Chapter Twenty. American Sweethearts （ a Kiwi）
Chapter Twenty
American Sweethearts (+ a Kiwi)
“ Andrew was really going to make you face this death trap alone?” Bhavani asks as they stop the doors on the ancient elevator from closing on Ginger and me.
“
“Are you surprised?” I snort.
The main elevator leading to the studio where the boys are filming an acoustic rendition of “Cloud 9” for VARIETY was packed to the brim, and Necktie stuck me in this one that looks like it hasn’t been used since the Reagan era.
“Well, if this thing goes down, at least we’re together.”
“Comforting,” I mutter, but the corner of my mouth lifts despite myself. Our ascent is agonizingly slow, and the intermittent metallic groans are sheer nightmare fuel.
Bhavani studies me with a mischievous gleam. “So … what’s up with you and Felix?”
“It’s strictly business.”
They hike up one thick brow. “I don’t look at my strictly business acquaintances like I want— —smash my lips into theirs, but okay, girl. You do you.”
My face burns as I whip my head around. “Shhh!”
“Girl, it’s just us, your dog, and— —busted walls in here.” They laugh. “But seriously, it’s obvious. You have it baaad.” Jo and Ava would get along with Bhavani.
“I’m starting to see a different side of him. He’s not what I expected. But me being in his world is convenient for him. If he were in mine … he’d hate it. My life isn’t fun.”
“Natalie, that boy would move literal mountains for you. Do you maaaybe think you’re self-sabotaging?”
“What?! No!” I blurt. “I have important things going on. I can’t get distracted.”
“Hmm. Okay. As the founder of— —#Natalix fan club, I’m rooting for you. Be careful so he doesn’t get in trouble with— — label, but you’ll figure it out. Being star-crossed lovers never hurt anyone.”
“I think Romeo and Juliet would disagree,” I mumble. “Wait … what do you mean about the label?”
Bhavani drops their playful demeanor. “There’s a strict morality clause in their contract. No drinking, no partying, no … scandals. Dating isn’t technically banned, but— —definitely frowned upon.”
I have a million follow-up questions, but my brain is having a power outage, so all I manage to stutter is: “W-why?”
“Marketing. Fans can’t fantasize about being with them if they’re in relationships.
Plus, DAYDREAM’s whole brand— — being innocent and pure.
Dating scandals don’t fit that.” They shrug.
“I mean, it’s been— —decade, and fans of Taylor Swift and Harry Styles still claim they’re ‘children of divorce.’”
What?! I knew the label was controlling, but in what universe is stripping a bunch of teenagers of their basic rights okay? Morally or lawfully.
“That’s ridiculous,” I choke out.
“Welcome to the entertainment industry.” Bhavani clucks. “Look, I don’t know what happens if they cross the line, but— — heard the label’s ‘conversations’ are … intense. So don’t get caught.”
The elevator doors open, jolting me out of my thoughts.
I marvel at the studio. It takes up the entire top floor of the building, with light pouring in through floor-to-ceiling windows. A baby-pink backdrop dominates one corner, surrounded by sleek photography equipment and a small, bustling crew.
This is what I want to do with the Deaf Center. Take a run-down building and turn it into something modern, beautiful, and useful. I snap a picture for Jo.
A middle-aged person donning a pixie cut that looks like a horrible re-creation of Alice Cullen’s marches up to me. “Get out of my studio! Get that beast out of here immediately!” They shoot daggers at Ginger.
My initial shock transforms into anger. Nobody messes with my dog. I pointedly motion to her vest, specifically the ACCESS REQUIRED BY LAW patch.
“She’s a very good girl,” Lachlan interjects, narrowing his eyes. “If you kick her out, we’ll leave, too.”
They gasp and—I could not make this up—clutch a pearl necklace. “I will be reimbursed if that creature destroys anything.”
“I’d pay for it myself,” Lachlan promises. They stalk off, and he turns to me. “You OK?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
He smiles, but it’s gone as soon as it came as Necktie storms toward him.
“What the hell is wrong with you?! I’m not babysitting you for five seconds and— —you ungrateful little— —” Necktie scolds Lachlan at the speed of light, and I don’t catch most of it.
“Andrew, Lach was trying to—” Felix starts.
“I don’t want to hear it. Ugh!” Necktie anger-grunts. “We’ll talk later. We’re already behind schedule.”
When DAYDREAM is dragged away to change their clothes, Necktie flashes me the harshest scowl physically possible. I steel myself to be told off, but instead he points to an empty, dusty corner of the studio and commands, “Stay.”
For once, I listen. Ginger and I sit in the corner, safe from the commotion. I try to focus on paying the Center’s bills (I can’t trust Mom to do it), but my mind keeps wandering.
After my conversations with Felix and Bhavani, I can’t stop thinking about how much the label controls DAYDREAM.
They’ve created this perfect, untouchable image while keeping their personal lives under wraps.
It’s hard not to wonder how much Felix is still truly himself under all those rules, especially now that it’s growing increasingly harder to ignore how I feel about him.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when Felix walks toward the stools and mic stands. As usual, he’s front and center. Mateo and Lachlan are to his left, Calum and Will on the right.
The director hands out acoustic guitars to Will, Calum, and Lachlan. “I’m a bassist,” Calum says with a frown, handing it back. The others laugh, and I smile, being in on the joke.
After the cameras roll, the crew moves agilely around them, adjusting angles, while raw vocals fill the air. The pressure to be perfect must be crushing, knowing every minor detail will be scrutinized—from their pitch to their smiles to their group chemistry.
(Verse 3 - Mateo) Keep on floating, hold on tight Living in a dream tonight
(Chorus - Felix, Will) We’re so high in the sky With you, baby, I can touch cloud 9, oh my!
After several more takes, I pull out my sketch pad. Before I’ve consciously decided what to draw, my freshly sharpened pencil drags along the paper. Soon, the outline of a body, then a face, appears. Four more follow it.
My focus flits between the paper and DAYDREAM as I sketch, instinctively capturing their positions. My art consumes me, and the world falls away while I shade Calum’s dark brown curls and curve Will’s lopsided smile.
As I draw, I can’t help but think Felix was right—they’re manufactured. Products.
Compared to the boys I know—who sneak out of hotels and sneeze into my dog’s fur—they’re practically strangers.
What kind of life is that?
I’m fully immersed until Felix sits beside me with a goofy grin. He pops a throat lozenge into his mouth. “That’s sick!” he exclaims, peering at my drawing. “You’re incredible. Not just the art, you.”
His words linger between us, and I try to play it off by lowering a hand from my chin while avoiding eye contact.
Theoretically, that should be easy since I lipread …
But his eyes demand attention. I’m like a moth drawn to a flame, if the flame was inky black and ruthlessly, breathtakingly shiny. “Is filming done?”
“Not quite.” He points to a fidgety Mateo, who’s alone in front of the backdrop. “They’re filming … C-U-T … A-W-A … Y shots.”
Felix is so close that the back of his hand occasionally brushes mine, and I’m plagued by the thought of grabbing it, weaving my fingers through his and savoring how our hands fit together—oh no. No! Damn it!
I jerk my arm away when I realize my pinkie got adventurous and wrapped itself around his. From across the room, Lachlan watches us and works his jaw. When he notices me looking at him, he averts his gaze. I frown but shake it off and glance at Felix.
His posture is as stiff as when I tucked hair behind his ear or tried to hug him. He gathers his hands in his lap but stays beside me.
I debate whether I should say something. An apology? An “Oops! How did that happen? So random, omg!”? But I don’t reach a conclusion before a phone starts blaring.
Ginger instantly perks up and nudges my leg with her nose—except it’s not my phone ringing.
Felix’s ears burn red as he fumbles with his device.
She’s been trained to only alert to the specific ringtone I use to avoid situations like this, but apparently Felix uses the same obscure ringtone, so Ginger thinks it’s for me. Seriously. What are the chances?
I huff a quiet laugh and scratch behind her ears. “False alarm.”
All eyes on him, he shouts, “So sorry!” I catch a glimpse of the screen before he answers the incoming call: It’s a selfie of him and Mrs. Song, with the contact name “Mumma.” That’s kind of cute; I can’t lie.
I watch his rapidly fluctuating reactions as he whispers into the phone. He starts off with one of those annoyingly contagious smiles, then a frown, then he cringes. The interpretive dance on his face continues until he hangs up.
His thumbs dart across the screen, his forehead creased. By the time he’s done typing, cameramen are getting close-ups of Lachlan.
“You OK?”
“Er … well…” Felix cringes again. “My parents’— — anniversary— —and I— —” He speaks inaudibly. Since lipreading isn’t a perfect science, I don’t quite understand him.
Noting my confusion, he holds up his index finger. “One sec.” He types a message in his Notes app.
My parents 20th anniversery party is tmrw & I forgot. Obviosly I shouldn’t have forgot bc I cleared this with Andrew months ago but its been a mess lately. I think the note I lost at rockfeller centre was about buying our tickets, so I did that now. Your coming too
I look up from his rambling and see his face flooded with guilt and stress. “Hey, it’s okay. It’ll all work out.”
His expression softens. “I’ll forward you— —tickets.”
After the email shows up in my inbox, I glance at the details and sigh. Tickets from JFK to SeaTac, departing early tomorrow morning and returning to Boston Logan late that same night. Another travel day from hell, but at least we’ll be in first class.
Forgoing further explanation, he stands and dusts off his white skinny jeans. “My turn,” he signs, jerking his head toward the director with the vampire haircut. “I hope you like hors d’oeuvres.” He winks.