“We knew this was going to happen.”
“Totally.”
We look at each other for a minute. Then we bust out screaming. We’re jumping up and down and laughing and hugging each other. Ethan lifts me up and spins me around right here in the middle of the hall.
Everyone is watching us.
“Keep it moving, people!” the security officer booms. “Let’s go! We’re on the move!”
No one moves. They want to see what Ethan will do next.
“I have to call him back,” he says.
“So call him.” We both have lunch next. We could sneak out to Ethan’s car if we hurry. The security officer won’t notice. He’s busy trying to wrangle everyone to class.
“Should I call him back right away?”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to seem too eager.”
“But you are eager. That’s a good thing.”
“Won’t I look desperate?”
It’s cute how Ethan is acting like a girl obsessing over whether to call the boy she likes. I’ve never seen him this insecure.
“No,” I assure him. “You’ll look professional. Business-people like it when their calls are returned quickly. If you wait, it might come off like you’re not serious.”
“Good point. But maybe I should talk to Zeke first. I don’t want to say the wrong thing.”
“So call Zeke.”
“Is this really happening?”
“Definitely.”
Ethan shakes his head in amazement. “We knew this day would come. You knew it right along with me.” There are tears in his eyes. “Thank you for believing in me as much as I believe in myself.”
“Of course. You’re destined for greatness.”
Ethan leans in close. “Get ready for the big time, baby,” he whispers in my ear. Then he kisses me.
Everyone is still watching us. Ethan Cross is rock star royalty. And from the way they’re staring at me, you’d think I was a princess.
11
[1,533,707 FOLLOWERS]
Forever drops on the first Tuesday of October.
It goes straight to number one.
12
[2,350,811 FOLLOWERS]
Ethan’s album has only been out for a week, but things are already beyond hectic. His website designer had to overhaul the site to accommodate heavy traffic. His mom hired two assistants and a stylist. Zeke brought over a huge bag of fan mail even though most of Ethan’s fan mail is emailed to him. Zeke says that Ethan might make history as the last rock star to get this much vintage mail now that most communication is online. Mrs. Cross and Zeke have been discussing bodyguards. Ethan doesn’t need 24/7 personal security yet, but he probably will soon. He just signed with that big producer for his second album. Even though he had the chance to record with more experienced musicians, Ethan insisted on recording with his band. Loyalty is important to him. Those guys have been with Ethan from the start. He was disappointed when he couldn’t record Forever with the band, but now he can make it up to them. Red Bedroom Records was bummed that Ethan’s leaving them. But this is what every musician dreams of. There’s no way he couldn’t open the door for this amazing opportunity when it knocked.
I knock on the open door to Ethan’s room. “Hey, you.”
He twists around in his desk chair and smiles at me. “Come here, beautiful.”
I drop my bags on his bed. Ethan gets up to kiss me. It’s been so weird not seeing him at school. This is the third day he’s been allowed to stay home to work on publicity stuff. He had four phone interviews this morning—two with radio stations, one with a magazine, and one with a talk show. Then he had a photo shoot in New Haven. Now he’s responding to fan comments and updating online.
“I missed you,” I say.
“I missed you more.”
“How could you even have time to miss me? You’re so busy.”
“I’m never too busy for you.” Ethan puts my hand over his heart. “You’re always with me, no matter what I’m doing.”
“Your heart’s beating fast.”
“It’s like that when you’re around.”
Melting. On. The floor.
“What’s in the bag?” he asks, noticing the extra shopping bag I dropped on his bed with my book bag.
“Your homework.”
“How did you . . . You went to my teachers?”
“No, they left everything for you in the main office. They even let you borrow extra books. Your mom told them I’d bring home whatever you needed.”
“Huh.” Ethan doesn’t look too thrilled about the ton of work he has to make up. “I didn’t know she said that.”
“Neither did I, until I got called to the main office.”
Ethan peers into the big shopping bag. “When am I supposed to have time to do all this?”
“Um, last time I checked you were still in high school.”
“That’s the problem. I don’t have time to do both. You know I’m trying to convince my parents I should be privately tutored.”
“Like your dad’s really going to let you drop out.”
“Mom’s working on him. And it wouldn’t be dropping out. I’d still have to do the same work. Just not in school.” Ethan takes books and papers out of the bag. “So much time is wasted at school anyway. A lot of it is group work. Moving between classes. Teachers trying to get everyone to pay attention. It’s not like I need whole periods for gym or lunch. If you took out all that wasted time, the entire school day would probably be like two hours.”
Being at school without Ethan would suck. I love having lunch with him. I love knowing he’s in the same building as me. The day Gram had her surgery, Ethan walked me to every class so he could hold my hand and tell me everything would be okay. My friends are awesome, but the connection I have with them just isn’t the same.
“Did Sydney take my iPod again?” Ethan’s searching all over his room. “I’ve told her a million times to leave my stuff alone.”
“Did you check your bag?”
He checks his bag. Then he storms out of his room. I hear him pounding on Sydney’s door.
“What?” she yells over her music.
“Did you take my iPod?”
Sydney whips open her door. “I didn’t take your stupid iPod, okay?”
“Then where is it?”
“How should I know? Try asking someone who cares.”
“You better start caring before I search your room.”
“Did I say you could come in?”
“You come in my room all the time.”
“No I don’t.”
“You think I don’t know? You and your friends need to keep out.”
“Why would we want to go in your gross room? I’m so sick of you making everything about you. Everything is not about you, Ethan!”
“I didn’t say it was!”
“What’s all that yelling?” Mrs. Cross yells up the stairs. “I’m trying to talk to Ethan’s assistants.”
“See?” Sydney screeches. “Everything is about you! I am so sick of it!” She slams her door.
Ethan comes back to his room. “I still think she took my iPod,” he grumbles.
I feel bad for Sydney. I really do. As much as Ethan craves attention from his dad, Sydney must miss the attention she used to get from her mom that’s now going to Ethan.
I used to think they were the perfect family. Maybe they were. But not anymore.
13
[2,765,084 FOLLOWERS]
Ethan Cross and The Invincibles have their first big solo show tonight in New York City. We drove in early with Georgia to explore the city. Drew, Stefan, and Gage are driving the van in with the band’s equipment. The show is at Irving Plaza, this historic venue in Gramercy. Gramercy is a small neighborhood with this gorgeous park in the center. But it’s a private park. All four gates are locked. Only people who live right along the perimeter of the park have keys. Georgia scoffed at the pretentious keyed park. She did not scoff
at the Rice Krispies Treats we scored at this café near the park that were as big as our face. After Rice Krispies Treats nirvana, Ethan wanted to check out some music shops on St. Mark’s Place for rare imports. Now we’re meeting Zeke for dinner at the Tic Toc Diner.
The first thing you notice about the Tic Toc Diner is that there are all these cool clocks on the walls. Illuminated 1950s ones. Elaborate neon ones. Ancient ones that clearly stopped working a long time ago and will probably never work again. New York appreciates the retro like that.
Zeke is waving to Ethan from a booth. We go over as Zeke gestures wildly while yelling into the phone.
“No. That won’t work. I said Tuesday. Wednesday would be too late.” Zeke motions for us to slide into the booth. Georgia and I sit across from Zeke. Ethan sits next to him. “That’s not my problem. Make it happen.” Zeke puts his phone down on the table. The tension in his face converts into a big smile for Georgia. “Georgia, right?” He extends his hand.
Georgia shakes Zeke’s hand. “Right.” She’s kind of marveling at Zeke. He has that power over people. Like everyone should just sit back and let Zeke steer.
“Good to meet you. Any friend of Ethan’s is a friend of mine. What can I get everyone to drink?”
After we order, Zeke launches into a discussion with Ethan about his first tour. There’s going to be a big announcement about it in a couple of weeks.
“I’m predicting at least five sold-out venues the day tickets go on sale,” Zeke says. “Maybe even by noon.”
Ethan nods enthusiastically. “That’s awesome.”
“Don’t be surprised when the paparazzi start showing up in your town. Those bastards will hound the crap out of you. But that’s what we want.”
“Man, I am so ready to be hounded, you don’t even know.”
“Oh, I know.”
“You freaking know!” Ethan jams his fist at Zeke. They do exploding pounds.
“We’re going to make you a big star,” Zeke says. “Be ready.”
“I was born ready,” Ethan says in a cocky tone. He’s half joking. The other half is how he is around Zeke. Sometimes there’s this shift in personality people get when they’re around certain other people. They sort of become a slightly different person for a while. Most kids I know are like that. But Ethan’s only like that around Zeke. He becomes more aggressive or something. Zeke brings out Ethan’s hunger for fame in a way he normally doesn’t let anyone else see.
There’s already a huge line outside when we get to Irving Plaza. The band loaded all the equipment through the side door earlier. We could go in the side door, but Ethan thought it would be fun to go in the front. I watch the fans’ expressions as we walk up. A ripple of electricity filters through the crowd as we pass the end of the line.
“Oh my god that’s him!” one girl shrieks.
Everyone starts screaming. Ethan smiles and waves at the crowd. He loves getting to see his fans in person. The line is roped in. Security guards are keeping everyone behind the ropes. One girl sneaks under the rope and runs up to Ethan. She throws her arms around him. She’s squealing so loudly I can’t understand what she’s saying. Ethan lets her take a quick picture with him. Then we duck inside before everyone else attacks him for pictures.
Ethan has his own dressing room. It’s way nicer than the one he shared with the band at The Space. There’s a huge cookie plate, bowls of fruit, bagels, and muffins. Drinks are lined up in a clear mini fridge. The polished black stone dressing table is massive. Round, bright lights frame the mirror. A huge bouquet of flowers sits on the dressing table. Ethan goes over to read the card.
“They’re from my mom,” he says.
Georgia and I are like, “Awww!” We adore how supportive Mrs. Cross is.
“Nice flowers,” Gage adds, peering in from the doorway.
“Hey, man,” Ethan says. “You ready?”
“Getting there.” Gage leans back against the door frame. He stares at the cookie plate.
“Decent spread, huh? Do you guys have like three of everything in your room?”
“Something like that.” Gage smirks at me. Ethan doesn’t notice, digging through his bag. I understand the resentment behind Gage’s smirk. The band’s dressing room is nothing like Ethan’s. Even though it’s for three guys, it’s smaller than this one. There’s no cookie plate or bowls of fruit or muffins. Just a few stale-looking pastries. I saw their dressing room on the way in, but Ethan obviously hasn’t seen it yet.
I try to keep the pity out of my eyes as I look back at Gage. I want him to know I’m sorry he’s not getting the same amount of attention as Ethan. But Ethan has worked really hard for this his whole life. He has the kind of natural talent you’re either born with or you’re not. Although Gage has put a lot of time into songwriting, he’s nowhere near the musician Ethan is. Those were the cards Gage was dealt. Whether he continues to be bitter about Ethan’s success or starts accepting Ethan’s success as a good thing for everyone involved remains to be seen.
Unlike when we had to battle it out with the standing-room-only crowd at The Space, Georgia and I have front row access tonight. The manager escorts us to the front of the crowd. Some girls behind us give us the stink eye. They probably assume we won a contest or something.
“Where’s Marisa?” Georgia asks. Marisa agreed to take pictures tonight for Ethan’s website. She was stoked that I asked her. Not only because she’s a fan of Ethan’s, but because she’s been looking for more ways to get her photos noticed. This could be a huge opportunity for her if Zeke arranges to sell Marisa’s photos online. Maybe she’ll even become Ethan’s official concert photographer.
“She’s on her way.” I text Marisa that we’re in the front row and to let me know if she has any problems getting up here. Ethan put her on the list.
“So what’s happening with Kurt?” I ask. Kurt and Georgia were texting the other day. He didn’t ask her out, though.
“A whole lot of nothing. I haven’t heard from him.”
“At all?”
Georgia shakes her head.
“Do you talk at school?”
“Not really. I saw him in the hall yesterday. He pretended not to see me.”
“Maybe he didn’t.”
“Please. I could feel him pretending not to see me. The way he was laughing with his friends was so obvious.”
“Why don’t you ask him out again?”
“Why doesn’t he ask me out? He knows I’m interested. If he was interested, wouldn’t he at least be talking to me?”
“He just texted you.”
“Three days ago. Which I can’t believe. It feels like three years ago. I’m obsessing over my phone. I can’t stop checking it. I’m on permanent Kurt Alert at school. Waiting for something that isn’t going to happen is excruciating.”
“You don’t know it isn’t going to happen. He probably just needs time.”
“To what? Realize he hates me?”
I put my arm around Georgia. She leans against me. I remember how badly it hurts when you can’t stop thinking about a boy who doesn’t feel the same way.
Roadies are setting up the band’s equipment. Michael Jackson’s Off the Wall is playing, requested by Ethan. I’m so freaking happy for him. A solo show in New York City is another one of his big dreams he made reality. There will be more New York shows after this one. This show sold out in three hours. The big producer guy who signed Ethan is fast-tracking his second album. Ethan has two more songs to write for it. Then they’ll start recording.
I’m about to tell Georgia what Ethan has planned for the lighting effects when a girl behind us goes ballistic.
“This joint is hella dope!” she yells. Then she whoops like such a lunatic her friends have to whoop with her. She leaps up and throws her hands in the air. “Ethan Crooooosss!” she screams. Her friends are chanting. “E-than! E-than! E-than!”
The girl next to me is talking in that loud, authoritative way where you want everyone to hear you because
you think you’re the only person in the world who possesses such vital information.
“Ethan started taking guitar lessons when he was six,” she tells her friend. “That’s when he knew he was going to be famous.”
“How could he know that young?” her friend asks.
“He just knew. He said being megafamous was his fate. But not in an obnoxious way where he just wanted to get rich. He wanted to bring his fans a fresh, new sound that they would love as much as he does. Ethan is all about his fans.”
“Totally.” Her friend nods emphatically. “He responds to tons of comments. And he always stops to take pictures.”
“Like when he was coming in. That girl is so lucky.”
“I hate her.”
“I hate her more.”
I wonder how much they would hate me if they knew who I was.
“How awesome is he for coming in the front door like that?” the girl says. “He could have gone around back. It’s like he was saying he’s one of us. Like he’ll never forget where he came from.”
“Ethan Crooooosss!” the girl behind me screams.
“E-than! E-than!” her friends chant.
“Damn,” Georgia says so only I can hear. “Can you believe this is all for your boyfriend?”
No. I really can’t. Everyone here has that giddy-excited-nervous energy you feel before shows. I can hear it in the way their voices are trembling. Where you can’t think or talk about anything else while you’re waiting for the show to start. Where you can hardly breathe you’re so overloaded. Where you have to talk loudly about each and every little thing you’ve heard about the artist as if you are the authority. As if you’re the one who discovered him and you have complete ownership over his music. Because you’re surrounded by a bunch of wild fans who might think they’re as obsessed as you are. But there’s no possible way they can be. There’s no way anyone else can understand how much his music means to you. How his music is the soundtrack of your life. I can’t believe the giddy-excited-nervous energy is for my boyfriend.