For Love or Money (9 page)

Save
a horse, throw your undies

Lana

When
I get to the room, Mr. Sherman is there putting the drums together with
Brandon, the guy who plays them. Mr. Sherman sees me and stands, smiling. It’s
weird. My teachers rarely smile at me. “I’m excited to see what kind of sound
you’ll get.” His dark-brown eyes sparkle with glee and maybe Prozac. Please say
he’s on Prozac. God help someone this high on life. “This contest is a
brilliant idea.”

“My
dad seems to think so.”

“You
think he’s wrong to make you work hard for something?”

I
pause, giving it actual thought since the question didn't seem to be mocking
me. “I guess not. It makes sense to help me see if it’s actually something I
want.” I have a horrid feeling it’s not.

Brandon
shakes his head. “My parents are going to murder me when they find out about
this.”

My
insides tug. He had said he was a student-loan kid. Why would his parents have
expectations? “You’ll be out of school by the time the show starts, it’s the
summer. And as far as I understand it, we will all be staying at a hotel in LA.
All expenses paid—flights, meals, and hotel.” Even me. That hurts a
little. He won’t even let me come home.

Brandon’s
face strains as he reaches under the drums and screws something in. “They hate
my love of music. My dad wants me to go into sciences like him. He’s a
chemist.”

Mr.
Sherman chuckles. “It could be worse, Brandon. You could be making meth in a
lab to pay for school or prostituting yourself out.”

I
cough, clearing my throat.

Brandon
nods, ignoring my flushed face. “Yeah, playing in a band is pretty tame,
considering I know how to make drugs.”

It’s
Mr. Sherman’s turn to cough.

Simon,
the bass player, comes in with an expectant grin and a skip in his step. He’s a
math student so this is probably the most exciting moment in his life. He looks
too excited. Jesus, he’s a virgin.

“Hello
there, Simon. Welcome!”

Simon
gives Mr. Sherman a grin. “Thanks, sir.” Like Brandon, Simon has dark hair but
where Brandon is probably Jewish, Simon’s Indian. I assumed his parents would
never allow him to be in a band because most foreign parents have standards for
schooling that our American parents don't. But he said they’re cool with
artistry. He’s tall and slim and super dishy, but he totally doesn't know it.
He’s going to be a big hit with the screaming girls in the crowd when we get
him into a decent pair of jeans and a cute-boy-in-a-band tee shirt. To be
honest, all of them will make the girls squeal once we get them made over a
little, especially Nick. He’s got that perfect Hollister mannequin hotness to
him. He has a Cali surfer-boy look—but with money. Lots of money. His dad
is what we call diversified rich. He’s good at investing, obviously. He’s crazy
loaded.

Speak
of the devil.

Nick
comes strolling in with his keyboard. He gives me a sly grin and starts setting
up where the guys are getting their things ready. I can’t help but notice his
eyes constantly darting at me. Finally, he comes over to where I’m sitting. “I
was wondering if maybe you wanted to go out with me?”

Is
he fucking kidding?

My
lips spread into a truly evil grin as a thousand witty retorts fly through my
mind. Of course I can’t use a single one if I want him to perform. “I’m so
sorry, Nick. I can’t. I’m still recovering from everything that's been going
on. I need to focus on this. Maybe when the show’s over.” And hell freezes and
pigs fly and your mom admits she’s gay ‘cause everyone knows she is.

I
totally remember him and his family now. It took me a bit but I knw exactly who
they are now.

“One
date.”

I
part my lips but my answer comes from the person walking through the door late.
“She can’t. She’s going out with me later.” I turn and scowl at James. He’s
grinning like he just learned how to do it.

Nick
fires back with a super cheesy wink that's so bad I expect the finger guns are
going to follow it. “When you get tired of mopey and responsible, let me know.”
He tucks tail and walks back to the front of the room where they’re setting up.

I
give James a look. “What was that?”

“He’s
eighteen and you can’t exactly be breaking his heart without him quitting.
Seemed like the natural response.”

“Let’s
pretend you never said that.” I drum my fingernails along my cheek. “You know
he has a point though. Lochlan Barlow is the most successful front man since
Mick Jagger and The Stones. There’s something dark and seedy about Lochlan that
I don't think you have. You are responsible and sweet and funny. Before I met
you I had a certain notion about you. The whole raging soccer star with tats
and muscles is hot. But you don't actually act like that. From a distance, you
have this whole badass soccer-star thing, but up close it’s sort of
lacking . . . it’s not so great. You need more .
. . you know. Uhhhh.”

“You’re
sort of bad at trying to build me up. But I get it, so please stop before I end
up crying in my beer.”

I
don't know that he gets it. “I can explain what I want nicer if you want?”

He
shakes his head. “You want me to metaphorically steal the underwear of every
girl in the crowd?”

I
chuckle and shake my head. “Yes and no. I want them to throw them at you whilst
thinking some incredibly dirty thoughts. You need moves to be the front man.
Not soccer moves either, but like ‘I fuck like a beast’ moves.” It makes me
grin and blush just saying it. “Chicks dig that.”

He
winks. “Well, you just have a seat, little lady. You can take notes and give me
pointers for after. And stop saying fuck so much. Mr. Sherman still hides under
an illusion you’re a nice girl regardless of what the media says.”

I
roll my eyes and plop into a seat.

Mr.
Sherman comes to the back of the room and sits next to me. He is smiling like
he might actually be a teenage girl and Lochlan Barlow might actually be on the
stage. He grins at me. I almost scowl back but I have to remember he’s helping
for no reason at all and he likes me.

The
guys huddle, talking about all the things band people talk about. I don't know
what it is, but I’m sure I should know.

I
should know a lot of things but I only know music, that's it.

The
guys start to laugh and look back at me. I almost sneer, but somehow there is a
desperate hold on my hate of everything in my life. James doesn’t turn around
so I can only imagine what he’s said that was mean and spiteful to make them
laugh. At least he keeps it real. “Today ladies!” I clap my hands impatiently.

They
look at James and nod. Brandon climbs onto the seat at the drums while Nick
cracks his fingers a few times and nods his head from side to side. Simon
winces like he’s realized he has something very important to do or he’s
crapping his pants at that very moment.

Who
was I kidding? I’m screwed.

Who
forms a band out of a bunch of opposites at Harvard?

Please
don't let them suck! Please don't let them suck!

Mr.
Sherman jumps up and hits the lights so only the front of the class is lit up,
right over their heads. He hurries back to his seat before the magic starts. I
nearly yawn and pull my phone out, but this is my golden ticket.

A
nerdy kid from the mathletes.

A
pervy freshman who can’t hold his cocaine.

A
drummer who looks like he runs more dungeons than ladies’ phone numbers.

And
a front man who has an amazing voice, but is a little too preachy for the
stage, if you ask me. He’s a little too Kelly Clarkson and not enough Adam
Levine.

I
know he has tats. I’ve seen them on the soccer field when he tears his shirt
off and runs around screaming or gets into a fight. But beyond the field I have
yet to see him in action. He’s infamous for his soccer, but that's not going to
win the show for me. He needs to be badass off of the field too. I have a
feeling the rumors about him being a lady’s man are just that. His man-whore
vibe is weak and not at all the dirty sex I imagined, regardless of the noises
Andy’s mom was making.

Gross.

James
grips the small microphone from the stand and moves ahead of the other guys a
bit. He moves his guitar, plucking a tiny bit and then letting it
go—letting it sit on his waist. My eyes are drawn to him suddenly. It’s
like he’s a different person under those lights.

Nick
starts the song off with the keyboard. He’s actually pretty good. Color me
stunned.

James
leans into the microphone, singing with a voice so soft, and yet high pitched
that it should be being sung by a fourteen-year-old boy, not a man. His words
are slow at first. The delicate notes make me forget my doubts for the smallest
of seconds.

They’ve
chosen “Fix You” by Coldplay.

It’s
not just a brave song, it’s near impossible for someone who isn’t a damned
seasoned performer.

My
mind gets lost as he winks at me and then lowers his lips to the microphone and
closes his eyes. He’s singing like it’s just for me.

Brandon
drums lightly, rounding out the sound and Simon brings the depth with the bass.

I
start to see and hear the individual parts of the song. James is almost a
perfect match for Chris Martin, only his sexy factor is more intense. His
dark-blond hair and deep-green eyes are no longer just soccer-star hot, he has
all the right moves for frontman sex appeal.

Color
me fucking stunned.

I
not only believe the rumors about him, I want to be next in line. He moves his
hips in a way that draws my eyes and when he lands on the last words, he stares
at me like he’s bared his tormented soul to me.

They
finish the song and I honestly don't know what to say. Mr. Sherman is clapping.
“Wonderful job, guys.”

James
cocks an eyebrow at me. “What do we think, miss diva?”

I
shrug, pretending I’m not swallowing hard and fighting the urge to lick my
lips. I want his hands on me, stroking me the way he did the guitar.

He
smiles wider and turns around. “You ready?”

They
start to laugh, even Simon.

I
don't know what to expect, but “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)” by Big & Rich
is not it. Not after Coldplay.

Brandon
hits the drums and they start off with the dum da dum part at the beginning,
and then like it’s a real show—they all explode into action. I feel like
I’m watching Mumford and Sons, before they broke up.

James’
voice is completely different. Diverse is the word I would use for them all.

Holy
shit.

James
sings into the mike with Nick, each gyrating and playing their hearts out. It’s
not in perfect sync and the bass sounds a bit off, but for four guys who have
never played together, it is holy-shit good.

When
they get to the middle of the song, James leans right into the mike, speaking
with a deep country voice and his eyes search out mine. His stare never leaves
mine and I can’t tear my gaze from his face as he sings.

Goddamn.
He’s eye fucking me.

I’m
sweating and I want to take my undies off and throw them on the stage. I almost
have to check to make sure I’m wearing underwear.

So
does Mr. Sherman, regardless of being hetero, painfully so.

The
song ends and the guys cheer themselves on. The smile on my face is
unavoidable.

James
cocks his head to the right. “You wanna toss them undergarments on up here or
what?”

I
laugh and it’s genuine bliss. “You guys fucking rock! I am so winning this
shit.”

James
sighs. “You mean we? We are winning this shit?”

“Yes.
Now let’s see about finding a fifth member.”

James
nods at me. “I got that one.”

I
don't even care if brings his overweight grandma to be the fifth
member—we are made and my ass is saved. Not to mention, tingling for a
good ass spanking from Mr. Not-So-Nice rocker up there. If he doesn't have the
sexist hands I’ve ever seen.

Damn!

I
don’t know where it came from, but the sound and moves are epic. Nick gives me
a cheerful look. “With practice we’re going to be kicking some ass at that
competition.”

Simon
and Brandon nod along, excited to be with Nick and James no doubt. I give Mr.
Sherman a sincere smile. “Thank you for finding Simon and Brandon.”

He
shakes his head. “My pleasure. I can’t believe how well they all click.”

“Young,
attractive, talented, and diverse. It’s a win on all levels.”

He
agrees. “What will you get them to play at the show?”

His
words bring back something I hadn’t thought of ever. “My father made a band up
one summer. He had an open agency call for talent in Detroit. He was looking
for something very specific. The first guy that caught Dad’s ear was named
Jimmy. He was like Elvis. I was twelve and I still remember the first time I
ever watched him perform. It was amazing. He had it all. But male performers
typically do better with a group so Dad formed a group around Jimmy from the
applicants who tried out.”