Chapter 6
6
Caleb
Riker’s superpower is finding a hidden gem in every neighborhood. He used to make it a challenge when we were touring from city to city, and he’s clearly held on to the magic.
Twenty minutes online, and we’re heading to karaoke a solid walk from Jane’s house. Keeley wouldn’t allow me out of the house in my usual summer uniform of a T-shirt and shorts, so I’ve changed into a different T-shirt and faded black jeans, which is about the best I can do at the moment.
At least I’m comfortable on the breezy two-mile walk.
Most of my stage wardrobe is gone, but the others have that effortless rock star look down. Riker’s wearing a muscle tank and pale jeans with a flannel tied around his waist, and Keeley changed into a cropped Pearl T-shirt, a denim jacket, and ripped white shorts that make her look even taller. Between my two towering friends, I’m sure I look like a hobbit, but being on the shorter side never bothered me.
We’re quiet at first as we walk, but quickly default to the worst kind of small talk.
“Siren Karaoke Bar—don’t they know sirens sing sailors to their deaths?” Keeley says, gesturing at the sign. “It’s kind of a weird metaphor.”
She’s acting a little too normal after what went down in practice, but I don’t say anything about it. We all know Keeley doesn’t stay mad for long. And, well, Valerie was kind of being awful to her. I wish I knew how to fix it.
I blink. That’s not my job anymore.
With a sigh, I follow the others inside the shabby-looking bar, which is surprisingly bright and eclectic within. The place really plays up the theme, making it look more like a seafood joint than a karaoke bar . There are kitschy seashells and anchors in all the decor, and the stage has an under-the-sea backdrop. There’s even a silhouette of a mermaid on the rocks on one of the walls.
Total tourist trap.
“Yikes,” Keeley mutters.
“It’s…a lot,” I say.
“Well, the reviews are good.” Riker laughs, gently punching my shoulder. “So they have a huge selection on tap for you beer snobs, but they also have a full bar, and I’m thinking we need shots. Desperately.”
We find an open table close to the stage. As soon as we’re seated, we start scanning the sticky drink menu.
“I will do exactly one round of shots, Riker. I do not bounce back the way I did in my early twenties, and I’m not about to suffer one of those hellish practices with a hangover,” Keeley says.
I nod, thinking about the last time I got drunk at Cam and Leah’s and crashed on their couch for a good twelve hours afterward. “One round is about my max too.”
“Will that be enough to convince you to sing?” Riker asks, tilting his head at the stage, twisting his mouth into a wry smirk.
“Absolutely not,” Keeley says. “With all the press about the reunion, that’s just asking to go viral. No thank you.”
I open my mouth to agree with her, because we both know Riker isn’t serious.
But then I remember the pressure on Valerie’s public image—the whole band’s image. The thing is, I do still know Valerie. She was stressed out today, which is why she lashed out. It’s not okay, but maybe if there were less pressure, she wouldn’t be so wound up.
And I think I can help with that.
“Maybe it’s not the worst idea to be…seen,” I say. “Out in public…having fun together. It’ll be good press for the reunion.” The idea makes my stomach churn, but we might as well dive in headfirst.
Riker’s eyes widen. “Hey, if you’re serious, I can see if MK is around. I’m sure she’d love to get a quick sound bite.”
My mind reels, and I clutch the tabletop, immediately regretting everything. I don’t know if I’m ready for publicity. The familiar buzz of anxiety hums in the back of my brain, and I close my eyes for a second, trying to ease out of the mental spiral.
“You just want an excuse to see your little crush,” Keeley says.
“I do not have a little crush!” Riker insists, gaping. Which is hilarious, because he’s been watching her with puppy-dog eyes from afar since that first interview. “We’ve just…stayed in touch is all. She texted me a congratulations when the announcement dropped.”
Mary Kate Hampton is a journalist who’s been covering the Glitter Bats from the start. It was kind of random at the time—no one wanted to write another story about viral teenagers with no record deal, so they gave the story to the college intern. But as we took off, so did Mary Kate’s career. Her Glitter Bats coverage earned her a permanent staff writing job on the entertainment beat for Buzzword .
I’ve always liked Mary Kate. Even with the constant speculation about me and Valerie in the media, Mary Kate did her best to take a wider approach, focusing on the band as a whole. She never tried to trick us into saying something embarrassing or sensational—she just did her job. The same can’t be said for a lot of her peers.
If we’re going to do this, I trust Mary Kate to do it right.
“You should text her,” I say, heart hammering at the thought of inviting the attention. But it’s going to happen sooner or later.
“You can’t be serious,” Keeley says. “Dude, you can ease into it. I know this is going to be a lot for you.”
I shoot her a grateful glance. “It’s better than being spotted by someone we don’t trust. You all wanted to go out, but we know the risks of that. Inviting Mary Kate ensures at least a balanced report.”
Riker nods, looking at his phone. “Well, that’s good, because she’s already on her way. I’ll text Jane too, see if she can get Valerie out.”
That makes sense for the optics, but my shoulders tense at the idea of playing nice with Valerie for the press, especially after this afternoon. I know we’re going to have to do it eventually, but today felt so off . Faking it isn’t going to be fun, especially since all it does is bring back the memories of how easy it used to be.
Back in the Glitter Bats heyday, a tough rehearsal rarely made us snipe at one another. We were a cohesive unit, able to get past our issues and focus on the music. And with Valerie, it was like I could read her mind. I could tell where she was headed during a song, when she wanted to take things in a different direction, even when she wanted to improvise—I just knew implicitly what made her tick, both as a musician and as a partner.
Until I got it all wrong.
“What, so we can be seen as the big happy family we used to be?” Keeley drawls, practically reading my mind.
But I need Keeley to chill out.
I sigh. “You know, we might be able to get through a rehearsal if you didn’t keep antagonizing her.”
“She was antagonizing me back!” Keeley says.
I lower my voice, trying to keep my tone soft despite the general noise of a bar on Saturday night. “Does that really make it better? I’m not talking about Valerie right now—we need to hold her accountable too—but you really didn’t help by dishing it back.”
Keeley raises her hands, but she looks a little sheepish. “Did I say anything untrue today?”
“It’s not what you said, it’s how you said it,” Riker says.
“That’s all I’m saying,” I say. By the way Val played last night, it’s clear she can still do this. Today wasn’t about skill—it was about old wounds. It doesn’t help that there’s a lot riding on this for Valerie. Even I can see past my hurt feelings enough to know that.
If nothing else, we’ll have to be civil to get through this.
“It’s not like any of us have had a chance to play together recently,” Riker continues, rubbing his temples. “We’re all out of sync—and it’s not all on Valerie. I forgot the chords on the bridge to ‘Fallout,’ and she was right about that ‘Ghosts’ riff—there was no excuse for screwing it up.”
He’s being generous—I don’t think he messed up on “Fallout”—but I appreciate him backing me up. Riker has always been a peacemaker, sometimes to a fault. But I get why Keeley’s upset. When my relationship with Valerie imploded, it tore the band apart. We all sacrificed a lot to pursue our music in the first place, but Keeley said no to some prestigious college offers that would have led her down a very different path. Her career has been solid, but she must have felt abandoned and hurt when the band collapsed.
I squeeze her shoulder, and she sighs, playfully shrugging me off.
“ Fine ,” Keeley says. “I’ll try to play nice—but Valerie’s going to take it down a notch. We also need her to remember her entrances without Jane directing everything into the talkback. Jane needs to sing.”
Jane is a fantastic harmonizer, but as our keys player, she also took on the role of cueing us onstage when we wanted to vamp or improvise. It meant juggling two mics: one that only played into the monitors, and another that played in the actual mix, but Jane is just that good. Our sets have always been tight with her keeping us in line—but it’s not something we want to rely on.
“I think Valerie will be receptive to constructive feedback,” I say. Valerie has always cared about the music. “She always wants to be better.”
Keeley throws up her hands. “That’s true enough. It doesn’t mean I don’t need a drink, though.”
Fortunately, a server shows up and takes our orders. I agree to a single shot of tequila, after which I intend to nurse a beer for the rest of the night. We also order food because the menu looks incredible—a chimichanga, quesadilla, and taquito sampler with fresh guacamole and queso. This is so much better than the seafood I expected.
Mary Kate waves at us from the entrance less than an hour later, so I suspect Riker texted her before he even suggested we go out, but I don’t have the heart to call him on it. Maybe we’re all hoping to drum up good press.
I’ve never been comfortable with the media, but Mary Kate is about as low-pressure as it gets. Hell, she covered us so often and for so long that she’s basically an honorary Glitter Bat at this point. I also strongly suspect she ran one of our old fan accounts, because @GlitterbugsUnofficial always knew just a little too much, too soon, but she always refused to confirm—or deny—my theory. Still, my hands sweat as she approaches our table.
Mary Kate is almost as tall as Keeley in her towering heels, with shiny brown hair cascading past her shoulders and a rosy blush on her pale cheeks. She wears a crisp white button-down over black pants that make her look more like a lawyer than a journalist, but she greets each of us with a dimpled smile and a hug.
Even me.
“It’s so great to see my favorite band back together!” she says as she pulls away. “Damn, Caleb, you look great. Where have you been hiding?”
I grin. “On or off the record?”
Mary Kate laughs. “That’s up to you. Riker just invited me to hang out.”
“I wasn’t aware you were hanging-out kind of friends,” Keeley says.
Riker flushes, and Mary Kate shrugs. “Why not?” she asks. “I’ve known you all as long as anyone in this town.”
Her ease calms my nerves a bit. “Well, you’re welcome to say on the record that I’ve been exploring a new career as a music educator.”
Mary Kate makes a note in her phone, then bites her lip. “I did want to ask a quick business question before we have fun. I’d really love to get an exclusive opportunity to cover the reunion for Buzzword : visit a couple rehearsals, hang out backstage, film some interviews. You’d all have a final say in what you want to share, and I’d just be privileged to be a small part of it. What do you think?”
Riker nods. “That would be rad!” Keeley shoots him a look, so he quickly backpedals. “ But we should probably make sure the rest of the band is on board, so I think it’s best if you formally run it past Wade. But I’ll tell him I’m in.”
I swallow—filmed interviews?—but I nod. “Me too.”
We turn to Keeley, who runs a hand through her bob. “Fine, but I’m not talking about my feelings regarding the reunion on the record.”
Mary Kate’s eyes widen, and I know she wants to ask about the tension, but thankfully she holds back. “So are any of you going to go up there, or is this just observing for fun?”
Keeley grins. “Oh, I already signed Caleb up.”
All the blood drains from my face. “What?” When the hell did she even have time to do that? She hasn’t left the table. I know I agreed to this, but I thought I had more time to gather my nerves.
“Oh yeah. Cheap Trick. Get ready, ’cause you’re tenth on the list.” She pulls an eyeliner stick and a small tub of pomade out of her bag and hands them to me.
“No way, I’m not doing that,” I say, understanding exactly where she is going with this. Keeley always pushed me out of my comfort zone, and I used to love her for it when it got me out of my own head.
But this…this isn’t going to feel right. Not yet.
She raises her brows. “You need to get your stage presence back. The stakes could not be lower tonight. So go make yourself hot, and get up there.”
I turn to Riker for the usual backup, but he just shrugs, betraying me. “Keeley’s right. Go make yourself hot.”
Damn him for always going with the flow. I sigh but grab the supplies and head into the stuffy bathroom. Keeley has a remarkable memory—this is the Perversion eyeliner stick from Urban Decay, the exact shade I’d used once I could afford more than the cheap drugstore pencils. I inhale sharply, staring at my blank face in the mirror, my normal hair.
It’s the face I’m used to seeing.
Putting on the makeup feels oddly symbolic. Carefully, I line my eyes with Perversion, then smudge it with my pinky to cover up my shaky application. Once I’m satisfied that it doesn’t look terrible, I get my hair a little damp in the sink, then slowly, methodically, scrunch it with the pomade over the basin, defining my natural almost-curls.
Glancing up at myself, I freeze. My hair isn’t the same length I’d rock on tour, but I look like him again: Caleb Sloane, rock star. I didn’t realize how easily he’d return until he was staring back at me in the mirror.
Huh.
By the time I emerge, there’s an emcee introducing the next person on the stage—by the sash, it looks like a bride-to-be on the first leg of a bachelorette party singing an off-key but enthusiastic rendition of “Still Into You” by Paramore. A lot of Paramore fans were kind enough to like our stuff too, even though we entered the scene much later, and I wouldn’t dream of comparing us in any way—except to say we deeply admire their music. Still, we’ve shared space on plenty of playlists over the years.
Maybe the eyeliner was a mistake. If any of the people in the bride’s entourage are Glitterbugs and post this online, I might just go viral as planned. I’m not ready.
But I square my shoulders, steeling myself.
“There he is!” Keeley calls, and I hurry over, shading my face with my hand. “You sexy motherfucker.”
“This was a terrible idea,” I mutter.
“You look so good, holy shit,” Riker says. “It’s like you went in the bathroom as Teacher Caleb and came back as Heartthrob Caleb.”
“Maybe you should put on eyeliner and parade around onstage,” I say, trying to shove my shoulders down from where they’re hunched to my ears.
“Dude, please let me record this,” Mary Kate says, pressing her palms together at her chin in a pleading gesture.
“Only if he’s comfortable,” Riker says instantly. I soften at his defense. Even though he invited MK here, Riker’s got my back, and I know Keeley does too. It helps me breathe a little easier knowing I have friends I can rely on. I forgot how nice it was to have them in my corner…even as they’re literally pushing me onstage.
The emcee is calling next up, and it’s my number. I sigh, knowing full well I’ve lost control of the situation. “Record it, stream it, I don’t care. I’m going to go get this over with.”
I weave around the tables to the stage, trying to ignore the murmurs of the room. There’s no way anyone knows I’m here—or, at least, no way everyone knows who I am—but if they do, I don’t want to know. Before he presses play, the emcee shows me where to see the screen, but I could sing the lyrics to “I Want You to Want Me” in my sleep.
Because 10 Things I Hate About You is Valerie’s favorite movie.
My heart races, and my hands shake on the mic, but I do my best to relax as I wait for the cue, jumping in with a clear voice. After the first line, the bar falls quiet. Phones come out to record. Someone in the bachelorette party squeals. But instead of freezing up, I feel an electric spark running through my veins with each beat of my hammering heart. I croon, I smirk, I swagger across the tiny stage. It feels so good to just be up here making people happy again. The excitement in the room is so thick you could cut it with a knife.
And when I get to the chorus, I see her across the bar, leaning with a casual ease against the back wall.
Straight out of a dream, hazy and dim in the lights of the room—she looks like she did then . It catapults me six years back. Valerie’s eyeliner is thick, she’s rocking ripped black jeans and an old The Clash T-shirt that I could swear she stole from me during the Wanderlust tour, and…and her hair is bright pink.
God, that hair. I can’t help but think of all those times I buried my fingers in those gorgeous locks. I’m not proud of it, but that pink hair has continued to star in so many of my fantasies. I even remember what that damn color is called—Pink Crush, as if it could ever be so innocent. But it’s seared into my memory, formative and life-changing. An instant turn-on.
And seeing her here, like this, makes all of my remaining nerves melt away.
Before I can stop myself, I wave her up to join me onstage.