Authors: Katy Atlas
Jesse looked at him seriously. You can take as much time as you need, he said. None of us want a sophomore slump.
I looked at Blake, wondering if it was hard to have the expectations of the whole band on his shoulders.
I’m sure it’ll be great, I said, as if my opinion mattered. Blake could put out an album of dogs barking and ambulance sirens, and I’d probably still buy it.
Come on, Blake said, looking pointedly down at the table full of empty wrappers to conceal changing the subject. We should get back on the bus.
That night, after everyone was asleep, I pulled out Blake’s laptop and turned it on, signing into my email account. I had two email messages from my mom, and deleted them without reading. I couldn’t bear to see if they’d sent the check or not -- either way, it made things worse. If they’d sent it, it meant the summer had to end. If they hadn’t, it meant I had nothing to fall back on.
I opened another blank email and typed in Brett’s address. Will be in LA in few weeks, I typed. When do you leave for school? Call me at this number if you’re around.
I typed Blake’s phone number into the email, dismissing the momentary concern that Brett would pass it on to my parents. If anyone could keep a secret, it was Brett. And unlike Madison, he wouldn’t have my parents camped out on his doorstep, pressuring him for information. Everything still felt uncertain, but the idea of a friendly face on the other side of the country was at least a little bit reassuring.
I pressed the button to send the email and curled up on the couch, using one of Blake’s sweatshirts as a pillow, the rhythm of the bus tires on concrete eventually turning into a lullaby.
We stopped in Savannah the following day around lunchtime, parking the bus in a lot and walking along the edge of the river, all of us thrilled to finally to be looking at something other than seedy highway motels and billboards advertising strip clubs.
After some quick internet research, Blake and Jesse decided that they wanted to walk around the city to look at the architecture, but after a week on the bus, all that Sophie and April wanted to do was eat real, fresh food that didn’t come out of a plastic bag or a microwave tray.
I hesitated for a moment, thinking about what had happened the last time I had a conversation with April without Blake around. Without saying it, I could tell he was thinking the same thing.
I’ll go with the girls, I said it firmly, not wanting him to argue. Blake seemed to relax when he saw I was certain, and squeezed my hand as he and Jesse headed off into the town.
Yeah, come with us, Sophie said, giving me a reassuring look.
Peachy, April muttered under her breath. Let’s go.
We passed row after row of perfectly groomed brick houses, dark shutters bordering each window, old-fashioned lampposts on the street corners. After walking a few blocks along the river, we settled at a restaurant with tables stretched out onto the sidewalk, enjoying the first fresh air we’d had in days. Fresh air that wasn’t within twenty feet away of an interstate, at least.
We sat down at a table and looked at the menus, excited to be able to choose something that wasn’t a burger or chicken nuggets. When the waiter appeared, we ordered three salads, and Sophie and I split a side order of grits, which I had always heard were classic southern food, but had never tried.
And a bottle of white wine, April said as we finished ordering. The waiter, a guy in his twenties, didn’t even bother to card her -- he just smiled goofily and wrote it down. A few minutes later, he came back to our table with a chilled bottle and three glasses.
Might as well, Sophie said. We won’t be having any fun until New Orleans. She poured all three glasses up to their brims, and we had to sip them on the table before we could pick them up to toast.
To finally being done with this tour, April said, smiling widely, not seeming to mind my presence as much as she had an hour before.
To getting to shower in my own bathroom, Sophie chimed in, clinking glasses with April, nearly spilling the wine as she did. I thought it was funny that Sophie and Blake weren’t much older than me, but each of them had a house in Los Angeles, a full house with a bunch of bedrooms, all for them. Even after I started college, Rockland would still be my home for four more years, until I graduated. Sometimes I felt like seeing Blake’s house in Los Angeles wouldn’t be a good thing at all -- just another reminder about how different our lives were, how impossible it would be to bridge the gap in any lasting way.
I took a long sip of wine, trying to enjoy myself. Looking out at the docked barges along the riverfront, I thought about all the places I’d been this summer, places that it would have taken me years to see otherwise. Places I might not have gotten to see at all.
New Orleans should be cool, I said, thinking of chicory coffee, beignets and jazz, walking through dusty parks with Blake. I was in no rush to get to Los Angeles -- it meant the end of the road, time for me to go home. To my relief, there was at least another week in between.
We haven’t had bad cities on this tour, Sophie agreed. Before our album went platinum, Casey, you wouldn’t have believed all the dumps we played.
Ugh, April shuddered, as if remembering. We once played the Viper Room at four o clock in the afternoon. The only people there were probably still high from the night before. And that was a pretty big show, she smiled. Thank God we’re past that.
Cheers to that, Sophie said, clinking glasses again. She had already finished her first glass by the time our salads came, and I tried to drink mine a little faster to catch up. April poured more into each of our glasses and smiled again -- it was the happiest I’d seen her since I got on the tour bus in New York.
By the way, I figured now was as good at time as any to bring this up. Blake’s birthday is the same day as one of the shows in New Orleans, I reminded them. We should get a cake or something, and maybe we can get tickets to a jazz club or something like that? I asked it as a question, looking for suggestions.
That’s right, Sophie squealed, I’d totally forgotten. He’s going to be twenty, isn’t he?
I nodded. So what should we do?
Take him to a strip club, April snorted. I think that’s what he did last year.
I felt myself gaping, and took a big gulp of wine to hide my reaction.
April, Sophie interjected, chastising her like you would a dog who’d just jumped on the couch -- not even angry, just exasperated. What’s your problem?
April looked at Sophie, her wide eyes cold but honest. She should know, she said. Blake hasn’t always been the angel that Casey thinks he is. How long do you think you have, she stared at me, until he starts wanting to have fun again?
The waiter brought us a second bottle of wine without us even asking for it, pausing next to April’s chair and filling the awkward silence by asking if we needed anything else. Sophie looked like she wanted to crawl under the table, and I shook my head curtly, not saying a word until he’d walked away.
I don’t know, I said finally, my voice as hard as April’s. But he seems pretty happy, so maybe it’s not really any of your business, I paused. Honestly, your whole fixation on Blake is getting a little old.
Sophie’s eyes widened, and I felt a tiny smile creep onto my lips.
I expected April to be furious, but she just shook her head. Careful, Casey, she said, her voice actually sounding amused. Show some backbone and you might actually start growing on me.
Sophie exhaled and squinted at the check. What’s sixty-four divided by. . . her voice trailed off as I slumped back in my chair, suddenly tired.
Sophie took out her cell phone to call Blake and Jesse. We should probably head back to the bus, she called to us, holding the phone to her ear.
Hang on, April said. We’re going to have to spend another whole day on that stupid bus -- let’s just walk around a little bit first.
I shrugged my shoulders at Sophie, following April along the path next to the river, watching old-fashioned steamboats pass by. As I caught up to her at a bench overlooking the water, she turned to me.
So, Casey, she said in an exaggerated whisper. Now that we’re friends, what’s Blake like in bed?
I looked around, turning to see if Sophie had heard, but she was well behind us. I felt my cheeks suddenly get hot.
We’re haven t-- I started, not quite able to find the words.
She threw her head back and laughed.
I should have known, she said, her voice mock-sincere. Perfect little Casey is a virgin. Of course you are.
I stared at one of the parked barges, trying not to show that I was annoyed.
To my relief, Sophie and the boys showed up a minute or two later, Blake squeezing my shoulders and then sitting down on the bench behind us.
I guess you guys had more fun than we did, Jesse said, teasing us by pretending to hiccup. I looked down at my shoes, still embarrassed by April’s question. And by my lack of a response.
It was the kind of thing I wished I had Madison to talk about with. Sophie was too close to both of us, it would have been painfully uncomfortable to try to talk to her about whether or not I should sleep with Blake.
And besides, I didn’t even know what I wanted. In a way, I was relieved that Blake hadn’t brought it up. As much as I cared about him, the reality was that I had to go home in a little over a month -- it was impossible to forget that the closer I got to him now, the more it would hurt later.
Come on, drunkards, Blake grinned at us, standing up and starting to walk in the direction of the bus. Let’s get you guys back on the straight and narrow.
He swung his arm around me, and suddenly it felt like April couldn’t bother me anymore.
At least you’re not headed for the airport this time, Blake whispered in my ear. Maybe you’re growing on her.
I rolled my eyes.
Hang on, guys, April called out from behind us. I want to stop for some magazines.
Turning around, I realized she was standing at the door of a convenience store, gesturing for us to wait.
We sat down on a patch of grass outside the store, and I stretched my legs out in the warm sunlight. I wanted to curl up and go to sleep in the sun -- as much as I loved being around Blake, the long stretch on the bus had gotten to me, too.
Blake sat down next to me, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.
Missed call, he said, snapping the phone open and holding it to his ear. Hang on, I don’t recognize the number.
I closed my eyes, barely paying attention. Sophie giggled at nothing, and I lay my head back on the grass, wishing Blake hadn’t left his guitar on the bus.
Hello? Blake said into the phone, his voice sounding like it was coming from a dream. Okay. . . he continued in a confused voice, and then held the phone out to me. It’s for you, he said, looking at me with a bewildered expression.
I opened my eyes. I’d given Brett the phone number in my email yesterday, but I was surprised he’d call so quickly. Maybe he was just that excited about me coming to Los Angeles.
Hello? I said into the phone, waiting for Brett’s familiar voice.
Casey, the voice was so shrill that I almost didn’t recognize it. Thank God you’re there.
Madison, calm down, I said quietly, still caught halfway in my moment of tipsy relaxation, wanting nothing more than to drift off to sleep.
Casey, listen to me, Madison said so seriously that I didn’t interrupt her. I’m standing in the checkout line at the supermarket, she said, as if the information were vitally important. And I am looking at a photograph of you on the cover of US Weekly.
I snapped my body into a sitting position, holding the phone as tightly as I could without breaking it. I blinked at the sunshine, trying to clear my foggy mind.
That’s impossible, I choked out.
I am sitting here staring you on the cover of a magazine. Madison repeated. It’s blurry, but it’s obviously you, she paused. Unless Blake has been making out with someone else, I guess.
What do you mean, making out? I said, my stomach sinking. I met Blake’s eyes, not wanting to repeat what Madison had said. She was still talking, but I let the phone slip off my ear, sitting numb with shock.
Mad, can I call you later? I asked her, interrupting whatever she had been saying.
Sure, she said, sounding sympathetic. Listen, I won’t tell them, obviously, but I think your parents might recognize you from the one on the cover. You might just want to be ready for that.
I thanked her, another layer of horror sinking in. It was bad enough that I was apparently on the cover of a magazine, but the idea that my parents could see me for the first time in weeks, making out with some guy on the cover of a tabloid, was horrifying.
I looked at Blake and registered the concern on his face.
Is everything okay? he asked me, his voice soft and worried.
I opened my mouth to answer, but at the same moment, I heard a bell jingle, the kind that stores put outside their front doors to ring if a customer walks in.
And as I looked up to check where the sound came from, I saw April storm out of the convenience store, looking like she could kill us both with her eyes.