I was going to explain my presence if April or Jesse emerged from their bedrooms before Blake did.
I smiled at him. Looking at him made me think about our kiss the night before, and it was hard to wipe the dumb grin off my face.
Morning, I said.
He looked around the room. Did you do this?
You’re going to be the only rock star in history to leave a neat, tidy hotel room in his wake, I giggled. It didn’t take me that long.
Blake walked into the room and sat down on the couch, resting his feet on the now-cleared coffee table.
So, the bus leaves at noon, he said. It’s back up in Chelsea where the concert was. Do you want to get some breakfast?
I nodded, breaking his gaze and blushing -- even after last night, I still felt a little star-struck and tongue-tied around him.
Great -- give me five minutes.
Blake went back into the bedroom he shared with Jesse and I heard the shower turn on. While I waited, I sat down on the couch and flipped on the television. I stopped on a morning news show, and I wondered if my parents had reported me as a missing person yet.
I cringed at the thought. My parents would go that far in a heartbeat. I remembered hearing somewhere that you couldn’t report someone missing until they’d been gone for three days, at least. I wondered if that was an urban legend, like that poppy seeds make you look like a heroin addict on drug tests, or that if you swallow chewing gum, it stays in your stomach for seven years.
I wasn’t sure, but three days sounded like a reasonable amount of time. I’d call my parents by Tuesday, if I wasn’t home yet.
Blake emerged from his room again in what felt like an instant. His hair was wet and scruffy around his face, and his eyes were bright and excited. Again, I tried to memorize the moment, the way he looked. I could have just watched him all day, committing every detail to memory. It seemed like it could all end so quickly, like he could just blink his eyes and wake up, realize I was just some marginally popular, totally unspecial girl from Rockland, Connecticut.
Bagels? he asked, rolling up the sleeve of his button-down shirt. They’re one of the things that’s always better in New York. And pizza. But we can’t really eat pizza at eleven a.m.
Speak for yourself, I joked, standing up and shutting off the television. But bagels sound good. Mostly, I just wanted to be out of the hotel room before everyone else woke up. In my excitement last night, I hadn’t considered whether it would be awkward for the other members of the band to have me come along on tour, but this morning I couldn’t get the thought out of my head.
Blake held the door for me as we left the room, pressing the button to call the elevator. We passed through the lobby without speaking and walked out of the hotel onto the narrow SoHo street, past cafes with tables stretching onto the sidewalks.
Do you mind walking? he asked. My favorite place is in the village.
Sure, I said, and without a word, Blake lifted the strap of my overnight bag off my shoulder and put it on his. Thanks, I said quietly, blushing.
After a few blocks, we had slipped into the same easy conversation as we had the night before. I found myself talking about Trevor, about how easy it was to be a kid, how all the decisions he had to make were so simple and my parents treated him like he could do no wrong.
Do you have any brothers or sisters? I asked it a little sheepishly, already knowing the answer.
One, Blake replied. I have a sister. But sometimes it feels like April and Sophie are my older sisters too, especially when we’re on the road. And I’m the kid brother who’s always getting on their nerves.
I laughed on the outside, but my mind raced. April was like a sister. The gorgeous, blonde, waif-like lead singer apparently just saw Blake as an annoying little brother.
Are they actually older? I asked.
They are, he said. Does that make it okay? April is two years older than me, Sophie’s a few months
I smiled at him. Looking at him made me think about our kiss the night before, and it was hard to wipe the dumb grin off my face.
Morning, I said.
He looked around the room. Did you do this?
You’re going to be the only rock star in history to leave a neat, tidy hotel room in his wake, I giggled. It didn’t take me that long.
Blake walked into the room and sat down on the couch, resting his feet on the now-cleared coffee table.
So, the bus leaves at noon, he said. It’s back up in Chelsea where the concert was. Do you want to get some breakfast?
I nodded, breaking his gaze and blushing -- even after last night, I still felt a little star-struck and tongue-tied around him.
Great -- give me five minutes.
Blake went back into the bedroom he shared with Jesse and I heard the shower turn on. While I waited, I sat down on the couch and flipped on the television. I stopped on a morning news show, and I wondered if my parents had reported me as a missing person yet.
I cringed at the thought. My parents would go that far in a heartbeat. I remembered hearing somewhere that you couldn’t report someone missing until they’d been gone for three days, at least. I wondered if that was an urban legend, like that poppy seeds make you look like a heroin addict on drug tests, or that if you swallow chewing gum, it stays in your stomach for seven years.
I wasn’t sure, but three days sounded like a reasonable amount of time. I’d call my parents by Tuesday, if I wasn’t home yet.
Blake emerged from his room again in what felt like an instant. His hair was wet and scruffy around his face, and his eyes were bright and excited. Again, I tried to memorize the moment, the way he looked. I could have just watched him all day, committing every detail to memory. It seemed like it could all end so quickly, like he could just blink his eyes and wake up, realize I was just some marginally popular, totally unspecial girl from Rockland, Connecticut.
Bagels? he asked, rolling up the sleeve of his button-down shirt. They’re one of the things that’s always better in New York. And pizza. But we can’t really eat pizza at eleven a.m.
Speak for yourself, I joked, standing up and shutting off the television. But bagels sound good. Mostly, I just wanted to be out of the hotel room before everyone else woke up. In my excitement last night, I hadn’t considered whether it would be awkward for the other members of the band to have me come along on tour, but this morning I couldn’t get the thought out of my head.
Blake held the door for me as we left the room, pressing the button to call the elevator. We passed through the lobby without speaking and walked out of the hotel onto the narrow SoHo street, past cafes with tables stretching onto the sidewalks.
Do you mind walking? he asked. My favorite place is in the village.
Sure, I said, and without a word, Blake lifted the strap of my overnight bag off my shoulder and put it on his. Thanks, I said quietly, blushing.
After a few blocks, we had slipped into the same easy conversation as we had the night before. I found myself talking about Trevor, about how easy it was to be a kid, how all the decisions he had to make were so simple and my parents treated him like he could do no wrong.
Do you have any brothers or sisters? I asked it a little sheepishly, already knowing the answer.
One, Blake replied. I have a sister. But sometimes it feels like April and Sophie are my older sisters too, especially when we’re on the road. And I’m the kid brother who’s always getting on their nerves.
I laughed on the outside, but my mind raced. April was like a sister. The gorgeous, blonde, waif-like lead singer apparently just saw Blake as an annoying little brother.
Are they actually older? I asked.
They are, he said. Does that make it okay? April is two years older than me, Sophie’s a few months
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