Lost in You (11 page)

Her fingers lift my chin, so we’re eye to eye. I can tell she’s serious in this request, but my pride is on the line. She shouldn’t have to buy me anything. It should be me spending money on her.

“You can let me buy you a phone, or I’ll leave mine sitting on this bench and you’ll be stuck with it and I’ll just use that to talk to you.”

I turn away and try not to smile. “You’re pushy.” I lean back, putting some distance between us. She stands, placing her hands on her hips. I laugh at her when her f
oot starts tapping. I shake my head and rub my hands over my face.

“Ugh.” I groan. I can’t keep looking at her. If I do, I know I’ll say yes to whatever she asks of me. Hadley steps in between my legs and threads her fingers through my hair. My eyes close
on their own volition. I can’t believe that with just a simple touch from her, I’m about to buckle. I lean forward, placing my head against her stomach.

“I know it’s not conventional.”

“I have a feeling we won’t be conventional,” I mumble against her.

“
Why be normal? Normal is so over-rated and boring. I don’t want to be boring. I want to be adventurous and daring.”

I shake my head and laugh. I place my hands on the back of her thighs, pulling her a bit closer as I kiss her stomach. She kneels in front o
f me again, her lips finding mine.

“Okay,” I say. She steps back and pulls the back of my hair to lift my head. The smile spreading across her face is enough for me to forget about what we just talked about, even though my decision is weighing heavily on
me.

Hadley

Anal Anna
pulls my hair. Not sure what hairstyle she’s going for, but she says it’s something she learned while I was gallivanting all over Jackson for three days. My head rears back, my mouth drops in a silent ouch as she tugs. This is pure torture, plain and simple. I want to turn around and pull her hair, just like I would’ve done in kindergarten. I bite the inside of my cheek to avoid a verbal confrontation with her.

I haven’
t seen Ryan in almost a week and it’s been nothing but agony. Facetime isn’t cutting it. I’ve been trying to find a way to sneak to Brookfield, even if it’s only for a few hours, but to no avail. I’m booked solid and the slightest gap in my schedule is being filled by last-minute appearances or interviews.

Each time someone asks about my personal life I want to tell them about Ryan and how I might be in love. Definitely falling in love, but not sure if I’m there yet. Although, I know I’m lying to myself, I
’m there, just not willing to admit it to myself for fear he doesn’t feel the same way.

Ryan tells me that the guys in his school have my picture hanging from their lockers and that it pisses him off how they talk about me. He says they act like they know
me and I have to remind him that they only know the performer – the one they read about in the countless interviews and articles – that he is the only one who truly
knows
me.

Alex walks in, her face grim. I try to ask her with my eyes what her problem is
, but she just shakes her head and eyes
Anal Anna
. I’m not sure I like the look on Alex’s face. It usually means something is up and that probably means I won’t like it. Who knows what my uncle has done now.

The thought of my uncle brings him into my dress
ing room. The door flies open, slamming against the wall, causing Anna to jump and poke me in the scalp with a bobby pin. I rub the spot, only for her to slap my hand away.

“Anna, I need to speak with Hadley in private.”

Anna nods, stops what she’s doing and leaves. Through the mirror I notice dissension between them. My eyes look to Ian. He’s showing no emotion as she walks by. Maybe they're having a super-secret lovers quarrel and trying to maintain professionalism.

Who am I kidding? Those two are anyth
ing but professional.

I spin my chair around just as Anna shuts my dressing room door. Ian looks at Alex and I shake my head. He knows better than to ask her to leave. I tell her everything and I hate repeating myself, so this saves me time. Plus she help
s me figure out Ian and his erratic attitudes.

“Is there anything you need to tell me?” he sighs when he asks this question. He moves, slowly, toward the stool in the corner. He’s acting as if I’ve committed a crime. Maybe I have. Is kissing an underage b
oy a crime? Probably is, knowing my luck.

“No.”

Alex shifts closer, her elbows resting on her knees. She’s watching Ian, waiting for him to do or say something.

He clears his throat. It’s rough, like he’s getting sick or had too much to drink last night.
I’m thinking it’s probably the latter. He pulls the stool into the center of the small room. He sits down, resting his feet on the pegs.

I cross my legs, staring at him, waiting.

“Are you sure?”

What kind of question is that? My parents used to do that to
me when I’d bring home a bad grade or forget to turn in an assignment. Am I sure? Of course I am. If I was in trouble I’d think I’d know. Or at least have some sort of idea that I’ve done something wrong.

Ian looks at me as if he’s my father. His brows ar
e furrowed, his eyes slanted. Really? If I weren’t trying to be respectful of his “managerial duties” I’d start swinging my feet just to piss him off. He pulls out a newspaper, one that he’s had tucked inside his coat. His antics are starting to bore me. I roll my eyes at Alex, who shakes her head.

I sit up a bit straighter and look at her. Her eyes, boring into mine, are telling me to behave and that this is serious. All I can think about is Ryan and that maybe he told the wrong person about us and I’m ab
out to be sent to the county jail for child endangerment or something harsher.

Ian shakes the paper. The only thing missing is his orange juice and toast and I’d think this is a common morning at my parents’ house. By the look on his face, I know this is
anything but. Something is in that paper, causing him more stress than usual.

“What’s going on, Ian?” I’m tired of waiting and of this beating-around-the-bush.

Ian stands and paces, one hand stuffed deep into his coat pocket, the other clutching the newspaper. He stops in front of me, hovering over me. “You made the paper the other day.”

“Okay.” I draw out the word. “I’m in the paper all the time.”

Ian shakes his head. He looks at Alex, who I swear slinks back into the sofa. What the hell? I stand up, my hands planted firmly on my hips.

“What is going on with you two? I’m starting to get pissed.”

Ian hands me the paper, his eyebrow cocked in defiance. He’s testing me. I know this. I open the paper carefully, my eyes slowly traveling up the page. I want to cry out when I see not only my shoes, but the shoes of the boy I was with when this picture was taken. My legs are pressing against his bent legs, his hands resting on my hips – that is what I’m looking at. Except I know in this moment that his fingers are digging into my flesh as his lips work against mine in nothing but pure temptation.

The memory of his tongue moving against mine overcomes my senses. I can feel every touch, every movement of his hands on my back, as if he’s holding me now.

“Explain yourself.”

Ian’s voice knocks me for six. Someone caught me… us. This wasn’t supposed to happen. We’re a secret, a dirty, forbidden tryst. Alex pulls the paper from my hands. Her hand rubs circles on my back as she directs me back to the chair. Ian huffs,
shuffling back to the stool. His throat clears again as he prepares to lecture me on the do’s and don’ts of a public relationship. The problem isn’t that there’s a public picture, but his age.

“The last time you had a relationship that the public was awar
e of, it ended badly.”

             
Alex scoffs. “If a relationship is ending, obviously it’s bad, Ian. People don’t break-up when they’re happy.”

I want to hug her for standing up to him, but he’s right. My last relationship, the break-up was very public and nasty. I
thought he, Coleman Hollister, was the one. I took the break-up hard and the press had a field day. We were two famous kids in love, destined for greatness.

“Please tell me this isn’t what it looks like?”

That would be the easy thing to do. Just brush it off as some Photoshopped image, but that would be as if I’m denying Ryan and I can’t… I won’t do that. I don’t care if it saves my image or keeps my face out of the press. I’ll just have to be more careful.

I shake my head. “It’s exactly what it looks like
.” I want my voice to be confident, but it’s not. It falls flat, weak.

“Who is he?”

This time I clear my throat. I have to tell Ian everything; if I don’t, he won’t be able to protect Ryan and me. “His name is Ryan Stone and I met him in Jackson.”

“And?”

I look up at Ian. He’s leaning forward as if I’m about to tell him a story, like one he hasn’t heard in years, the type my grandma used to tell me when I was little.

“And what?”
I play stupid.

He stands up, tossing his hands in the air. “I hate it when you
play stupid, Hadley. That photo was not taken in Jackson.” He paces, stopping every two steps to shake his head. I know he’s trying to keep his temper in check. My image is everything, not only to me, but to my brand. I’ve worked hard – and he’s worked hard – to create this persona that America loves and I know I can’t afford to screw it up.

“I went to his town… for church,” I add, hoping to ease the tension.

“I went with her.”

“Yet you let her sneak off with some random guy so she can make out under a fu
cking oak tree?”

Alex steps forward. I grab her arm, holding her next to me. She doesn’t need to fight my battles, especially this one.

“Alex didn’t let me do anything. I went with Ryan, willingly. It was my idea. I took Alex along so that I wouldn’t be alone on the drive out there.”

Ian nods. “Are you done with this guy?”

“No,” I say, strongly.

He leans his head back and laughs. “Perfect. So I can expect him on tour.”

I shake my head. “No, he’s in school.” Alex sets her hand down on top of my arm. I look at her. She’s shaking her head, telling me to keep quiet. I look back at Ian as he watches our silent exchange. I know he doesn’t like Alex, never has, but I don’t care. She’s not here to appease him, but to accompany me. “Ryan won’t be joining us on tour, Ian.”

He looks at his watch and walks over to the door. He opens it and I half expect
Anal Anna
to fall through from pressing her ear against the door. Ian looks back at me and shakes his head. I know what he’s thinking; he’s worried. Worried that I’m going to screw up again and he’ll have to do damage control. The only problem is if I screw up, I’m pretty much done. Damage control or not, I’ll never sing again if we get caught.

Ian pul
ls the door shut, loudly. I jump as the metal door bangs against the door casing. I look at Alex, the realization that I’m in deep shit evident in her eyes. “What are you going to do?” she asks. It’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? I’ve done this to myself, created this mess. Ryan was an innocent party until I needed to talk to him. He’s going to be dragged through the mud, any and all skeletons exposed. He’s going to hate me.

“I don’t know.” I move away from her, needing space to think. There’s a k
nock on the door before Anna is back in, ready to finish my hair. I go on in thirty minutes and for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to. Right now, all I want to do is pick up the phone and apologize to Ryan for this mess I’ve put him in.

Anna m
otions for me to sit down. I sulk over to my chair and sit. Her hair-pulling begins immediately. Alex hands me a tissue for my tears and I can’t help but wonder if she knows they're for Ryan or because she sees Anna destroying my hair.

Ryan

School sucks.

It’s always sucked, but now all I do is watch the clock for the bell to ring so I can text Hadley. This newly-formed habit makes my day drag out longer. The one, maybe two, texts in between classes do nothing to curb my desire to speak with
her.

It’s been over a week now since I’ve seen her and probably one of the longest weeks of my life. Although, I’ve never counted time that way until now. I’ve been caught daydreaming a few times. A few slaps on my back from classmates to get my attentio
n while a teacher stands at the front of the room, glaring. I’ve always answered when called upon, but that was before.

In a matter of one week I’ve gone from that dependent student – the one who turns in all his work, stays for extra credit and never sa
ys a word without raising his hand – to a zombie teen who isn’t sleeping at night and is forgetting simple things, like putting my name on the top of my paper.