Authors: Kim Holden
And each and every one of them is in love with Katie. She’s given herself over to them. She’s lost in it. After she sings her last verse, she backs away from the microphone stand, trying to take the attention away from herself I’m sure. S
he kind of bounces in place to the beat. She’s watching the rest of the band with an open-mouthed smile, like she doesn’t want to miss a second of what’s happening around her. That’s one of the best things about Katie; she never takes anything for granted. She appreciates it all.
The drummer and bass player join in to sing the last few lines of the song with the lead singer. The harmony is right on, and Katie’s smile widens as she watches them.
The moment the song is lost to silence the singer’s shouting into the microphone, “Let’s hear it for my girl!” He runs over, shifting his guitar to his back and lifts her into a hug, swinging her around. She holds on tight. She’s laughing. It feels wrong to watch them—too personal—too private. But I can’t look anywhere else.
My heart sinks again. Of course,
this
is the guy she was at Grounds with. A fucking rock star. How am I supposed to compete with that? The anger and hurt creeps back in again. I hate it, but I’m jealous as hell.
The band shouts out words of thanks and leaves the stage and when the masses are satisfied that there will be no encore, they begin to disperse. Katie is standing on the floor in front of the stage, but behind the barricade, waiting for us. Two big security guards are standing in front of her and won’t let the crowd near her.
Now that we can all hear each other, introductions are made back and forth between the friends Katie has gathered. I’m polite, but so pissed I can’t remember their names two seconds after I hear them. After everyone agrees Katie stole the show and that they had no idea she had this secret identity we head over as a group to congratulate her. Well, the rest of group congratulates her. I’m pissed, and horny, and drunk, and completely in awe; it’s a bad combination. I can’t look at her.
We all show our VIP tickets and are cleared through security to follow her backstage. She has no idea where she’s going, but
Shel is hell-bent on meeting the guy I would love to punch in the goddamn face.
We run into the drummer. His head is shaved bald and his arms are covered in tattoos. The guy would look threatening if he wasn’t
constantly smiling. He hugs Katie. “Kate, you sounded like shit. Thanks for ruining the whole fucking show.”
She smiles devilishly. “And your beats sucked ass, dude. Clearly this playing every night thing isn’t working for you.”
He laughs. “I miss having you around, girl.” He plants a kiss on top of her head before he releases her.
She introduces us to him. His name’s Frank or Fred, I don’t know. I’m too drunk and pissed to care.
He gestures to a door down the hall when she asks where the rest of the band is. The door leads outside behind the auditorium. There’s a tour bus parked with its engine running. The douchebag is leaning up against a wall smoking a cigarette. When he sees Katie, his fucking face lights up like it’s Christmas. He drops the cigarette, steps on it, and walks our way.
What happens next is a blur of emotion, alcohol, and disregard. In no particular order:
Introductions. He’s her best friend, Gus. The guy she’s known her whole life. The guy she told me she fucking slept with before she moved here. I really hate him now.
Photos and autographs for the others.
Shel projectile vomits next to the bus.
Clayton and his friend and the other guy and girl leave.
Gus
wraps his arms around Katie. (It should be
me
with my arms around her.)
He
tells her how amazing she was tonight. (It should be
me
.)
He
tells her how proud he is of her. (It should be
me
.)
He
tells her how much he misses her. (
I
miss her and she’s standing five feet from me.)
The driver opens the door of the bus and hollers, “
Gustov, train’s leaving in two minutes.”
She’s wearing a sad smile. She doesn’t want
him
to leave. Seeing that smile is killing me.
He
squeezes her tight and kisses her forehead. “Thanks, Bright Side. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I love you.”
When she answers, “I love you, too, Gus.” I come undone.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were with him?” My voice sounds strangled and desperate. Is this really me?
“What?” She’s confused. “Gus and I aren’t together.”
He
releases her.
I step toward her. “You are such a terrible liar,” I say, too loudly.
She’s jerked from sight and I’m suddenly chin-to-chest with
him
. “No one fucking talks to her like that.” It’s a threat if I’ve ever heard one.
I
want
him to punch me. Put me out of my misery. So I narrow my eyes and taunt, “I wasn’t talking to you,
bro
.” I can be such a prick when I’m drunk.
His patience with me is wearing thin, I can feel it. “You don’t know me. D
on’t fucking
bro
me.”
And there’s my in. “
Blow me
.”
My shirt is now balled up in
his
fist. “What the fuck did you just say?”
Before I can answer, someone’s
restraining me from behind. It’s not until I hear Dunc’s loud, steady voice in my ear, “That’s enough, Banks,” that I make the correlation between the vise-like hold on my biceps and the fact that I’m being backed away from this disaster my mouth started. My T-shirt splits down the center and I’m yanked free of Gus’s grasp. All the while Dunc continues trying to talk some sense into me. “Chill out, man. You’re done here.”
Katie’s in front of me again. “He’s my best friend, Keller. What’s the problem?” She’s not mad, but she looks hurt.
I cough out a crazed laugh. “What’s the problem?” I lower my voice so only she can hear me. “The problem is
I
don’t
fuck
my best friends.” Her face drops. I have her attention and I know I should shut up but my mouth keeps spewing, “Kinda blurs the lines, doesn’t it?” Dunc’s dragging me away and I’m not fighting him anymore. I point at
him.
“You win, bro.” My voice sounds choked. I repeat myself. “You win.” The anger rises in me again as I admit defeat. “She’s all yours.”
The next thing I know, I’m in the
Green Machine. Shel’s passed out on a beanbag in the back. Dunc reams me out the entire drive home. I’m in no mood to hear it.
That’s about all I remember before I pass out in my bed, but not before puking all over it.
(Keller)
If there’s an award for
World’s Biggest Asshole
, last night I won it hands down. I feel like shit.
After
Dunc wakes up we grab a couple of cups of coffee from Grounds and sit down in the privacy of our apartment for a heart-to-heart.
“Keller, man, what was that last night? I mean, I know you’ve got a thing for Kate, but that was so out of line. That wasn’t you. I’ve never seen you like that.” He’s not scolding so much as he’s just talking.
“I know,” I say, looking straight into my coffee cup.
“Have you talked to her this morning?”
I shake my head, which causes a sharp pain to crash through my skull. The thought of it terrifies me. I owe her an apology, but I can’t talk to her yet. I’m not mad at her. I’m mad as hell at
me
. I don’t want her to feel my anger again, even if it’s not directed at her.
“She was here last night, you know?”
This is news to me. “What? Katie came here?”
“Yeah, she showed up about thirty minutes after we got home.”
Great. I was passed out in a pool of my own vomit. That speaks volumes.
“She was worried about you.”
“She was worried about
me
?”
He nods. “We talked for a long time. She cares about you, Keller. She hated seeing you so upset.”
I drop my throbbing head in my hands. “I treated her like shit, Dunc.
I
treated
her
like shit and
she
doesn’t want
me
to be upset.” I laugh at how ass-backwards the whole screwed up situation is.
“I know you sabotage any potential relationship because of what happened with Lily, but it’s been almost four years. I loved her too, man, but it’s time.”
I grind the heels of my hands into my burning eyes. Hearing her name today doesn’t make me ache like it used to. “What about Stella?”
He raises his eyebrows like he doesn’t have an answer for me. “Listen Banks, it’s your life, but Kate is a really good person. She’s been so good for Shelly—you’ve seen the change in her since she’s been hanging around Kate. Shelly’s crazy about her, which means I’m crazy about her. But after talking to her last night, I can honestly say Kate’s probably one of the most caring and genuine people I’ve ever met. She’s the real deal, man. I asked a lot of questions and she answered every one. She didn’t have to do that … but she did. She and Gus have a very close relationship, but I believe her when she says they’re just
friends
. She’s known the guy her entire life—”
“She also slept with him,” I interrupt.
He raises his eyebrows again. “And you’ve never done anything without thinking through the consequences first, Banks?”
“Yeah, but—”
He cuts me off. “
But what, man
? You didn’t even know her when it happened. Don’t judge. It’s not fair.”
He’s too damn good at seeing both sides. “You’re right,” I exhale. My head’s still throbbing, but I raise my chin to look him in the eye. “I really like her,
Dunc. It scares me how much I like her. She makes me want to say screw it all and re-write my future.” My future’s been mapped out for me my entire life. Even when I screw up, it only takes a minor detour before jumping back on track. My parents always make sure of it.
He smiles, stands, and claps me on the back. “I could’ve told you all that two months ago. You should’ve asked me, I could’ve saved you a lot of trouble.”
“Should I call her?” I ask since he seems to be better at this than I am.
“An apology is in order. Get some rest today and call her tomorrow when you’ve got your head on straight again.”
(Kate)
I wake
with a splitting headache at 5:00am, but I don’t have the energy to even get out of bed to hunt down some ibuprofen. The pain sticks with me through all my morning classes, just like I knew it would, like I
want
it to. Today’s a day I’ve been dreading since September turned into October. It’s Grace’s birthday.
This is the first day I’ve been in Minnesota that I’ve been homesick for San Diego. The kind of sick that makes my stomach turn and my head hurt so bad I can’t see straight. And the only thing that will make it better, manageable, is talking to Gus. He’s on his way to Denver to play tonight.
Because my class load is stacked on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, I don’t even have ten free minutes from 7:30-2:00. So, when I’m out of the lecture hall at 2:01, I’m dialing Gus.
“Bright Side, you okay?” This is not the standard Gus greeting.
I try for cheerful. I haven’t had to fake cheerful in a long time. “I’ve been worse.” Barely.
“Rough day, huh?”
So much for faking it. This is Gus. “Yeah.”
“Yeah.” It’s acknowledgement, and agreement, and acceptance in one small word.
My chest is tightening and the back of my throat itches and swells. I know as soon as I open my mouth to speak I’m going to cry. And I pride myself in not crying. I’ve only cried once in my life that I can remember. It felt so awful, like my entire being was coming apart in a million pieces and would never fit together again. I never want to feel that again.
Gus allows me my silence and then he starts in with a story. God, I love this guy. Even over the phone he knows I just need to listen to his voice right now. “I’ve been thinking about Grace all morning and I decided if I could be anywhere in the world today
, doing anything, I wish I was in San Diego fishing from the pier with you and Grace. I’ll never forget the first time Grace caught a fish. She reeled it in like mad and was totally hyped until she realized that there was a real live
fish
on the end of her hook. The excitement drained and she was so bummed. She begged me to take it off the hook and throw it back in the water before it died.”
Thinking about her like this lightens the load I’ve been carrying today. “Yeah, but she still wanted to go again the next week.”
“And we never baited her hook after that.” He doesn’t sound so sad anymore. I can hear the smile in his voice, “She could sit there for hours on the edge of her seat and watch her line move with the tide. And every five minutes or so she was convinced she had a big one on the line and she would spin that reel like hell until the hook was out of the water. But, she was never discouraged when there was nothing. She was always relieved.”
I can picture her like it was yesterday. This is what I needed. “What did she used to tell you on the way home? ‘Looks like I’m having a bit of bad fishing luck, Gus.’”
He laughs. “Every time.”
“And you’d tell her, ‘It’s not that you’re having bad luck today, Gracie, it’s just that the fish are having really good luck. Besides, we don’t eat them anyway, and Ma can buy fish at the store if she wants to eat it.’”
“She would always smile wide; you know the one when her eyes were almost scrunched closed.”
“And then you’d suck in your cheeks and make fish lips at her and she’d giggle and giggle and tell you how silly you were.”
Gus laughs harder now. “Gracie had the best laugh. She laughed all the time. That’s one of the things you two had in common. You both loved to laugh.”
“She was so damn happy, Gus. The happiest person I’ve ever known. Even when life was shit, she didn’t care. She always smiled. God, I miss her.”
“Me too, Bright Side. Me too.”
I usually try to avoid negative talk because it perpetuates negative thoughts and worse—negative action. It’s like the catalyst for misery. A downward spiral ensues. All that aside, by eight o’clock tonight as I’m leaving the cafeteria I’ve reached my limit and have to admit …
Today. Really. Sucked.
My day was shit missing Grace, my head is still throbbing, and my stomach still aches. I’m praying the entire walk back to the dorms
.
Please God, let Sugar be gone tonight. I need some peace and quiet and a good night’s sleep
.
I hear Sugar’s voice lilt through the door before I even have it open and realize maybe God’s not on call tonight.
The first thing I notice is Sugar sitting on her bed talking on the phone. She throws me one of her best you’re-interrupting-me-I-wish-you’d-go-away glares. She was at the concert Saturday night and I can’t help but notice she’s taken the bitchiness toward me to an all-time high.
I half-smile and nod in her direction. “
S’up Sugar.”
The second thing I notice is the paper I finished and printed earlier today in the library (because I don’t have a printer), the same paper that’s due at 7:30am tomorrow because my professor is the old-school-doesn’t-believe-in-technology/electronic-submission type and demands an actual hard copy, is strewn across the floor and
graffitied with dirty snow boot prints.
I immediately look to Sugar’s feet. Sure as shit, she’s still sporting the incriminating footwear.
This is the point at which I should proceed to the library to reprint my paper and decompress before I confront her, but like I said, I’ve already submitted to negative talk and it’s been a shitty day so the conversation begins with, “What the hell?” albeit quietly. I just want to go to bed.
She doesn’t even look at me.
I walk to the side of her bed. My blood is boiling, but I keep my voice even. This is the voice I used with my mother when I was angry with her and needed to get a point across, but Grace was in the room and I didn’t want to upset her at the same time. I’ve had this voice mastered for years. “Sugar, what the hell, dude?” I point to the papers.
She ignores me, continuing to murmur into the phone. I can’t believe it.
The girl has the balls to destroy my property and now she’s fucking ignoring me.
I raise my voice slightly. “Sugar, what happened to my paper?”
She’s still ignoring me.
Fuck that.
Now I’m pissed. And I’m not a yeller. I’ve never been a fan of losing control and to me yelling feels like the culmination of losing control. So I don’t yell. Instead I find it much more effective to lower my voice to a level that’s so quiet the other person almost has to strain to hear it. That way you know they’re really listening to every word. “Sugar, I swear to God I am not a violent person, but if you don’t hang up that fucking phone and tell me what happened here I am going to take that fucking phone out of your fucking hand and shove it up your fucking ass.”
Her eyes widen. “Um, I
gotta go. I’ll call you back.” By the time she hangs up, she looks defiant again. “What?” she snaps.
“Dude?” I point to the floor.
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, that was an accident. I must’ve knocked them off your desk when I walked by.”
I’m shaking my head. “And then what? What? You
accidentally
did the motherfucking Mexican hat dance on them?”
She shrugs. “Sorry.” It’s the most insincere apology I’ve ever heard. She may as well have said, “Fuck you.”
I snatch up my bag and flash drive off my desk and point my finger at her from the door. “You know what, Sugar? I’d really like for us to be friends, but you’re making that pretty
fucking
difficult. You’ve ruined or not returned several of my shirts this year, you eat my food out of the fridge, and you put me out of my own room a few nights a week.
That
I’ve dealt with up to this point.” My accusing finger drops its aim from her to the floor. “How dare you destroy my paper. I’m not sure why you’re here, but I’m here to get an education and that’s what’s important to me.” I narrow my eyes and threaten through gritted teeth, “From now on, just keep your hands
off my shit
.”
There’s fear in her eyes, but she attempts a brave eye roll. It’s pathetic. I can smell fear a mile away and she’s scared of me right now. She manages a snotty, “Whatever.”
I want to strangle her, but I settle for something completely juvenile, yet effective. “
Fuck. You. Sugar
.” And slam the door behind me.
The walk to the library is cold and snowy. It only takes a few minutes to print out my paper, but I sit in the stacks and read for another hour until I’m cooled down enough to return to my room. I hate getting this angry. I feel even more drained than before. But in truth, I’m not good at holding grudges.
Sugar is gone when I return. Strangely enough I feel a little guilty that she probably isn’t here because of me, but the guilt fades fast when I get a good night’s sleep in my own bed.
I guess God was listening after all.