Remix (20 page)

Worried as I was about Ruby, whatever’s wrong with Lauren seemed more pressing and I didn’t have a chance to do anything more than fire off a message to Ruby, telling her that we were heading for the first-aid tent.

Even as I sent it, I couldn’t help feeling like I’d betrayed my best friend. Our moment in the crowd was more than a fleeting happiness: it was a reminder of why I’m here and who I’m with. This weekend has made me doubt whether Ruby and I have the perfect friendship, but I see now that I haven’t always been the perfect friend. Perhaps Ruby’s behaviour has been the worst I’ve ever seen because that’s how she
feels
? Something I haven’t taken the time to ask her about … not properly.

Once Lauren is with a St John Ambulance official, who’s making her breathe into a paper bag, I check my phone for a reply from Ruby to discover that my message never sent.

I send it again and wait for a reply.

There isn’t one.

When Wexler’s mouth is next to mine, it’s a question I get, not a kiss. “Are you sure, Ruby?”

Saying nothing, I pull him towards me. This doesn’t feel like a kiss, more like sex with my mouth, and I’m aware of the heel of his hand against my ear, his fingers massaging the hair at the back of my head, thumb pressing into my temple.

When I pull away to catch my breath, his pupils are huge, as if his eyes can’t get enough of me, and I feel a surge of pride, of power, that I’m the one doing this to him. That
I
am the one he wants.

It’s a dangerous feeling.

The St John’s lady tells Lauren she’d be best off having a rest and Lauren doesn’t argue, but I’m frustrated that we’ll have to walk her back to the tent and put off looking for Ruby. Her phone keeps going straight to voicemail.

Sebastian rests a hand on my arm. “I’m sure your friend’s fine.”

I want to correct him –
best
friend – but I don’t. Neither Ruby nor I have been at our best this weekend.

And I am not sure that she’s fine.

Wexler has brought me back to the “van” – a term I took too literally. The thing he’s leading me towards is not a van – it’s a fucking
house
. Admittedly, one with wheels.

“What are you waiting for?” Wexler looks around, confused as to why I’m still standing on the grass, as if I’m not playing the part I’m supposed to. It makes me wonder what kind of reaction he was expecting.

A bubble of doubt spirals up from the depths of my thoughts:
I’ve never had sex with someone I wasn’t going out with
.

But as soon as it hits the surface, it pops and the feeling’s gone.

“I’m waiting for you to lead the way,” I say and take a step after him onto the bus.

There are a lot of people in here. Too many. I find myself pressed into a corner, clutching a bottle of beer in each fist, watching as the band laugh and shout and flirt with girls older than me – the seven-foot tall ones with loads of make-up and an air of experience about them. When I walked in, the guitarist called out, “Belt Girl!” and handed me bottles from the bucket next to him.

“I see you’ve already made friends with Marc,” Wexler said. “He only gives beer to the pretty ones.”

I’d held up my two bottles and said quietly enough that Marc wouldn’t hear, “I’m glad he’s so shallow.”

Before I could lean away again, Wexler held me back. “I’m glad he’s not the one you’re here with.”

It might have been a compliment, but it left me feeling a bit weird, like there’s a chance Marc could ever have had me, like I’m a prize and not a person… I find I’ve drunk one of the bottles already, but since I don’t know where to put it, I just hold on to it whilst sipping nervously at the other. Before he could sit down with me, Wexler got sidetracked by someone I don’t know – their manager, I guess, since he looks way older than everyone else. They’re obviously talking about something to do with me and I watch the man glance over at me as Wexler says, “Don’t worry, it’s fine.”

I don’t think he knows I’m listening, but Manager Man does. “It’s not,” he says, pulling Wexler further down the bus.

The leather of the seat pinches at the back of my knees as I shift my weight.

My second beer is gone.

The tide of lust that swept me ashore is drawing back in Wexler’s absence. I peel the labels off the bottles and roll the paper into thin tubes before I notice I’m being stared at. It’s one of the girls sitting at the table with the guitarist. She doesn’t turn away when she sees me looking, but gets up and comes over.

“Shift up,” she says and I obey, aware of the bare skin of this stranger’s leg pressing against mine as we squash onto the seat. “I’m Kaya.”

“Ruby.” My voice sounds as small as I feel next to this goddess. She smells like expensive perfume and her hair is smooth and shiny – as is her skin.

“So you’re with Adam?”

I nod.

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” I lie automatically.

“I mean how old are you now, not how old are you in three years’ time.”

I smile a thin smile and tell the truth. “I’m sixteen.” Kaya looks like she doesn’t believe me. “I’m telling the truth.”

Kaya lays a hand on my thigh as she leans closer. “I’m only looking out for you, sweetie. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Her eyes are accented by perfectly applied liner and her lashes are so long I’m sure they can’t be real. She is much more beautiful than me. Much more worldly. “Look. Go and get some air. Clear your head. This might not be the right scene for someone like you.”

Presumably it is for someone like her. “Are you his girlfriend or something?”

Kaya throws her head back and laughs, making me feel even smaller. “Adam only sleeps with people prepared to worship him. I don’t worship anyone.” As she stops laughing, she stares at me. “But you do, don’t you?”

I don’t know what to say to this.

Kaya plucks the empty bottles from my hands and nods towards the other end of the bus. “Take a breather. You can always come back if this is what you want.”

Doing as I’m told, I stand up too quickly, then nearly fall over as I try to step over the tangle of legs stretched out across the width of the tour bus, like I’m playing a game of ladders in the school hall. The guitarist – Marc – stands up in front of me and declares he’s going to the toilet. He waves a little plastic bag at the people at the table.

“Want to join me, Belt Girl?” He’s smiling a little intensely and I realize this probably isn’t his first trip there.

“I…” I’ve no experience of turning down hardcore drugs. No one has ever offered me anything stronger than a bit of weed. “No, thanks, I’m fine for the, um …” – this is painful – “… drugs. Thanks for offering. It was, er, nice of you.”

The table behind me erupts into laughter.

I hurry towards the end of the bus and the exit – I can almost taste my relief as I get there…

“Ruby?” Adam Wexler is on the step below me, his face level with mine, hands clamped around the rails, arms stretching across the width of the exit. “You OK?”

No. “Yes. Just need a bit of air.”

“Those guys can be a bit much. I’m sorry I left you. PR emergency.”

There’s no sign of Manager Man.

“Is your emergency over, then?”

He stares at me for a moment. “It’s just getting started…” And he kisses me. It’s less urgent, less adult than our last kiss, but when I kiss him a little harder, he responds and my confidence grows. This is something I know how to do.

When he breaks away I feel drunk, as if Wexler’s kiss contained five times more alcohol than those beers. He runs his hands under my vest and it’s hard not to think of Stu’s hands doing the same…

How I’d feel less on edge if it was.

“Everything all right?”

I nod quickly. I don’t want Wexler to be Stu – that’s kind of the point.

“Come on,” he murmurs, slipping his hand in mine, guiding me back inside the bus towards a door I assumed was a toilet.

It is not a toilet.

I shut the door behind me and lean against it, my legs a little wobbly at the sight of what’s inside. A bed. And Adam Wexler: the man I’ve dreamed about, whose lyrics I’ve cried to, whose voice I’ve sung along to, whose eyes have looked out at me from a thousand different pictures in magazines and online.

I am not entirely sure how I got here, but Past Ruby would totally be high-fiving Present Ruby right about now.

Hooking a finger in the belt he signed, Wexler pulls me gently towards him, then he leans forward and kisses my cheek, murmuring in my ear,
“If I sang you a song …”

It’s the start of “Tonight Too Soon” – my favourite song.

“… filled with loving and longing …”

This feels like a line, but the way he’s kissing my neck and …

“… you would give yourself over …”

… pushing aside the strap of my vest and my bra to kiss my shoulder.

“… to want and belonging …”

He pulls off my vest to kiss my collarbone and reaches down.

“… I want what you’ve got …”

And unclicks the clasp.

“… and I get what I want …”

To kiss the bare skin of my breasts.

“… so give in to me now …”

I take a step back, falling onto the mattress of the bed behind and pulling him down on top of me. I am in this.

“… because I want …”
A kiss.
“… want …”
Nip.
“… want…”
Bite.

And as I part my lips for another kiss, I do not let myself consider that this might not be what I want, want, want.

Because I
do
want this.

Don’t I?

It almost comes as a shock to find Roly back at the camp with Stella and her friends. I was starting to think he’d left completely. There’s no sign of Tom and Naj, which is a relief.

I make Roly promise to stay near in case Lauren needs help and I give her a hug goodbye, aware that Roly’s surprise at seeing us together has risen an octave into shock.

He had every chance to tell me the truth yesterday and he didn’t.

I don’t like Roly. I don’t like Naj.

I don’t even know whether I like Tom any more.

I like Lauren though.

And I like Sebastian, who is nothing like Tom in any way shape or form, but I don’t want him to be. Every word he’s said to me has been kind, and as we amble back along the path, after we pass a man sitting in the middle of the path wearing a T-shirt on his head, Sebastian pulls me to a stop.

I think that he’s going to kiss me, but what he actually does is a thousand times more romantic than that.

“Do you want to try looking for your friend?” Sebastian asks.

It makes me want to wrap my arms around him and never let him go.

Whilst I try Ruby again, Sebastian calls his friends, but Ferris, who’s backstage packing up, says he’s not seen her and when we get to our camp it’s empty, tents zipped up tight, fire cold. I go in and check for Ruby in the tent anyway, just in case.

When I come back out, Sebastian’s talking to someone –  Owen.

“Have you seen Ruby?” I ask right away, but he shakes his head.

“Your friend already asked.”

“Do you think she’s with Lee and the others?”

“What makes you think I know where Lee is?” Owen’s voice is sharp.

“You’re his—” But the look he gives me strangles the meaning out of my sentence. “I’ll call him.”

“Don’t bother. Wherever he is, he’s not with Ruby.” Then he sucks in a breath and the change in his voice is as if he’s flipped to a new song sheet. “I’m heading back to the arena, just came to grab some stuff.”

His hands are empty.

“Which band are you seeing?” I ask.

“Three Letter Acronym.” The Heavy Tent headliners. Owen offers to look for Ruby in the crowd before giving me an all-encompassing hug and telling me that the Kalinskis are a tough bunch and Ruby’s the toughest of the lot. “She’ll be fine, Kaz. The girl’s made of Teflon.”

Everyone seems so convinced that Ruby’s fine and yet I can’t shake the feeling that she isn’t.

Once Owen’s gone, Sebastian reaches over and pulls me closer to him.

“Is there anywhere else you want to look?” His fingers are calloused against my palm and without thinking, I turn his over to stroke the tough skin on his fingers and he laughs. “The price of playing too much guitar.”

“I figured. I play too – not as much, obviously.” I turn my hand over and he mirrors the way I touched his.

It feels a lot like he might be about to kiss me…

“Coffee!” I shout in his face, then start walking backwards until my foot catches in a pothole and I collapse to the ground.

My ankle hurts.

Twenty minutes later and it still hurts, but at least I have the coffee I was so keen on. And Sebastian, on whom I am also keen. We’re sitting up by the line of trees that stand guard across the highest hill of the campsite, the field below a constellation of campfires. Even though we can hear the cheers of a crowd we can’t see and the catcalls tossed between the campers, the world feels peaceful, muted.

In this subdued bubble, I can hear Sebastian sip and swallow.

“I like it here,” he says.

“Here on the hill? Here at the festival?”

“Here. In this moment. In this place.” Everything he says makes me want to smile. “I’ll probably use that in a song.”

He sips his tea again and waggles his eyebrows, making me laugh.

“Nothing’s sacred?”

“Not to a songwriter. Words, thoughts, feelings – everything I see or hear or touch. All a song to be written.”

He’s beautiful. Not specifically to look at, but to be with.

Sebastian’s looking at me carefully and I can see the subtle twitch in his eyes as he studies my face before meeting my gaze. The world recedes so far that there’s only me and him sitting alone on a hill in a field that only exists for us to sit there. He puts his cup down in the grass and then brushes a thumb across my cheek, pulling back to show me the eyelash he’s captured.

“I’ve stolen a wish,” he says.

“Not stolen,” I reply. “Saved.”