“Ellie-”
“No! I don’t care what he has planned. I won’t be any part of it.”
My brain flicked back to the argument I’d overheard between Jason and Drew the night before.
Oh. Suddenly the truth behind the words they’d yelled at each other became clear.
Well, Drew was right. Dragging someone else into their publicity stunt was not okay. While Jason had always been a little selfish, he’d also been careful about keeping me out of the spotlight. This whole idea was juvenile and ridiculous, not to mention another slap in the face for Drew, who presumably I was supposed to have trampled over to get with Jason. I didn’t ask for details. Didn’t want them. Whatever Derek the Dick had planned, I was shutting it down.
“Wait,” I said, my mind reeling. “Did you know this was going to happen? Is that why you dragged me up on stage last night?”
Jason paused. “Not exactly. Derek asked us if you might want to help – his word, not mine. We’re already doing better since New Year. People want to book us for TV appearances, and we’ve sold more albums this week than we did in the last six months.”
“How is me getting between you and Drew helpful? And when have I ever come between you before?”
“You haven’t. That’s what makes you so perfect. We both know you’d never really come between us, so-”
“Are you seriously asking me to be a part of this?”
Another pause. “I think it would be good for the band.”
“Okay, let me ask you again. This time I want to talk to the person who has been my best friend my whole life, not the one who thinks fame is more important than anything else.”
“I don’t think fame is more important, Ellie. I just didn’t want to miss an opportunity.”
“This isn’t an opportunity for you! It’s an opportunity for Derek to line his pockets!”
“Okay! You don’t want to be a part of it. Fine. Sorry.”
I let out a long, slow breath. He knew I’d never be involved in a lie. Knew. But when he wanted something, he’d go out of his way to make it happen. In some ways, I’d always admired that side of him. Without it, he wouldn’t have taken the band as far as he had. That side of him was also the thing that landed him in heaps of trouble, and everything about this plan screamed trouble.
When I got back to my flat I changed into some old clothes, cranked up the radio, and headed to my work room to paint.
>
The first thing I did when I moved in – before setting up my bedroom – was create a designated room for work. My art room became the one place I allowed myself to make a mess. Newspaper covered the wooden floor, and rough sketches were tacked to the walls. A huge stack of projects I’d yet to work on sat in the corner next to my easel, which usually held an unfinished piece of art. The walls were covered with grey smears since I had a tendency to jot ideas on them with a pencil then use an eraser to rub them off later. My work room also had a potter’s wheel which I rarely used, but kept for days when I felt extra creative and needed to relax.
Actually, the real reason was because I wanted my Patrick Swayze/Demi Moore moment, but it hadn’t happened.
Yet.
I worked slowly, unsure what to create. “Free painting” was an exercise I often used when stressed because it didn’t involve the use of my brain. With watercolours and paintbrushes at my side, I painted random swirls and blobs while singing along to the radio. After a while, I lost myself in the melodies rather than the painting. As one of my favourite songs played, I put my paintbrush down and focused on singing instead. Beautiful lyrics always transported me far away from my worries, and I forgot about everything that had been bothering me since Jason’s call.
As the second verse began, another voice joined in behind me. I spun around to find Drew in the doorway, grinning.
“If you’re gonna sing that loud, you should consider locking your door.”
“Jesus Christ.” I covered my hammering heart with my hand. “You could have knocked!”
“I did. You didn’t hear me, so I followed the sound of your voice and the smell of that cranberry stuff you use on your hair.”
My cheeks grew hot. I could have sworn I’d locked the door, and if I’d been singing so loud I didn’t hear his knock, half the building had probably suffered the sound of me wailing with the melody of a dying cat.
“Don’t be sorry. You sounded good.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay. My brother’s an idiot.”