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I remember yet again how good it felt to perform onstage that night. All those women screaming for me, singing the words to my old songs. The last couple of years I looked at those songs with nothing but bitter disappointment in my heart, but Saturday night, hearing all those high-pitched female voices singing along, it made me look at my career with Five Car Pileup in a different light.
Yeah, I fucked it all up and ruined my reputation, but our music actually touched lives. We might’ve released nothing but a bunch of bad pop songs, but all those girls haven’t forgotten them. They freaking loved us.
And I shit all over them. I shit all over the band and our management and the record label. Though I wasn’t alone in this mess. My other bandmates, my friends, my enemies, they contributed to the wreckage too.
Damn it, I want another shot. I want to prove that I can create quality music that the general public wants to listen to. I can spit out some homegrown, bathroom-recorded bullshit, and people are losing their minds over it.
I want to keep that up. I want to write songs and sing them. I want to make an album in a quality studio and show the world I can make a comeback and they’re all going to want to witness it.
That’s what I want. More than anything else in the world.
Without thought I switch over to my text messages and bring up Scarlett’s phone number. Yeah, I had some help obtaining it, and I would never tell anyone who got it for me—it was Simon; he’s a fucking magician—and I’ve resisted texting her since I was basically kicked out of her home.
But fuck it. I’m texting her. I need to try.
One more time.
Me: Hey. It’s Tate. I know you’re probably mad at me. I know you think I’m a giant fuckup and maybe you hate that new song, but if I could get just thirty minutes of your time later this afternoon and you’d give me one more shot, I’d love to talk to you.
She doesn’t respond for almost twenty minutes because this girl knows just how to keep me dangling on a string. Or she might’ve blocked me. I suppose I can’t blame her. She told me flat out to leave her alone.
Finally I receive a response.
Scarlett: Okay.
That’s it? That’s her response? Just...
Okay?
Then another text comes through.
Scarlett: Where do you want to meet? What time?
I leap off the bed and pump my fist in the air like I just won the Super Bowl.
Maybe I can make this work after all.
CHAPTER12
SCARLETT
The restaurant I’m meeting Tate at is actually in our neighborhood, not too far from where I live with my family, though I’ve never been here. It’s small and quiet, and since we’re meeting at two thirty in the afternoon, it’s not very busy either. Which I suppose is good. Maybe no one will notice us.
I’m still not sure how I feel about the possibility that people could react to catching us together again.
The hype over me and Tate possibly being a couple still hasn’t died down. Thanks to the song I first heard on TikTok, it’s only ramped up. Speculation abounds; all the gossip sites and morning shows and social media are still asking if we’re an actual couple. Wondering if Tate ruined everything between us because of the song. The lyrics.
He makes it sound like I ruined his life, which is kind of dramatic. Rachel can’t get over him writing a song about me. I heard about it from her first, she was so excited. Calling me first thing in the morning screaming, “Did you hear this?”
I don’t understand him. Not too sure what he wants from me. I blew him off when he came to our place, but after he left, I felt... bad. I treated him terribly. Worse, I acted like a bratty little baby.
Now here he is, wanting to meet with me again, and I vow I’m not going to act like a child. I’m eighteen. Graduated from high school and ready to go on a trip around Europe in the fall. Taking a gap year because my parents both think it’s a good idea I get out and experience a few things before I go on to college. They’re not against higher education, even though neither of them got a degree or even took a few classes.
They want me to live my life, especially my dad. He always talks about dreams and adventures and doing something wild and crazy. Now that I went and kissed Tate Ramsey, he finally believes I have it in me to embark on something bigger than myself. Maybe he’s right.
But then again, there’s that tiny part of me that doesn’t believe it could happen...
I enter the restaurant accompanied by a soft gust of wind that catches my hair, making it fly into my face. I push the wayward strands out of my eyes, glancing around the tiny café to see Tate sitting in the farthest, darkest corner of the building. The moment our gazes catch, his lips curl into a faint smile and he rises to his feet.
