Stars (Penmore #1) (25 page)

“What are you on about?” I ask her, snuggling my self-help book closer to my chest and yawning before I can help it. Over-sleeping just makes you constantly tired. Who knew?

“This pity party you’re hosting.” She swings open my closet and pulls out my leather work pants and a sheer black blouse I had bought on a whim before I left to visit my dad. That’s a lie. It was less of a whim and more of a ‘plan to seduce Grayson one night’ purchase. Unfortunately, I have to lie to myself a lot lately when it comes to why I purchased my clothes; otherwise, I would never want to wear anything. And I’m still undecided about that stripper career, so clothes are a must.

“You are wearing this and we are going out,” Keeley demands as she marches over to my shoe collection, picking up black strappy stilettoes. “And these. Now hurry. You have fifteen minutes to get ready; otherwise, we’ll miss the first act.”

“First act?”

“It’s karaoke night at my second-favorite bar. Don’t worry, I figured Lucky’s was off the list. Now, hurry up. When I come in and check on you in fifteen minutes, if you aren’t dressed I’m disconnecting the Wi-Fi and putting an end to your Netflix marathons.”

*****

The bar was cute. It didn’t have the same sexual and dark ambience that Lucky’s embodied, rather a youthful sporting exuberance. Small tables surrounded a decent stage that already seemed set up for the karaoke festivities, and there was one bar at the back of the room that had enough chips in the wood to communicate to patrons it had seen too many bar fights. I noticed there were Herons football team photos on all of the walls that seemed to go back to the university’s founding. I didn’t need to look too closely to locate Grayson’s latest team photo right beside the fancy cash register. As I pan back toward the stage, looking for a table that Keeley and I might make our home this evening, I notice the guy standing beside it.

“Why is that guy gesturing at us?” I ask when the 6’4 guy with red curly hair starts motioning us forward.

“Oh, that’s just Mike. He’s the manager here, letting us know he’s ready for us,” she replies.

“What do you mean
ready
for us?”

“We’re the first act.”

“How can we be the first act? We just got here, and I definitely haven’t written my name down anywhere.”

“Oh, the sign-up sheet is online. I already put our names on it this afternoon. This place is crazy popular, so it fills up quickly. And I like to be on first,” Keeley tells me as she grabs my hand and starts leading me toward Mike.

“We’re the first act? Holy crap, Keeley. I cannot,
will not
, sing in front of these people. They have done nothing wrong. Why would I want to punish them with having to listen to my voice?”

“Think about all the nasty things they’re saying about you now that you and Gray broke up.”

“They’re saying nasty things? What sort of things? How do people know?”

“Okay, babe, hate to break it to you, but pretty much the moment he changed his relationship status before he got back in town everyone knew. I figured he found out about your past and I was just giving you time to grieve; otherwise, I would have mentioned it earlier. Now, in regards to others, actually they aren’t saying anything. I just made that up. You need an excuse, so I gave you an excuse. Although knowing them, they probably
are
saying bad shit. This room is filled with nasty fuckers. Just keep thinking that.”

“Including that table of girls who are all waving and smiling at you?” I say, noticing the small group of blondes closest to the stage, which is now in touching distance.

“Okay, so not them. They’re really nice and love when I do karaoke. But anyway, as I was saying, no matter what, your little—or should I say big—booty is getting on stage with me. Now come on, that’s our cue to go on stage.”

“Fine.”

“Good, let’s go.”

It’s not until we’re standing beneath a white spotlight that I realize I forgot to ask her a vital question. “What are we singing?” I hiss across the stage to where Keeley is already dramatically posed for the start of the song.

“Just look at the screen, the words will pop up,” she tells me with a wink.

The guitar introduction starts and I know in a matter of seconds what we’re about to sing.

That bitch. She looks at me and winks before she starts the first verse of The Police’s “Every Breath You Take.” As she begins the second verse, she notices I’m not singing with her; instead, I’m standing with my arms crossed like a prissy stubborn child.

“Babe, you are taking everything too seriously. I want you to stop beating yourself up. We’re young, and we make mistakes. We fall in love and sometimes make silly decisions. Let’s laugh about them, yeah?” she pleads with me before starting the third verse.

She then reaches out and grasps my hand and I can’t help but sing along with her, a smile tugging at my lips. I burst out laughing when she starts doing air guitar movements and over-acting each of the lyrics.

She was right. I had been beating myself up. And for what? For falling for a guy who put on a show in his bedroom with the windows open? For dating someone and not sharing everything about myself straightaway? I did need to apologize; I didn’t behave how I wish I had. But after that? After apologizing and explaining to Gray that I wasn’t some scary stalker he had to be afraid of, I think I was ready to forgive myself. Maybe even celebrate who I was and who I am now.

When we finally collapse at a table near the stage, I’m out of breath and a little sweaty from our enthusiastic dance moves. “I feel like I was just on a crazy rollercoaster ride and weirdly want to do it again,” I tell her giggling.

“Good, because I signed us up again for later.”

“Of course you did. Dare I ask what song we will be singing next?”

“Eminem’s ‘Lose Yourself.’”

“Seriously?”

“Of course. I don’t joke about Eminem.”

I found myself laughing for the second time this evening. God, the idea of Keeley’s tone-deaf singing and my ear-splitting cries massacring “Lose Yourself” was almost more than I could handle.

I couldn’t wait.

GRAYSON

She is standing outside the lecture hall. Blocking the door. Making it impossible for me to ignore her like I had been doing if I saw her around town or at games. Her curly hair is swept up in a messy bun, and she’s wearing skinny jeans with a baggy kitten sweater. Why the fuck I thought she looked hotter than ever before was beyond me.

“Look, I know you hate me, but if you can just give me a moment, I’d like to apologize and maybe try and explain. So you know, you won’t have to worry about me ever again.”

I just nod at her. I was willing to listen. Fuck if Nate’s words hadn’t gotten to me a little.

“I haven’t got your photos all over my room, and I’m not some crazed stalker looking to play or trap you. I did come to Penmore knowing you would be here, hoping that I might happen to see you. I never planned to be in your classes, or interact with you at all. I just… Maybe I see you as some sort of security blanket.

“And then you saw me, wanted to spend time with me, and I fell in love with you. You shared parts of yourself with me that you didn’t show anyone else, made me feel special in a room full of people. Any girl would fall in love with that. But yes, maybe, if I’m honest, I had already fallen a little before we met. At first, it was innocent. It wasn’t because you were pretty or the main character in a show I had concocted in my head. And it definitely wasn’t because you were the quarterback for the football team.

“I fell in love with you because, when everything was loud and crazy and overwhelming in my life, watching you was like feasting on pure joy.

“And I didn’t have a lot of joy back then. The person who fixed all my problems, big or small, didn’t exist in my world anymore. With my mom gone, my dad was crying all the time and trying to pretend he wasn’t upset. I felt completely alone.

“But suddenly, your smile, your crazy antics in a Spiderman costume and enthusiasm for life were a part of my world. You brought me back to life. I won’t feel guilty for cherishing it. I won’t feel guilt for falling a little in love with the person who made me smile every day, when for a lot of my childhood that was
really
fucking hard.

“It was probably wrong of me to introduce myself when you were busy dealing with your world falling apart and make a snap decision to never try again. And then it was wrong of me
not
to introduce myself when you finally saw me. But I was afraid. Afraid that if you knew that I, some plain-Jane, next-door neighbor in dorky glasses and too-big-for-me sweaters was watching, you’d disappear as quickly as my mom did or think I was some obsessed fan.

“You aren’t a football star I worship. You were—
are
—the North Star, leading me out of darkness.

“Unlike other girls, I haven’t had to waste money throwing it into wishing wells or praying for a miracle during tough times,” she tells me calmly. Yet looking at me with her every thought shining in her eyes, she goes on to say, “I got my wishes looking out my bedroom window, and then again sitting in a lecture theater. And if that’s all I get, if you can’t stand the thought of being in close proximity to
me
, I’m okay with that. I’m old enough that I don’t need you to help me smile anymore. You won’t ever have to be around me again. But thank you, for everything you did and didn’t know you were doing.”

“You introduced yourself?”

“The day your dad left.”

“I hid in the woods for most of that day,” I tell her, in case she thought she could make up some bullshit lie and I wouldn’t remember. And also to test her. To find out if everything she just said was real or another scam.

“Yeah, um, I followed you.”

“Why?”

“Because you were hurting. I thought I could repay you and make you smile.”

“You were the person I told to leave me alone?” I ask, recalling footsteps and yelling for some peace and quiet.

“I believe your exact words were ‘go away,’” she tells me, shrugging a little, brushing off the old wound.

“I thought it was my mom. She would always chase me into the woods when I was upset,” I explain softly.

“Oh.”

“I see it took you a while to come back,” I tease.

“You could say that.”

“Okay, so I just have one question,” I finally say out loud. I can’t believe I’m actually going to ask.

“I guess I owe you that.”

“What about me? Say that I’m okay with you watching me because you were a sad, lonely little girl, looking for guidance. Maybe I get it. I dealt with the loss of my dad through football and writing, while you sort of dealt with your loss by watching me. I know you’re shy and never planned to follow me and start some crazy cult at Penmore. What I’m most upset with is the girl I’ve fallen for, I just can’t believe for a second she didn’t think about me. About my happiness.

“Had you turned on the light, come up to me just once in all those years while I wasn’t clouded by anger, I could have found you. I could have found my joy thirteen years earlier.

“I could have wished for a cure for cancer every time I saw a shooting star—which, okay, may just have been an airplane—or thrown a penny into the water rather than wishing for you to come into my life.”

“You wished for me?” she asks, her honey eyes expanding with shock. Showing me without any test that she was sincere in everything she was saying. This wasn’t a game. She loved me.

Which made it easier to tell her, “Babe, have you not been paying attention? I’ve been in love with you for weeks.” I step forward, closing the distance that had grown between us.

And I give her my truth. “Part of the reason I got so angry and upset was because I thought none of this was real to you. That maybe it was another character, like my dad. That it was just a game for you to win. When, for me, you were exactly what I’ve been wishing for. From your David Attenborough addiction to your sexy-as-fuck legs, you are it. If I could go back and kick that little shit for turning you away, I would. When Dad left and things were bad at home, you would have been exactly what I needed. I can’t get enough of you now, so hell, pre-pubescent me would have been in heaven. Not that I think we would have done anything. Well, until Prom. Fuck, we could have gone to Prom together,” I say as I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her body tightly against mine.

“You went with Missy,” she mutters with a touch of jealousy. She rests her head on my shoulder and lets all of the tension she built up in anticipation of telling her story leave her body. I can’t help but feel a little jazzed by the envy coating her words about Missy.