Night Shifts Black (15 page)

My eyes widen. “Oh…”

“Yeah.”

He glances toward the
hall as if expecting Luke to come marching down in a fury. He sighs.

“We have four months
before our next tour and they want at least three new tracks. We should be
releasing an entire album and building the tour around that, but they know
that’s not going to happen. They’re ok releasing the album next year if we can
have some new material now.”

“But without Luke…”

Casey shakes his head.
“I don’t know, Callie. I honestly don’t. I mean, I’ve got some ideas, but…”

“Maybe I can help.”

“What?”

I cringe. I don’t even
know what I’m saying. It’s that darn instinct again. “I mean, I’ve never
written a song before, but I write a ton of poetry. Is it a lot different?”

I can tell he’s trying
not to laugh. Especially, after our blow up earlier over their teasing, but his
skepticism is all over his face. It hurts, but I can’t really blame him. It
would be like a med student offering to do open-heart surgery on the President.

“Well, it’s not that I
don’t appreciate the offer, it’s just, I mean, it’s not that easy. There’s a
lot of politics to songwriting. The band, the Label, legal stuff…”

“Ok, so we don’t write
for Night Shifts Black. We just write to have something to do while we hang out
and try to find you some inspiration.”

His face changes.
“Really? You’d do that?”

I shrug. “Of course. I
mean, it’s not like I do anything else with my writing. No one’s ever even read
it.”

He seems shocked by
that. “Wait, what? You’ve never shared your stuff?”

I shrug again. “I
never really thought about it. I write because it’s part of me, but I could never
actually be a real writer.”

“Why?”

His question is almost
funny to me.

“Why? I don’t know,
because that’s not realistic. You don’t just get to ‘be a writer’ because you
like to write.”

I can tell he’s confused,
and I’m starting to get irritated. Of course he doesn’t understand. He’s a superstar.
He got his dream and lives in a world where he can do whatever he wants because
of who he is. That’s not reality for the rest of us.

“Don’t get mad, I’m
just not understanding what you’re saying,” he defends, and I hadn’t realized
my thoughts were so transparent. “You like to write, so write. Why do you have
to put labels and expectations on it?”

I swallow. It’s an
excellent point. I’m not sure how to counter it.

“Show me something,”
he says, not giving me the chance to continue the debate.

“What?”

“I want to see
something you’ve written. I saw you come with a bag yesterday. You have to have
something in there.”

“Oh, you know writers
so well?”

He laughs. “I
am
a writer.”

He jumps up and
disappears down the hall, returning a few seconds later with his own bag. “I
kept my stuff in the office,” he explains. He fishes through the main section
and pulls out a notebook. “I do all my serious stuff on the computer, but carry
this for any spurts of unexpected inspiration.”

I swallow. I do the
same thing.

He hands the book to
me, and I accept it with a shocked sense of reverence. Am I really holding a
portal into the mind of a world-class musician and celebrity? I can’t believe
he’s willing to show me this, and I realize how much he must trust me. I doubt
this happens often.

I start paging through
the priceless notes, gazing at line after line of words and scribbles. I don’t
recognize a lot of them and assume it’s some kind of musical shorthand.

“I know. It’s kind of
a mess. I hear the music in my head but it’s hard to get it down exactly right
without my guitar or piano, so I just make notes to myself for later.”

“I thought you played
drums.”

He laughs. “I do. I
also play guitar, keyboard, and violin. Well, with any skill, anyway. I dabble
in a bunch of others, but those are my main ones.”

“Then you probably
sing, too,” I muse. Actually, he probably rescues puppies and climbs mountains
and discovers new atomic elements also, but we can save that for another
conversation.

He shrugs. “Yeah, a
little. We back Luke up at the live shows.”

“What’s this one?” I
ask, turning the page so he can see.

“Oh, that’s actually
the rough outline for ‘Fourth Chair.’”

“Wait, I think I know
that one! It’s about an orchestra or something.”

He snickers. “It’s
about realizing your dreams don’t always match reality and accepting what is.
That the world owes you nothing and will kick you in the face if you live like
you think it does.”

I nod, impressed, and
trace over the sloppy letters, numbers, and drawings on the page.

“
You’re nothing but a fourth chair, baby. Forget the lights, your day
ain’t coming. Roses are red but they’re not for you, just remember they die for
the first chair too.”

I grin, and glance up
at him with a new admiration. “I thought Luke was the lyric king.”

He returns it and
seems almost shy. “He is. I just happen to have the orchestra background,” he
jokes.

“I guess. But
apparently, you weren’t very good,” I tease, and he grins.

“At organized
accompaniment? No. Not at all. My parents withdrew me from orchestra after a
couple years, but I’m pretty sure the conductor didn’t give them a choice. No
matter how good you are, you eventually have to fall in line. I guess I just
didn’t always agree with the musical decisions of Strauss and Mozart.”

I laugh, totally
believing that. “So you switched to drums and became a rocker.”

“Well, it wasn’t that
easy of a transition, believe me, but ultimately, yes. My parents were not on
board. I can assure you of that. I was kid number seven, so according to the
plan I was supposed to be a concert violinist.”

I raise my eyebrows.
“Really? Then who was supposed to be the drummer in a disgustingly successful
rock band?”

He grins and shrugs.

“Ok, your turn,” he
commands, taking his book back.

I suck in my breath.
I’d expected the request, just not so soon.

“What? I showed you
mine.”

“I know but…”

“Callie.”

I grunt in
exasperation. “Fine. Give me a minute.”

I get up from the
couch and move to the guest room. Casey’s right. I do carry a notebook with me.
Just like he does. Just like him, the complete works are on my computer, but I
feel naked without my little notepad to capture my thoughts whenever, wherever,
whatever they are.

I grab the worn book
from my bag and stare at the cover, suddenly paralyzed. Am I really going to do
this? Expose myself so openly to a relative stranger? Can I even choose not to
at this point? He just risked a lot more than I am by showing me his own music
diary.

And if I’m truly
honest with myself, I opened myself up to Casey Barrett long before this moment.
If I don’t dive in and take a risk at this point, then there is no point. Maybe
I’m just a fourth chair, but I’m nothing if I don’t accept that. Casey’s song
hits home a lot harder than it ever had when I’d heard it on the radio. I
finally get it.

I steel myself and
clasp the notebook tightly to my chest. I’m going to do this. I have to do
this. I move from the room with a resolved look on my face.

“Ok, but you have to
promise not to laugh…” I call as I move down the hall.

I stop abruptly when I
see Luke seated next to Casey.

“Promise not to laugh
at what?”

I swallow, completely
frozen.

“Um, nothing…” I
mutter, spinning back around.

“Callie!” Casey calls.
“Where are you going? It’s fine! Come back!”

I freeze again, having
no idea what to do. I’m shocked that I was prepared to open my soul to Casey
whom I’ve known for a day, and yet, stalled by Luke who’s been the center of my
life for weeks. I can’t possibly open up to both of them together, can I? No,
absolutely not. Being ridiculed by one is bad enough. Maybe that’s it. I can
take Casey’s rejection, but not Luke’s. No, that’s not it either. I care a lot about
what Casey thinks. Too much.

I lean against the
wall out of sight and can hear them speaking in low voices.

“She was going to show
me some of her stuff.”

“Yeah, she writes
poetry. I see you got the bible out. You let her see it?”

“I was hoping if I
showed her, she’d open up.”

“I bet it’s good.”

“I bet it is, too.”

“Guess I’m not her
favorite anymore. She never wanted to show me anything.”

I draw in a deep
breath and push away from the wall.

“Sorry, guys! Just
realized I had grabbed the wrong book. Got it now,” I lie, and cover the distance
to the couch. “You’re back,” I add to Luke.

He gives me one of his
real smiles, and I relax a bit. “You know me. Just have to pout for a while,
then I’m good. So Casey says you’re finally going to let us see some of this
mysterious poetry. Gotta say I’m jealous that I couldn’t get a look after a
month, and this loser got in after a day, but whatever. Let’s see it.”

I swallow and open the
book, suddenly regretting everything about this moment. I should have at least told
them I’d show them some of the finished versions later. The polished and pretty
ones on my computer. These sketches are mainly nothing but stream of
consciousness thoughts. Word vomit on the days I was feeling particularly
depressed or inspired.

“I told Casey this is
my private book. Ideas mainly. I clean them up and do the actual writing on my
computer.”

Neither of them seems
fazed by that, and I realize I’m starting to sound like a diva with all my
hesitating. I’m not showing them the next classic novel here, just some rough
musings of an introspective drifter.

Then, I remember I
actually did complete one of the verses in here. Well, kind of. It was on the
bus ride from Shelteron that first time I made my way to the city. My battery
had died on my laptop so I worked on it the old-fashioned way. Pen to paper. I
never truly finished it, but it was the most complete of anything I had with
me.

They’re too far apart
to read it together, so I hand the book to Casey first since he’s the reason
I’m in this mess in the first place. I’m still not entirely convinced Luke even
cares.

I watch Casey’s face
as he reads, suddenly horribly embarrassed by it all and re-regretting every
second of this encounter. I never should have done this. I never should have
let them in. They…

“Holy shit,” he
mutters, and my heart drops. He shakes his head and glances up at me briefly,
then over at Luke. “Listen to this:

“
Mirror mirror, what do you see, when you
look at me

Mirror mirror, what
are you thinking, I see those eyes staring

Mirror mirror, what
are you saying, it’s always something I believe

Mirror mirror, you’re
a liar, so why do you own me

Hello hello greetings
from the inside

Hello hello framed in
all your lies

Hello hello how you
love to see me cry

Hello hello always so
unkind

Mirror mirror, why the
tears, you made me

Mirror mirror, who do
you think you are

I made you!

Hello hello greetings
from the inside

Hello hello framed in
all your lies

Hello hello how you
love to see me cry

Hello hello it’s time
to say goodbye”

“What else
do you have?” Casey asks, paging through the notebook with interest.

“What?
Nothing…”

“What else?
I want to see the rest.”

I grab the
book from him and shake my head. “There is no more. I mean, not here, not
finished.”

“It doesn’t
have to be finished. Please, Callie?” he asks, and I sigh. “What’s the last
thing you wrote?”

I look
away. “I don’t really write much anymore.”

“Why not?”

I shrug. “I
don’t know. I guess… Maybe there’s no point? Like I said, I’m not really a
writer. Well, not a real one.”

Casey
almost seems annoyed. “Will you stop with that? That’s bull.”

“It’s not!
I just…I don’t know.”

He softens.
“Look, I don’t want to pressure you, I just really want to see it.”

“But it’s
not even finished!”

“So what? I
know how the process works.”