The Heartbreakers (12 page)

It took another fifteen minutes before the Heartbreakers actually stepped onstage. Before leaving, the boys huddled in a tight circle and Oliver led a quick prayer. Then Courtney ushered them out of the room and I tailed behind, receiving a crash course lesson on the who’s who involved with running a concert.

It was amazing how many people were actually required for the operation. There was Dan, the production manager, who ran the technical crew that dealt with the movement and setup of equipment. Fred, who the boys called Smiley, was the stage manager, and his job involved controlling the band and crew’s movement both onstage and off.

He directed the boys to their preshow spots, and then the back-line crew, who were in charge of the instruments, handed Oliver and Xander their guitars and Alec his bass. Ritvik was the sound engineer, and then there were Barry, the monitor engineer; Mr. P, the lighting operator; and dozens more employees whose names I couldn’t remember.

When it was finally time, the lights in the arena were brought down. The audience reacted instantly, the screams of thousands of girls melding together to form one giant roar, and the sheer volume made the hair on my arms rise.

“Excited?” Courtney shouted over the noise as a crew member handed us headsets to counter the sound of the show.

“Strangely nervous,” I admitted. As I pulled on the headset, I peered out at the crowd. It was a glowing, flashing mass of cameras and cell phones, and the thought of stepping onstage made my stomach drop.

“Just between you and me?” she said. “I always get preshow jitters.”

Her confession made me feel better, but I never got the chance to thank her. The stage lights flashed back on, revealing the Heartbreakers to the crowd. Cheers tripled, but the sound was suddenly overtaken by the band’s opening song as it blasted from the arena’s assembly of speakers.

The jitters, as Courtney called them, fell away the moment my eyes found Oliver. I sucked in a sharp breath, and for the next three and a half minutes I couldn’t look away.

“Thank you everyone for coming tonight,” Oliver shouted when the song ended and the crowd noise finally died down. “We’re so happy you could join us!” The thundering response of the audience made my head rattle, but the boys seemed unaffected. Oliver looked back at the rest of his bandmates. JJ nodded his head and raised his drumsticks over his head.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Oliver said. “We are the Heartbreakers.”

“A one, a two, and a one, two, three, four!”

• • •

“Stella Bear, don’t be such a party pooper.”

The concert had finished a half hour ago, and we were back in the dressing room. The boys were trying to convince me to go out and celebrate with them. Apparently there was an after-party at some dance club downtown, but I declined their invite.

“Are you trying to kill me my first day on the job?” I asked JJ. “I’m exhausted. I could curl up on the floor right here and sleep for the next week.”

It was both the truth and an excuse. My entire body ached. The band’s never-ending schedule wore me out, but that wasn’t the real reason I didn’t want to go to a party with the boys.

Today was my freebie, the one day I had to acclimate myself to the boys’ busy lifestyle. Now it was over and tomorrow was the real deal—I wouldn’t just be hanging out with the guys and goofing off. I had a job to do, and Paul expected me to produce results. The realization made my throat tight, and for the first time in my life, I worried that I wouldn’t be able to get a good enough shot.

What I needed now was to go back to my hotel room where I could decompress and try to prepare myself for tomorrow.

“Have a shot or two,” JJ said, swiping a bottle of whiskey off the counter and offering it to me. “Then you’ll be ready to go.” He’d pulled the dark-brown liquor out when we first returned to the room, and the boys were taking turns chugging straight from the mouth of the bottle.

“I better not,” I said, declining his outstretched hand. “Tomorrow is my official first day of work, and I don’t want to chance a hangover.” I didn’t mention that I’d never actually drank before. It wasn’t that I was a Goody Two-shoes, but with Cara’s cancer, partying was never on my priority list.

“Pretty please?”

“Give it a rest, JJ,” Alec said, turning away from the mirror. He’d spent the past ten minutes restyling his hair. I didn’t know he’d been listening, but I was thankful he had.

“But we’re—” JJ started to say.

“There’ll be plenty of other parties for her to go to,” Alec said and cut him off with a stern stare.

The two boys glared at each other, a silent battle of wills, but then JJ sighed and looked away. “Fine,” he said and crossed his arms. “But only if Stella promises to come out with us next time.”

Everyone turned to me to see if this was okay. “Deal,” I said, nodding my head like an excited bobblehead.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” JJ said, waving a finger in my face.

I quickly started to pack my equipment before he changed his mind. First, I popped the lens protector in place and then tucked my camera into its bag. Courtney was leaving for the hotel in a few minutes, and I wanted to catch a ride with her.

“Hey, has anyone seen my sunglasses?” I asked, turning around in a slow circle as I scanned the room.

“Right here.” Oliver was sitting on the arm of the couch, my sunglasses clutched in his hand. A half grin tugged on his lips as he watched me.

“Thanks.” When I reached out to take them back, his fingers wrapped around my hand and he pulled me forward, close enough that his knees brushed against my thighs.

“So, you sure you don’t want to join us tonight?” he asked in a whisper. “It will be a blast.” He was still clutching my hand, and the way he ran his thumb over my knuckles made it hard to focus on anything more than the sensation.

I hesitated. It would be fun to go to a party with Oliver. Maybe even more fun than our night in Chicago. But thinking of Chicago and our kiss reminded me of the radio-show interview this afternoon, which reminded me of my decision. I liked Oliver, I really did, but I was skeptical about his feelings. And on top of that, to be good at this job I needed to focus my attention. If I was constantly worrying about Oliver, then he’d only be a distraction. A very hot distraction, but a distraction nonetheless.

“Don’t worry about me,” I said and gently pulled my hand from his. “Go have fun. I promise I’ll come next time, okay?”

His shoulders dropped, but I couldn’t tell if he was actually disappointed because the smile never left his face. “Yeah, okay,” he said.

“Well, I should probably get going.” Oliver nodded and handed back my sunglasses, and then I turned to face the rest of the group. “Have fun tonight, guys.”

“Night, Stella,” Xander said. “See you tomorrow.”

“Dream about me tonight,” JJ said with a wink, and I shot him a dirty look in response.

Alec already had his headphones back in, so I mouthed him a silent thank-you before turning to leave. I could still feel Oliver’s eyes on my back, so I called one final good-bye over my shoulder and hurried out the door. If I looked back at him and he hit me with one of my favorite smiles, I might just change my mind.

• • •

I was almost at the lobby when I heard him shout my name.

“Stella, wait!” Glancing back, I saw Oliver jogging to catch up with me. When he reached me, he pulled his fingers through his brown waves. “Hey,” he said.

“Um, hey.” Had I forgotten something?

“I thought maybe I could walk you out,” he said, smoothing out his shirt as he spoke.

“Oh.” For an instant, a small part of me was hoping he’d chased me out here to try to convince me one more time to go to the party, because he wanted me there. “Yeah, sure. That’d be great.”

We walked in silence, Oliver with his hands shoved in his pockets and me with my fingers clutching the strap of my camera bag.
Come
on, Stella
, I thought.
This
is
the
perfect
chance
to
talk
to
him.
But my stomach was so full of butterflies that I could feel them moving up my throat, making it hard for me to speak.

Oliver beat me to it. “So,” he said, dragging out the word as if he wasn’t sure what he was going to say next. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

There was a sudden rushing feeling inside my chest, but I resisted the urge to look at him. “Yeah, me too,” I said before I could do any second-guessing. It was now or never. If I didn’t put up a wall between the two of us, some kind of line that I knew I couldn’t cross, I wouldn’t be able to resist his charm in the future.

He smiled in a way that was both curious and nervous. “Okay,” he said. “You first.”

Shit. I didn’t know where to start, and I couldn’t think right. It felt like my brain had been sucked out, and I was searching for words that I could no longer remember.
Just
say
something
, I shouted at myself.

“Um, well,” I said, my words all tangled up. “It’s about the other night.”

“What about it?”

I tugged on my collar. “You know, when we watched the movie?” I asked. I was trying to make this as un-awkward as possible but was failing miserably. Talking out loud about what had happened was mortifying, and I knew that my face was as bright red as a flashing stoplight.

This made Oliver smirk. “You mean our super-hot make-out session?”

“Yeah, that.” I looked down at my feet. “I, um, had fun and all, but”—I paused, and then the last part came tumbling out—“I don’t think it should happen again.”

Oliver stopped midstride. “Huh?”

Taking a breath, I forced myself to slow down. “Now that I’m working for you guys, we can’t do that anymore. It’s not professional.”

“And by ‘that’ you mean…?”

“We should just be friends,” I said, watching him closely. There was this weird, punch-drunk look on his face, as if I’d smashed him over the head with my camera bag. For the smallest millisecond of a moment, I thought that maybe Oliver was upset. That he didn’t want to just be friends. But then he slowly nodded.

“Friends,” he repeated, still nodding. His temple was wrinkled in a half frown, like the whole thing was a strange concept he was trying to wrap his head around.

“Is that…okay?” I asked.

He ducked his head in thought. When he looked at me again there was a smile on his face. “Yeah. Totally fine.”

“Awesome,” I said, even though in that moment I felt anything but.

Seven hundred and sixty-two. That was the number of pictures I’d taken by Wednesday afternoon. You’d think there’d be at least one decent shot somewhere in the lot, but no. All garbage.

Tonight the boys had an appearance on some late-night show, so I decided to use the rest of the day to assess my work thus far. After downloading the files onto my laptop, I started sifting through the images, hoping to separate out anything worth using for the blog. I was meeting with Paul on Friday—he was going to review the pictures I’d taken and show me how to work the blog—and I wanted to present him with my best work. But as I clicked through a never-ending series of terrible, if not atrocious, photos, my lungs started shrinking, one small breath at a time.

Who did I think I was, accepting a job that should be done by a professional photographer? And what was Paul thinking in hiring someone with no experience? This was the kind of stint Bianca Bridge should be doing, not some eighteen-year-old who didn’t even have a clue who she was. Professionals like Bianca went to school for photography and traveled the world perfecting their skill. All I’d done was graduate from high school.

Photography had become my comfort, my distraction, my crutch. Sometimes it was even my hope. So when Paul offered me the job, I thought it might become my future as well, but clearly I was wrong. Loving something didn’t make me good at it. And if I wasn’t meant to be a photographer, than what was I supposed to be doing with my life?

Pushing my computer away from me, I buried my face in my hands to hide my stinging eyes. In that second, I felt just as lost as when I’d found out Cara had cancer. One moment I was standing safe on shore, my path clear in sight. The next, my feet were swept out from under me, and that rip current of self-doubt was dragging me out into a dark, murky sea with no hope of rescue.

“Stella?” When I heard his voice, I forced myself to look up. Alec was standing over me, leaning forward on the balls of his feet, one hand half raised as if he thought I would bolt like a deer.

“Hey, Alec,” I said. “What’s up?”

He narrowed his eyes and looked me over, as if considering how upset I was and whether or not he was needed. Finally, he must have come to the conclusion that something was definitely wrong, and even though he wasn’t much of a talker, now wasn’t the time for his silent, brooding complex.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

I knew the “nothing, I’m fine” routine wasn’t going to work with Alec. He wasn’t the type of person to pretend to care by faking concern, only to take the first out that was offered. He might be quiet, but that was because he used his words thoughtfully and with deliberate purpose.

“Can I ask you a question?” I said, instead of responding to his. He nodded and placed his hands on the back of the chair in front of him. “Why’d you show my pictures to Paul?”

Cocking his head, Alec stared at me as if I’d asked him to explain the basics of breathing. “Because,” he said, his brows crinkled up, “they were worth showing.”

“But how can you know what’s worth showing?”

Alec shrugged. “I don’t know much about photography or what qualifies as good or bad. But I do know what I like, and I figured if I enjoyed your work, then why wouldn’t someone else?”

As he said this, I thought about how simple he made it seem. Like I’d made a whole big fuss in my head, and over what? A few photographs? Well, more than a few, but that’s wasn’t the point. Was I really stressing myself out over something that I shouldn’t worry about? Or was Alec off base?

“My turn to ask you something,” he said before I really had time to consider the answers to my questions. He pointed at my computer. “Do you have any work you can show me from before we met?” Obviously I had stuff I could show him—there was an entire hard drive worth of pictures—but why did he want to see it?

“Please?” he added when I hesitated.

“Yeah, okay.” I thought for a minute, tapping the side of my chin as I tried to decide what to show him, and then suddenly I was hit with an oh-duh revelation.

Ninety-nine percent of the time, when it came to her disease, Cara was the most positive, hopeful person in the world. The doctors told her she had cancer, and she smiled, nodded her head, and told them that she would get better before her first prom.

One of the only times I saw Cara truly angry was when she first lost her hair during chemotherapy. I remembered walking into her room and seeing her staring at herself in a compact. She wasn’t crying, but one look at her red-rimmed eyes told me she’d been bawling all night. Then she saw me standing in the door and smashed the mirror against the bedside table, raining silver shards onto the floor. In that fleeting instant of raw, unbarred grief, I was inspired to start a new project.

My sister needed to understand that just because she was sick didn’t mean she wasn’t beautiful. Her struggles with cancer and determination to get better only made her a stronger person. And there is so much beauty in strength. So I photographed everything that made Cara a tough person on the inside—the number of pills that she had to take each day, her collection of hospital wristbands, the needles and tubes that sprouted from her body every time she got sick—and the pictures I took turned into my first real portfolio.

It took a bit for me to find the file, but after pulling it up, I passed my laptop to Alec. He pulled out the chair and sat down next to me, and then took his time sifting through the different photos. When he finished, he gave a satisfied nod and handed my computer back without a word.

I waited to see if he was going to say anything, and when he didn’t, I asked, “So…why’d you want to see those?”

“Because I can tell you’re nervous,” he said, as if those few words were explanation enough. I frowned at him, unsure of what he was saying, so he continued, “I don’t know if it’s because you’re worried about impressing Paul or our fans, but honestly, you could take a picture of us staring at a wall and everyone would love it. The reason I wanted to see something else, something not related to the band, was to make sure I was right. This stuff here,” he said, pointing at the screen, “confirms that. You’re good at this, Stella. If you just trust yourself, this job is going to be a piece of cake. I promise.”

It was the longest speech I’d ever heard Alec give. And as for the cake part? I really hoped he was right.

• • •

He might not be the most social person in the world, but Alec was a sweetheart. After our conversation, he took me out to lunch to cheer me up. At first I feared it would be awkward because I didn’t know what to talk to him about, but one on one, he was surprisingly good at holding a conversation.

As soon as we finished, Alec had to meet the rest of the band to rehearse for their show tomorrow night, and to keep my thoughts from wandering back to my nerves, I decided to tag along. When we arrived at the arena, security showed us into the main floor. What was normally a basketball court had been converted into a huge theater, with a stage set up at the far end of the room. The space looked strangely empty without anyone filling the thousands of seats.

“Everyone should be over by the stage,” Alec told me as we crossed the large room.

I spotted JJ first. He was already standing onstage, pacing back and forth, and twirling his drumsticks in both hands. Alec waved, and when JJ saw us, his eyes went big.

“Hey, Stella,” he called out. His voice was loud. Too loud. “I didn’t know you were coming to watch our rehearsal.”

“I didn’t have anything else to do so—” I stopped midsentence when I saw Oliver.

He was leaning against the side of the stage and some girl was pressed up against him, her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers buried in his wavy brown hair.

“Oh, Ollie,” the girl said and giggled.

I forced myself to look away. My mouth was hanging wide open, the shock on my face clearly displayed for Alec and JJ to see, but I didn’t even care because my brain was still trying to register what I’d just seen. Oliver wasn’t kissing her, but they looked cozy enough to make me wonder if they already had. It seemed the magazine article Cara had read about him was true—Oliver Perry was a player.

I knew I had no right to feel hurt, but there was a biting ache in my stomach, so I pushed my fist against it, trying to force the pain away. Oliver was free to kiss whomever he wanted, especially considering that I’d told him I only wanted to be friends, but for some reason a tiny painful feeling of betrayal wrapped itself around my heart.

What I should have felt was relief—if I’d let things carry on between us, I could have ended up with a hurting heart—but all I wanted to do was kick myself for loving that adorable, yet clearly deceitful smile. I bet it was his favorite weapon of choice. One small upward tweak of the lips, and he could have any girl—even a sensible one that didn’t like his shitty music.

JJ clearly saw the look on my face because he chucked one of his drumsticks in Oliver’s direction. “Hey, idiot!” The stick missed his head by inches and ricocheted off the stage with a resounding clatter.

“What the hell?” Oliver demanded, looking up from the girl. Alec cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows at Oliver before glancing at me. A look of pure confusion crossed his face when he saw me. I couldn’t tell if it was because he didn’t get why he was being interrupted or if he was surprised to see me standing here. I hoped the second.

The room was silent as we stared at each other, both of us waiting for the other one to make a move. Finally he pushed the girl away from him and took a step forward. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but I didn’t want to hear whatever he thought would make this entire situation less uncomfortable.

“Hey, Oliver,” I said cheerfully, forcing a smile on my face and hoping he wouldn’t pick up on how upset I was. My stomach turned like I had eaten something rotten as I said his name. All I wanted to do was scream. At him. At the stupid girl standing next to him. At myself.

How could I be so stupid? I had known from the moment Oliver tricked Drew and me that he was trouble. He was the lead singer of America’s most popular boy band, for Christ’s sake! How could he not be a heartbreaker?

“Stella—um, hi,” he started to say, but then Courtney appeared from backstage, Xander trailing behind her.

“Is Alec here?” she asked, looking around the room, and then she spotted him. “Perfect. Let’s get started, boys.”

• • •

Cara picked up on the first ring.

“Stella! Oh my God. I’m so glad you called,” she blurted out before I even had a chance to say hi. “How’s Miami? Wait, are you even in Miami anymore? What about your new job? Is it everything you thought it would be? Are you having fun? And ooohh! How are things going with Oliver?”

I hadn’t wanted to call Cara yet—I mean, I did, I desperately did, but I hadn’t even lasted four days before needing to talk to her. My plan was to call home on Monday after I had a full week of work under my belt in hopes that, by then, my homesickness would be curbed. But seeing Oliver with someone else had the opposite effect. It messed with my head, and now there was a dull aching in my heart for home.

“God,” I said, half laughing, half crying. “It’s so good to hear your voice.” I didn’t even care that Cara had bombarded me with questions the instant she picked up.

“You sound upset,” she said, her voice getting soft. “Are you okay? You’re not thinking about coming home, are you?”

“Not really,” I said quickly, even though the thought had crossed my mind. “I just feel so stupid.”

“Oh, Stel,” Cara said, and I could almost see the way her lip jutted up when she frowned. “How come?”

“It’s Oliver.”

“Uh-oh, that doesn’t sound good. Tell me everything from the beginning.”

“Okay, well, I was super nervous about seeing him again,” I started. “Like, so nervous I didn’t sleep at all Sunday night. Things went well in the morning. It was a bit awkward at first, but Oliver gave me his banana for breakfast, which was incredibly sweet. But then we went to this radio interview and Oliver started talking about some girl, which made me realize he didn’t like me.” I paused before finishing my story, trying to work up the courage to tell Cara everything. “I-I didn’t want to get hurt, so I told him that we should just be friends. Now he’s—”

“
You
did
what
?
”

I flinched. “We’re working together now,” I said, trying to defend myself. For some reason, saying this to Cara sounded ten times stupider than when I’d said it to Oliver. Maybe that was because I knew she’d called me on it. “I thought it would be for the bes—”

“No, just no,” Cara said, refusing to listen to my explanation. “That’s a load of bull. Why in the world would you tell him that? How do you know the girl he was talking about in the interview wasn’t you?”

I opened my mouth to tell her otherwise but stopped. During the interview I’d assumed that Oliver was talking about someone famous, someone Kelly had “heard of” to use her exact words, but Cara had a point. Kelly had met me when we arrived at the station, which meant he could have been referring to me.

But it didn’t matter—not after seeing that girl at the band’s rehearsal. Even if he had been talking about me, that would mean Oliver’s interests had an exceptionally fast turnover.

“He. Doesn’t. Like. Me,” I said slowly.

The line was silent for a moment, but then Cara sighed. “You’re such an idiot, Stella,” she said. “He gave you his freaking number.”

“Yeah, sure,” I said, letting my breath out in a quick huff. “He gave me his number because we had fun for a night,” I told her, “but that’s all. I was just another random girl to him, and if Paul hadn’t offered me this job, Oliver never would’ve thought about me again.”

“Do you really think Oliver Perry goes around handing out his number to ‘random’ girls?”

I could easily have ended this discussion by telling her the truth—that I’d seen Oliver cozying up to someone else. That was why I’d originally called her, but now, just thinking about admitting what had happened made me feel sick, like my ribs were squeezing in on all the organs trapped between them.