Chapter Nine. Hopped on a Plane at LAX
Chapter Nine
Hopped on a Plane at LAX
When we get to LAX later that afternoon, the band members instantly settle into the even fancier first-class lounge.
Except Mateo, who carefully sits on the edge of his seat, twirling drumsticks with a Mexican flag design.
I inadvertently mirror his nervous fidgeting while we wait to board.
We lock eyes for a fleeting second, and there’s a momentary feeling of mutual understanding.
Calum’s comment about Mateo not being a Mercer Island kid sticks in my mind.
“Have you adjusted to this … lifestyle?” I ask him.
“Not yet. But I only joined the band a month before the label approached us. Maybe I’ll adjust soon.”
It’s oddly comforting to know I’m not the only person here who doesn’t come from an affluent family.
Once we hop on the plane, Felix and I finally practice some phrases like “how are you?” and “how’s school going?” and he slogs through a few pages of his book while I scroll through r/DAYDREAM and start re-reading LEGENDBORN for the millionth time, but eventually I doze off.
The plane forcefully rumbles, and I jolt awake, death-gripping the nearest object, which, unfortunately for him, is Felix’s leg.
He loosens my iron grip on his thigh and holds my hand, but his skin goes from tan to white as I cut off blood circulation.
He leans over and says something to me, breath ghosting over the skin behind my ear, but I can’t hear over the airplane noise.
He pulls back to sign, “Airplane … stop … now.”
When it’s time to disembark, the boys line up with bodyguards acting as bookends. I try to walk with them, but Necktie appears out of thin air and blocks my path.
“Don’t even think— —got it, missy?” The patronizing nickname and his tone make me cringe. He starts walking with the band before I can reply.
Someone touches my arm while I shoot daggers at the back of Necktie’s head. I turn and breathe a sigh of relief when I see Bhavani standing behind me. “You can walk with me!”
I brace myself as we get past security, preparing myself for the chaos Felix and I faced at the airport yesterday.
As I expected, the band is instantly encircled by a horde of screaming fans, but this crowd is double the size.
The members shield their eyes as cameras flash.
Most fans keep their distance, but some attempt to rush toward the boys and are kept away by bodyguards.
The thought of facing thousands of shrieking fans every time you leave the house makes my skin crawl.
One teen manages to grab a handful of Felix’s purple-and-white-striped sweater.
He stumbles backward, but the fan doesn’t let go.
Lachlan hooks his arm around Felix’s waist and hauls him away as Sunglasses runs additional interference.
I watch Felix’s chest rise and fall heavily, betraying how shaken he is from the interaction, but he manages to paste on a cheerful look for the cameras and wave to the boundary-respecting fans who hold signs and film on their phones. His mouth tips upward, but his eyes tell a different story.
Sunglasses protectively places her hand on his lower back. He peers over his shoulder, meets my eyes, and seems to find fleeting relief before he’s loaded into a van with Necktie and the other boys.
I get into a car with Bhavani and four other staffers.
“Felix is a good guy, and I’m sure he’ll take care of you”— I watch Bhavani’s lips as they speak, and thankfully the car is quiet enough I can make out most of what they say—“but I’ve been— — hair and makeup artist for a few different singers, and tours— — sometimes overwhelming and lonely, even if you’re a special guest. So I’m here for you. ”
“Thanks, Bhavani.” I smile.
When we arrive at the hotel, Sunglasses opens my car door, and I’m a bit confused as she ushers Ginger and me inside. A concierge hands us glass bottles of sparkling water sourced from Swedish icebergs, and I do a double take at the elegance emitted by every part of this lobby.
The floor is a gleaming marble with gold streaks, a Titanic-esque grand staircase leads to the second floor, and a massive diamond chandelier hangs from the twenty-foot ceiling. It’s like I teleported into THE GREAT GATSBY.
I tune back in as Sunglasses guides me toward the elevator Felix is propping open with his foot. I cram in with a tired DAYDREAM and agitated Necktie. Felix hands me a key card. “You’re in 509.”
When we reach the fifth floor, everyone goes their separate ways, but Felix insists on walking me to my room. He even rolls my suitcase for me.
“G’night, Nat. See ya in the mornin’,” he says as I step into the room.
I turn around to complain about the nickname, but I’m met with a closed door. I shake my head with a tired smile, imagining him rejoining the group and being scolded by Necktie.
“Goodnight, Felix,” I say to the door.
The next morning, I’m awoken by Ginger’s wet nose squishing into my shoulder.
I peel open an eye and when I see her jump off the bed and sit by the door, I realize she’s alerting me to the sound of a door knock. Jet lag is clearly affecting me more than her.
I stretch out in the crisp hotel sheets and yawn. Even after a full night’s sleep, I’m exhausted. But at least I got to sleep in a bed last night.
“Good girl, Ging,” I praise her while shuffling to the door. I scratch her head and yank the door open.
“Hiya!” Felix greets me with an abundance of energy. His hair is combed into a bun at the nape of his neck, and he wears a white V-neck tucked into awful plaid BURBERRY pants. “How’d you sleep? You look…” His eyes drag up and down my body, taking in my disheveled state. “… tired.”
I fight an eye roll. Not everyone has a styling team to make them look like they’ve descended from the heavens as soon as they wake up!
“We’re leaving in thirty,” he continues. When he drops that bombshell, I’m suddenly wide awake.
“What?!” I grab his wrist and peer at his watch. 11:02 a.m. Damn it. I slept half the day away. “I thought we had to be at concert venues three hours before showtime. Don’t your shows start at 7:00 p.m.?”
“Yes,” he knocks a fist in the air. “But angry man”—he mimics Necktie’s body language and I stifle a laugh at the impression—“wants … new … videos … we’re leaving … now.”
I process the signs. Necktie wants new videos…? “He wants to film the music video?”
He repeats the sign for music, brows cinched in confusion.
“M-U-S-I-C?” I fingerspell slowly. “Understand?” I flick my index finger near my ear and raise both brows. Nothing.
I try two more times, but he remains lost. Apparently, the fingerspelling lesson we did on the plane didn’t do him any good. He needs to pay more attention.
“Does he want more clips for the music video?” I use SimCom.
“Yes!” he knocks a fist.
I sigh. “I’ll meet you in the lobby in a few minutes.”
He gives me a thumbs-up and leaves. I haphazardly freshen my makeup, slip boots on, snag my backpack, and put Ginger’s vest on her.
As the elevator doors slide open on the first floor, I wave to DAYDREAM as I lead Ginger outside. When we re-enter the lobby, Will materializes in front of me, holding a to-go cup of coffee. He extends it toward me with a hopeful expression.
“Can I say hi?” He points to Ginger.
I immediately accept the bribe and exchange my dog for coffee. He sits cross-legged in the middle of the lobby to give her scratches. Mateo joins him in giving Ginger a belly rub. Calum face-palms when Will starts sneezing and rubbing his irritated eyes.
“Get off the ground!” Necktie demands. He peers through the hotel’s floor-to-ceiling windows, scanning for paparazzi.
Seriously? He can’t risk his precious band being spotted playing with a dog?
“And you”—Necktie turns to me—“get lost.”
“Nat’s supposed to be with me 24/7 so she can tutor me,” Felix jumps in, coming to stand next to me.
Necktie sucks his teeth. “Not on the first day of tour, Felix. I’m already getting calls about— —mystery girl with DAYDREAM— —airport.
Just lay low for 24 hours.” He jabs a finger to Felix’s sternum, then refocuses on me.
“Be a good girl— —follow instructions, would you?” With that, he walks off and starts berating a staffer.
My blood immediately boils. What the actual fuck?
Before the anger triggered by his raging misogyny has a chance to sink in, Felix asks, “Are you alright?”
I exhale. “Yeah. Forty-something-year-old men with Napoleon complexes don’t scare me.”
He suppresses a laugh. “He’s actually twenty-seven.”
“Twenty-se—” I interrupt myself with a gasp. “Wow, that is a rough twenty-seven.”
He smiles amusedly before continuing, “Anyway, I’m really sorry.” He reaches out and gently touches my shoulder. “I’m worried if you come, he’ll make the day a nightmare. Would you be OK staying here today?” he half-signs, half-speaks.
I sigh. I wonder if he’s secretly relieved I’ve been uninvited so I’m not there to get on his case about half-assing ASL practice. I swallow my true emotions. “Yeah. I’ll stay.”
“I’ll make sure you can always come along in the future, even if I have to fight Andrew. I’m really, really sorry,” he reiterates, giving my shoulder a light squeeze. I glance at his hand, and he tucks it into his pocket. Warmth from his touch lingers.
“Break a leg,” I mumble, absentmindedly touching the spot on my shoulder where his fingers rested moments ago.
He flashes a half-hearted smile and heads for his bandmates.
Will and Mateo reluctantly return my dog as Necktie practically drags them outside. Calum trails behind, muttering something to Lachlan, who’s looking back at me. When we lock eyes, he signs, “Have a good day!”
After they leave, I set up an oceanside office on the private strip of beach our hotel boasts. Ginger digs around in the sand and whines at flamingos flying overhead—yes, actual flamingos. In the wild. I text Jo a video of them.
The sun is high, heat waves rippling off the water.
It would be almost unbearably hot if not for the gentle breeze and shade from the palm tree next to my chaise lounge.
After an hour of drafting a blog post for the Center’s website, my phone buzzes on the side table.
Ginger glances up at me from where she’s licking a rock.
“I got it,” I say before she gets up to alert.
Sat, June 15, 12:14 PM
[Pretty Boy ]
://video.attachment//:
How long do we reckon until Andrew starts yelling at them
X
I play the video and laugh as Mateo and Calum, joined by some young kids, chase Lachlan and Will around a beach, soaking them with water guns. In the background, a MIAMI BEACH sign stands next to a turquoise lifeguard tower.
[Natalie]
0.5 seconds lmao
[Pretty Boy ]
Pretty acurate
I return my attention to the blog. Once I finish, I start researching Seattle roofing companies, but only a few minutes into it, my phone buzzes with another text.
This time it’s selfies of Felix and Lachlan in front of colorful giant chicken statues, Lachlan’s arm draped around Felix’s shoulder, both of them grinning.
The second is inside an equally colorful restaurant with a Cuban flag hanging on the wall behind them.
Sat, June 15, 1:07 PM
[Pretty Boy ]
We’re at calle ocho, the food here is sweet as! U ever had a guava pastelito?? Its like if god personaly blessed a pastry
Have u eaten?
X
I send a selfie holding up a sad pack of almonds I got in the lobby.
[Pretty Boy ]
U could go into almond modelling u make those nuts srsly photogenic
[Natalie]
Ha. Ha.
[Pretty Boy ]
No really! I see it now—Nat Neilsen, almond queen of the year
[Natalie]
I don’t think they give out crowns for “Most Disappointing Snack Choice.”
[Pretty Boy ]
Fair enough. But pls eat something besides almonds! Order from the hotel restarant and charge it to the room!!
[Natalie]
Damn, I didn’t realize you were the lunch police
[Pretty Boy ]
Hey! I’m a lunch royal gaurd, my almond queen
After a clip of the entire band on a small boat with a huge fan propelling it, the other boys laughing as Mateo clings to Felix’s arm and looks seconds away from crying because of nearby alligators—my notifications are empty.
It’s easier to work without the constant texts, but an unexpected wave of FOMO sets in, like I’m missing inside jokes or wild adventures only they’ll remember later.
Another part of me almost thinks the updates were endearing, like Felix didn’t want me to feel left out. Almost.
The rest of my day is spent on the beach.
The only time I leave is to order a forty-dollar, gluten-free burger (of which I text a picture to Felix as proof of nourishment) and to grab the bag of dog food I DoorDashed to the hotel.
The fee was exorbitant, but less than taking an Uber and more convenient than having to lug kibble around Downtown Miami.
As I’m eating an overpriced salad for dinner, a text lights up my phone screen. It’s a video of Felix documenting the pre-concert process while running around like a giant toddler who drank a Red Bull.
Sat, June 15, 6:36 PM
[Pretty Boy ]
1st concert!!!! But what if nobody actualy came & its an empty stadium & its a massive prank
[Natalie]
I highly doubt that. Nosebleed seats are reselling for like $800
[Pretty Boy ]
U looking at tickets? If u want one all ya gotta do is ask (nicely)
[Natalie]
I’m not above blocking you
[Pretty Boy ]
Oops gotta blast!! Time to seranade my adoring fans
X
But a minute before they’re set to take the stage, one last photo rolls in—a group selfie of the boys in sparkly makeup looks, fancy stage outfits, and in-ear devices that kind of resemble hearing aids.
Felix is taking the photo, a toned arm extended in front of him.
He’s smiling so widely his eyes are nearly shut and all his teeth are showing.
Before I fully realize what I’m doing, I save the photo to my camera roll.