Boy Band (17 page)

I just got another text from Sam.

Are you still studying?

Ye
p
, I reply.  And of course, by that, I mean no.  But I am still sitting in my room, in my sweats, on my computer, so I guess that sort of counts as studying. 

Great. Be there in ten minutes. 

As usual, I feel a tiny skip in my otherwise perfectly stable heartbeat.  Being with Sam anytime is always wonderful, but being alone with him is the best.  

Okay. See you soon. :) 

Want food
?
he asks.  

Oh, alway
s
.  

Okay. I’ll see what I’ve got in my stash.

Sam is kind of like a squirrel.  Every once in a while, he goes on grocery raids where he stocks up on snack foods.  He doesn’t even look at what he buys.  If he can eat it, it goes in the stash.  The weird part is that none of us know where he keeps this secret food.  It is a total mystery.  As far as I know, he’s never told a soul.  May I just say that keeping a secret like that in a group like this is unprecedented.  Privacy just doesn’t exist in this environment, and yet none of us can find Sam’s Secret Snack Stash.   It’s the one thing in the world that I don’t know about him. 

And you know what?  I think he’s pretty proud of it.  

CHAPTER 15

“
They said you’re a hero child

You’re made of steel

You’re flesh and blood

Of the lucky ones

Who make these legends real

It was in that shining moment

That I knew I had it all

That I had so far to fal
l
...”

Song: “Legends”

Artist: The Kind of September 

From the Album
:
Meet Me on the Midway

Sam arrives with enough junk food to feed a small army, or at least an entire class of poor college students.  He’s also changed out of his photo shoot clothes and into plaid pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt.  This is how I like him best.  Yeah, he’s super sexy when he’s in his suits and button-down shirts (especially when he’s performing), but this is the Sam that I know.  The one who likes to hang out and eat snacks in his pajamas and doesn’t have to worry about what anyone says or thinks.  

“Sorry I’m late.  Had to wait until Cory was out of the room before I could grab the snacks,” he says.

“Seriously, where do you keep all this?”

“I don’t know,” he offers an innocent grin.

“Come on, I’m not going to sneak into your room and steal it.”

“I don’t know that.  Remember that time you stole a french fry off my plate?” He raises his eyebrows, like a parent scolding a misbehaving child.

“We were in eighth grade.  You need to let that go.”

“And you need to accept the fact that you just might be the reason I don’t trust anybody with my food.”  Of course.  His little food-hoarding act is my fault.  

“Over one french fry?” 

“You know how I feel about my fries.”  

It’s true.  Sam loves all food, but he’s always been particularly fond of french fries.  I should have known better than to take one.  But best friends are supposed to share things with each other that we can’t share with anybody else.  That should include bad cafeteria food.     

“You know, one day, someone is going to figure it out,” I tell him.

“And when that day comes, I will find a new hiding place,” Sam replies, flopping down onto my bed.  I try not to think about how much I wish I was lying next to him.  Don’t guys realize what they do to us?  I know they think that we’re the ones who are impossible to understand, but come on. How can a sexy guy stretch out on a bed like that an
d
no
t
expect his female companion to feel a little flustered?  

I guess it all goes back to the We’ve-Been-Friends-So-Long-He-Probably-Doesn’t-Even-Realize-I’m-A-Girl theory.  I’m sure most women are at least vaguely aware of this phenomenon.  A guy and a girl grow up together and for some reason, one becomes completely genderless to the other.  Like a giant colorless blob.  That is me.  I am the blob. 

“So, how was the photo shoot?”  I ask.

“There were lots of cameras,” he replies.  His eyes are closed and I’d almost think he was about to fall asleep except for the fact that he’s munching away on a bag of Cheetos.  Sam might be the most talented guy I know: he can sing, he can dance, and he can actually snack and nap at the same time.   

“Are you getting Cheeto crumbs on my pillow?”

“Probably.”  Completely unapologetic.  Seriously, why do I like him so much?  Am I just that superficial that I can be swayed by a pair of gorgeous blue eyes and a playful grin?

Probably. 

“I’m going to take a picture of you and put it on Twitter with the caption, ‘Hey ladies, this is what actually happens when you get Sam Morneau into bed.’”  

“They’ll still think I’m adorable,” he counters.  Unfortunately, that’s true.  

Have you ever noticed that cute guys have it so much easier than the rest of us do?  They can be gross, they can stink, they can do the stupidest, most embarrassing things and yet people still think they’re precious.  I’ve never met another person who could get away with half the things Sam does just because he’s cute and charismatic.  

Of course, they’ve also got the media trying to sabotage and vilify them at every twist and turn, so maybe charm does have its downsides.  

By now, I’m sick of pretending to study.  I’ve been sitting at this hotel desk all day, my back and neck are cramped up, my eyes are blurred from staring at a computer screen, and even though he’s leaving me with a blanket full of Cheeto crumbs, I just want to spend time with Sam.    I shut down my laptop and settle down on the bed next to him.  He opens one eye and glances over at me.

“I thought you were studying.”

“I need a break.  Want to watch a movie?”

“Mmm...” he considers it.  “Not really.” 

“Play ‘Would You Rather?’” 

“No.”  

“Okay.  What do you want to do?”

“We could just talk,” he says.

That’s actually the best answer he could have given me. 

“What do you want to talk about?”

“What are you most looking forward to about next year?” he asks.  When I don’t respond immediately, he explains, “That was one of our interview questions after the photo shoot.”

“What did you say?”

“I said the tour.  But I’m really looking forward to visiting places we haven’t been yet.” he says.

“Me too.  I want to go to Alaska.”  

“Why Alaska?” he asks.

“Well, it’s one of the few states we haven’t been.  It’s beautiful.  There’s a lot of history and different cultures.  It seems like the kind of place you’d go to have an adventure.  And I’d finally get to see the Aurora Borealis.”

“I remember you saying that when we were younger.  That the first item on your bucket list was seeing the Northern Lights,” he smiles.  “You know you inspired the lyrics in ‘Snowlight,’ right?”    

“What?”  And just like that, I’ve forgotten how to breathe.  I’ve never inspired anything before, let alone the lyrics to one of the most popular songs in the world.  “I did?”

“Yeah.  Your birthday is in the winter.  And you’ve got that thing with the Northern Lights.  I don’t know.  Snow has just always made me think of you.”  

“Really?”    

“Yeah.  I’ll never forget the first time you saw it.  Or at least, the first time I saw you see it.  It was like nothing else in the world existed to you.  You were just so enraptured with these little pieces of frozen water falling from the sky.  It was kind of like seeing something magical.”

“Sam...”  I could probably live another eighty years and never again hear anything to make my heart melt like the words he just said to me.  “Wow...”  

“Did I just embarrass you?” he asks with another sleepy grin.

“No.  I’m... I’m kind of speechless. ‘Snowlight
’
is one of my favorite songs.”

He shrugs.  “It’s for you.”  

And with that, I truly do not believe I will ever be happier than I am that this moment.  

Of course, Sam’s phone chimes about half a second later, snapping me out of my giddy stupor and back to a world in which other people, besides the two of us, exist.  

He reaches into his pocket and lifts his phone up so that he’s holding it directly above the bridge of his nose.  You’d think he’d have learned from the dozen and a half times he’s dropped it on his face while doing that, but apparently not.  

“Do the guys need you?” I ask him.

“No.  It’s from Chloe.”

“Conley?” I ask.  Suddenly all residual feelings of euphoria from Sam’s earlier revelation have vanished, leaving a cold sense of petty anger and a touch of jealousy in their place.  “What does she want?”

“She’s apologizing for all the reports and rumors.”

“Really?”  That’s a new twist.  As far as I know, she never texted Josh to apologize for all the trouble she caused him.  Of course, that raises a brand new question.  “How did she get your number?”

“Who knows,” Sam replies, typing out a response.  I’m dying to ask what he’s saying to her. Hopefully, it’s something along the lines o
f
You should be sorry, leave me alon
e,
but Sam is way too nice for that.  He’s probably just telling her it was no big deal and that he appreciates her apology.  

But you know, he could add in th
e
leave me alon
e
bit just to be safe.  

After he finishes typing, he tosses his phone aside and closes his eyes again.  I know I shouldn’t be worried about what just happened.  After all, it’s not like he really knows Chloe at all.  But she’s still beautiful.  And talented.  And famous.  And apparently, she’s not as terrible a person as we all thought she was.  I mean yeah, maybe she’s lying and she’s not really sorry.  But what if she is a genuinely nice person?  And what if she and Sam keep texting?  What if she turns out to be exactly his type and they fall in love and get married and have beautiful, talented, famous babies?  

My head hurts.

Sam, on the other hand, is totally oblivious to my inner turmoil because he asks, “Do you think people will like the new album?” 

“Yeah,” I tell him honestly.  “I think everyone is going to love it.”

“Do you like it?” 

“You know I do.  I think it’s your best so far.” 

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You’re not just saying that because you’re my best friend?” 

“Not just saying it,” I promise him.  “Why?  Are you worried?”

“No.  I just want the fans to like it.”  

“They will,” I assure him.    

I guess even though they receive words of affirmation and adoration from practically everyone they meet, it’s still nice to hear it from people you know care about you.  Strangers constantly profess their love for Sam, and he offers declarations of love in return, but I think every once in a while, all the guys need to be reminded that they have friends and family members who knew and loved them before all this, and who would still love and appreciate them even if they weren’t The Kind of September.     

Sure enough, he whispers, “Thank you, Mel,” before he drifts off to a well-deserved and much-needed sleep.  

⋯

It’s almost nine o’clock in the evening.  I didn’t realize how much time has passed until Joni texted me a few minutes ago asking if Sam and I were coming to the party.  

Okay, technically, this midnight release celebration isn’t a real party.  It’s just our usual group, hanging out, listening to the new album, drinking champagne, and live-tweeting.  There will also be a lot of food.  Good thing too, since my growling stomach just reminded me that I haven’t eaten dinner yet.  

The point is, even though the release shindig isn’t an actual party, it’s still going to be a lot of fun.  

Yeah, we’re comin
g
, I type back to her before glancing over at Sam, who is still passed out on my bed.  He did quite a bit of muttering after he first fell asleep, but after a while, he just started snoring.  Not obnoxiously, but just loud enough to distract me from my millionth attempt at studying.  Thankfully, I have a brand new pair of headphones that come in quite handy when I need to tune something, or someone, out.