the ground shifted beneath her feet. Or, at least, it seemed to. “Whoops,” she squeaked as he caught her in his big, strong, muscular, tan arms. “Did I mention I’m a little drunk?”
“Did I mention this is a new shirt?” Kane asked wryly. “Don’t puke on it.”
He slung an arm around her waist and walked her away from the crowd, sitting her down on the ground so she wouldn’t have too far to fall.
“Hey!” she called, tugging on the leg of his jeans. “It’s lonely down here.”
Kane crouched down next to her.
“Hi!” she said in her best sultry voice, leaning toward him.
He flinched away from her breath. “Jesus-did you drink the whole keg?”
This wasn’t going right. Miranda struggled to figure out where she’d run off track, but her brain was like a seesaw, swinging wildly back and forth, up and down… and at the thought of that, she felt a wave of nausea rise in her. So she stopped thinking again and just blurted something out. “This isn’t going right.”
Oops.
“What isn’t?”
Instead of answering, Miranda leaned against him and let her head drop to her shoulder. “The music s nice, huh?”
Kane glanced over at the Blind Monkeys, who were banging something out that approximated a song. “You call this music?”
“I love your smile,” Miranda slurred, touching his lips. “It’s so… smiley.”
He frowned, took her hand, and peered into her eyes. “You in there somewhere, Stevens? ‘Cause I think some kind of pod person’s taken over your body.”
He was so funny “You’re so funny.” She laughed, her body twitching uncontrollably, until finally she pressed both her hands against her mouth to stop herself. “D’you want to kiss me?” she asked suddenly, taking her hands away and pursing her lips.
“Uh, Stevens…”
“‘Cause you can. I’m right here.” She let herself fall toward him, but at the last moment, he grabbed her shoulders and held her at arm’s length.
“I’m not sure we should-”
“Hey!” she cried, suddenly distracted. “It’s Harper!” She started waving wildly. “Harper!” But Harper was too far away. “She’s mick of see. I mean. She’s sick of me. I mean. You know. What I mean.” Some sleazy guy in cargo shorts with a studded collar around his neck was leading Harper away from the band and toward the more private, shadowy area beyond the rocks.
“You know that guy?” Kane asked suspiciously.
Miranda shook her head. The sleazeball swooped in for a kiss and Harper pulled herself away-but she wasn’t quick enough. They made out for a minute, and then the guy continued leading her away.
“She’s even drunker than me.” Miranda giggled, then stopped as a pinhole of light opened up in the dark fog of her mind. “What’s she doing with that guy? What if-?” Her happy buzz turned into an angry beehive. “We have to stop her,” she said, trying to stand up. She shook her head, but that just made things more jumbled. “We have to go, we have to-”
“Whoa. Better idea.” Kane pressed down firmly on her shoulders, settling her back on the ground. “I’ll go. You stay.”
“But I have to help, I have to-”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” he assured her. “I’ll go. I’ll take care of it. Are you okay here?”
“My knight in shining armor.” She sighed, a happy glow settling over her again. Kane would take care of everything, and then he’d be back for her.
“Yeah, that’s me,” he scoffed. “Just try not to wander off and get into trouble before I get back, princess.”
As he disappeared into the crowd in search of Harper, Miranda sighed happily and lay back against the ground, staring up at the stars and wondering if she could find the Big Dipper.
He’d be back soon-and she wasn’t going anywhere.
Reed broke off in disgust. The sound system was crap, and he could barely hear himself sing over the drunken crowd-not to mention the fact that he was pretty sure someone was blasting Beyonce on a stereo not too far away. But that wasn’t the real issue.
“Fish!” he snapped, spinning around to look at the drummer. “What the hell are you doing back there?”
“Man, I forgot what song we were playing.” He giggled. “Can you believe that?”
“Dude, you’re totally baked!” Hale mocked, waving his guitar over his head. “Awesome.”
Reed knocked the microphone away in disgust. “You’re both playing for shit. Get it together.”
“Take it easy, kid,” Fish suggested. “I can fire up another one for you.”
“Let’s just play,” Reed said, half tempted, half disgusted. “‘Miles from Home,’ okay? On three? ”They nodded, and Fish counted off; Hale came into the song a half beat late but at least, Reed told himself, he’d come in at all.
No one had even noticed they were playing again. By the light of the moon, Reed could see a horde of seniors milling about, making out, and lighting things on fire. Up front, next to the platform they’d put together for their stage, their single groupie danced by herself, flinging her tattoo-covered arms in the air in a wild frenzy, despite the slow and moody beat of the music. That was their audience: One goth girl who hated their music but had a not-so- secret crush on Hale.
Reed didn’t care.
He knew the lyrics were lame. He didn’t care about that, either. The guys all wanted to do cover songs-they’d have wrestling matches over Led Zeppelin versus Coldplay, Bright Eyes versus The Ramones-and then they’d get distracted and Reed would place the only vote that mattered. They played his music. And when he was really in the zone, it was a better high than pot. It was just him and the words and the music. It was cool.
He wasn’t in the zone.
And he couldn’t stop scanning the crowd.
I wanna get away from this place,
I wanna choke it up and spit in your face-
He stopped singing and held his breath. She was walking through the crowd, which seemed to part slightly as she passed. Her back was to the stage. Her movements were graceful and deliberate, her body slim and perfect. Her sleek black hair spun in the wind as she turned around, and he was about to whisper her name when-
It wasn’t her. Of course.
He hadn’t believed it, not really, he told himself. But he had. Just for a second, he’d let himself forget-he’d let himself believe that, somehow, it could be her.
“Awesome set!” Fish cried, slamming his stick against one of the cymbals. “Break time.”
“Set?” Reed asked, trying to remember himself. “We haven’t even gotten through one song.”
“Dude, who’s fault is that?” Hale asked, giving Reed a pointed look. (As pointed as a look could be when his eyes were half shut.) “I say break time. I’ve got…” He glanced offstage, where goth girl had stripped off her T-shirt to reveal a black leather bikini. She slowly licked her hand, from her palm up to her fingertips, then threw it to Hale as if it were a kiss. “I got stuff to do, kid.” Hale ditched the guitar and hopped off the platform, grabbing goth girl and kissing her like he was trying to Hoover her mouth right off her face.
Reed turned to exchange a glance with Fish, but the drummer had already laid his head down on the snare drum and shut his eyes. So much for the gig.
Reed stumbled off the makeshift stage and began to walk without a direction in mind. This wasn’t his scene. Some asshole in a letter jacket with a squealing girl slung over his shoulder slammed into him with a glare and a
