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Jason’s foot gently nudged against mine, and I looked up to see him slowly raising his head and blinking. “What the hell? Was I asleep?”
Laughing as he rubbed at his forehead, I nodded. “Very, very asleep.”
“Fuck.” He stretched his arms forward as far as he could without hitting me, then rested his hands on the table. “You sure you can handle us party boys on this trip?”
“You know, I was just wondering the same thing. It’ll be a struggle, but I’ll do my best.”
He smiled. “Sorry, Luce. I’ll try to stay awake and keep you company.”
“It’s fine. I was writing anyway.”
Jason nodded toward the A4 hardcover notebook in my hands. “What are you writing about?”
“This. The tour. The things that happen, or things I’m thinking about.”
“Like a diary?”
My cheeks burned. “Don’t say it like that. I’m not a little girl writing about my hopes and dreams and wishing for a handsome prince and a shiny new pony.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.” Jason leaned forward a little, shuffling in his seat. He didn’t laugh at me, and maybe I’d jumped to conclusions at the word ‘diary.’Diarymade me think of children scribbling their future husband’s surname surrounded by pink hearts and complaining about who pushed in front of them in the dinner line at school.
“I think it’s cool that you want to keep a record of the tour. The only way we keep track of it is through tabloid headlines. It’ll be a nice change to have someone writing something real.”
When he smiled again, I relaxed and smiled back. “Thanks.”
He watched me closely for a moment, then stood, pulling his backpack from the overhead storage compartment. He placed it on the table, rummaging inside until he pulled out his own A4 hardcover notebook.
“Is that a journal too?” I asked, eyeing him suspiciously, and he laughed.
“No. This is where I write my songs. Well, mostly. Sometimes they end up getting written on a napkin or something if I have a good idea and don’t have this with me.”
“I thought writers were told to always carry a notebook with them.”
He nodded. “They are. In reality, it’s bullshit. Nobody really does that.”
I knew this to be true. Not that I was really a writer in the same way Jason was. I wasn’t the kind who had a random flash of inspiration and needed to write it down immediately. That was something I linked more to authors, poets, or musicians. My kind of writing happened when I felt like it. I could hold memories in my mind in vivid detail until it was time to write them down. I had no idea if this was normal.
The problem was, I knew I wouldn’t remember the details forever, which was the whole point of the journal.
“Is there anything in there I can have a look at?” I asked, tapping the cover of Jason’s book.
“There’s not much in there. A few lines I jotted down, but they haven’t turned into anything yet.” He tilted his chin, gesturing toward my book. “Anything inthereI can have a look at?”
My jaw dropped. “No! I mean, there’s not much in here either, but this is different. Eventually, my private thoughts will be written in here. They’re not really for other people to see.”
Jason smiled. “You don’t think my lyrics are private?”
“Not if you plan to turn them into songs for the world to hear.”
“They’re still my thoughts, though. They’re still a part of me.”
I’d never thought of it that way. That his lyrics were a part of him, it was obvious, really. To write words other people can feel, they have to mean something to the person who penned them. They have to reach into the souls of people who have never met him and touch them the way whatever inspired the words touched him. Just because Razes Hell was a rock band didn’t mean they didn’t write poignant lyrics. They even threw in an occasional heavy ballad now and again.
“In that case, you’re very brave.” I smiled. “Takes balls to throw your feelings out there like that.”
“Balls of steel.” Jason winked at me, making me laugh again.
This is going to be okay. I didn’t even blush at the mention of Jason’s gigantic steely balls.
