Date With A Rockstar (16 page)

“What?” Her eyes are bulging mad. “They didn't get a good shot of us?” She's really not very cute when she's pissed off.

“Maybe they did and I blinked and missed it. But, he kissed you? That must have been nice.”

“The camera had to have filmed our kiss. It went on and on and on.” She's pacing the room now.

“Well, like I said. I probably just had my eyes closed.” I'm not even sure what my point in lying is. I guess I just can't stand to be in the room with her smug attitude. At least now she's not bragging.

“I'm going to go find the cameraman and ask to see the footage,” she declares after her tenth circuit around the room.

“Good luck with that. Don't forget to scan in at the elevator if you're leaving the floor.”

She huffs at me and slams the door on her way out. I imagine the cameramen are getting ready to shoot Jeremy's date this evening, so they'll be too busy to console her.

I climb out of bed. Now that I've cleared the room, I don't know what to do. I can't go to the restaurant because the other girls might be there, and it's too early to go to the viewing room. Giving in to the little-girl-crying feeling, I sit at the small desk in the corner of the room and click on the phone. The holographic square lights up while I listen to the ringing.

Come on, be home.
Mom's shifts at the restaurant change all the time. For once I hope she's on nights. The words
connecting
flash across the screen and then a tiny 3-D image of Mom clarifies. “Honey. I'm so glad you called. I've been missing you so much.”

“I miss you, too, Mom.” I don't know what to say, I just want her to hug me.

“Is something wrong, Monet?” The beauty of Mom: she figures me out every time. Even with miles between us she knows when something is off. God, I needed to hear her voice. “What is it? Is it those television people, because if they're—”

“No, Mom. It's stupid. I just thought I could win this thing and get all that money. Then I saw Jeremy on a date with one of the other girls.”

“Ah, I see. You entered this competition for the money.”

Well, shit.
“I know that sounds terrible, but we need the money.”

“Yeah.” Her head shifts down, blocking my view of her face. “I wish you'd just concentrate on being a teenage girl and having fun.”

Sure. I'll just have a blast and not notice the open sore on my back. “Jeremy's different than I thought he would be.”

Her penetrating look translates even over the video link. “It's okay to like Jeremy and still want the money.”

I sigh. “Sounds pretty selfish to me.”

“Probably, but I love you anyway.” My head snaps up.

“You're not supposed to agree with me.”

She shrugs. “I'll have the money for the cure soon. I swear to you. I don't want you to feel like you have to be manipulative to win a prize.”

“I don't want you working that hard for me. And I'm just being myself. I'm not that great at pretending.”

“Have you had any Fluxem symptoms yet? Do we need to start worrying?”

“No, nothing.”

“Good.” She exhales heavily. “I worry.”

“Don't. I'm having fun. They have great food here and my date was at the beach. It was so beautiful.”

“I wish I was there with you.” I smile. She didn't notice the lie. If she knew about the mark, she'd probably do something drastic to come up with the money.

“What would you do in my spot?”

“I'd go find that boy and kiss him. Tip the odds in my favor.”

“You're right. He's been vaccinated. What am I hesitating over?” It's the one thing I can control right now. “I gotta go.”

She laughs. “Hold on a second.” Mom sounds serious. “I wanted to ask you about the consent forms you signed.”

Uh-oh.

“Were there more papers than what you brought home that one night?” Crap, there were so many papers I don't know what the hell I signed.

“There might have been a few others.” Like, twenty.

“Well, I know you're old enough to make your own decisions, but you need to be careful. A man was here earlier to interview me for your segment of the show, and the questions he was asking were not what I had expected at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you give them permission to dig into your government files?”

Do I even have government files? Who knows what the hell I signed? “What?” I gnaw on the end of my thumb. “What questions did this guy ask?”

She pauses for a while before answering, and I wonder what she's keeping from me. “Mostly stuff about your birth and our lifestyle now.”

I twist my hair into a knot on my head. I don't understand. “Why would they want to know any of that stuff?”

“I don't know. I'm afraid this dating show might not be as straightforward as you think. Probably nothing to worry about. I just want you to know, no matter what they say on the show, I love you more than anything.” Her eyes are very serious for a moment, then her expression shifts to her practiced Mom smile, which means she's dropping the subject.

God, every time she tells me not to worry, I worry twice as much. And I thought my only problem was Shelley Anne…

“The interviewer didn't mention what the questions were for?”

“No. Listen, I didn't bring this up to worry you. I just wanted to make sure you didn't sign anything that would take away your rights to confidentiality.”
I probably did.
“I'm sure it's nothing, honey. So, are you going to go track down that rockstar and give him a kiss?”

“Maybe I'll go to the restaurant and drink a fruit smoothie first.”

“Now I'm jealous. Drink one for me.”

“I will. Love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too, honey. Good luck.”

I click disconnect. I still don't feel good about Shelley's date, but I don't feel quite as miserable as I did.

AT THE RESTAURANT I sit at the bar instead of our usual table. I wave the attendant over and she shows me how to enter my table number into the menu screen so that the studio will pay for my smoothie. I'm so thankful I don't have to sit at table L27. All of the other girls have become my enemies. I don't know when the transition started, but I can't think of them as potential friends anymore. Which really shouldn't be any surprise to me. Not if I want Jeremy. But I can't just go along with this staged dating plan the producers have. No one can form a real connection with an audience and cameraman spying on them. I remember Praline's half-conscious words on the floor.
Why? Oh, Jeremy, why?
Clearly I'm not the only one feeling the effects of this competition.

I watch the attendant deliver drinks and shuffle leftovers into the cleaning rack below the bar. This could be my future. Though her job is probably better than what I'll find in Boston. The girl isn't much older than me and appears happy enough. And if she's not happy, she's at least not miserable.

I punch in a strawberry-blackberry smoothie and pull my scratch pad out of my pocket. I got the pad for Christmas last year and it's almost full. The paper-thin sheets of hardened resin are bound together in a five-inch rectangle. Each piece is coated in black paint that
I scratch away in patterns to reveal the golden yellow below. The girl delivers my drink and I try to forget my possible future by losing myself in pattern and design.

I order another smoothie and flip to another new page. On this one, I scratch in an outline of Jeremy's face and peel away the black to show the curve of his smile. I should take Mom's advice and kiss him, but I'm still so mad.

“Is that me?”

His voice startles me and I almost knock over my drink. “Jeremy,” I whisper, sucking in the word. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting a drink, same as you.” He punches his selection in and the bottles in front of us rotate around. The machine beeps and the attendant hands him the concoction.

He sniffs the dark and smoky drink.

“What is that?” I ask.

“Double shot of caffeine, one shot green plant liquor, one shot brew, and vitamin medley.”

Ew.
“Does that taste good?”

“Nope.” He shakes his head, laughing, and then downs half the glass. “But it sure as hell wakes you up. I need a boost after that date from hell.”

“Didn't you have fun this morning?”

“They had me paddling around a lake for hours. It was exhausting. I think they're trying to make me suffer.”

“Yeah, there's been a lot of suffering all around today.” I think back to Praline sprawled on the floor, but that image is quickly replaced with the hotness of Jeremy navigating the lake. “You do look damn good paddling without your shirt on.”
Ugh, did I just blurt that out?
I take another sip of my drink to hide my discomfort.

He blocks his half-smile with his hand and then raises his eyebrow. “Wait…how do you know I took my shirt off?”

“You know…the viewing room.”

“No, I don't know.” He pauses and I feel his anger growing. “What is the viewing room?”

Was this a secret? His jaw is set in a firm line.

“Um, they have a room set up where all the girls sit around and watch you when you're on your dates.”

He's very still for a moment, hands gripping the bar in fury. “I did not sign up for
that.”
The muscles in his neck stand out as he clenches his jaw. I really don't want him to ever be mad at me. This side of him is so intense. I just want to fix the situation. He stands up and his bar stool clatters back. “Everyone has been watching me the entire time?”

“Yeah, I'm sorry.”
What can I say to make this better?

“Why the hell are they doing that?”

“I suspect they're gathering extra footage of us girls being jealous and fighting.” He clenches his fists. I can't imagine people trying to manipulate me and make money off of me twenty-four hours a day. “I'm sorry, I thought you knew. I probably shouldn't have said anything.”

He slides his stool back in and sits. “I can't believe these asshole producers.” His hand around his drink tightens. “So, you saw when Shelley sank her talons into me in the canoe?”

“I did.”

“I swear they're making me entertain the craziest girls in the tightest surroundings.”

“Does that mean you didn't want to kiss her?”
Please say you didn't.

“Shelley Anne?” He grumbles deep in his chest and finishes the rest of his drink in one big swallow. “No.” The word is firm and final.

I smile down at the bar. “That's good. From my perspective, I thought you were enjoying yourself.”

“I'm trying to have fun on these dates, and I don't mind a good kiss, but there has to be some lead up and mutual interest. That one came out of nowhere.”

“Maybe she thought her hypnotic swimsuit had already won you over.”

“I guess. There are a lot of girls like that who come on to me. Sounds stupid to say, but the lack of skill gets irritating.”

“Um, what do you mean by ‘skill'?”

He scratches his head and then runs a finger around the rim of his glass, making a haunting sound. “I shouldn't be talking about this with you, huh?”

“I don't mind.”

He smiles and then goes quiet for a moment. I wait patiently, absorbing all the physical details of his body. He props his leg on the bottom of the bar stool and bounces one knee. The fabric of his jeans stretches tight over his thighs. And he just noticed me staring. Argh!

“‘Skill' is probably the wrong word, but I'm not an animal. I wouldn't mind a bit of intelligent conversation and shared interests. I don't give out kisses like they're autographs.”

I sip my drink, caught up in thoughts of kissing Jeremy. “From the outside, it looks like you have such a glamorous, perfect life.”

“Ha. If people constantly asking you for money and favors while you have to hide out alone in hotel rooms to keep from getting mauled is considered perfect, sure. I'm so isolated these days. I've got Derek and that's about it.”

Crap. That's me. I'm one of those people waiting to ask for money and favors. I want to die of guilt. Except that I'm already diseased, and not wanting to die is what has me in this predicament. But Jeremy
is an awesome guy and people shouldn't be taking advantage of him. I'm a hypocrite and now Jeremy's looking at me because I'm probably making a bad face. I swallow. “Derek seems like a good guy.”

“He is, but not the most sensitive. It would be nice to have someone to bounce ideas off of. I'm trying to write these deep, emotional songs, and my only friend likes combat and big boobs.” He drops his head, looking down at the bar.

“I could help you…or, I mean, I know we just met and won't have much time together, but maybe we could talk online, or—” I take a deep breath trying to pull my thoughts together. I want to be there for him. If he needs someone. “I guess a show like this isn't a great way to meet people, but if you ever need a friend to bounce ideas off of, I'd love that.” He doesn't say anything for a minute. Just looks up, appraising me. Is he looking for a friend, or more? Did I phrase that wrong? “I think it's amazing you can be so creative while still touring and traveling around.”

He shrugs. “You haven't heard the songs I'm working on now. Maybe my creativity is all used up.”

I laugh. “That's never going to happen.”

“How can you be so sure? Most musicians get one hit song at best. I've already had more success than most. This might be the end of my career.”

“No way. Unless you want it to be. From my perspective, the whole world adores you.”

“Bah.” He shakes his head and takes another drink. I watch his long eyelashes sweep down across his cheek as he blinks. I rub my sweaty palms on my jeans, trying to work up the nerve to touch his hand.