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  When Ian walks in, he’s on his phone. He doesn’t say hi to Anna and her face drops. If they aren’t doing it, she wants to or they did and he’s ditched her. That's usually how he operates.

  He hangs up and looks at my outfit, very Sandy from Grease. I want to fire whoever suggested this idea. “Are you ready?”

  “Yeah, I am. Are the contest winners here?”

  He rolls his eyes. He hates the contest winners, but I love them. They make this all worth it. To know that they’ve won tickets by repeatedly calling a number to enter a contest shows a lot about a person’s character. Ian thinks it’s too charitable and Alex says it’s not enough so she usually invites them to an after-party. This just pisses Ian off even more because he says he’s stuck babysitting all night when he should be able to enjoy himself.

  “Yes, they're here, are you ready?” he sighs heavily. He’s frustrated and angry about something. What else is new? Ian is good at his job, but his interpersonal skills need a lot of work.

  “Where are they?” I need to know because I like to focus on them during the concert.

  “Front row and one girl answered all your trivia questions right so she has a backstage pass.”

  “Did you—“

  Ian puts his hand up for me to stop talking. “I told her she and her guest can come and go as they please, but to wait until after the show is over before approaching you.”

  “Perfect.” I kiss him on the cheek, earning a tiny smile from him. I know deep down he loves me, but loves the money and power he has more.

  He opens the door. I take a deep breath and step out. I’m flanked by my bodyguard, Jones, and the rent-a-cops as they push us through a wall of reporters who all have press passes. They never get it. I don’t do interviews before a show. This is my rule, not Ian’s. I hate having my fans wait. They expect me on the stage at eight and that’s where I’ll be.

  Alex holds my hand as we walk the long hallway. The chanting gets louder the closer we get. She squeezes my fingers. She gets so excited before each show. Me, I just get nervous. Not the butterfly nervous – no, I’ve never felt that – but the I’m-going-to-hurl nervous.

  We stand on the side of the stage and I can see some of the fans. There are signs that say I love you, Hadley hanging from the second floor seats. Little girls are standing, looking for any sight of me. Sometimes I just want to run out there and sit on the stage and talk to them. Each and every one of them, but I’ll never get that opportunity.

  The lights go down and the crowd gets louder. ‘Hadley, Hadley’ echoes throughout the venue. My band starts up and that’s my cue in this tight leather contraption and hair sticking out everywhere to get on stage, all for my first three songs.

  I kiss Alex and give her a hug before doing our secret handshake. I can barely see it’s so dark. I count the steps I took earlier, remembering my movements so I don’t trip or walk off the front of the stage. When I’m in center, I take a deep breath and count to three. My foot starts moving to the beat of my song.

  When the spotlight comes on, it’s just me and the light. I sing with my eyes closed. When the first verse is over all the remaining lights come on and I can finally see my fans here to sing with me, and I’m reminded why I’m up here.

  I love it.

  CHAPTER 3

  Ryan

  The things I do for friends. Well, actually just one friend. If anyone else had asked me to attend a concert where there are five men – or are they boys? – dancing around and gyrating their junk in our faces, I would’ve given them a resounding hell no.

  Yet I stand here, for Dylan, while she paws at these dudes in white pants. What guy wears white pants anyway? She freaks out each time one of them touches her and yells loudly in my ear that she’s never washing her hand. I want to remind her that she has other peoples’ germs on her because they’ve touched a lot of people and themselves throughout their performance. Watching Dylan sing the lyrics while I stand stiff-legged, being jostled between her and the girl on the other side of me, is a bit annoying. I should step out into the aisle and allow them more space to get closer, but Dylan would freak.

  It’s times like this that I want to be different. I want to be in the center of the crowd, jumping up and down and singing along. I want to be able to walk out to the concourse and buy a hotdog or even a t-shirt to remember the night like every other teenager in the country. Why my parents are so strict about money, I’ll never know. Both of them work, so where does all their money go to?

  When the group leaves the stage, Dylan grabs my hand with the hand she said she was never going to wash, sharing the boy band germs with me. She pulls me through the crowd, saying “excuse me” each time we bump into someone else. Once we clear the row, she turns and faces me.

  “Are you having fun?”

  “Of course,” I lie.

  “Isn’t the front row the most amazing thing ever?”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty cool.” I will give her that. Being in the front row at a packed concert is definitely an experience. Something I would’ve never had the opportunity to do if it wasn’t for her. “Are you thirsty? You were singing your little heart out.”

  “I am,” she says, pulling us through the entryway. Instead of turning left where the concession stands are, she turns us right and we smack into security. She shows him the lanyards that hang from our necks and he signals for us to go through. She drops my hand as soon as we come to another door with another security guard. With our lanyards shown again, we enter.

  The room is bustling with people. I look around and notice it’s the group we just watched, the white pants boy band. The guys are loud and animated. There’s a table full of food that Dylan leads me to. She hands me a plate and takes hers and starts filling it up.

  “Are you sure this is okay?”

  “Totally, it’s part of the package.”

  I follow behind her, trusting that what we’re doing isn’t breaking any rules. When our plates are full we find a place to sit down. We’re eating just finger foods, but I don’t care; everything tastes amazing when you’re hungry.

  “Do you want to meet the band?” she asks in between bites.

  “You go ahead.” I don’t want to hold her back from enjoying this experience. It’s just not for me. She looks at me, her face almost sad. I smile, letting her know everything is okay, but she’s not buying it. She stays with me, finishing our snacks.

  When my plate is empty she takes it from me and throws them away. When she turns and looks at me, I know she’s about to pout so I stand up and follow her to meet the white pants boy band.

  The girls in front of us gush and make annoying sounds. I poke Dylan in the side. “If you do that, I’m walking home.” She laughs and elbows me in the ribs.

  It’s our turn next. I take a picture of Dylan with the band on her iPhone, but decline when she offers to take mine. My prepaid doesn’t even have a camera and I’m not sure I want to remember this as much as she does.

  After a few minutes of small talk, the room starts to clear out for the next show. Dylan promises me that I’ll just love Hadley Carter. I don’t want to remind her that she’s the one that just love’s everyone and anything that has to do with music.

  I’m simply her companion for the evening.

  When we step back into the venue I’m surprised to see more seats filled. Clearly she is far more popular than the white pants boys. Dylan moves in between people and back to our seats. We sit on the uncomfortable, yet cushioned seats until the lights go out completely. The crowd roars much louder than before. Both girls and guys are jumping up and down chanting ‘Hadley’.

  I stand and stare off into the pitch-black stage. Music starts, the crowd gets louder. I can barely see the guitar player but can feel him close to me. It’s almost as if they want us blind for this show.

  I join in. I can’t help it. I start chanting and clapping right along with everyone else. Dylan looks over winks. I may just have a good time after all. I don’t thi
nk the crowd could get any louder, but the moment the spotlight shines on who I’m assuming to be Hadley, the venue erupts.

  Her song starts immediately. She sings softly, all while standing in one spot. Suddenly all the lights come on and she’s all over the stage. I don’t know what she’s singing, but I move to the music. Dylan and I bump hips occasionally, causing her to smile at me.

  Hadley is dressed in what looks like a cat woman costume. Guys are reaching for her, but she stands just far enough way that they can’t touch her. When she stands in front of me, I sort of want to reach out, but the thought of rejection keeps my hands safely at my side.

  My neck hurts from watching her, the constant looking up to follow her around the stage is straining. She plays three songs in her leather contraption before returning in a dress and cowboy boots. Her hair is pulled back and she’s sitting on a stool. She looks comfortable and relaxed, like she’s not playing in front of thousands of screaming fans.

  The show goes on for over an hour. It seems the louder we are the longer she’ll stay on stage and we keep cheering. When the venue lights come on and the stage is clear, Dylan grabs my hand and rushes us in the same direction as before.

  There is a large group trying to get past the security guard. Many of them yelling Hadley’s name down the long hallway, hoping she hears them, I guess. We flash our passes again, this time to a different guard who lets us through. We squeeze by him and walk down the hall where we are directed by another guard.

  We enter the door marked Hadley. It’s much larger than the previous room and with a lot less people.

  “Hadley will be with you guys in a minute.” We’re told this by the guard at the door. I walk around, looking at wall hangings. There are pictures of other famous people who have come through Jackson on their tours and played here. I take a seat in the corner while Dylan talks with another contest winner.

  Hadley comes bursting into the room, sort of like she’s still on stage. She greets each of her fans with hugs and introduces them to the girl standing behind her. She acts as if they have all been friends forever and haven’t seen each other in years.

  Music is turned on and drinks are passed out. I take a can of Coke from the server. I watch as Dylan and Hadley talk, noticing how pretty Hadley is when she’s just in a dress and not on stage. She’s very short. Her blond hair is almost white and fairly long. It makes me wonder if she’s required to keep her hair long so she can do all those crazy hairstyles she had tonight.

  Dylan looks over and points at me. I smile shyly and study my Coke can; it’s suddenly become very interesting. When I look up, Hadley is looking at me. Our eyes meet and she smiles, causing me to sit up a little straighter. She looks away and whispers something in the ear of her friend. She’s watching me the whole time.

  Her friend comes over to me, she’s probably about to ask me to leave. Maybe I remind her of an ex or something. I try not to look at her as she approaches; instead I’m watching Dylan’s back.

  “Hey, what’s your name?”

  I clear my throat. “Ryan Stone.”

  She extends her hand and we shake. “I’m Alex Graham, Hadley’s best friend. I just wanted to say hi since you were sitting over here by yourself. Feel free to mingle or whatever, okay?”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Alex Graham walks right back to Hadley and leans into her, whispering again. Hadley’s eyes catch mine and I look away, feeling completely out of place.

  CHAPTER 4

  Hadley

  Rushing off stage before my fans are ready for the concert to end does not sit well with me. I hate that the band listens to Ian. I’m the one who is up there singing and putting on the show. They should want to do what I want. But he has rules and they listen only to him.

  Alex meets me with a bottle of water that I chug down. She pats my forehead and hands me some lip gloss to apply. No time to freshen up as the local press is waiting. We rush down the hall, fans yelling my name. I want to stop and turn around, but Ian’s hand is clamped on my elbow steering me in the direction of the media room.

  He drops my arm once the flash bulbs start. Gosh forbid a picture of him cattle-herding me makes the news. He knows my mom will throw a fit. I sit down at the long table, Alex on my right and Ian on my left. Ian points to a reporter and the questions start.

  “Hadley, will you be visiting Jackson?”

  “Yes, Alex and I plan to visit. Take in a few of the sights while we are here.”

  “How long will you be in Jackson?” Alex whispers the answer to me. It’s not that I don’t know, but my schedule is crazy and it’s Alex’s job to help me remember.

  “For at least three days. I will be attending the Johnson Foundation Children’s Ball.”

  “When will we get a new album?”

  “That will be early next year,” Ian speaks up. Good to know. I was hoping to spend some time overseas before recording a new album. Guess that will have to wait.

  “We’ll take one more question,” Ian says suddenly. I look at him out of the corner of my eye and wonder what he’s up to.

  “Hadley!” They all yell. I point to a woman in the back.

  “Your show was great tonight. Will you and Smith be happy when the tour is over?”

  I deadpan and look at Ian, who isn’t answering. I don’t know what he’s playing at, but this question should not be allowed. Not only is there no relationship between Smith and me, but I never talk about my social life.

  I look back at the reporter who is smiling. This must be her million-dollar question and it makes me wonder what Smith said during his interview.

  I sit forward and clear my throat. “The relationship between Smith and me is strictly professional. Once the tour is over, I’m sure I’ll see him at an awards show.” I get up and push my chair forward with some force, shaking the table. Alex is on my heels as the questions from the reporters become shouts.

  I slam my dressing room door open, my hands clenched. I hear Alex lock the door, giving me time to cool down. It’s only a matter of time before Ian comes knocking on the door. I run a brush violently through my hair, until Alex takes it from my hand and directs me to my chair. I sit and she starts brushing.

  “You know how he is. The tour is almost over and he needs some headlines.”

  “At what expense, Alex?”

  “He means well. He’s just trying to keep you in the spotlight. That’s all.”

  Alex helps me fix my make-up and I change back into a dress with my boots. I want to be comfortable with these few fans, not some stuffy, pissed-off rock star. I sigh when the knocking starts. I know it’s Ian and he’s either pissed or about to be pissed. He hates meet and greets, doesn’t understand why I feel the need to spend time with people beneath me. The more he bitches, the more I have Alex schedule.

  Alex opens the door. Ian stands in the doorway, one eyebrow raised. He’s asking if I’m ready. I nod and follow him and Jones down the hall. There are still fans lingering behind security. I give them a little wave before disappearing behind another door.

  This is how I love a meet and greet. Music is turned on as I enter the room, playing softly in the background. Everything is relaxed. A few fans, milling around talking to each other, enjoy complimentary drinks on me. It’s me giving back. Tonight I have four sets of fans who won a chance to meet me from the tickets they purchased and one fan and a lucky guest are here because of a radio trivia game.

  I introduce Alex and myself to each of the fans, giving them ample time to ask questions and for us to get to know them. The questions center around touring or what it’s like to be on stage. I’m thankful there aren’t any personal questions.

  “Hi, I’m Hadley and this is my best friend, Alex.” I shake the girl’s hand in front of me. Her eyes are a bit glazed over and I wonder if I’m about to be attacked.

  She shakes her head. “Sorry, I’m Dylan.”

  “It’s nice to meet you. You’re my radio winner, right?”

  My wor
ds make her face light up like she’s just won the lottery. This is why it’s so important to know your fans. “I am. I’m so glad I won.”

  “Did you come alone? Wasn’t your package for two people?” I always have a concern with someone keeping the extra ticket for themselves and only giving the winner one. It’s happened before.

  “Oh no, I brought my friend. He’s sitting down over there.” She turns and points to the guy sitting on a stool in the corner of the room. His eyes are wandering around until he looks right at me, through me. My smile is automatic, nothing forced. He sits up a little straighter before dropping his eyes to his suddenly very interesting can of Coke.

  My face falls when he looks away. Why did he do that? When he looked at me, my heart began racing so fast I thought I was going to pass out. Different from the exhilaration I feel on stage. This is real, like the sun shining on just the two of us, our hands a magnetic force field bridging the gap. My palms sweat just thinking about being able to hold his hand. The rush I’m feeling now is like no other. I’ve never been one to believe in love at first sight. Can it exist after one simple look? I keep staring, hoping that for one brief moment he’ll look up, but he doesn’t. Can he feel my eyes trying to get him to look at me? I want to know more – no, I need to know more – about this girl’s friend. I take a step forward, the gravitational pull too strong for me to resist. Alex’s hand comes down on my arm, halting my progress. I turn to Alex. “I have to know him. I have this feeling, Alex. I can’t explain it.”

  “He’s very cute,” she says, looking over my shoulder. I follow and have to agree. Although cute doesn’t describe him fully, I want to say gorgeous and I need to know him.