Girl vs. Boy Band (8 page)

Her dad laughed. “Touché, darlin'. Touché.”

They chatted a bit longer about the grueling hours of the tour, Lark's schoolwork, and Mrs. Fitzpatrick's recent attempt at making Peruvian ceviche that was so sour, Lark's face puckered at the memory, then it was time for her dad to get ready for that night's show.

“Send me that song when it's finished, baby girl,” he said. “I think it might be one of your best yet.”

“Sure will, Dad. Love you.”

He gave her a big wink, then he disappeared into cyberspace. Lark shoved the computer aside and played the song through with all her father's improvements. As the last notes faded to silence, she felt a tingle of pride and satisfaction.

“Is It Just Me?” was good. Bloody good, as the boys might say. She wondered what they'd think of it. Since the song was right for her voice, it would also be perfect for Ollie's. Smiling, she reclined into her pillows and sang the first line once more, attempting it (just for fun) with a British accent.

She was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

To her surprise, Aidan poked his head around the edge of the door.

Weird, but seeing him like this—from just the neck up, without the distraction of all that black clothing—made her realize that he was almost as terrific looking as Ollie, with his pale skin and jet-black hair.

“Your mum sent me up to call you for dinner.”

“Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

She expected him to leave, but instead, Aidan cocked his head.

“What were you listening to just now?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“Just now. I heard music. Good song. Really good, in fact.”

“Oh.” Lark felt herself blushing. How long had he been listening outside the door? “That was . . . well, what I mean is, it
wasn't
actually . . .” She met his eyes, dark and piercing, and felt herself crumble. “Er, it was the radio. Just something on the radio.”

Aidan gave her an odd look, as though he wasn't buying it, then disappeared back into the hallway and closed the door.

Lark sighed, reached for her pencil, and jotted down a new lyric to add to her song:

Sometimes I feel like I'm going kinda crazy.

Know what I'm sayin'? Or maybe it's just me.

CHAPTER

SIX

Dinner was fish tacos with mango salsa. Lark supposed it was as good a compromise as any—not Southern, not British, but perfectly LA, which was home to all of them now. For the time being, at least. She also noted that Mrs. Fitzpatrick had wisely prepared enough to feed an army. Luckily, it was one of her tastier culinary creations.

“So,” said Donna, draping her napkin over her lap. “How did the writing session go?”

“It didn't,” said Aidan. “Ollie thinks his ideas are the only ones that count.”

“That's because you didn't have any ideas,” Ollie shot back. “I'm a better writer than you are; why can't you just admit it?”

“I would if you ever wrote something decent.”

“Never mind,” said Donna, holding up her hands in surrender. “The songs will come. Every songwriter I've ever worked with has had days when the music just doesn't flow.” Spooning some mango salsa onto her plate, she added, “Let's hope they come soon, though, as we've got studio time booked.”

“Can't we ever talk about something other than your work?” Lark grumbled.

“Good idea,” Donna said. “Let's get to know each other, shall we? I want to hear all about your personal lives back in England.”

“Why?” asked Aidan, helping himself to a taco. “You're just going to have your PR people gloss over all the dodgy parts, aren't you?”

Donna considered this. “I guess it depends on how dodgy the dodgy parts turn out to be.” She nodded toward Lark. “What sorts of things do you think your friends would want to know about the boys, honey?”

Well,
that
was a no-brainer! The one thing every fan—boy or girl—always wanted to know was if their pop star idols were romantically involved, and if they were, with whom. And if they weren't . . . well, that was the stuff daydreams were made of.

“They'd want to know if any of y'all have girlfriends,” said Lark, biting into a spicy chunk of mahimahi.

“Of course.” Donna eyed the boys. “So, do you? Aidan?”

To Lark's surprise, Aidan shot a death glare at Ollie and snarled, “Not anymore.”

Ollie kept his eyes on his plate and said nothing.

“How about you, Max?” Donna asked. “Anyone special in your life at the moment?”

Max shrugged. “There was a girl from school I always sort of liked. We hung around together sometimes, but we never made it official. Her name's Lizzie. She's got red hair, big gray eyes. Clever, too. And she loves animals.”

“Well, that explains what she sees in
you
,” teased Ollie.

Max was so preoccupied in his memories of Lizzie that he didn't even seem to register the insult. “Haven't talked to her much since we got ‘discovered.'”

He looked so homesick that Lark was reminded of the lyrics to her song.
Home is where the heart is . . . that's what people say
.

Now Donna turned her attention to Ollie. “And what about you, Mr. Wesley? Something tells me you're quite the heartbreaker.”

At that assessment, Aidan snorted. “Heartbreaker? Try backstabber.”

Ollie gave him a look that was a cross between fury and regret. “Not now, mate. If you haven't noticed, we're trying to have a nice dinner.”

“Well, I've suddenly lost my appetite.” Aidan narrowed his eyes and sprang up from the table, toppling the bowl of salsa.

Lark watched in amazement as Aidan stormed off.

So much for getting to know each other.

Saturday morning dawned warm and sunny. Lark was relieved to find that the beauty of the day seemed to banish all of the tension from the night before. At breakfast, Max and Ollie made all sorts of quips about never seeing the sunshine in England.

Even moody Aidan got in on it. “That explains why we're all so pale and pasty looking.”

“Speak for yourself,” joked Max.

Donna, who always slept late on weekends, arrived in the kitchen just as the boys were finishing the enormous pile of pancakes Mrs. Fitzpatrick had prepared.

“Big day, boys!” she announced. “You'll be meeting your choreographer this morning. His name is Jasper Howell and he had a hand in nearly all the dances at this year's Video Music Awards.”

“Being he's a choreographer, I would think he had a foot in them, too,” Ollie observed. “Maybe a couple of hips, a bum . . .” He gave his bottom a little shake.

Lark laughed.

“You know, I was planning to have you rehearse in the garage,” said Donna, sipping from a tall glass of orange juice. “But you could use a little color in your cheeks. I think I'll have Jasper work with you outside instead.”

Lark stopped laughing.

“Outside? You mean by the swimming pool?”

“Sure. There's plenty of space for them to learn their dance moves on the patio.”

“But Mama, I've invited Mimi over to swim.”

“No worries,” said Ollie. “We aren't learning water ballet. You'll have the whole pool to yourselves.”

Lark spun on her heel and headed for the stairs. The sense of panic was overwhelming. She was about to spend the entire day with LA's most sought-after choreographer and three gorgeous teenage boys.

And she was going to have to do it . . . 
in a bathing suit
!

Mimi arrived at eleven o'clock, wearing a cute terry cloth cover-up and hot-pink flip-flops.

“What happened?” she asked, lifting her sunglasses to glance around Lark's bedroom. “It looks like a Lycra factory exploded in here!”

Lark was standing in front of her full-length mirror, studying herself with a critical eye. At the moment, she was wearing a navy-blue one-piece swimsuit with a V neckline and a scoop back. On the floor at her feet were two more bathing suits—another one-piece in bright orange and a red-and-white-striped tankini.

“I'm running out of options,” said Lark, ducking into her enormous walk-in closet to strip off the navy-blue suit and try on another. “None of these look right!”

“Please,” said Mimi. “How could any of them look
wrong
? You've got, like, the perfect figure. I'd sell my video camera to have that tiny little waist.”

Lark popped out of the closet, this time clad in a retro-style two-piece, with a high-waisted bottom and a modest halter top. It was her last suit.

“What do you think?” she said, looking over her shoulder to check out her backside in the mirror.

“Nice bloomers,” said Mimi. “Very Marilyn Monroe.”

Lark faced the mirror, glad to see that thanks to the cut of the suit, her belly button would not be making an appearance this afternoon. There was a great deal of bare back showing, but she could just about live with that.

“Since when are you so weird about bathing suits?” asked Mimi, gathering up the discarded swimsuits and dumping them into a drawer.

“I'm not weird, I'm just . . . conservative.”

Mimi gave her a look.

“Okay, I'm shy.” Lark sighed. “
Very
shy. And the idea of being so . . . um . . . well,
exposed . . . 
in front of these boys—any boys, really—makes me extremely nervous.”

Mimi laughed. “You are so old-fashioned! Must be a Tennessee thing. Now, c'mon, throw a hoodie and some sweatpants and maybe a blanket or two over that 1950s swimsuit of yours and introduce me to the band!”

With that, Mimi shed her cover-up, revealing a tasteful bikini with a gold clasp and ruffled trim.

“Take that, Tennessee.” She giggled.

Grabbing her own cotton pool wrap, Lark followed her friend out of the room.

For the next hour, Mimi had the spotlight and handled it like a pro. Lark couldn't help but envy her friend's easy assurance and friendly, confident manner. It was as if Mimi had known Max, Aidan, and Ollie all her life.

Lark, on the other hand, got tongue-tied every time the conversation turned in her direction. She was back to feeling like a visitor in her own home.

After telling the boys all about her aspirations to be a movie director, Mimi asked them to describe their musical style.

“Pop with an alternative edge,” Ollie explained.

“Rock with a nod to pop traditions,” said Max.

Aidan said, “Loud. Our music's
loud
.”

Mimi breezily segued into their lives in London. She wanted to know all about the city, especially the fashion and the arts scene.

“Cutting-edge,” said Ollie.

“Always changing,” Max noted.

“Loud,” said Aidan again.

“I'd love to go to London someday,” Mimi said, throwing Lark a grin. “So many amazing movies were filmed there. I want to visit James Bond's MI6 building, Sherlock Holmes's Baker Street, Harry Potter's Platform Nine and Three-Quarters . . .”