“I’m starved,” he announced. “You want a sand-
wich?”
“Yeah, sure.” She sat down in one of the kitchen chairs and watched as Nick bustled around like one of the hot Food Network chefs, pulling rolls out of a bag and slapping on huge piles of roast beef, cheddar cheese, lettuce, and tomato, all covered liberally with mustard.
He handed a loaded plate to Celeste, who gazed at it in amazement. “What do you think I am, a linebacker?”
She laughed.
“Oh yeah,” he said through a mouthful of roll.
“Don’t worry, I’ll finish yours.”
Back in the den, he settled himself on the sofa, balancing the sandwich plate on his stomach. Celeste settled herself gingerly next to him. She took a bite of roast beef.
Boy-made snacks, a movie—this felt like a date. She shook her head violently. No. It did not feel like a date, because she wasn’t with Travis—her boyfriend—the boy she went on dates with.
“What do you have, a bug in your ear or something?”
Nick asked, chewing with his cheeks distended.
“Oh! No, I’m fine,” she said quickly. Nick started the movie again and she gazed blankly at the camels and horses trawling across the screen. She was going to have to be more discreet about her internal battles. Because it was starting to seem like she was the one who needed help keeping this relationship professional.
Chapter Seventeen
Well, I don’t know why you have to go,” Travis said.
Or rather, whined. He peered out the windshield at the maze of warehouses and concrete buildings. “I have no idea where we are anyway.”
Celeste sighed and tried to push down the irritation rising in her. “I told you. Nick and I really want this band for the party, but they won’t come out to the resort for an audition. The only time they’d let us hear them is when they’re warming up for their concert tonight.” Inside, Celeste knew that she was actually stoked to see the band play. Although she’d really rather not be stuck in the car with a whiny boyfriend. But her parents’ car was in the shop, and her dad had agreed that Travis could drive her in a resort truck only if he stopped on the way back and picked up some new
mower blades. She’d figured a one-way trip with a whiny Travis would be better than however long it would take her to explain why she was riding with Nick. She was starting to rethink that decision.
“And,” Travis went on, swinging the truck down a narrow alley lined with fire escapes, “I really don’t like the idea of you driving back with him.”
Celeste fought the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she peered down at the directions once more. “Is this Highland?” she asked, squinting up at the nonexistent street signs.
“How the hell should I know?” Travis growled,
reversing to avoid a one-way street.
“Travis, chill out,” Celeste said. “We’re practically right on top of it—turn! Highland!”
Travis braked suddenly and screeched the truck to the right. He pulled up in front of a scarred metal door set into the side of a crumbling, graffitied building.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Celeste said, opening the door. “And don’t worry—this is all totally business!
Remember what I told you about keeping the Saunderses happy.”
Travis nodded sullenly and drove off.
Celeste struggled with the latch on the battered metal door. Finally she managed to press it down, and the door flew open with a terrific crash against the interior wall. Celeste stumbled and almost fell into the room. To her embarrassment, the door opened directly onto the performance space. The band had been warming up on a stage across the room. The lead singer, whom Celeste recognized from their publicity shots, stopped in mid-wail and stared. Everyone else—a few sound guys, some rocker types sitting at little tables, and Nick—turned around to see who was making the grand entrance.
Celeste smiled weakly into the silence and crept to a seat next to Nick. To complete her humiliation, the band didn’t resume tuning up again until she was sitting down. Finally, the lead singer shook his greasy shoulder-length hair and played a few notes on his guitar. “Let’s take that again, guys,” he called.
Under the cover of the music, Celeste leaned over to whisper to Nick, “This place is freaky!” She looked around at the exposed pipes on the brick walls, the black-painted plywood stage, the grimy bar at the back of the room, where a tattooed bartender was setting up glasses in preparation for the night’s concert. The floor was sticky under her flip-flops.
“Yeah, I know,” Nick murmured back. “It’s like a nineteen eighty-five time warp.” He gazed at the band on stage. They were all skinny and deathly pale. “They look like they spend all their time underground, but they were band of the month in Rolling Stone. The singer is Sloan Love, by the way.”
Sloan was doing some sort of bizarre howling vocal warm-up onstage. “He sounds like his volume control is broken,” Celeste said. “I think the guests will all start running away if he sings like that, if the creeptastic eye makeup doesn’t scare them off first.”
Nick laughed, watching the stage. “I think that’s just his warm-up. Let’s hear how they sound once they do a song.”
“First Lawrence of Arabia, now the next generation of Poison? What are you getting me into?” Celeste teased.
Nick widened his eyes. “Hey, I’m just trying to give us all the options.” He sat back in his chair and draped his arm over the back of hers. Celeste eyed the arm for a minute and decided he really was just resting it there.
The band played for a few more minutes, and then ground to a sudden halt when Sloan made a chopping motion behind his back without looking back. They were all still for a moment and he raised his hand, still staring
