The Now or Never Kind

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be beginning our descent into New York City presently. The local time is 10:21, and it is a brisk 5.5 degrees Celsius. If you’ll kindly return your seat-backs and trays to their full upright position…”

I put my headphones back on; I’d heard this whole shpeal before, already once that day. Beside me, Beth was sleeping soundly, or at least she wasn’t moving and her eyes were closed. We hadn’t spoken much on the flight to Chicago, and had scarcely said three words between us on the ensuing flight. Beth’s father hadn’t seem pleased that the two of us showed up asking for veiled passage to the east coast, but he obliged. He never really liked Jesse or Ryan anyway, so getting us away from them put his mind at ease. Or at least eased a tiny bit of stress.

“Did you call them?” the blanket-covered lump in the next seat asked.

I tugged an ear-bud out. “Yes,” I replied quietly. “They’re meeting us at baggage.” She turned over to face me, eyes glassy; her hand snaked out of the cocoon to take mine. I smiled in what I hoped was a comforting manner. “I requested to keep the company at a minimum.”

“So only about eight of them.” I squeezed her hand. Gods, I hope not, I thought desperately.

It was nice not having to lug around masses of belongings or tons of equipment for once. True, it pained me that I didn’t even have a harmonica with me, since I knew I’d find inspiration somewhere in New York City, but full guitar cases and amps are heavy. No, Beth and I had one carry-on and one duffel bag hastily stuffed with clothes each.

Our phones were off. We hadn’t used our credit cards. Our trail was being completely covered. The only people who knew where we’d gone were my mother Patricia, Beth’s father Paul (neither of whom were going to tell anyone), and—

“Kind of late for a surprise visit, isn’t it?” the tall man in tight jeans, hoodie, and baseball cap asked, a grin playing at his expression.

“Ciao, Gabriel,” I greeted, smiling weakly as Beth swung her bag off the conveyer belt. “All’albergo?”

“No, señorita,” Gabe replied, taking our bags from us. “Tengo un dormitorio de invitados.”

Beth frowned at him for a long moment before I looped my arm through hers. “As much as we appreciate the offer,” I said, not bothering to translate since she probably didn’t care, “Her father’s paying for a hotel. Best not waste Daddy’s money, eh?”

Gabe shook his head, walking protectively close to us as we made our way out of the terminal. “Ange, you know how gross hotels are. Think of all the people who’ve—” I coughed loudly, shooting him a steely look. He merely smiled. “Well, it’s true.”

I turned to Beth as Gabe hailed up a cab and had to watch very carefully for the resigned shrug she gave as the bright yellow car stopped by the curb. I helped Gabe with our bags and then offered Beth a hand into the back seat. “One night,” I stipulated, holding up a finger.

He kissed the end of my finger. “We’ll see, Pen,” he said before climbing into the cab. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath. Sleep would be nice.

Unfortunately between me and sleep lay a twenty-minute cab ride with one Gabe Saporta, who was trying his best to entertain “his favourite blonde-redhead duo”, despite the fact that neither of them was in much of a social mood (I was doing my best to make up for Beth)—not to mention the people we found sitting in his living room. They were all people I loved, but after about the eighth hug, I was urgently trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

Luckily Beth didn’t mince words or beat around the bush, and she didn’t feel the need to appease anyone. “Sleep,” she said, tugging me away from Ryland. “Jet lag.”

Directions to the spare room got called after us as Beth dragged me, half-running, up the hall. We dumped our bags on the floor and as I wandered the room, studying everything, she flopped onto the bed. I could tell no one had ever stayed in this room; everything was too pristine. I might as well have been standing in a hotel room.

The bed was more comfortable, I discovered, stretching out next to Beth. I tucked an arm under my head and stared at the ceiling, listening to the muffled hum of the people downstairs. You’re unattached for the first time since the band hit it big, a little voice in my head said, And you made something happen for yourself.

The ceiling suddenly wobbled behind a layer of ocean, and I shut my eyes. Why are you crying? I asked myself. You walked out on him. It’s not like he broke your heart or anything.

“Why so serious?”

I lifted my head slowly, rubbing my eyes like I’d been sleeping. Two men were in the doorway, one tall and thin with wild dark hair and the other a little shorter, well-muscled with a shaved head. The former had half a smirk on his lips, that mischievous look impossible to get rid of. I raised myself to my elbows. “What are you doing here?”

“Shooting a video,” Jon explained with a smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Sleeping,” Beth grumbled, shifting. “So I’d appreciate it if we save the hellos and how’ve-you-beens for tomorrow.”

Shawn had been studying me since I noticed them after his question. It made my stomach squirm; I always had a thing for Shawn, though he’d become more my mentor than anything else. He muttered something to Jon, and then they both moved towards the bed. Jon hauled Beth up into his arms, and she shivered, curling into his chest, as he walked out, mentioning that he’d spotted a couch on the way up.

I wilted backwards as Shawn took Beth’s place on the bed, on his side with his head propped up to look at me. “Why so serious?” he repeated, drawing out the esses.

I snorted, shutting my eyes. “I tend to get serious after I pretend to be fine and dandy for everyone to make up for Beth not talking,” I said wryly, “As it tends to unnerve people.”

“What’s so important that Beckett calls me with directions to some house to take care of everyone’s favourite redheaded bass player and her equally popular blonde counterpart?”

“I think Beth would laugh in your face if you said that people loved her as much as me.”

“I think you’re avoiding the question.” I turned my head to look at him silently. Those brown eyes I’d fallen head over heels for at sixteen were inquisitive, yet understanding, like he knew exactly how tightly I’d tied my mind. “Running away?”

I looked away, turning back to the ceiling. I didn’t want to burden Shawn with tears; I respected him too much. “Legally, no,” I corrected slowly, “Since we’re both eighteen and adults.” Shawn raised a sceptical eyebrow at me, and I sighed after a moment. “Jesse got scared because Matt found a pregnancy test and thought it was Beth’s, and that scared Beth because Jesse talks like an idiot when he’s scared.”

“Okay,” he said, chuckling slightly. “Did he forget who he was talking about?” I shrugged, mildly amused. Shawn had that way about him, knowing exactly how to charm people. “What about you?”

Biting the inside of my lip, I said nothing for a long time. He was only trying to help, but the path to Hell, as they say, is paved with good intentions. I didn’t want to be helped or made feel better; I wanted to be angry and miserable and do stupid things to get back at Ryan. Eventually I shifted onto my side and stared up at Shawn. It was his ever-so-slight smile that broke me. “I suck at relationships,” I said, giving a watery laugh.

Shawn smiled. “Our kind tend to,” he reminded, brushing my hair away from my face.

I sniffled. “Musicians?”

“Romantics.” I scooted closer, laying my head against his chest as he wrapped a long arm around me. I shut my eyes tightly, determined to let nothing escape. “You’ll be okay,” Shawn said softly. My hand tightened around a fistful of his shirt, minute whine escaping my throat. His hand moved up to stroke my hair. “Shh, shh…”

I remember feeling slightly better after a while, only almost safe since I’d run away from my whole life up until that point, and then waking up the next morning. The covers were pulled up around me and, curling my toes as I stretched, my shoes and socks had been removed. Brave man, that Harris.

I was sitting up cross-legged and feeling kind of small alone in the huge bed when the door slowly opened; a skinny figure—shockingly missing his usual baseball cap, though I guess it was a bit early in the morning—carrying a tray of food backed into the room and nearly dropped said tray when he saw I was awake. “Hi, Jack,” I greeted with an amused smile.

Barakat beamed. “I made you breakfast!” he announced, walking over and setting the tray down in front of me. I blinked at the enormous amounts of eggs, waffles, bacon, fruit, and coffee and raised an eyebrow sceptically. “What, just because I’m a guy I can’t cook? Gotta eat on tour somehow.”

“I’m not going to be able to eat all this myself,” I said, munching on a strip of bacon; it tasted kind of funny, and it took a minute for me to realise it was soy. Damn vegan lifestyle. I picked up the cup of coffee, added milk and sugar, and leaned back against the headboard. “Wanna help?”

“Depends. What are you wearing under there?”

“Jeans.” Jack pouted, and I laughed. “Come on.” He sat on the bed and sprawled his legs out in front of him, grabbing a waffle and dipping it in the container of syrup. “You did all this yourself?”

Jack looked sheepish. “Well, Gabe had already made coffee,” he explained, “…And Zack helped with the waffles. But it was my idea!”

I chuckled and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, Jack.” He blinked at me, wide-eyed, as I stabbed a forkful of egg and popped it into my mouth. I raised an eyebrow at him as I chewed. “What?”

“In bed with the enemy?” We both looked up at Beth, leaning in the doorway. “Shame, Rhiannon.”

“The enemy?” Jack repeated. “Why am I…” He looked at me. “What’d she call you?”

I rolled my eyes and recommenced eating. “Males in general,” Beth clarified, coming to sit on the opposite side of the tray. “Though why we hopped to a place highly concentrated with them, I don’t know.” She peered into my coffee. “Blech.”

“Not all of us had riding at five-thirty in the morning,” I reminded airily.

“Oh!” Jack dug through his pockets, chewing his lip in thought. After a moment his expression brightened and he pulled out a cell phone. My cell phone. “Shawn left this last night.”

I grabbed it from him and shoved another waffle into his mouth. “I should be happier with the idea of Shawn in my pants,” I muttered to Beth, who rolled her eyes and grabbed the cup of fruit off the tray. I pushed the power button and sipped my coffee, watching the start-up program. I blinked, mouth falling open. “You have 22 new texts and 14 missed calls.”

Beth smiled wryly. “Lucky you, miss popular,” she said. “I’m not going near my phone. Shit, we haven’t even been gone a day.”

“Where is the bathroom?” I asked, scanning the messages. Mostly the same thing: Where are you? This isn’t funny. Is Beth with you? What did I do? That last one killed me, though whether it was of laughter or misery I didn’t know.

I got directions—down the hall to the left—and padded down the dark wooden floorboards, scrolling through my phone. Normally I’d be memorising the details of my surroundings, noticing tiny things that made the place scream, Gabe Saporta lives here. Instead I locked myself in the bathroom and slumped against the door.

For a few minutes I just sat thinking. I didn’t want to dig myself in deeper than I already was. Of course, I’d also never broken up with someone before. I didn’t there was a way to let Ryan down easy after I’d already fled across the country to get away from him.

Holding the phone up to my ear, I ran a hand through my hair and propped up my head as the line rang. It occurred to me that since it was only eleven, it’d be 8 on the west coast, but he put me through this, so he could lose some sleep.

The line clicked open, but no sound came through. I frowned after a second. “Ryan, I can hear you breathing.”

“I’ve called you eight times,” he said, trying to sound less worried than he was; he failed pretty hard. “Where are you?”

“…I can’t tell you,” I sighed, tugging my hair. “Ryan, I called because—”

“Why can’t you tell me?” Ryan cut it. “The guys don’t even know where you are. Aromi doesn’t know where you are. Rhi, you’re scaring the hell out of us.”

I shut my eyes, holding my forehead. “Us.” I shook my head. “I’m not telling you where I am. We’re both adults and you have to deal with that. But this is more imp—”

Again Ryan interrupted. “Rhi, being an adult means trusting the people you love.”

“Ryan, I’m breaking up with you.” Stunned silence met my quiet outburst. I realised I was rocking back and forth slightly, though I couldn’t tell if that was making me nauseous or if I was nauseous anyway. Guess I chose right with the bathroom then. “We both know that we don’t trust each other, not since last summer. It’s just been convenient because I’m at school and you’re out on tour, so we rarely ever see each other.”

I paused again, waiting for a reaction. I couldn’t think that he somehow saw this coming. Leaning back against the door, I murmured up at the ceiling, “I just can’t put faith in someone who has misgivings about everything I do.” There was still silence pouring in through the phone. I swallowed hard, tears springing into my eyes. “Ryan, say something.”

“…What do you want me to say?” Ryan asked in a cold voice. “You want me to beg you to stay? Promise that I can change and everything will be okay?” He let out a short humourless laugh. “I know you, Angie. You don’t change your mind about things like this. Even if you have second thoughts, you don’t turn back. But more than that, you don’t have regrets.”

I fiercely rubbed my cheek, obliterating the tear that streamed down. “But you’re right. I don’t trust you. I can’t. How could I when you’re constantly surrounded by guys who fucking worship you?”

I licked my lips, more than a little incredulous. “Me?” I said, voice shaking. “You’ve got more girls lusting after you than pregnant women after ice cream.”

“That’s different—”

“How?”

Ryan sighed in aggravation. “Because all those guys know you,” he snapped. “They have your number in your phones. They’re friends with you.” He paused, and staring glassy-eyed at the wallpaper I could imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know what, this is good for both of us. You go have fun wherever the hell you are; I’m sure your harem will find you sooner than I ever could.”

But he still stayed on the line. He wanted something more from me, or else he was giving me the last word. I swallowed, evening out my breathing as I thought. Soon I came up with something, because I sure as hell wasn’t going to let that slide. “You do a great job at wasting my life,” I said flintily, “But there’s got to be a better way of wasting my time.”

And then I hung up. And that was the end of Angie Callaghan and Ryan Ross.

Twenty minutes later I opened the bathroom door and stopped short; four people stood in front of me, only one of them not several inches taller than I: the man of the house, two Chicagoans, and a Marylander. My eyes swept around to all of them before settling on my blonde counterpart. “We’re going out,” I announced, brushing wet hair out of my face.

The guys looked between themselves as we passed. “Do I want to know why she’s soaking wet?” William asked.

"And how she did it without us hearing the shower?" Gabe added.

“I think it’s best not to ask,” Zack decided.

I strolled out of Gabe’s guest bedroom, recently redressed and cool as a cucumber. Beth looped her arm through mine; she’d asked how I was, and I told her I needed to do something drastic. It was probably a bad idea, but hey, being young is full of bad ideas.

“Oh, hey, Angie,” Alex exclaimed, jumping up from the couch. “I got something for you.”

I stepped away from the door and crossed my arms as he pulled out his wallet. “What, did you buy her condoms?” Beth scoffed, leaning on me. “It’s a little late for that.” I shot her a level glare, asking her silently not to mention it.

Alex rolled his eyes. “No.” With a flourish he pulled a card from a slot and handed it to me. I raised a suspicious eyebrow at him as I took it. “I know it’s late, but we couldn’t think of anything until your actual birthday and then it took a while to get one.”

I stared blankly down at the identification card, glancing up at Alex’s smiling face. I wasn’t sure where any of them had gotten a picture of me suitable for a fake ID, but I liked that the name read Penelope D Moriarty. Plus according to this I had just turned twenty-one. “Alex, I could kiss you.”

His grin widened. “Go for it!”

“Unfortunately for you, I hate everything male today, so I won’t be doing that.” I smiled and returned to my task of leaving the apartment. I held the door for Beth and looked back at Alex, now joined by his two band mates. “Don’t look so glum,” I said. “I’ll probably want to get completely hammered after we come back.”

With the help of Beth’s magical fancy phone, we found a hair salon nearby that did walk-ins. I was better at being a catalyst for other people, so we—we being me and the voices in my head—decided that Beth was getting Change first. Not that I had to force her into anything. It was her idea to dye her hair in the first place; she didn’t want anyone her father sent to spy on us to recognise her.

Beth pointed at me when the woman asked her what she wanted. “Darker than that,” she said. “Less orange, more red.”

“Glad I could help?” I laughed, confused, as the stylist led Beth to a chair.

For the next three-quarters of an hour I sat in the waiting area, separated from the rest of the salon, reading through each text message I’d gotten and systematically deleting each one. I did write down some lyrics that crawled into my head, but since I didn’t have any paper and I was too shy to ask for some, I ended up writing all over my arm.

It occurred to me too late, having finished with my phone and continuing a flow, that I could have just texted the lyrics to myself. I smacked myself on the forehead, muttering about what a fucking genius I was. “I kind of doubt killing brain cells is going to make you any smarter,” Beth’s voice said.

I looked up and blinked widely. She was standing in front of the window, sunlight streaming in behind her, and I swear it was like a movie. This must be how Jesse sees her all the time, I thought, head tilting to the side. Beth frowned slightly and then rolled her eyes, moving her gaze off me. “Have I mentioned today that you’re absolutely stunningly gorgeous and I hate you for it?” I asked, standing.

She patted my shoulder. “Don’t start waxing poetic on me,” she advised as we walked out, “You’ll give the boys ideas about bisexual threesomes.”

“Like they need any more of those ideas.” My eye caught the glow of a neon sign, and just past that was a tattoo shop. “I told you that I’m afraid of needles, right?”

“At length.” I stuck my tongue out at her. “But that’s why I’m here, because you wanted change and Aero told me about the time you almost broke his hand.”

“You know what bikini waxes are like,” I argued, opening the door for her. I walked up to the counter, behind which a very tattooed, very pierced man with a buzzcut was sitting and doodling. I smiled when he looked up. “Hello. I’m here to have someone shove a sterilised needle through my left nostril and fill the resulting hole with a piece of decorative metal.”

He blinked a few times, while the artist at the closest station chuckled as she worked on a man’s newest instalment of a large back tattoo. Then he grinned. “Sure thing, sweetheart,” the man said, grabbing a clipboard. “Just fill this out and then I’ll do you myself.”