Over It (The Kiss Off #2) (14 page)

“Proposition?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “We loved what you did for Academy of Lies with
The Kiss Off
and the music you have uploaded to YouTube is very impressive. You’re a skilled songwriter. Especially skilled for someone so young.”

“I’m seventeen,” I said. Nearly.

“Exactly. So young. Not only are you a skilled songwriter, but you are a perfect representation of the exact demographic of Debutante Dolls fans. You understand exactly the average teen girl experience and what they are interested in. The Dolls are currently recording their fourth studio album and though we have some excellent songs that are sure to be hits, we don’t have ‘it’.”

“It?” I asked.

“Yes, ‘it’. The hit song. The song that everyone will download the whole album for. We don’t have the debut single from this new album.”

“Oh,” I said. “Bummer?”

He smiled again. “We would like you to write it, Poppy, and we’ll pay you well for your time.”

I stared at him for a moment. Stared at him hard. Stared at him so hard I even put my phone down. “Shut the hell up. Who are you really?”

He chuckled and glanced away. “The girls are sick to death of love songs. In all honesty, ever since Kendra got divorced again
she’s
sick of love songs. They really like your work, we all do. What you’re doing, you have a great sound. Great vibe.”

“Um… thanks.”

“You’re funny and flippant,” he went on, “you’ve got a real edge. The girls are looking for edge, they want to spice up their appeal,” he said.

Ha. Like the Debutante Dolls weren’t spicy enough already.

“They want to branch out. Evolve,” he continued. “Try something a bit more rock than their usual sexpot pop crap.”

I couldn’t believe he had actually just called his artists’ music ‘sexpot crap’.

“So they wanted me to talk to you. They’re looking for something, a track with a real girl power attitude, you know? A real pop anthem that teen girls will embrace.”

I just looked at him.

“You think you can come up with something like that?”

The way I was feeling, I could totally do that. Boys were stupid. I was on board with that message.

“Yeah,” I said, “I can do that.” I couldn’t wait to tell my dad about this.

Mr. Demeter’s Hollywood smile glowed. I’d never seen teeth so white. Ty and the boys had all gotten their teeth whitened and Archie’s teeth weren’t so crooked anymore (must have been part of the label’s ‘turn me into a celebrity’ package. I’d thought Ty’s teeth had gotten white, but they were nothing compared to Paul Demeter’s. They were practically emitting their own light source.

Suddenly a body slumped in beside me.

“Thank God you’re here,” Lana said. She screwed up her face into a sneer and gave Paul a haughty look. “What are you looking at?” she reached across the table, picked up his drink and threw it down her throat. Oh my God… was she drunk?

“Not bad,” she said.

“Lana…”

I was expecting Mr. Demeter… Paul… Mr. Demeter to say something like “excuse me, young lady, but we’re in the middle of something here,” or “this is a private conversation so if you don’t mind,” or simply to look disgusted at the company I kept (I mean, I sure would have), but instead, he looked down at his now empty tumbler and turned his attention back to me, probably figuring that with Lana here this thing was getting wrapped up no matter how much there was left to say. “We’re on a tight deadline, we’ll really need the demo track by Sunday night,” he said. “Is that doable?”

Sunday? Tomorrow? Was he crazy?

“Have you seen Tommy?” Lana interrupted, like Mr. Demeter wasn’t even there. “I know he’s here somewhere, I saw him come back with My Beach House,” Lana said. “Who is this guy? Get rid of him, I need to talk to you.”

My ears burned with embarrassment. What was she doing here? What was wrong with her?

“Yeah, fine,” I said to Paul, “totally doable.”

I squinted as he blinded me with his smile again. Jeez.

“Fantastic. I’ll email the contract through to you now. Have a look over, get your parents to sign it, get a lawyer to check it over if you want, whatever,” he said. “But it has to be done fast. Shoot the demo through to the email on my card by end of business Sunday, alright? I’m flying out to meet the girls in Dubai and am going straight into a meeting about it. I want to prepare my pitch on the plane.”

Lana leaned forward, glaring at Mr. Demeter. “She’s got it, she’s got it. Now go away.”

We both ignored her, though it wasn’t easy. “Sure,” I said to him, “I can do that.”

He scooted across the booth bench and rose, then buttoned his dark gray suit jacket. It was a nice suit.

“Be in touch. I’ll tell the girls you’re on board; they’ll be ecstatic. We’re all really excited to see what you come up with.”

“Yeah,” I said, “wow. Cool.”

His smile faltered for a second. Probably because as opposed to my music, in person, I couldn’t have sounded less articulate if I’d tried. I glanced at Lana and then back at him, with my attempt at a confident smile. Hopefully he wouldn’t judge me by the company I kept.

“Thanks,” I said. It seemed appropriate. He smiled, though his gaze flicked disapprovingly to Lana, who waved him away. “Okay,” he said, and he walked back to his table, signalling the waitress for another drink. As I watched him go, my gaze fell on the table of gossip journalists. They were all staring directly at me. Seemed they had been for some time. Two of them leaned close, whispering excitedly. One started texting.

Oh boy.

I grimaced at them, shifted in my seat so my back faced them and slapped Lana across the arm. “Lana, what the hell?” I whispered sharply. “Do you know who that was?”

“Some producer, manager, agent, who cares? Industry
scum
, that’s who he was,” she said bitterly.

Unbelievable.

“Listen, I know Tommy’s here somewhere,” she said, as if we were mid–conversation.

“Of course he is,” I said, “where’s he going to go? He still has shows to play.”

“You know we broke up, right?”

“Yeah, they told me last night.”

“They?”

“Um…”

“Everyone’s talking about me, aren’t they. What are they saying? That they never liked me anyway? He did the right thing kicking me to the curb so publicly? He’s better off without me? It was about time he cut me loose and they’re surprised he didn’t do it sooner? Is that what they’re saying?”

Whoa.

“It was more like ‘Tommy and Lana broke up and she’s not taking it too well’,” I said.

“Not taking it too well?” Lana asked. Her eyes widened and I got a good look at the crazy person they’d all told me about. “
Not taking it too well
?” she repeated. “Son of a bitch.
Son of a bitch
!”

Her voice rang out through the bar and I clapped my hand over her mouth before she batted me away. “Shut up, will you?” I whispered, nodding behind me. “There’s a tableful of mu–jos over there.”

She peered over my shoulder and quickly looked away again, covering her face with her hands. I guess they were looking. Probably writing up stories as we spoke.

“He can’t just up and dump me, Poppy,” Lana said quietly, “not like this. We were together for four years, did you know that? Tommy was my first and only boyfriend and we’ve been through a lot together. His dad… then when my mom…. and then he just dumps me because he wants to hook up with skanks? How can he do that?”

“Is that what he said?” I asked.

“No, he used the ‘we’re growing apart, I’m too busy for a relationship, I’m no good for you’ bullshit. But it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

I grimaced again as images of that blond all over Tommy with her tongue in his ear flashed into my mind. Yeah, it was pretty obvious. My mind needed a bath.

“Do you know where he is?” she asked softly. The crazy girl side of her was suddenly gone. She clenched her fingers together in her lap, her blonde hair falling over her shoulder as she stared down at them. She was just a girl in pain.

And I wasn’t going to add any more to it. I shook my head. “Sorry.”

She leaned back in the booth and her head lolled onto the back cushion. We sat in silence for some time. I started to wonder if a truck had jack–knifed and tipped over, blocking Hamish on the road. Maybe the tarmac was covered in marshmallows. Or Pringles. Or filet mignon with garlic sauce and cheesy mash. Or burgers. Ooh. I could go a burger. Could Hamish take any longer?

And suddenly there he was. I caught a whiff of cologne and had a quick look toward the doorway out to the lobby and there was that frat boy, his tee shirt stretched tight across his pecs, a pair of cargo shorts that led down to tanned, muscular legs and flip–flops. Every time I saw him I couldn’t help but ask myself how the change in him had happened. I’d never seen such a drastic make over in my life.

He rubbed a hand through his hair with a tired sigh and stopped by the booth without sitting down.

“Finally,” I said.

“I saw the bass player from Fat Bottomed Girls in the parking lot,” he said. “So rad. You ready to go? I’m starving. What are we eating?”

“Barbecue on the beach.”

Hamish nodded. “Sweet. We going down to the grocery then?”

I hadn’t thought of that. We should probably contribute something. Wieners or steaks or something. Smores, maybe. I could get some more aloe vera and my own 30+ sun block while I was at it.

“Hey, are you not going to the festival anymore?” Lana asked, squinting at me, seemingly oblivious of Hamish.

“Of course I am,” I said. “I’m here aren’t I? What made you ask that?”

“Writing songs are hard or something, right? A day seems fast.
And
go to shows.”

Her stream of consciousness drunken ramblings made sense. How could I write a hit song and record it in a day
and
go to shows? My blood ran cold.

Lana burped. “And how are you going to record it here?” she continued. “Where are you getting the recorderling equipsment…record… where are you getting the stuff?”

“Shit,” I said. “Oh
shit.
”

After driving around the block a couple of times, Hamish found a car space half a block from the market and we made our way down the beachside community’s main street, past the pizza joint with flashing neon on its roof lighting the darkening sky like a beacon. We passed the gelataria, the bait and tackle shop and the surf store next door and I window–shopped as we passed the one clothing store in the whole of Tallulah Bay. I watched as the shop assistant turned off the lights and rolled the shutters down for the day.

I kept my hat and sunglasses firmly in place as we entered the bright and busy grocery store. I could totally pass for someone who just hadn’t noticed we were indoors now, right?

We shopped in silence for a while, on a mission. Hamish grabbed wieners while I found the sun block and aloe vera. I wandered toward the checkouts to wait for Hamish and pondered what to write my song about. Hamish rounded the corner from the baking aisle (he remembered the sugar!) and caught the eyes of two girls as they were walking by. He stepped aside, all chivalrous–like, and motioned for them to go first, to squeeze between the display and the backlog of shopping carts hovering around the aisles, a flirtatious smile across his face. One of the girls flicked her hair off her shoulder and glanced back at him and they both giggled with pleasure at his obvious attention and continued walking.

“You know, the Hamish I remember used to think girls were just a distraction,” I said when he arrived beside me in the express lane.

“I still believe that,” he said, people-watching some more. “But now, the distraction notices me back, and now I think the distraction is worth it.”

“What’s with this hair?” I said as we walked back out toward the car. I ruffled his shiny, product–mussed locks and he jerked away from me.

“Don’t touch it,” he said, “seriously. What do you mean, ‘what’s with this hair?’ You don’t like it?”

As I pulled open my door and climbed inside, he leaned down, checked the damage in the side mirror, and re–styled his hair. Unbelievable.

“It’s great,” I said. “Very surfer boy. Goes with the tan.”

He smiled. “Cool.”

“So not you, though.”

“You think I should go back to the mousy brown bowl cut, don’t you.”

No, I really didn’t; no one needed to be subjected to that again.

He turned the key and the engine roared to life. The Impala backfired then we made our way toward camp.

“And where’s the tan from? Don’t tell me it’s fake. I don’t think I could take it. But then again, knowing you, my favourite creepy basement dweller, it has to be fake, right?”

He just looked at me.

“Well?”

“You didn’t want me to tell you.”

I groaned. “Who the hell are you and what did you do to my cousin Hamish?” Fake hair color, fake tan, fake person?

“I woke up,” Hamish said. “I made him better.”

His jaw was set as he stared at the road ahead of us, his body tense. I’d touched on a sore spot, clearly. Sure, he’d been an excitable uber–geek who talked too much, but it didn’t make him a bad person. It didn’t mean he needed to be ‘made better’. I never thought he cared about that stuff.

“I can’t believe your frat brothers just bailed and went to Hawaii without even telling you,” I said. “Awesome friends. Best ever.”

“Yeah,” he scoffed. “I know.”

I studied him as he drove for a moment. “They’re real, right?”

He glanced at me, confused. “What?”

“You do actually have frat brothers? You didn’t make them up or anything, did you?”

“Screw you, Poppy.”

“What do you even have in common with a bunch of frat boys, anyway?” I said.

“They’re not as dumb as the movies would have you think, you know,” he said. “Not some of them, anyway. They did get in to college, after all.”

“What happened to Wendell and Jonathan?” I asked. The car rocked gently from side to side as we turned in under the camp site welcome archway and onto the gravel toward Row A.

“I feel like we’re playing twenty questions here,” Hamish said.

I could understand that, but I kept asking anyway. “You guys were a creepy little gang. They were like your henchmen.”

“No,” Hamish laughed, “Jonathan and I were Wendell’s henchmen.”

“I seriously thought you three were going to take over the world one day,” I continued. “Do you see much of them anymore?”

He shrugged. “Not so much. Wendell went to MIT. Jonathan…I haven’t seen him since I moved into the Omega house. I think he was living in the dorms, I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? But he was your boy.”

“Can we not talk about them?” Hamish said. He pulled the Impala in beside our tents and wrenched up the handbrake.

“Yeah,” I said, “sure, whatever.” We both climbed out of the car and Hamish walked right over to my tent and gave it a good shake.

“Hey, you in there?” he asked. Silence. The padlock was on the zippers.

“They must have gone to the barbecue already,” I said.

He nodded and, wieners, towels and a couple of bottles of water in hand, we headed toward the path through the dunes. Over to the right, I could hear the somewhat muffled, distant strains of a band on one of the stages, the festival still going strong for another couple of hours yet before calling it quits for the night, then starting all over again tomorrow. Beyond the trees, the dusky sky was lit up like a city, the spotlights from stages emanating above, blocking out the stars.

Across the horizon, the further from the festival I looked, the darker the world became. Pink and orange swirls blended into purple and blue as the sun lowered toward the ocean. Hamish and I reached the top of a dune and the beach spread out before us. People were everywhere. There was a great big bonfire in the middle of the beach and a couple of barbecues had been set up. There were rows of fold–up tables with coolers stacked underneath from which campground staff sold water, soda, coleslaw and salad. The queue for food stretched around in a wavy line, and people sat on the beach, eating. Some swam, others danced to the guitars and bongo drums a couple of guys were playing. There was a chick twirling fire, which was pretty cool, and a game of twilight soccer happening further up the beach.

“I’m starving,” Hamish said. “We’re never getting near those barbecues.”

“I guess we should just give them the dogs and join the line,” I said as we trudged over the sand toward the end of the queue.

We stood quietly for a while, inching forward every other minute.

“I gotta say, when Mom said you were coming to Bay Fest, I was pretty surprised. It never really seemed like your sort of thing,” I said. “I didn’t think you even knew what music was.”

“Jeez Poppy, you make me sound like this lame shut–in or something.”

“If the shoe fits…”

“I knew what music was, I just never appreciated rock and pop and indie and stuff back then. I appreciated Beethoven and Bach.”

“I remember,” I said. “So you appreciate normal person music now?”

I looked around for Mads and Nikki but couldn’t really recognize faces in the dusk. I just wished they’d be friends already. I snuck a sidelong glance at Hamish. They probably would have worked things out by now if he hadn’t been here and they hadn’t had something to fight over. I couldn’t be mad at him though, it wasn’t his fault. It didn’t help he’d given himself the makeover of all makeovers. This totally wouldn’t have happened if he was still Hamish from a couple of years ago. However hot he was now, the way his so–called friends had ditched him so easily made me feel kinda bad for the guy.

“Can you do me a favor this weekend?” I asked.

“Because I haven’t done you any already?” he said sarcastically.

“No, this is serious, can you just not…” I didn’t know how to word it.

“Can I not what?”

“Can you not hook up with my friends?”

He snorted and did that breathing in type of laugh where you sound like a donkey.

There was the Hamish I knew.

“What makes you think that would happen?” he asked.

“Please, you’re a guy. The way they’re fighting over you, you could have your pick. But don’t have your pick,” I said, “pick
no one
.”

Hamish shuffled forward in the line. “They’re fighting over me?” he said. “What are you talking about?”

My mouth fell open in disbelief. I punched him in the shoulder and he scurried away a few steps. “Yes they’re fighting over you, how could you not have noticed that?”

“I don’t know, I just thought they were friendly!” he said, glancing around the line. We had caught a couple of people’s attention.

We huddled closer together, acting casual, shuffling forward in the sand in silence for a minute.

Hamish cleared his throat. “Are you honestly saying Mads
and
Nikki want me?” he murmured.

“Yes.”

“Both of them?”

“Yes.”

“Me?”

“God, for a smart guy, you’re really, really stupid.”

“This is amazing,” he said, a Cheshire cat grin lighting up his face.

“Whatever you’re thinking right now, stop it.”

“What should I do, do you think?”

“Cheese and rice, Hamish,” I said, “did I not just tell you to keep your hands off?”

“Yeah, but-”

“Hey guys,” Mads said, joining us in the queue. She was still wearing the platinum blond wig, a slouchy hypercolor tee shirt from the ‘90s and her denim skirt. Hamish stood up straight, his eyes a little wide, like a deer in the headlights.

“Hi Maddie,” he said.

Mads smiled up at him, batting her eyelashes.

Oh jeez.

“Hamish.” We all turned to see Nikki stomping awkwardly across the sand toward us, holding the hem of a long, red silk dress up to her knees.

“Whoa…” Hamish said, staring.

The dress had a deep V at the chest and she wore a couple of long silver chains which accentuated her cleavage. She looked incredible, but somewhat overdressed for a barbecue on the beach; I mean, a couple of yards away stoners in Hawaiian shirts were building sandcastles.

“Is that my dress?” Mads’s expression turned serious. “It is. It’s my dress.”

“You brought that to Bay Fest?” I asked.

“Take that off right now,” Mads said. “That’s vintage Chanel and it’s worth a mint.”

“This old thing?” Nikki asked innocently.

“Where did you get it?” I asked Mads.

“The Exchange. They have no idea what they’ve got there.”

“I like it, think I’ll play some touch football in it,” Nikki said.

“Take. It. Off,” Mads said, her hands balled into fists. “I mean it.”

“Fine, I’ll take it off,” Nikki said. “But I just came over here to do this.” She stepped closer to Hamish, cupped his cheeks and kissed him, right there in front of us all. And it wasn’t an innocent little peck, either.

Oh dear.

A couple of people around us cheered and laughed. Mads looked like her head was about to explode.

When Nikki let go of Hamish, she looked pleased with herself for all of a second before Mads lunged. They both ran down the beach, Mads in hot pursuit, screaming obscenities at each other.

This wasn’t going to end well.

Hamish watched, a goofy grin on his face, lip gloss all around his mouth.

I punched him again. “What did I
just
say about not hooking up with my friends?”

Mads lunged for Nikki but missed, ended up with a faceful of sand, then heaved herself to her feet again and continued the chase. They ran in circles around the other beach goers, did a loop around the volleyball net, sped through the dancers and bongo players, kicked sand up at couples sitting together all cosy in the dark, and shoved the fire twirlers aside, almost setting one dude’s dreads on fire.

“Oh for God’s sake,” I said. “This has to stop.”

“What for?” the guy behind us asked with a smirk.

“Yeah,” Hamish agreed. “I’m not opposed to-”

“You go for Nikki, I’ll get Mads.”

“I don’t think we should get involved-”

“Aaaand now!” I yelled. I gave Hamish a shove forward and sprinted across the sand, the barbecue dinner long forgotten.

The mayhem escalated from only two girls running around and disturbing everyone to four of us: Mads chasing Nikki, me chasing Mads and Hamish essentially chasing the lot of us.

“This is ridiculous, you guys!” I said as I ran. Nikki screamed as Mads got a fistful of her hair. She spun around and pushed Mads onto her ass in the sand. They glared at each other, livid.

“Let’s work this out like mature adults!”

Nikki turned on her heel and ran for the water.

“No!” Mads screamed. She jumped up, Hamish and I in hot pursuit. Nikki reached the shallows.

“Don’t do it!” Mads cried. She stopped at the edge of the water; waves lapped at her toes before being sucked back out to sea again. She stood with her hands in the air, silently pleading with Nikki not to get the dress wet. Nikki was up to her calves, holding the skirt of the dress up high.