My heart begins to pound at the memory, and not in a good way. “Only do it if you want to, Dave.”
My friend reaches into the cracker box and pulls out a handful. “Would you do it with Jesse?”
Considering we didn’t even kiss after the movie, I don’t know if sex will ever be on the table. “If we were in a relationship and I was certain we were solid, then yeah, I’d do it with Jesse. But…”
Dave pops a cracker in his mouth. “Hmm?”
“We’ve only texted a couple of times this week. I guess he’s been busy on his trip.”
“My, he’s always going to be busy. Until he retires, anyway.”
“I’m afraid…it’s not that I think he’ll forget about me…” Reporters have been speculating as to what’s going on with us. Some magazines say we’re dating; others say that I’m not Jesse’s type and I’m just a flavor of the month. Us Weekly wrote that a source very close to Jesse Scott said I’m his good friend. Who is this source? Could it be true that he only considers me a friend?
“I worry he’ll find somebody better,” I say softly. “Like Nate did with Hannah.”
“Everybody worries about being let down. Even famous people.”
Dave and I smile at each other and dig into the crackers until Mom comes home and drops a stack of mail on the table. I sort through it, tossing coupons and credit card offers to the side, and come across a crisp, white envelope with my name on it. I check the return address and my heart stops. So You Wanna Be a Rocker?
My pulse thumps wildly. I rip open the envelope and scan the letter.
Rêve Records and NBC studios are pleased to invite you to the semifinal auditions of Wannabe Rocker! You are one of a select group of five hundred contestants who have been chosen…New York City…December 1–4… Our producers love your country accent and eighties vibe…
I scream and dance around the kitchen. I made it to the top five hundred on the show!
Dave rips the letter out of my hand and reads it, then starts to dance and scream with me. “Holy shit! Holy shit!”
“Holy shit! Holy shit!” I yell back.
“What’s going on?” Mom asks when she comes back in the kitchen, folding her Cedar Hill cleaning uniform. “I heard all that foul language and figured Sam and Jordan were here.”
“Look at this, Mrs. Henry!” Dave shows her the paper, and Mom freaks out. She hugs me and says she’s so proud.
I collapse to the floor with a thud to go over the letter in more detail. That’s when I read the fine print: the top five hundred singers are invited to New York City in December to perform in person. From there, the show will whittle the number of contestants down to thirty. But the show won’t pay for the top five hundred to come to New York for the weeklong auditions, and since I’m not eighteen yet, I have to bring a parent or guardian.
“What a cheap show!” I complain. A cheap show I desperately want to be on. Several of the artists who’ve won and even those who only made it to the top ten have gone on to get huge record deals. Jesse has his three Grammys, Tammy Goldstein is on Broadway, and Minka Carlton even won an Oscar!
Dave pulls out his phone and swipes it on. “Let’s see how much flights and a hotel would cost.” A minute later, a shadow crosses his face. “Flights are pretty expensive…probably because it’s between Thanksgiving and Christmas…hotels are steep too. Looks like it’ll cost you between $1,500 and $2,000.”
“I have about $150 in my bank account,” I murmur.
“What about driving?” Dave asks.
“I don’t think my car will make it,” Mom says. “It needs a new carburetor.” She looks at me. “And don’t even think about it. We’re not riding your motorcycle to New York.”
“Damn.”
At the beginning of each season of Wannabe Rocker, they show snippets of audition week in New York. Normally they only show the horrible people and the best people—the contestants they want to win. There’s a chance I may not even be featured. Unless I’m one of the horrible people…
“We’ll figure it out,” Mom says and hugs me again.
After Dave leaves to put on his costume for tonight’s Halloween field party at Morton’s (he and Xander are going as Mario and Luigi, and I’m going as Princess Peach), I wait anxiously for Dad to get home from the shop. When he pushes open the screen door, wearing coveralls covered in black grease, I pounce on him with the news.