All About the Hype (11 page)

I can’t help giggling. I find it surreal but also kind of hilarious that people at my old school are talking about me.

The press attention has gone a bit mental this week. Today I got my ten thousandth follower on Twitter, and yesterday Johnny’s publicist, Hannah, was contacted by two journalists
requesting an interview with me – not All Hype: me! After the initial excitement, I felt a bit uneasy. Johnny has asked Hannah to handle my publicity, going forward, but she’s going to
wait until I’ve spoken to the guys before getting back to the journalists. I’m on my way to see them now for Thursday afternoon practice. We haven’t got together since Saturday
night. Unfortunately I had to cancel band practice on Tuesday because Johnny and I were still in the studio.

Not a sentence I ever thought I’d say.

‘Just try not to get too swept up,’ Stu warns.

‘I won’t.’ I catch Sam’s eye in the rear-view mirror. He collected me from school today.

‘Listen, I want to talk to you about something.’

First Johnny, now Stu. It’s not easy having two dads in your life.

‘GCSEs,’ Stu says. ‘I think you should still do them.’

The American school system is very different to the British one. Over here, there are no GCSEs or A levels – your teachers give you tests and grade you. The big ‘examining
board’ style exams happen at the end of Eleventh Grade – but they’re not even compulsory. You have to pay to take them so most people only do them if they want to go to college.
They’re called SATs and ACTs. Some colleges prefer SATs results, others ACTs, so people choose which exams to do, depending on where they want to go. Some students choose to do both. The
results are what the colleges rely upon when they’re accepting admissions.

As I’m in Tenth Grade here, I’m not due to do my SATs until next year – if I choose to do them at all. I’m not sure I want to go to college. I’m thinking I’d
rather pursue my music, like Jack.

But Stu thinks I’d be doing myself a disservice by not taking my GCSE exams along with my British classmates.

‘How can I?’ I ask with confusion. ‘I go to school here.’

‘From what I understand it, school in California breaks up for the summer before exams in the UK start, so I would suggest you fly over in time to do them,’ Stu says.
‘You’d have to take extra lessons in the meantime, to make sure you’re learning the same curriculum.’

‘You’ve got to be joking,’ I say flatly. I am so not liking this idea.

‘I just think you should keep your options open. What if you decide you want to go to a British university?’

‘I won’t!’

‘You don’t know that for sure. Libby, Lou, all your friends here will be going. You might want to do a sandwich year in the UK. You just don’t know. This will make life a whole
lot easier. Get all your ducks in a row so whatever happens, whatever’s around the corner, you have possibilities.’

I let out a loud, dramatic sigh.

‘I’m pretty sure your mum would’ve agreed with me,’ he adds quietly.

‘That is
not
fair!’ I raise my voice. ‘You can’t bring her into this!’

‘Sorry.’ For once, he’s the one apologising. But it’s too late: the damage has been done. He can’t take back his words and the simple fact is I know that he’s
right. I groan and slump further down in my seat, reluctantly agreeing.

Agnes has seemed a little down this week and she wasn’t at school today, so when Sam drives through the gates belonging to Jack and Agnes’s Spanish-villa-style
home, I’m delighted to see her standing in the tiled courtyard, waiting to welcome me.

I say bye to Sam and climb out, going over to give her a hug. ‘Hey, you,’ I say warmly.

She grins and hugs me back and, when I withdraw, I narrow my eyes at her. ‘You don’t look ill.’

‘Doesn’t a broken heart count?’ she murmurs, the usual spark gone from her eyes.

I regard her with sympathy. I take it she’s talking about Brett. ‘It’s tomorrow he’s leaving, isn’t it?’

She nods disconsolately, then whispers meaningfully: ‘I’ve got so much to tell you.’

I give her an inquisitive stare, but, from her expression, I think I know what her news is.

‘You’ve
done it
?’ I whisper, taken aback.

She nods ever so slightly. ‘Come and knock on my bedroom door when you’ve finished practice,’ she urges.

‘OK.’

She squeezes my arm and then leads me round the corner of their home, past fat palm trees and a multitude of tropical-looking plants to the games room.

‘Delivery for you,’ she says to her brother, pushing me inside the room.

We don’t waste time talking.

Later, when Brandon and Miles have joined us, I bring up the subject of my interview requests.

‘Who wants to interview you?’ Miles asks with a frown.

‘One is a British tabloid newspaper. Johnny vetoed that one.’ He really doesn’t trust the tabloids and he feels it would be a slippery slope for me. ‘But the other is for
a weekly celebrity magazine called
Hebe
– also British. They want to fly over and do a photoshoot and stuff. Obviously I’ll talk about the band, but it does feel a bit wrong
with it just being me.’

Jack shrugs. ‘It’s no big deal.’

‘Yeah, I mean, all publicity is good publicity, right?’ Brandon chips in.

‘Are you sure? Because I don’t want to do it unless we’re all agreed,’ I state firmly. This time I look at Miles to gauge his reaction.

He seems nonplussed. ‘Fine by me.’

‘OK.’ I feel a flurry of nerves, which strengthen when I remember we have to get tomorrow’s interview out of the way, first.

After band practice, Jack takes me inside to find Agnes. His mum and stepdad Tim have very different tastes to Johnny and Meg. Instead of a minimalist pad, here the rooms are
crowded with dark-wood, antique-looking furniture, the floors dotted with intricately designed colourful rugs and the walls covered with old-fashioned paintings in ornate frames.

‘Is your mum here?’ I ask Jack, looking around.

‘Somewhere,’ he replies.

‘I should say hi. Shouldn’t I?’

He shrugs, not seeming to care either way. ‘Mom?’ he calls out.

Her voice comes back from a room off the living room. I follow him nervously.

‘Jessie wanted to say hello,’ he says, as I look past him to see his mum, Lucille, sitting at a large desk, surrounded by paperwork.

‘Well, hello there!’ she gushes warmly, getting to her feet. She’s slim and attractive with a wide smile and long dark hair that comes all the way to her waist. ‘How are
you, Jessie? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.’

I’ve barely spoken to her at all, truth be told. I get the feeling she’s very laid-back about what Jack and Agnes get up to. I’m not even sure she knows I’m going out
with her son.

‘Does your mum know about you and me?’ I whisper a few minutes later, after we’ve exhausted the small talk with Lucille and I feel free to wander upstairs.

‘Yeah. Agnes told her.’ He comes to a stop outside my friend’s room. ‘Come and say bye to me before you go.’

I nod and knock on the door.

‘Come in,’ Agnes calls.

I walk in to find her lying on her double bed, atop her hot-pink bedspread. Fairy lights are twirled round the white iron bedhead behind her, but they’re turned off and the only light in
the room is coming from two burning, vanilla-scented candles.

She likes a lot of the same actors and bands that I do and I pause to admire the posters of Harry Styles, Justin Bieber, Liam Hemsworth and Joseph Strike looking all sexy and ripped. I express
my appreciation as I shrug off my jacket.

‘Didn’t Meg go out with Joseph Strike once?’ she asks, furrowing her brow as she sits up.

I shoot her a startled look. ‘Are you serious?’

‘I’m sure I heard that somewhere,’ Agnes says. ‘Maybe she can get us tickets to his next premiere.’

‘Oh my God, can you imagine?’ I say with wide-eyed excitement as I perch on the end of her bed. ‘I bet she keeps it quiet because Johnny gets so jealous.’

Agnes screws up her nose. ‘He doesn’t, does he?’

‘Yeah.’ I smirk. ‘He’s so into her.’

Shame he didn’t love my mother like that… I push the thought away. Some things aren’t meant to be and, if Johnny hadn’t met Meg, Barney and Phoenix wouldn’t
exist.

‘Did
you
know Sienna was Dana’s Reed’s little sister?’ I ask Agnes with a frown, now that we’re onto the subject of my dad’s love life.

Her eyes widen. ‘God. Yes, I did, but I had
completely
forgotten. She never talks about her.’

‘I hung out with her a bit on Saturday night and she didn’t mention it.’ I don’t reveal that I’ve sort of been avoiding her this week. I’ve said hi, of
course, but I do feel strange about the whole thing. ‘I just thought that maybe that would have been something she’d think to bring up,’ I add.

‘Maybe she’s embarrassed,’ Agnes says with a shrug.

‘Anyway, let’s change the subject.’

Agnes’s cheeks flame as it becomes clear what that subject is.

‘So you guys had sex?’ I whisper.

She nods, squirming.

‘When?’

‘Last night,’ she replies.

‘Oh my God.’ I have so many questions. What was it like? Did it hurt? Where were they when it happened? How does she feel now? I barely even know how to start.

‘I thought you’d decided not to,’ is what I come out with.

She chews a snag off her thumbnail. ‘We sort of had,’ she says in a small voice. ‘What you said in San Fran, about me giving my virginity away to someone who’s not going
to be around afterwards… That got to me. And it bothered him, too. But things have been getting so heated. I’ve seen him practically every day for the last few weeks and we almost went
the whole way in his car that day we drove to Malibu. He stopped it, and again on Saturday night. Then, last night, Mum and Tim were out and Jack was, too, and we had the whole house to
ourselves.’

Where was Jack?
I try to shake the question out of my head and focus on my friend.

‘So he came over?’ I prompt.

She nods. ‘Things were getting pretty heavy and I told him I didn’t want him to stop. So he didn’t.’

‘God. Are you alright?’ I ask.

She nods slightly, but then her eyes fill with tears.

‘Oh, Agnes,’ I say with dismay, gathering her in my arms. ‘Was it OK? Did it hurt?’ I ask tentatively – and curiously, if I’m being honest.

‘Yes, but it was bearable. And lovely. What’s killing me is that he’s leaving tomorrow.’

‘Maybe he’ll come back? I mean, you’ll stay in touch, right?’

She nods. ‘Of course we will. But he’s starting a new job soon and, I don’t know, Australia is just so far away.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, rubbing her back. This is what I was afraid of. Brett won’t be around to pick up the pieces.

‘I don’t regret it,’ she whispers. ‘I love him. It was so special. I wanted it to be him.’

I squeeze her tighter, wishing I could protect her from the pain I’m certain is to come.

Before I go home, I ask her if Jack knows. I’m relieved when she says that Brett confided in him earlier. From the age of twelve, Brett lived with his mum in what is now the
Mitchells’ games room. His mum was a housekeeper here and Brett and Jack were the same age. Although Brett didn’t go to the same exclusive school as the Mitchells, he never felt
threatened or uncomfortable around them. He and Jack were like brothers, Agnes told me.

Jack’s bedroom door is closed when I go to say goodbye and I can hear the familiar riff of The White Stripes’ ‘Seven Nation Army’ playing inside. Retro. I knock and the
music stops. When I go in, I’m surprised to see him holding his electric guitar in his hands.

‘Was that you?’ I ask, impressed.

‘Yeah.’ He plays the riff again.

Jesus, I fancy him
.

He goes to put his guitar down.

‘Wait, can you teach me how to do that?’ I ask impulsively.

‘Lead vocals, keyboard
and
guitar? Are you planning on going solo?’

‘Don’t say that. I hate the thought of not being in All Hype.’

‘I’m teasing.’ He picks up his instrument again and edges backwards, leaving a space on the bed between his legs for me. My breathing accelerates as I sit where he wants me, my
back snug against his chest as he brings the guitar across my front. I’m in his bedroom, and we’re alone.

OK, so Agnes is next door and his mum is downstairs and Sam is going to be coming for me any minute, but I still feel on edge when I’m this close to him.

His cheek is against mine as he shows me how to play the riff, talking me through the different frets on the neck of his guitar and then letting me have a turn.

‘How long have you played your guitar?’ I ask, pausing a moment.

‘Ever since I can remember,’ he replies.

‘How did you learn?’

‘My dad taught me. It was the one good thing he did.’

‘Are you close to him, though?’ I ask, eyeing Jack over my shoulder.

He shrugs. ‘We’re pretty cool. He’s probably closer to Drew than Agnes and me. We wanted to stay with Mom when he left. Here,’ he says, moving my left hand with his to
the tenth fret. I take the hint that he’s done enough talking about his dad.

‘Your fingers are so rough,’ I murmur, as he shows me how to play the riff once more.

‘Only on my left hand,’ he says. ‘It’s from years of holding down the strings. But my right hand is smooth.’ He runs the tips of his right hand along the side of my
face, his thumb coming to rest on my bottom lip, leaving a ribbon of skin sparking with electricity. Every nerve ending in my body is on edge as I melt into him, turning to offer my mouth to his.
Our kiss is warm and wet and makes me feel so very tingly. He takes the guitar out of my hands and props it up against the bed, pulling me to lie on top of him. A moan escapes my lips as he pulls
me against him. He’s breathing heavily as he gently eases me upwards so I’m sitting astride him, looking down at his face.

‘What are you doing to me?’ he murmurs.

My heart seems to be making an attempt to crash out through the bars of my ribcage. We stare at each other for a long few seconds and then jolt simultaneously as the downstairs buzzer sounds.
That’ll be Sam.