Chapter 13
After two chart-topping singles, Connor McCabe’s much-anticipated debut solo album finally has a release set for the end of the month, with tour dates expected to drop soon after. There’s no doubt that McCabe’s unique sound and impeccable lyrics will be the soundtrack to the summer—
“Care to join us, Cubby?” Sigrún scolds via Zoom, making me jump.
“Sorry,” I mumble, closing out of yet another article about how great Connor is doing.
“Streams are up,” Sigrún carries on, voice fracturing from the crappy connection. “We’re seeing a few local Boston news outlets pick up some media coverage of your shows too.”
“And…?” Every muscle in my body locks up. I now associate any form of media coverage as bad news.
“Reviews are glowing.”
Kevin whoops, clapping his hands together before reaching over and patting Skull and Darcy, on the backs. Harry wraps an arm around my shoulders and squeezes, then does the same to Kale.
“Other tour stop venues are grabbing endorsements and ramping up excitement for your shows. You’ve sold out Kung Fu Necktie in Philadelphia, which is wonderful. And we’ve arranged some interviews for you along the way.”
“What do the reviews say?” I ask, leaning toward the screen like a shark catching the scent of blood.
I need to know more. Every positive detail.
It’s pathetic, but I’m made of crumbly clay, requiring someone to constantly pat me into place, build me up, before my legs give out.
I can’t stand on my own without the approval of others.
“I’ll email a roundup later,” she says, and I have to bite back a howl of anguish. “How’s the tour bus? Everyone comfortable?”
My eyes flick across the interior of our home on wheels before landing on Darcy’s similarly skeptical appraisal. Comfortable is not what I would call this. Tour bus is also an exceptionally generous term.
“Bit tight, but we’ll manage,” Kevin, the eternal optimist, says with a smile, grabbing the laptop from the unfinished wood table and swinging it around the converted school bus in a blurry tour for Sigrún.
Tight is putting on a pair of jeans a size too small; this is more like the seven of us living in a clown car as we zigzag across half this giant country.
The kitchenette sits in a corner with some cupboards and drawers, but the area is so cramped, you can’t fully open any of them.
Built-in bunk beds line opposite walls of the bus, the mattresses so thin they may very well be repurposed seat cushions from the bus’s school days.
Compartments at the bottom of each bunk pull out for a third bed on either side.
The problem is, bringing out both like we need to for all six of us to sleep (not even including Tiny Deja who is electing to spend her summer snuggled up with Skull in horrifyingly tight quarters) eliminates any floor space and creates the equivalent of one slightly-wider-than-a-twin bed for the two on the bottom to share.
Darcy and I are notorious for excessively getting up to pee at night, and were graciously assigned to the ground.
And I’m not at all freaking out about having to pseudo-share a bed with Darcy for the next eight weeks. Not freaking out at all.
It’s not like anything changed after last night.
She woke up, red-eyed and rumpled, not mentioning a thing about her answer to Deja’s silly question.
Because … why would she? She was high and essentially said she likes smoking weed with me.
I already knew that. It’s not like she confessed she, I don’t know, wanted me or anything.
My tangled brain needs to stop creating something from absolutely nothing before I once again find myself looking like a vulnerable fucking idiot.
“Not to rush off the call,” Kevin says, placing the laptop back on the table, which is so tiny the keyboard juts out over all sides, “but we better get going. We need to hit the road for Burlington.”
“Where’s that again?” Harry whispers.
“Vermont,” Kale mumbles back.
“Yes, yes! Be on your way,” Sigrún says, waving at the screen. “Keep up the great work. Oh, and Harry, your posts these past few days have been wonderful. Lots of engagement.”
Harry slaps a hand to his chest, smile cheesy. “My mammy will be so proud.”
“Cubby?”
I pop back into the frame.
“Try to bring more energy to yours, yeah? They’re falling a little flat.”
I want to flatten my head under one of the wheels of this ridiculous bus. “I’ll work on it,” I say through a tight smile.
“I’m sure,” she says back, smile similarly strained. “Tonight will be a good opportunity to change things around.”
“Tonight?” Our show isn’t until tomorrow, and all I want to do tonight is indulge in some sensory deprivation and sleep.
“Burlington is one of those picturesque New England towns,” Sigrún explains. “We thought it would be cute to get some candid photos of you and Harry exploring. There’s a retro arcade in the downtown area that will be a great backdrop. You two playing pinball or something like that.”
“I’m sorry, who’s we?” I ask, indignation flaring. Am I ridiculous for thinking that I should be included in decisions that take up my time?
Sigrún gestures around vaguely. “All of us.”
“I actually mentioned the arcade,” Kevin pipes up, grinning. “I went once a few years ago and it was awesome.”
“And who exactly will be taking these ‘candid’ photos?”
Sigrún sighs like I’m being exceptionally difficult. “I don’t know. Skull?”
“I will be taking Deja to dinner,” Skull says, leaving zero room for argument. “We have a real date planned. No time for fake.”
“Kevin? Kale?”
“Absolutely not,” Kale and I say at the same time at the latter suggestion.
“I have a conference call with a team on the West Coast…” Kevin hedges.
Sigrún looks skeptical, but she doesn’t push. “Darcy? How about you? You’ve spent enough time with these two, I’m sure you know their best angles.”
Darcy blinks, lips falling open and brow furrowing, something dark shuttering across her expression. But it’s gone in a flash. “Of course I’ll do it,” she says, her brilliant smile fixed firmly in place. “Anything to prevent Kale and Cubby from killing each other before the show.”
“Nothing guarantees that,” I mumble. Harry elbows me.
“Thank you, Darcy. We all appreciate you stepping up for the team,” Sigrún says, then signs off.
Kevin closes the laptop. “All right, gang, let’s get this show on the road.” He slides his palms together in excitement.
“Are we still waiting on the driver?” Kale asks, ducking to peer out one of the windows.
“Nope. You’re looking at him.”
We all slowly turn to stare at Kevin with varying degrees of horror.
“Kevin…”
“You’re taking the piss.”
“I’m not looking to die on this bus.”
Kevin’s face falls. “Not the reaction I was hoping for.”
“Have you ever driven something like this?” Darcy asks, throwing her arms out to the sides. Her wrists slap against the bunk beds and she curses violently.
“How hard can it be?” Kevin responds, moving to the front of the bus and getting behind the enormous wheel. He cranks the engine and, with very little ceremony or warning, throws it into drive and hits the gas. And a curb.
The monstrosity is at risk of capsizing as he makes a sharp right onto the road, our bodies thrown to the side, Darcy crushing me against the partition that separates the beds from our comically small toilet.
Kevin overcorrects, and we shoot to the other side, my ass colliding so hard with Darcy’s solar plexus she wheezes and crumples, her chin banging on my butt cheek as she goes.
Lovely.
“Easy, Ms. Frizzle,” Kale yells, clawing his way toward the driver seat. “This isn’t F1.”
“Bit touchier than I expected,” Kevin calls back, doing what feels like a massive swerve and sending us all careening across the bus. “But never fear! I’ll get the hang of it.”
Kevin did not, in fact, get the hang of it. We spent close to four hours being tossed about like sailors on the choppy sea, and we’re all green as we pull into Burlington, Vermont.
“Get me out of here,” Kale garbles, pushing his way out the door and proceeding to puke on the closest patch of grass.
The rest of us file out of the bus, Skull and Tiny Deja walking off hand in hand, completely unfazed by Kale’s physical crisis, for their date.
Harry takes a few laps, hands on his hips and chin tipped to the sky, his sheen of queasy sweat reflected by the sun.
Darcy and I plunk down on a wheelstop. I drop my forehead to my lap, waiting for the wooziness to pass.
“Traveling in the lap of luxury, we are,” Darcy says after a few minutes.
I turn, my cheek resting on my knee. “We’ll have to start calling it the vomit van if this keeps up.”
“Retch ride.”
“Barf bus.”
“Upchuck—”
Harry walks up, clearing his throat and cutting Darcy off as he stops in front of us. “Sorry to interrupt … whatever nonsense this is—”
“Artists are never appreciated in their time,” Darcy whispers with a solemn shake of her head.
“—but happy fake date night, fake girlfriend.” He pulls his hands from behind his back, proffering a fistful of flowers at me. My lips part, eyes dancing between the blooms and Harry’s bashful smile.
“W-where did you get these?” I ask, jumping up, hands flitting around the buds like a bumblebee too indecisive to land.
“Christ, Cub, don’t look so impressed,” he says with a rough laugh as I stare at him in wonder. “I picked them from what I’m pretty sure was private property. Some of them are weeds, I think.”
I continue to gape at him, taking the bundle of mismatched flowers. Sure enough, some dandelions are thrown in. “This is … so sweet of you.”
“Have your standards always been this low?”
“I mean, I am reportedly dating you, so that should speak for itself.”
Harry laughs at my jab, giving me a one-armed hug as he smiles down at me. There’s measured vulnerability in his expression, a cautious tenderness, like he’s cracking open a door to a secret room and inviting me to peek around the corner.
I can almost see what’s on the other side, the comfortable closeness we’ve been building for years, this varnish of something new making it shine.
My stomach lurches, and I step away, turning to look at Darcy. She’s scrolling on her phone, dull apathy on her features, and something about the disconnect twists with the unease in my chest, making me want to yell at her.
“I didn’t forget about you, Darce,” Harry says, pulling an orange lily from his back pocket.
She finally glances up, offering a brief smile as she takes the flower. “Right. Thanks. Gotta compensate the photographer accordingly.”
A chilly distance wedges between all of us, my skin crawling at how wrong everything feels. They must feel it too, right? This awful tension that’s so different from our norm?
“Well, come on, give me something to work with,” Darcy says, popping up to standing, the sudden chipperness in her voice giving me whiplash.
Her grin is broad and genuine as she pulls out her phone, rapidly taking pictures, getting super close to Harry’s face with the camera and making him laugh.
Harry’s at ease like always, gently pushing her away and fixing his face up in a goofy look that makes Darcy giggle back.
… Well, maybe it is just me who feels the distance.
“Come along, lovebirds,” Darcy says, pocketing her phone and heading down the block. “We have a date to fake.”