CHAPTER 3

"Timothy showed up at our house. My dad said they'd be working together on music with Timothy living in our pool house and finishing senior year at Oakwood. Zero additional explanation."

I go on at her raised brows.

"I was so thrilled he was here that I let the weirdness slide. That was my first mistake. Do not, I repeat, do not let the weirdness slide."

I take a sip of my tea, and Avery scrunches up her face.

"But he's not an asshole to you like the others are. So, why did you stop talking to him?"

Her dark brows pull together. The night at Carla's birthday party comes back to me in a rush. I remember the way he'd looked at me when we were alone, as if I was the only person who mattered right before he humiliated me.

"She's nothing. Nobody."

"It doesn't matter, Avery. I'm over it."

I reach into my black leather bag for my schoolbooks. We have a history test on Friday, calculus is a never-ending nightmare, and there's a poetry assignment breathing down on my neck. I love writing, but I wish didn't have to do all the other crap too.

"But you liked him before he was cool."

She insist.

"He looks like Adam Levine fucked Paul Rudd and, through some of miracle modern science, they reproduced."

I shift in my seat.

"Accurate."

My friend grins.

"You should write him a limerick."

"There once was a prince of a clique. His guitar was pretty slick."

"If this ends with a punchline about his dick, I'm going to die."

I pick up my tea, eyeing her over the rim.

"I've never seen his dick, but I call it Ode the pretty assholes."

This time neither of us can stop the laughter. "

You need to get laid."

She says once were both breathing again.

"If only so Carla stops calling you that stupid nickname. There are a lot of guys who'd love to help you out."

"I'm not having sex to spite her."

I narrow my gaze.

"Besides, you don't give a shit about my sex life. You're going to Italy for a week."

Her smiles melt away, and I cock my head.

"Wait, why do you look as if that Americano is your last meal?"

"It's the last third of the semester. Exams are coming up. Debate team needs to be preparing for state. I need to hand in this essay."

"And you're going to be in Tuscany, drinking Chianti and flipping us off while your dad works."

Avery sighs.

"Promise you'll keep me up to date. The most exciting things always happen when I'm gone."

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"This is fucking impossible."

A low voice grumbles as I make my way through the back hallway of our house after parking in the six car garage. The sight greeting me in the cavernous kitchen is the biggest rock star in the last two generations bent over a high chair, feeding my almost seven month old half sister. Judging from the amount of baby food on the tray and Sofia's face, my dad's losing.

"Shouldn't she be sleeping by now?"

I drop my bag on the Island big enough to host a dinner party.

"If I could've gotten some damned food into the kid, she would be."

Eddie Carlton can rock stadiums, produce multi platinum albums, charm new stagehands, and cut down aggressive reporters with a stare. Apparently, he's met his match in Sophia. With her chocolate eyes, and full head of dark hair, she can barely sit up but is capable of yanking Dad around as if he's dangling on a cord like one of her zoo-animal-shaped soothers.

"Think that I was this tough to feed as a baby?"

I come up next to the high chair, folding my arms. My dad pinches my side.

"Seems like you ate enough."

"Oh my God! You can't say that to teenage girls. Every pamphlet says so."

"I gave those to the band to read."

We joke about it, but the truth is he wasn't there when I was a baby. He didn't even know I existed when I was Sophia's age. My birth mom was someone he met during his early days touring when he was swept up by the lifestyle. He was still a teenager. He says she wasn't a hook up but refuses to talk about how it all went down. Once he found out, he decided I should live with my Aunt Gwen and her husband Uncle Jorge until I was older. You might expect learning your insanely successful rock star uncle is actually your father would be a gift. It wasn't. I'm beyond fortunate. I'm reminded every time I volunteer at one of the shelters in Dallas or pore over research for a civic policy paper. Still, it can't erase the feeling I'm missing something inside. A necessary component that's irreplaceable, that no amount of money can fix.

"Come on, little Helion."

Dad murmurs. Sophia lets out a wail and slaps at his hand hard enough to send prunes flying onto his face.

"You look like a crime scene victim."

I take the spoon from him and ply Sophia with little coos. The kid is cute when she's not wailing.

"Dad, do you want to watch a movie tonight? You're way behind on your Marvel."

He grunts.

"They make one every damned month. But tonight, I need to get a couple guitar tracks worked out for a project. You seen Timothy?"

Disappointment courses through me.

"Not since school. I had rehearsal, then studied with Avery."

"Glad to hear it. The studying, not the rehearsal."

"Because in your world, the men play the guitar and women do the math."

I deadpan.

"There is one world, and in it, my daughter is going to college."

When your dad happens to have been the biggest rock star on the planet before he semi-retired, things like graduations and diplomas and college admissions don't seem nearly as impressive as millions of album sales, screaming fans, and seven-figure endorsement deals. I would give anything for his musicality, his confidence. The way he commands a room, the God given spark that makes it so you can't look away. Instead, I have his eyes and his flair for the dramatic. Hardly a fair trade.

"Do me a favor and watch Sophia while I go down to the studio with Timothy."

My dad says on his way to the sink.

"Haley's at a meeting but should be back soon, and there's lasagna on the stove."

If only my dad would see me the way he sees Timothy. They spend hours together discussing guitar, sound and vocals. Working on new tracks for other artists and causes. In less than a month, I'll be the one on stage, and they won't be able to ignore me. Then he'll see me like he sees Timothy. Then I'll matter like they do. My phone vibrates, and I glance at it.

CHRIS: Think about my idea?

A temporary truce with Carla and the others would mean I wouldn't have to constantly worry about getting a knife between the shoulders between now and opening night.

"I want to have a few people over this weekend."

I decide. Dad turns off the faucet, his shirt clean but soaking wet.

"Haley and Sophia and I are in Los Angeles."

"Even better. You hate parties."

"And teenagers at my house leave behind messes that will linger until I'm back."

He frowns down at his shirt as if realizing teenagers aren't the messiest part of this household. I play my trump card, my dad's longest friend and guitarist, better known to the world as Mace.

"Not if Uncle Rudy's supervising."

Dad yanks the shirt over his head, apparently giving up on trying to get it clean, and heads for the hallway leading to the stairs.

"If Mace is free, you can have friends over."

He calls over a shoulder.

"But if they break anything, I'll break you and them."

Yes. It's the closest thing to a resounding affirmative I could hope for. I'll host an epic cast party for the rich assholes, prove to Timothy Adams he's wrong about me tempting Carla and her minions, and the entire musical standoff will be resolved by Monday. Easy. Peasy.

"This is sick, Emily." Jessy looks around the patio on Saturday night. "Don't you think, Carla?"

Carla lifts a bare shoulder under her perfectly waved blond hair. "It's better than nothing."

"Better than nothing." is an expanses of natural rock with a waterfall wrapping around the end of a pool that takes me twenty strokes to span. The stone surrounding it stretches for ages, with enough space to host a hundred people standing.

This patio is my sanctuary. There's no pressure here, no haters, no self-doubt.

Unless all of those things are lounging in chaises drinking vodka-laced punch.

"You should've invited your friend." Chris, whose low-slung black swim trunks show off an impressively sculpted torso, says to me. "Ava?"

"Avery. She left for Italy yesterday."

He nods. "My Uncle has a place in Florence."

When you attend private school, stripping out of uniforms is an occasion we take seriously. The girls are wearing bikinis, the guys in swim trunks hanging low on toned abs the dress shirts only hint at during the week.

I'm in a cherry red one piece bathing suit, and I pulled on jean shorts too. I could probably use the padding from a bikini top. I'm still hoping my boobs make a late surge senior year, but my goal for tonight isn't attracting attention. It's making peace.

"How's your car, Emily?" Carla asks sweetly. "I saw you still in the parking lot , Thursday when I left."

"Good as new." I won't give her the satisfaction of getting to me, especially since I'm trying to smooth things over.

I glance around the patio. During the daytime, I love swimming laps in the pool. Now, the lights turn it electric blue. Sleek chaise loungers with side tables are arranged around the perimeter. A table with a bar and snacks sits discreetly off to one side. Built-in speakers at thirty different points in the patio including some of the chairs, umbrellas, and the gardens make it feel like the music's inside us.

My gaze lands on the house. Uncle Rudy's rules for tonight were no drinking and no coming inside except for Miss Norma, whom he greeted at the door. Now they're in the living room, staring at each other on the couch.

The form I spot through the sliding glass doors isn't Uncle Rudy.

I hold up my cup in a toast, the minions had the carafe spike with Grey Goose before the caterer left, and Timothy shakes his head.

The slider opens, an Carla shrieks. "Timothy, let me get you a drink!"

She dashes to the bar and fills him a solo cup, her curves bouncing under her tiny bathing suits.

"Come play 'I've never' with us." she insists as he crosses to where we're standing along with Laura, Jessy and Thalia.

Of course Timothy's jeans and tshirts come off more compelling than the half-naked guys outside. I see him in school clothes as often as not, and I try not to stare at the way his black tshirts hugs his chest and reveals strong arms, beautiful hands.

But when my gaze locks on his, something says he caught me looking.