Girl vs. Boy Band (4 page)

“Shhh!” Lark scolded. She was furious. The boys had been on American soil less than ten minutes and they were already causing mischief.

And then, suddenly, Max burst out laughing. He lifted his hands in front of his face and with a loud “Abracadabra,” yanked his wrists apart. The cuffs fell away as if they were made of paper. Aidan grinned and did the same.

Donna blinked. “What in the world . . . ?”

“The bloke we sat next to on the flight happened to be an illusionist,” Max explained, still laughing. “He's here for some magicians' convention. We told him we'd let him backstage at our first concert if he let us borrow his trick cuffs. Pretty funny, eh?”

The guard gave Donna a sheepish smile. “The boys talked me into going along with the prank,” he confessed. “They're very charming kids, as I'm sure you're aware, so I couldn't bring myself to say no. They said their new manager would get a real kick out of it.”

“Kick out of it?” barked Donna, her eyes flashing. “They nearly gave me a heart attack!”

The guard's smile faded and he flushed with embarrassment. “If you folks will excuse me, I've got to hurry along. Just heard over my walkie-talkie that some teenage girl passed out.”

Ollie let out a snort of laughter, and Lark shot him a warning look.

“Thank you, officer,” said Donna, looking relieved.

Only now did Lark notice that the crowd who'd assembled to hear “Dream of Me” had completely dispersed. Not a single onlooker remained in the vicinity to witness the handcuff trick. She was sure her mother had cleared the area the second she'd spotted her protégés being escorted by law enforcement. How she'd managed it, Lark could not imagine, but she knew that her mom would
never
allow anything even remotely resembling bad publicity to tarnish the up-and-coming band's reputation.

And now that it was clear that the up-and-coming band in question wouldn't be spending the rest of the day in jail, Lark relaxed and took a moment to study the boys out of the corner of her eye.

Aidan was rubbing his un-cuffed wrists. He was dressed from head to toe in black—mostly leather—just as he'd been in the video. Even though he'd been part of the joke, something in his expression told Lark he wasn't as naturally lighthearted as the other two. He had a mysterious, brooding air about him.

Max, on the other hand, with his broad smile and warm green eyes, seemed to think the whole world was a good time just waiting to happen. “Still sulking?” he said to Aidan now, throwing a friendly elbow to his bandmate's ribs. “I can't help it if that girl who was flirting with us the whole flight turned you down when you asked for her number.”

Ollie laughed. “That ‘girl' you're talking about was the flight attendant, who was probably twice your age. And she wasn't flirting with any of us; she just was doing her job.”

“She gave me an extra bag of pretzels,” Aidan pointed out with a wink.

Donna pursed her lips impatiently. “I'm sure she thought you were all adorable. But this kind of thing simply can
not
happen. Traipsing around in handcuffs is
not
going to get you to the top of the charts.”

“Loads of rock stars have served time,” Ollie quipped. “Mick Jagger, Paul McCartney . . .”

Lark rolled her eyes. Did he really think this was funny?

“Let's get the luggage,” her mom suggested. “The sooner we put this nonsense behind us, the sooner we'll be on our way to making you three the world's next big teen sensation.”

As Aidan and Max followed Donna, Ollie turned to Lark. “I wonder what they'll think when they hear I made the first pretty girl I saw in LA faint.”

“They won't think anything,” Lark seethed. “Because they'll never know. Understand? Not one word to my mom, your ‘mates,' or any other living soul, because—”

Lark stopped walking. Had he just called her a pretty girl?

Yes, he had.

She scowled. So on top of being cocky, Ollie was sarcastic, too. Great. Just great. She shook the thought out of her head and tromped onward. “Just keep the fainting to yourself.”

Ollie laughed. “I'll take it to the grave,” he promised. “By the way, what's your name?”

“It's Lark.”

“Lark!” Ollie's eyes lit up. “Well now, that's fitting. You're quite the little songbird.”

Lark felt her heart speed up. That's what her father called her . . . his songbird. For some reason, hearing her nickname from this smug British hottie made her even angrier than she already was.

“Just get your bags,” she huffed. “I want to go home.”

“Right,” said Ollie, lifting his carry-on over his shoulder. “Home to Beverly Hills!”

Home to Nashville
, Lark corrected silently.
The sooner, the better.

The boys threw their bags into the rear hatch of the SUV. Ollie, clearly the group's leader, opened the driver's side door.

“Wrong side, you numpty,” said Max, chuckling.

“Oops, I forgot you guys drive on the right,” Ollie said with a grin, going around to the passenger side.

“You definitely don't want Ollie to drive,” Aidan said with a laugh. “He totaled the go-cart we built together a few years back.”

Since Lark was the smallest, she had to ride in the backseat, sandwiched between Aidan and Max. As they drove down the freeway, her mom pointed out all the sights and landmarks, as proudly as if she'd been born and raised in LA. The Hollywood sign especially excited the singers.

Lark's anger had given way to an extreme sense of discomfort. She didn't have a lot of experience with boys, and now here she was sitting between two terrifically talented ones with another in the front seat, all of whom (if her mother had anything to say about it) would be pinned to the walls of teenage girls' bedrooms all over the world in less than six months. This thought made Lark laugh—the boys themselves wouldn't be pinned to the walls, of course . . . just their pictures.

“What's so funny?” Max asked, smiling at her.

The friendly overture took Lark by surprise.

“Oh, I was just thinking about something,” she answered, unwilling to admit she was imagining their faces on posters.

“Was it dinner, by chance?” Aidan asked, rubbing his belly. “I'm famished.”

“I've got a wonderful meal waiting for us at home,” said Donna.

“Wicked,” said Max. “But don't go to any trouble on our account. We eat anything from curry to bangers and mash.”

Lark had no idea what a banger was, but imagining her mother preparing it—or any other actual meal—had her laughing again. Back in Nashville, her mom had cooked all the time—good, old-fashioned “stick to your ribs” Southern meals, and Lark and her father had reveled in the comfort of sitting around the kitchen table to enjoy them. Of course, that had all changed when Donna Campbell launched the Lotus Records label. She was much too busy with the uphill climb of launching a fledgling record label to find time to cook. And when there was time, she was simply too exhausted. Mrs. Fitzpatrick, the housekeeper Donna had hired to keep an eye on Lark after school, was an adventurous cook, but Lark still missed her mother's home cooking. Especially as some of Mrs. Fitzpatrick's attempts at global cuisine were less than appetizing. Lark crossed her fingers and hoped that the boys never mentioned “bangers and mash” in front of
her
!

“How old are you?” Max was asking now, eyeing Lark. “Thirteen?”

“She's twelve,” said Donna pointedly. “Only twelve.”

Lark blushed. The unspoken subtext of her mother's words was a very firm
much too young for you.

Max nodded. “I thought so. I've got a little sister who's nearly thirteen. You remind me of her. She has a great laugh, too. Ollie's got two brothers. His older brother's some sort of genius—going to Oxford next year.”

“He got the brains, I got the looks,” Ollie said, making a funny face and crossing his eyes comically.

“Do you have any siblings, Aidan?” Donna asked.

“Nope—it's just me,” Aidan said. “I guess my mum and dad knew they'd achieved perfection first time round.”

“Or they didn't want to risk having another moody bugger like you,” sniggered Max.

“Lark's an only child, too,” said Donna. “Do you find it lonely, Aidan?”

“This lot are constantly round my house, so I don't have much opportunity to feel lonely,” Aidan said.

“It's because your house is amazing. Aidan likes to come off tough, like he grew up on the mean streets of London, but really, his family's dead posh.” Max dragged a hand through his mop of dark curls and laughed. “I'm the only one from the wrong side of the tracks.”

Lark couldn't tell if he was joking about that. Their British accents all sounded posh to her. She considered their different backgrounds. “So how did you guys find each other?” she asked.

“Well, Max and Aidan met in prison,” Ollie quipped.

Donna shot Ollie a stern glare. “Oliver, I know you're only trying to be funny, but it could be misconstrued. Fans will be documenting your every move. They'll record everything you say in public.”

“So what if they do?” Aidan said. “Ollie's just being cheeky. None of us have been to jail.”

“Yet,” Max whispered to Lark with a grin.

“Regardless,” Donna said. “The press would have a field day with a comment like that.”

“What do you mean?” asked Ollie.

“The minute your career takes off, the media is going to start searching for the skeletons in your closets.”

“If they find any in Aidan's, I'll bet they'll be dressed in black leather,” Ollie joked.

Aidan leaned over the front seat and smirked. “You're just jealous because I'm the one who's going to get all the attention. Girls always love the ‘mysterious one' in a band.”

“You're about as mysterious as a boiled egg, Aidan,” Ollie retorted with a snort.

Aidan responded by giving Ollie a playful flick on the ear.

“Rule number one,” Donna interjected loudly. “From this moment on, you boys are going to act like you're—what's that term you always use, Lark? Baffles? Buffles? Biffles!”

Lark groaned. “Please don't say ‘biffles,' Mom. You sound ridiculous.”

“Well, I don't care what you call it, as long as you get along. I promised your parents you'd stay out of trouble and I don't want to let them down. Understood?”

“Got it,” said Ollie, sounding genuinely contrite.

The other two didn't reply, but Lark could tell that her mom had made her point. “So how
did
you get together?” she asked again.

“We went to the same school,” explained Ollie. “We were in the same music class, but the stuff the teacher made us play was rubbish, so we started bunking off school to play music together instead.”

“Our school was just off Abbey Road and we're all massive Beatles fans,” Max added. “So that's how we got our name.”

As her mother guided the SUV into the long driveway, Lark snuck a glance at Max. His eyes widened as the enormous, contemporary mansion came into view. She wondered what he'd think of her father's cozy house in Tennessee, with the creek in the backyard and the shady front porch. Or what he'd say if he knew Donna nearly burst into tears every time she wrote out a rent check for this place.

“You'll each have your own room,” Donna said as they all climbed out of the SUV.

“Good plan,” said Ollie as he helped the others unload suitcases and instrument cases from the back. “Might eliminate some of the bloodshed.” He caught himself and offered Donna an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I promise that's my last joke.” He carried a black guitar case to the front porch, then returned to the vehicle for another load.

Donna shook her head and smiled, and Lark realized that her mother couldn't help being charmed by Ollie's quick wit and clever banter. In spite of herself, Lark was warming to him, too. Maybe if he could rein in his overblown opinion of himself and edgy jokes long enough to keep from sabotaging her mom's plans for the band's success, Ollie might be fun to have around.

But as Ollie and his bandmates took the last few bags out of the SUV, he suddenly shouted, “I bagsie a room with a view of the pool!” and started sprinting toward the front door.

“Not if I beat you to it, mate!” called Aidan, chasing after Ollie with Max in hot pursuit.

Ollie had nearly reached the front door when Aidan tackled him from behind. A moment later, Max piled on top of both of them. The next thing Lark knew, all three boys were rolling around on the perfectly manicured grass of the front lawn.

“What's going on?” Donna shrieked. “Boys! What are you doing?”

Ollie had Max in a headlock; Aidan struggled to get to his feet but stumbled over Ollie's outstretched leg and crash-landed in the flowerbed. The one the landlord had specifically told them was custom-designed by LA's most sought-after landscape architect.