring in communications because he has no idea what he wants to be other than a musician.

“What are
you doing?” Leo leans over my shoulder.

“Nothing,” I mumble, covering my phone with my hand and shoving it back into my pocket.

By the time dinner is over, I’m so stuffed I feel like I’ll have to be rolled out of the dining room. My mind travels back to thoughts of Beckett and I wonder where is today. Did he go to his parents’ house or did he and Tate stay home? It’s funny because even though we practice in his parents’ garage, I’ve never seen them. Sometimes I can hear them inside the house, or see their cars in the driveway, but they never come out and say hi. Clearly their relationship with Beckett is complicated. Then again, it seems that everything with Beckett is complicated.

I’m so glad when Thanksgiving week is over and Lola and I are back in Seattle. As we unpack our suitcases in our dorm room, Lola goes on and on about how overwhelming her parents are and how awful her older sister is. Not that she needs to tell me any of this. I’ve spent enough time with her family to know. In fact, in high school we rarely ever hung out at her house. She preferred to stay at mine. My parents may annoy me, but I guess they’re cooler than Lola’s. Besides, I can never tell if Lola’s parents like me or not. They sort of always give me the cold shoulder. Lola assures me that they’re like that with everyone, but it still makes me uncomfortable.

Pushing her hair out of her eyes, Lola peers up at me from where she kneels on the ground in front of her suitcase. “Sorry. I know I’ve been rambling. How was it with your family?”

“It was okay.” I carry an armload of shirts to my dresser.

“Want to switch families?” Lola jokes.

I shove the shirts in my middle drawer and bump it closed with my hip. “No thanks.”

“That’s what I thought.” Lola scrunches her nose.

“Leo was kind of annoying though,” I say, as I walk back to my suitcase which lays open on my bed.

“What’s new?” 

I chuckle. “Okay, I know he’s always been a little irritating, but this was different. I got the feeling that he suspects I’m hiding something. It was like he was trying to goad it out of me all week.”

Lola bites her lip. “Do you think your parents are suspicious?”

“No, they seemed clueless.”

“Then I wouldn’t worry about it. Besides, it’s not like it will matt
er if you plan to drop the band anyway.”

Scooping out my pants, I arrange them in my arms and head back to my dresser. They smell like my parents
’ laundry detergent. “I think I’ve decided to stay in it.”

Lola lets out a tiny squeal. “Really? What made you change your mind? Did you hear from Beckett or something?”

My stomach twists at her words. “No, I didn’t. But I like being in the band, and I don’t want to quit.” After putting away my pants, I lean my back against the dresser. Lola is still on the ground arranging her clothes by color or some nonsense like that. “And I’m really looking forward to this festival thing. Beckett thinks we might get discovered. Wouldn’t that be wild?”

“You guys are awesome. It could totally happen.”

I bite my lip, thinking. “But what if we are discovered? How will I explain it to my parents then?”

“Girl, if you guys get a recording contract, your parents will be thrilled.”

“I know, but they’ll also know that I lied to them.”

“You didn’t exactly lie. You just didn’t tell them everything. There’s a difference.”

“Somehow I don’t think they’ll see it that way.”

“Trust me, if you guys make it big your parents will overlook it.”

I can’t help but think Lola’s projecting a little here. Sure, in the case of her parents that would be true. All they care about is success and money. My parents aren’t like that. I take a deep breath to loosen up the knot in my chest. It doesn’t matter what my parents think. I’m back in Seattle, and it’s my life. I get to live it how I want.

“So, does this mean you’
re going back to rehearsal this Thursday?”  Lola raises a brow.

I nod, my chest tightening. “Maybe things won’t be so awkward between me and Beckett now that we’ve had some time apart.” Even though I feel like I’m grasping at straws, I really hope I’m right.  I know that I’m going to wait in agony all week to find out.

Only it turns out I don’t have to w
ait that long. Thursday morning Beckett sends me a text asking if I’ll come to rehearsal early. He wants to go over vocals before the rest of the band shows up. I know it’s strictly professional, but my heart flips in my chest at the prospect of having some alone time with Beckett. If I had any hope that I was over him, the heart flippy thing confirms that I am not.

In fact, I’m so nervo
us when I pull up to his parents’ house I think I might puke. Then I remember how sweet he was when I did puke at Ryker’s party. My insides flutter at the recollection of him pulling my hair back from my face and rubbing my back. As I walk toward the garage, I wonder what Beckett I’ll get today. Will it be the kind one who held my hair back at the party or the cold one from the coffee shop?

“Hey.” Beckett looks up at me with a smile when I enter the garage. He’s bent over his guitar amp, fiddling with some buttons.

I exhale lightly, my nerves settling a little. “Hi.” Making my way to the keyboard, I set my purse down beside it and my sheet music on top.

“How was your Thanksgiving?” Beckett stands up and reaches for his guitar.

“Good. Yours?”

He shrugs. “It was okay.
”

“Did you come here?”

He nods, and I wring my hands in my lap, unsure of what else to say. Small talk always seems so awkward between the two of us.

“Wanna run through a few songs?” Beckett gets right down to business
, and for once I’m relieved.

“Which ones?” I pick up my pile of papers.

“The two new ones first.”

Rifling through the music, I find them and extract them from the stack. Then I flick on the keyboard.

“Actually,” Beckett says. “I wanted to focus mostly on vocals, so I was hoping we would just use my guitar.”

“Oh, okay.” I flick the switch to off and rest my hands in my lap.

Beckett heads over to the corner of the garage and grabs two stools. “Why don’t we both sit here?” He sets the stools next to each other. Then he climbs onto one, setting his guitar in his lap.

Pressing my lips together, I get up and walk with trembling legs over to the stools. As I sit down, I take a deep breath. I can smell Beckett’s musky scent wash over me, and it causes my heart to race. Our knees are practically touching as he starts to strum his guitar, and my palms clam up. I wipe them on the thigh of my jeans and will my heart to slow down.

“I’ll take the first verse and you take the second, okay?” He looks pointedly at me.

I nod, surprised. Usually I just sing back-up on this song. I wonder what made him change his mind about that. Not that it matters. I’m just grateful for the opportunity. When we get halfway through the song, the door leading into the house pops open. I see Beckett’s shoulders tense, but he keeps playing
, so I stay focused. Out of the corner of my eye I see the figure of a man standing off to the side watching. When I do dare a peek I notice that it’s Tate. Beckett must realize this too, because he visibly relaxes.

Clapping rings out when we finish. Tate saunters over to us. “You guys sound great together. Like one of those folk duos.”

“Thanks.” I blush from his words.

Beckett’s gaze slides over to me. “Yeah, I agree. I’m thinking of having us do an acoustic song together at the festival.”

“You definitely should,” Tate responds. “You two have a great vibe together.”

Excitement bubbles inside of me at their conversation. A song with just Beckett? It’s like a dream come true. I fight hard to keep my expression neutral. I want to jump out of my chair and scream with delight.