Diary of a Rocker's Kid (D.O.R.K #1) (4 page)

I take the gun off my back and load it, taking extra care since I’m by myself. Then I pull earplugs out of my pocket and twist them, feeling the fullness when I insert them in my ears and they expand. Once the gun is cocked and ready, I pull it up to my shoulder, narrow my eyes to focus on the target, and pull the trigger. Sure enough, the thrust of the gun recoiling against me and the
ping, ping, ping
of bullets striking the gong sends a rush of adrenaline coursing through me. I brought plenty of bullets, so I keep on shooting and reloading for a good half hour until they’re all gone. When I run out of bullets, I lay the gun against a tree and wipe the sweat from my brow, smirking at the gong. I hit it almost every time. I might have some issues with Dad right now, but I have to give it to him—he raised a badass.

I take my earplugs out and hear whinnies in the distance, and then I turn around to see Dad and Cass riding out to meet me. My high from shooting fades a little bit, but I swing the rifle onto my back and walk out to meet them. They both stay mounted as they approach Maggie, and I meet them over by her tree.

“Hey, come with us. I wanna show you somethin’,” Dad says.

My entire body tenses up. That sentence sounds like the tagline of a horror movie to me now. “No more surprises, please,” I beg.

“No, this time it’s something you’re really going to like,” Cass says with a smile, and I relax. She’s the one person I trust around here.

The two of them take me on a ride to the other end of the property, and we stop at a rusty old shed which, up to this point, I was never allowed in. When Dad opens the padlock with a key and pulls the door open, we all step inside, and I choke in a gasp. It’s a legit, movie-quality shrine to his glory days, complete with records and other rock star paraphernalia. Magazine articles and posters from each of their albums and tours line the walls. In the corner, three crazy-expensive guitars rest on metal stands, still in perfect condition.

“This is amazing,” I breathe.

Glancing at the posters, photos, and articles on the wall, I can’t help but feel a little bit of fame fever. Dad’s shows, especially the ones in his ‘hometown’ of Los Angeles, look like a dream come true. The smoke, the lights, and the sea of fans in the stadium…I would give up both my legs and ten years of my life to have that kind of fame and success. It’s all I’ve wanted since Dad bought my Gibson for my tenth birthday.

Then I come across a photo of Dad’s mansion. It’s the epitome of modern architecture and prowess, and it spreads out over several acres of land. I run my fingers over the picture as if I’m expecting them to magically bring it to life. Looking at the home I should have had, I feel like some kind of rocker Cinderella, except my fairy godmother didn’t quite get me to the ball. Instead, my mother wrecked it. She screwed up everything…my life, Dad’s life, W3…

“Do you have any more of this stuff in Beverly Hills?” I ask out of curiosity.

“Yeah, I have a lot of things stored there, including your basket,” Dad says.

My basket. It’s still there. I feel like a hammer just swung down and hit me in the chest. “You kept that all this time?”

“Well, unless you’ve thrown it all out by now,” Dad says, glancing over at Cass.

Cass says, “No, everything’s just as you left it.”

“Really?” He smiles. “I knew I could count on you.”

A fresh set of tears builds up in my eyes, but I quickly brush them away. I hate crying…it makes my head hurt, and I’ve already done too much of it today. Just thinking about that basket brings all the emotions of last night crashing down on me again. It’s the portal between me and my mother…the only thing still in our possession that might hold some of her DNA, besides me.

I turn to face him and ask, “Did she leave anything with the basket besides me?”

“Actually, yes. She left a note.”

My heart races. “What did the note say?”

“It said, ‘She’s yours. Take good care of her.’”

A moment of silence follows. “That’s it?”

“I’m afraid so,” Dad says.

That response was not at all what I was hoping for. “Oh…okay.”

Dad notices my disappointment and comes to give me a hug, but I step back, shaking my head. I let him comfort me earlier, but my feelings toward him are still a twisted mess. Dad lowers his arms and nods, turning away, and I feel a twinge of guilt. It sucks putting this distance between us, but it’s not my fault. None of this is.

Chapter 4

April 21, 2015

Sinking In

It’s 2:00 a.m., and I should be asleep, but honestly, I’m not sure who sleeps after receiving this kind of news. Seeing that mansion today and hearing Dad play his music in my bedroom made me realize, “Okay, yeah, this is real.” Dad’s a rock star, my mother is a celebrity, and I’m the Basket Baby…a.k.a. the unluckiest girl alive.

Because of Mother Dearest, I have a label I’m never going to shake. Seriously, the “Basket Baby?” What kind of claim to fame is that? I’ve done some more research online, and it looks like nobody even bothered to use my real name in articles because they wanted to hype up my story to see if my mother would ’fess up. I was used as a pawn to sell magazines. The writers pretended to know my mother’s identity so people would buy their shit, and then they were like, “Just kidding! Nobody actually came forward to claim her. But here are some nice makeup ads for you.”

Now if I want a music career someday, I’m never going to live that down. I might as well just use it as my stage name. Maybe I should go on living as Madison Landers just to avoid that nickname and the horrible stigma that comes with it. If I went to school and people found out who I was, I’d probably get made fun of daily for it. Being the Basket Baby makes me the ultimate reject. Combine that with being a farm girl with glasses and braces and…well, you might say I’m the ultimate dork.

Where’s a Xanax when you need it…seriously…

Right now, I have a ton of anger building toward my mother. I wish I could go back in time to the day she dropped me off and demand she get her shit together. After all, it seems like she wasn’t completely sure leaving me was the right thing to do. I at least want to find her in the present day and give her a piece of my mind. I’ve got a sailor mouth from hell, so I could rip her a new one and then some. Looks like I’m going to have to wait at least six months to do that, though…or anything else…

God, I want to get out of here so bad. I’m so sick of being alone and not having a real life. Now that I know what I missed out on, it hurts even worse. I feel cheated. She cheated me out of my life, and I need to know why. Maybe if there was a good reason, I could feel okay about this…like I made the ultimate sacrifice for the good of humanity or something.

Okay, that was a little extreme…maybe not the “ultimate” sacrifice. Seventeen and a half years is a pretty damn big sacrifice, though, so the reason had better be good.

I have to find her. I need to…but I still don’t even know her fucking name.

Ttyl,

Mads

***

For the next few days, I busy myself with homework, Internet research, and shredding on the guitar. There’s something therapeutic about blasting out a song at full volume, knowing I’m annoying the shit out of Nana and loving every minute of it.

This afternoon, my jam of choice is “Unholy Confessions” by A7X, and I have to admit, my one-guitar rendition of this song is pretty killer. I’ve spent so much time alone in my room practicing guitar that I’m almost at a pro level with some of these songs. By the time I’m eighteen, I should be there, which is the perfect age to start a band.

About an hour before dinner, I set my Gibson on the bed beside me while I get on my laptop to conduct some research on W3. Turns out there is still a host of fan clubs out there that obsess over them. I’ve been perusing them, but I haven’t joined any yet, because if I accidentally let it slip who we are, the information would probably go viral. Dad would flip a shit, and I’d never get to use the Internet again.

Instead of looking at more fan clubs, I go to YouTube to watch some old W3 videos. After about half an hour, I hate how much I love their band. They might be one of the reasons my life is a wreck, but…dammit, this music is the song of my soul. It’s mournful and melancholy with a driving backbeat that makes you feel like screaming at the world. The mechanics of Cass’s guitar solos are absolutely
insane
. I’m dying to attempt one of these songs.

There’s one song in particular, “Tearing into Silence,” that I really like, so I listen to that one about ten times in a row, focusing on Cass, who’s
killing
it in the lead guitar position. Eventually, I get the riffs and chords of the first verse written into my head, and I pick up my Gibson and start playing along with the video. I struggle a little bit with the chorus because she has this one complicated fingering I’ve never heard in anything before. It gets worse and worse for me until I’m swearing like a sailor, and then my stomach drops when I hear a sharp knock at my door.

“Sorry, Nana!”

“Filthy devil music,” she growls through the door, and then I breathe a sigh of relief when I hear her stomp away.

Ten minutes later, I’m still struggling with the chorus of the song, and I hear another knock at the door. This one isn’t as familiar. It sounds like a drum beat:
Rap rap, tap! Rap-rap, rap-rap, tap!

“Come in!”

Cass swings the door open and gives me a saccharine-sweet smile. “How’s it going in here?”

I throw myself back on the bed with a groan and a bounce, and feedback squeals from the amp. Cringing, I say, “Horrible. I’ll never be as good as you.”

Cass sits by me on the bed. “Here, let me see if I can help,” she says, and my heart starts pounding. Black Angel herself is about to show me how to play her part of the song.

I sit up slowly, and she plays the video again, pausing at the beginning of the first chorus. “Okay, I want you to watch my fingers really carefully here,” Cass says, pointing at the screen and explaining there’s a trick to her fingering. She arranges my fingers correctly on the neck for each of the chords and guides me through the whole thing easily…so easily it’s obvious she’s done this before.

“Did you ever teach guitar?”

“Actually, I taught your dad all of my guitar solos,” Cass says with a smug little grin. “He plays them
almost
as well as me.”

“Before I try this, can you play it for me?” She nods, and I hand her my Gibson.

Cass counts out four beats in a whisper, and then she blasts out the song, and I sit there feeling like I’m watching a goddess create a brand new world. Cassidy Anne Knox is a billion times more badass than Cassidy Meriwether, the mysterious rich woman from California. Head-banging and making some fierce guitar faces, Cass perfectly executes an extremely advanced guitar solo, and I realize I’ve just found my new rock idol.

Dad walks in the door without knocking just as she finishes the song. “Whatcha doin’, ladies?”

“Cass is teaching me “Tearing into Silence.”” Cass hands the Gibson back to me. “You wanna sing with me?”

Dad smiles with an extra sparkle in his eye. “Nothin’ would make me happier. Play it through once by yourself first, though.”

I play the song with the video and only stumble a little bit this time. Then I start again, and chills surge through my body when Dad’s million-dollar voice joins me. The chills are multiplied when Cass joins him with harmony. I’m able to keep up pretty well, except for having to skip a few notes during the solo and in other random places. As we’re jamming together, I reconsider my stance on living as Madison Landers to avoid the stigma. After all, there’s no way the Grim Weeper’s daughter could fall flat on her face…right?

The trio turns into a duet after a while, with Dad and Cass playing and singing tons of their old songs for me. As I lie sideways on the bed drinking it all in, the heartache fades a little bit, and I even think this might be the greatest day of my life. Never did I imagine having actual rock stars playing their music in my bedroom, and now it turns out I can have that privilege whenever I want. Dad and Cass seem to be enjoying it just as much as I am. Finally, after about an hour, Nana raps sharply on the door.

“Dinner is served,” she yells and stomps away.

Dad and Cass can’t wipe the grins off their faces. “Damn…” Dad says. “I don’t wanna be done with this.”

My ears perk up, and I push up on the bed. “What did you say?”

“I don’t wanna be done singin’.” He’s talking about the immediate situation, I know that, but the tone of his voice and the longing in his eyes suggest there might be a hidden meaning in there.

Dad wants to go back to rocking the world.

I can see it. I can feel it.

And…I think a part of me wants him to.

Chapter 5

April 26, 2015

Getting Our Lives Back

Up until now, I wasn’t sure how Dad felt about leaving the spotlight for my sake. His focus was mainly on me and my reaction for the past few days. Jamming with Cass and Dad in my bedroom this afternoon—which, by the way, was easily the most epic experience of my life—made me realize he never wanted to stop rocking in the first place. This wasn’t his idea, which means I might have a chance at getting us out of here earlier than I thought.

He’s kidding himself if he thinks I’m going to sit here and rot for the next six months. I am so ready to get my life started and get out of this boring hellhole. I want to get Dad back to L.A. so he’ll remember his life before me and consider going after his music dreams again. While we’re in L.A., I’ll conduct a secret search for my mother’s identity. Getting my hands on that basket might be the key to finding her, and that’s something I need to do. I need to talk to her. I need to know why she gave me up. I know she’s the devil incarnate, according to Dad, but I don’t want to become her or anything. I just want an explanation from the woman herself and the chance to give her a piece of my mind. Waiting six months to do that is going to make me crazier than I already am, so…I figure the world will be better off in the long run if I just get it over with.

So here’s the plan. I’m calling it “Mission Los Angeles.”

Step 1: Get Cass on board.

I need at least one member of the band on my side for this to happen.

Step 2: Reignite Dad’s music dreams by getting him back into singing and playing the guitar.

This step has already been put into motion. Cass and I will continue working on this.

Step 3: Convince Dad that I’ll be safe in L.A. and he doesn’t need to worry about me looking for my mother.

And…here we have the tricky part. I’m not really sure how I’m going to pull this off.

It’s going to involve a lot of lying and promise-making on my part. I’m going to have to act totally disinterested in the topic of my mother. I might even have to act like I hate her guts and never want anything to do with her, when the truth is I’m so curious about her that it gnaws at me day and night. Flattery might help…you know, telling Dad he’s the greatest father in the world and that he’s the only parent I’m ever going to need.

Yep, lies and flattery. That’s the key to Step 3, for sure.

Step 4: Find a way to “accidentally” reveal our identities.

I have a feeling Cass is going to be instrumental for this step. After all, she’s already done it once.

Step 5: Propose the trip to L.A. as a vacation instead of a permanent move.

This is my way of easing him into that whole scene again.

Step 6: Keep Dad from flaking out and changing his mind about the vacation.

Another tricky step, but it involves material from the next mission.

I cooked up another plot while I was devouring one fourth of a lasagna tonight, and I’m calling it Mission W3 Reunion. Reuniting W3 is going to be absolutely vital in getting Dad back to the stage. I’ll probably designate this one to Cass, since she’s the one that has the influence and knows how to contact Dad’s other bandmates. It needs to be a big deal—something the whole nation will see—so I’m thinking national television might be a good bet. We’ll work on the details of this one once we arrive in L.A…if we make it to L.A., that is.

Deep breaths.

This is it. I’m getting a ticket out of here.

Ttyl,

Mads

***

The next day, I take Cass on a ride to the oak tree, just the two of us, and I detail every last step of my plan. She hesitates to agree because of risking Dad’s anger, but then she finally admits that she does miss being in a band.

“It was all I ever wanted to do,” Cass says. “Going back to music would be as natural as breathing. If getting the band back together is your aim, even if it’s just for one day, I’m…I guess I’m in.”

“Excellent,” I say with a grin. I check off Step 1 in my mind. “The first thing we need to do together is work on Step 2.”

Almost immediately, she comes up with a subplan. “Mike and I haven’t done karaoke in years, but we used to,” Cass explains. “I could take him to Lexington tonight under the guise of having a night out on the town, and then I could surprise him by taking him to a karaoke bar. He’ll protest at first, but if I get a few drinks in him, I bet that will loosen him up.”

“Will it make him forget that he wants to keep his identity a secret, though?” I ask, doubting it.

“It might. Being out with me and drinking like we used to might cause him to revert completely.”

“Well, I hope it works. This is my one and only ticket out of here, so don’t screw this up.” I smirk at her like
my fate rests in your hands, woman,
and she chuckles as I lay down on my side on the blanket and glance up at the puffy, white clouds. We lie in silence for a few minutes, and then Cass speaks up.

“Are you sure you want to find your mother? I support you one hundred percent, but I’m sure your father told you how dangerous finding her could be.”

“He did tell me, but…I dunno, I still want to find her and get some answers. If I don’t, I’m going to keep feeling empty inside.”

“Oh…honey, I know what that’s like,” Cass says, rubbing my arm in sympathy. “I wouldn’t wish that feeling on anyone.”

“How do you know?”

Cass blows out a deep sigh. “Well…I was adopted. I didn’t know either of my birth parents until much later in life. When I met them, it was painful, but it also brought a huge sense of closure for me.” I look into her blue-gray eyes, and for the first time, I can see the years of pain that led her to write such heart-wrenching lyrics. Their best songs were entirely written by her. “Until you know who your mother is, you’re always going to be wondering. Mike doesn’t understand that because he knew his father before he left Nancy. Your grandfather was a bastard who abandoned them too, but he never looked back. Your mother
did
look back, so…believe me, I understand.”

“Did you know my mother too?”

“I met her a few times when she was visiting you at the mansion. She seemed really nice, but then her true colors came out, and it was ugly. She tore your dad up real bad. Promise me you’ll be careful with this, okay? The last thing you all need is more drama in your life.”

“I promise I’ll be careful. One conversation is all I need. Can you give me any clues about how to find her?”

Cass purses her lips, and then she says, “All I can say is that it may be easier than you think.”

Once we’re ready to return, we mount our horses and cross the field back to the stables. We find Dad there, and Cass asks him if he’d like to go with her to Lexington tonight. After some argument and some bargaining from Cass—promising to disguise herself and keep a low profile—he agrees, and they make plans to go out after dinner and drop me off at Ana’s house on the way. She just got back from vacation.

I still haven’t seen Ana since she got back from her trip, and there’s a
lot
I need to catch her up on…that is, unless she knows already and wasn’t allowed to tell me. Over the past few years, I’ve gotten this vibe from her a few times that she’s hiding something from me. If she doesn’t know, I’m not really sure how I’m going to tell her. She’s known me since we were toddlers. How do you tell your best friend that you’re not who she thinks you are at all?

***

Ana’s big green eyes are even bigger after I show her the same documentary Dad showed me. We’re sitting in her room, which is decorated like a bedroom you’d find in a teen magazine. Ana loves bargains, and she manages to find some really cute stuff that barely costs her a dime. She has impeccable taste, although I don’t let her pick out décor for me anymore. Pink-and-purple owl pillows don’t really go with my A7X posters and skull pillowcases.

“
Ho-ly shit
,” Ana says, and I laugh because I’ve never heard her cuss before. She’s not even allowed to use the word
damn
in a non-Biblical sentence.

“I know, right? It’s nuts!”

“That’s an understatement, girl! How long have you known about this?”

“A few days,” I tell her. “It’s been kind of crazy. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to tell you sooner.”

“Oh, my God…I’m friends with a celebrity…”

“You okay?” I put my arm around her. Ana looked a little delirious for a second. Judging from this reaction, I’d say she
definitely
had no idea who we were.

“Believe me, I am more than okay,” she says, and both of us giggle. “But…I mean, how are you dealing with this? I can’t even imagine getting this kind of news.”

“It’s been really hard, but at the same time, it was amazing.” I tell her all about my blowup at Dad, and then the mini concerts I got in my room. I also tell her everything I know about my mother, and Ana’s arms go around me when another round of tears starts. “Ugh, I’m sorry,” I sob, but Ana just squeezes me tighter.

“It’s me, Mads. Let it all out.” Ana holds me against her, and I cry quietly, trying not to draw attention from any other members of the household. Ana’s the only one who can know about this. I shouldn’t even be telling her, but I know that if I tell her a secret, she’ll take it to her grave. When my sobs subside, I continue the conversation.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen, but just so you know, I’m trying to get Dad back to L.A. There’s a chance it will never work, but in case it does, I wanted you to be prepared for me leaving. It will probably be just a vacation, but still.”

“Man…if you do go to L.A., and I don’t get to come with, I think I might die,” Ana says, looking starstruck at the very thought of stepping foot in Los Angeles.

“I’d love to take you, but I don’t think your parents would ever agree to that. I mean, they won’t even let you watch music videos.” She has to stick to ‘clean’ music videos. Her parents won’t let her watch anything that’s even slightly raunchy. Cass wears some pretty risqué outfits in some of their videos, and there are some suggestive lyrics in a lot of their songs, so Ana’s parents probably never allowed her near W3.

“I think we should at least ask,” Ana says. “If we don’t even try, I’ll probably regret it forever.”

“Well, let me work on Dad, and I’ll let you know what happens. Don’t tell anyone about any of this until I give you the green light.”

Ana’s eyes widen. “Not even my parents?”

“No one. You have to
swear
you won’t tell.”

“Okay…I swear,” Ana says, nodding and looking a little freaked out.

After a while, Ana turns on her small flat-screen TV and we sit side by side, pressed up against pillows on the wall. She goes to Netflix and looks up
Never Really Alone
starring Jacie Redinger. Ana and I are crazy about horror movies, and this one is our favorite of all time. It’s a little old but still good. We watch it together one night every six months, religiously, or when I need something to remind me that life could always get worse. I link arms with Ana because she can be a little squeamish at the scary parts and she always wants to hold on to me. No matter how many times we watch this movie, it still has the power to make chills run up our spines. It’s just
that good
, mostly because of JR. She’s such a talented actress.

Two hours later, I feel a little less glum, and Ana and I pull out nail polish and start talking about the things we could do in L.A. as we give each other manis and pedis. I tolerate nail painting as long as I can use the color black…maybe occasionally purple. Any other color is too bright and cheery for my taste.

Around one in the morning, we finally lay down side by side and pretend to be asleep when Mrs. Lincourt pokes her head in to check on us. Ana eventually drifts off, but I stay wide awake. Sleep has been evading me ever since I found out who Dad was…who I am. I’m consumed by thoughts of my mother and the life I could have had. If only I had a fairy godmother who could magically transport me to L.A.

I guess Cass will have to do.

***

Dad comes alone in his truck to pick me up the next morning. He tosses my things into the backseat, and as he’s driving away, I ask, “So how was last night?”

“It was great, although there’s a lot I don’t remember,” Dad groans. He does look a little ragged. My guess is they partied
hard
last night. “What about you? Did you have fun with Ana?”

“Yeah, we had a great time.” I fall silent, trying to think of something else to add so it won’t seem suspicious. I can’t let him even suspect that I told Ana, or he’ll freak out. “We had a movie night and fell asleep around one a.m.”

“Sounds fun.” Dad sighs, rubbing his forehead briefly before gripping the wheel with both hands. “Sorry, honey, I’ve got a bit of a hangover. I think maybe we should avoid talkin’ for the rest of the trip.”