Along for the Ride Page 5

  “It’s on.” I stuffed a banana into the side pocket of my backpack.

  “I’m going for a walk and coming right back.”

  I gave my mom a quick kiss on the cheek before she could come up with an excuse for why I shouldn’t go. “I’m getting cabin fever in this hotel room, Mom. I’ll be back in time for the show, I promise.”

  Mom hugged me tightly. “Be safe, okay?”

  “Always.”

  After throwing my backpack over my shoulder, I headed outside.

  Usually I’d do this kind of thing with Jenica, the two of us heading out on an adventure. But I didn’t have a go-to friend on the tour, someone whom I could coerce into sightseeing with me. Today was a solo Katelyn day and I pushed away the lonely feeling as I headed outside.

  In my traveling experiences, the best moments were the unplanned ones. So I let the connecting sidewalks lead me through Seattle without a destination in mind.

  As I walked, I couldn’t help but contrast Seattle to L.A. The over-hanging clouds and drizzly weather were much different than the never-ending sunshine and drought back home. People were dressed in layers, but despite the overcast weather, nobody was carrying an umbrella.

  Throughout the tour, I’d wanted something to be my thing, something I could look forward to in each city. I hadn’t quite figured out what that was yet, and was running out of time to decide. My phone buzzed in my pocket as I jogged across another crosswalk, as the seconds were counting down to zero.

  Are you being safe? Love you, Mom.

  Only my mom would sign her texts.

  I replied quickly before pulling up my location on my phone.

  According to the interactive map, I was pretty close to downtown Seattle. Close to the pier. Perfect. Downtown Seattle was bound to have something that would catch my eye.

  The wind picked up as I started down the stretch of Broad Street, my hair whipping behind me as I walked. I let my head tip back, turning my face toward the sky to feel the air on my face.

  And then there was downtown Seattle. I was suddenly self-conscious of my sweaty appearance as I slowed to a stop. The cool air-conditioning hit me as I stepped inside the first store, and a shudder went up my spine. Sweaty clothes and AC weren’t a good mix.

  My hands ran across the soft fabric of the tacky Seattle tourist sweatshirts. Maybe this could be my thing. A giggle escaped my lips as I weaved through the tourist stores filled with tacky T-shirts and bobbleheads. I ended up buying a long-sleeve shirt with the word Seattle written on it in different colors all across the front.

  This was the perfect item to kick-start my tacky tourist collection.

  As promised, I made it back in time for the show. My mom had been waiting in the hotel room, wanting to hear about my adventuring around Seattle. Dad and Connor were long gone.

  “Did you have fun?” Mom asked as she was pleating my hair.

  I hadn’t told my mom about buying a tacky Seattle shirt, as I knew she wouldn’t understand. And I liked having something for me. “It was a nice walk.”

  She finished, my hair now split into two Dutch braids.

  “Thank you.”

  “You look so cute with the double braids,” she said. “Like my little girl.”

  “I’m almost seventeen, Mom. Not a little girl,” I said, teasingly.

  In the bathroom, I freshened up. Face wash. Moisturizer. A little mascara to brighten up my eyes. Some chapstick to salvage my always dry, rough lips. And that was the extent of my makeup journey.

  Thirty minutes before the start of the show, we finally left the room. The hotel was a couple of blocks away from the arena, and it was a nice night to get some fresh air.

  “I want to make sure you don’t get lost in the hustle and bustle backstage,” Mom said, as we walked. “Text me when you’re getting ready to come backstage and I’ll come get you.”

  “Understood.”

  My All-Access pass hung around my neck as I followed my mom into the side entrance where the artists and tour staff had been instructed to enter. I wasn’t used to being on the other side of the show, and it was a much different experience. As opposed to the bright lights and the screaming fans out front, behind the stage was much more muted. You could feel the vibration of the conversations out front, but backstage the chatter was much quieter and more direct, everybody moving about with a purpose.

  “Ms. Jackson,” the security guard said to my mom. “And younger Ms. Jackson.”

  We were escorted to the reserved All-Access seats.

  “Are you watching the show?” I asked.

  She shook her head no. “Your dad and I are going to make sure everything runs smoothly backstage.”

  I took my seat, alone again.

  As I waited for the show to start, I glanced at the fans around me. Girls decked out in Connor Jackson shirts carrying handmade posters; others dressed in flashy outfits that they’d probably spent months planning, alongside reluctant parents who looked as though they’d rather be anywhere but here.

  The lights dimmed, and the fans began to scream.

  Per usual, Mackenzie’s performance was flawless. Not a misstep.

  Not a missed note. Not even a missed lyric. She looked like she was born on stage. Adrenaline pumped through me as Mackenzie left the stage—Skyline was up next.

  The transition took about twenty minutes, and when the house-lights dimmed, the four boys were on stage, and I couldn’t help but scream along with the rest of the arena.

  “Hi, I’m Jesse.”

  “I’m Ross.”

  “Aaron.”

  “And I’m Zach.” He flashed an award-winning smile. “And we’re Skyline!”

  The screams were deafening, and I moved to the edge of my seat in anticipation as I waited for the first note. The first sound.

  And it didn’t disappoint. My eyes never left Zach, his voice all-consuming.

  Unlike Mackenzie, they did have missed notes and lyrics, which they managed to laugh through, and the crowd corrected. Their performance was just as special, bringing its own charm and personality.

  Screaming along with the other girls in the audience, I shouted every lyric, closing my eyes as their melodic voices filled the arena. There was no denying it: I was hopelessly in love with Skyline. As their set ended, the arena lights came up again. The girls screamed, knowing that Connor Jackson was up next.

  And after what felt like an eternity, the lights went out again, and the screams grew louder. Connor’s band was backlit, their silhouettes playing the opening beat of the song. The smoke machine turned on, and Connor came up from under the stage and arrived amidst the vapor, the spotlight illuminating him the moment the band hit the biggest note of the song.

  It was remarkable.

  Connor put on a spectacular performance, all the way up to

  “Shades.” When the chair came flying out and Connor jumped onto it, he flipped it and fell. The audience gasped, and Connor stopped singing, but the band kept playing.

  After a split second, Connor flipped the chair back over, hopped back up, and continued singing like it never happened, but he had a pained look on his face. Knowing my dad, he was already waiting in the wings to make sure that Connor was still up to performing. I leaned back in my chair, waiting for the end of the set. I had to see how the encore played out.

  Connor disappeared, and the crowd began to scream, begging for an encore.

  After a few minutes of loud clapping, screaming, and foot stomping, a spotlight came on, and Mackenzie stood alone in the middle of the stage. Skyline joined her, and a verse later, Connor jumped back into action, much to the audience’s glee. But I noticed right away that whenever he danced, or snapped his fingers, his left hand remained as still as possible, and he would wince whenever it moved.

  And when it came to his and Jesse’s guitar solo, he tried to play a few notes, but gave up, grimacing and shaking his head.

  Other than Connor’s obvious discomfort, the song went off relatively smoothl
y. A few missteps, a missed song lyric by Zach, but nothing too noticeable to someone who hadn’t heard the song for the past few weeks. I slipped out of my seat and headed backstage to avoid the postconcert rush.

  I strode down the hallway in what I thought was the direction of the stage, but it led to a dead end. Where was I? Despite having not spent much time backstage, I was fairly certain I could navigate my way around. I’d managed to get around Seattle by myself; it couldn’t be that hard to find my way through a few halls. Backtracking to where I thought I’d started, I turned left. The hallway broke into multiple different directions, voices coming from every angle. Everybody looked like they had a mission, phones in hand, and orders being shouted.

  Way out of my element, I ducked around the corner, pulling my phone out of my pocket to call my mom to come and rescue me, but there was no service. And I had no idea how to get back to where I started to try to find my mom, dad, or brother.

  Take two on another solo Katelyn adventure.

  When the backtracking technique didn’t work, I followed some important-looking people who appeared to know where they were going. Everyone was splitting off down different hallways, heading to rooms I’d never seen before, and shouting for things I’d never heard of.

  “Did you check the call board?”

  “Last I saw they were coming down the escape stairs.”

  “Dark house tomorrow, need to get the clean-up crew in here.”

  Everyone was preoccupied. And nobody cared about the lost teenage girl standing bewildered in the middle of the hallway.

  “ . . . and there was a bathroom around this corner, I swear.”

  Ross Matthews came into my line of vision, followed by Jesse.

  Ross opened the door a few feet in front of me, revealing a small bathroom. “Ha! Told you it was here. You’re welcome.” Jesse dipped inside without a word, shutting the door behind him.

  Ross turned and saw me, a quizzical look on his face. “Are you looking for the secret bathroom too?”

  It took me a moment to work up the courage to speak. “I think I’m lost.”

  “It’s pretty easy to get caught up in the postshow madness. We had a bathroom brawl over in our neck of the woods. You can follow us back.”

  His easygoing nature made it a little easier for me to relax. “You guys had a great set.”

  “You think? Zach was a little pissy after,” he said.

  Jesse stepped out of the bathroom. “We need to get back if we want—” He paused when he saw me. He took a step back, gesturing toward the bathroom. “Are you waiting?”

  “She’s lost,” Ross said, before I had the chance to say anything.

  “Got caught up in the never-ending hallways.”

  As we followed Ross back to the dressing rooms, I tried to come up with a way to kick-start a conversation with the two boys. This was the whole reason I’d come backstage early in the first place. And now I couldn’t think of a single thing to say that didn’t sound like I was major fangirling. Which I most definitely was.

  “Katelyn said she liked our set,” Ross said, glancing over his shoulder toward Jesse and me. “I told her Zach disagreed.”

  Jesse’s gaze flickered upward. “She’s being nice.”

  “She actually really did like it,” I finally found my voice. “And she thought that even though you guys stumbled a couple of times, it was still a great set.”

  “And she also apparently speaks in the third person,” Ross added.

  “Mistakes are part of it,” I laughed. “You guys made them fun.”

  “Zach is convinced it’s the worst show we’ve ever done,” Ross said. “Maybe give him your five-star review.”

  I didn’t think I’d be able to speak a full sentence in the presence of Zach Matthews. Not a coherent one anyway.

  “Katelyn!” Mom came down the hallway ahead of us. “I’ve been worried about you! Where have you been?”

  “And this is our cue to leave,” Jesse said. “Have fun.”

  He and Ross slipped into their dressing room, the door quickly shutting behind them.

  “I got lost,” I mumbled, much to my mom’s dismay.

  “I told you to call me!”

  “No service.”

  “I’m glad that you’re okay,” she huffed. “Next time you text me before you come backstage, and I’ll meet you at the entrance.”

  “Where’s Connor?” I fell in step with her.

  “Doing meet and greets.”

  “How’s his hand?”

  “Not broken, maybe sprained,” Mom said. “The chair is being removed from the choreography ASAP. And we’re going to see what we need to do to make sure he’s okay for the next show.”

  Chris wasn’t going to be happy. “What does Connor say about all of this?”

  “He won’t have it.” She checked her watch. “We should head back to the hotel to gather our things; we need to get on the road tonight after the excitement dies down. We’ll talk more about this when your father and brother are done tonight.”

  The tour bus door opened, and Connor and Dad both came in. My brother had changed into a pair of sweatpants and a tour T-shirt, his hair wet from either sweat or a shower. I was really hoping for the latter.

  Mom wrapped her arms around Connor, pulling him in tight.

  “Great show, honey!”

  He gave her a brief hug before collapsing down next to me on the couch.

  “How’s the wrist?” I asked.

  He held out his left arm, flexing his hand a few times. “Stiff. No swelling. No broken bones. I’ll survive it.”

  “Without that chair,” Mom added.

  “Would you stop meddling with my choreography?” Connor groaned. “I’ll get it figured out.”

  My eyes drooped shut during their argument, my body suddenly feeling heavy.

  “What time is it?” I yawned.

  Connor flashed me his watch, it was after midnight. “There’s an after-party, I’m getting ready to change and head out. You coming?”

  “I don’t think that’s really my scene.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows with a teasing smile. “What if Zach is there?”

  “Every magazine article I’ve ever read about Skyline all concur that Zach doesn’t do parties.”

  Connor’s face fell. “So you’re not coming?”

  “Let’s do a preshow party. Then it wouldn’t be so late.”

  “Okay, Grandma.”

  Stretching my arms overhead with another yawn, I stood up.

  “Good night.”

  My mom kissed my temple. “Good night, dear.”

  There were two sets of bunk beds, each set three high. And, somehow, I’d ended up with the middle bunk. I climbed inside, letting my head fall back onto my pillow.

  It was strange to think that once I woke up, we’d be in another city. Another state. My eyes slipped shut, but I was unable to block out the conversation happening in the other room, less than ten feet away. Not to mention the road noise that seemed to be amplified in my bunk. And the sound of the toilet flushing as my dad relieved himself.

  This was definitely going to take some getting used to.

  PORTLAND, OR

  CHAPTER 6

  I left a note on the counter of the tour bus’s small kitchen, letting my mom know I was going on my morning run. Apparently, the drive had taken only a little over three hours. We were already parked at the next arena, the stage crew unloading the buses to get ready for tonight’s show.

  The sleep inside of the tour bus had been rough, to say the least—I tossed and turned most of the night, unable to get comfortable. It was a big transition from my custom mattress at home to the hard brick they called a mattress here. There was a break after the show tonight, and my mom had mentioned checking into a hotel and leaving for San Francisco in the morning. I would take a hotel bed over that bus bunk any day.

  My phone’s GPS led me on a run. We were staying in the Alberta Arts District of Portland, which had m
uch more of an eccentric, hipster vibe. The streets were lined with hole-in-the-wall coffee shops, all seemingly brimming with life. Bright, colorful murals lined the walls.

  Los Angeles had a reputation for being bright and filled with life.

  But the atmosphere in Portland was less Hollywood and more laid-back. And I loved it. My morning run helped wake my body up, and I felt more refreshed once I got back to the bus.

  “Did you have a good run?” Mom asked as I stepped inside.

  “Very refreshing.” She passed me a bottle of water. “Is the shower open?”

  “Dad went ahead and checked us into a hotel for tonight, which is bound to have more room and better water pressure.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Tomorrow night, on our off night? There’s a team that wants you to guest-play with them. The San Francisco Vipers.”

  A smile stretched across my face. “Really?”

  “The coach said her sweeper is going on vacation, whatever that means, and they’d love to have you play in her position.”

  “That sounds awesome!”

  “You know what a sweeper is?”

  While my mom always tried to be supportive, she wasn’t really soccer savvy. “That’s my position, Mom.”

  Her mouth formed an O shape. “Right!”

  “That’s okay, Mom. Thank you for setting it up for me.”

  “Of course, dear. I want you to succeed in your soccer playing as much as I want Connor to succeed with his singing. I love you both.”

  And for a moment, I allowed myself to believe that was true.

  My dad had left a room key for me at the front desk, and I was able to take a long, hot shower. As I luxuriated on the comfortable bed, I jolted awake to my phone beeping.

  Would you like to come to the arena with us? Connor should be getting up any minute. Love, Mom.

  I made myself a cup of coffee, contemplating my options. Go to the arena with Connor or stay in the hotel room by myself. Aside from watching some YouTube videos and listening to music, there wasn’t much for me here.