Dear Rockstar Apple Page 5

  I knew all of my little scenarios were unlikely, but they were absolutely impossible if I stayed in New Jersey and never set foot in Maine. So I was going. I would win the contest and go to Maine. I had to. If nothing else, it would get me out of here.

  I looked at my painting and then at the original photograph I had tacked to the wall. Chloe Vincent. I was so incredibly jealous of her. Why should she have such a wonderful father, when I was stuck with the stepbeast? There was never a day that passed when I didn’t wish it was me, in his arms with all of that love, for real, and not just in my painting.

  I sighed, shaking my head to clear the reverie. Forget it, I thought. Just get to work. I put on my painting smock and grabbed my palette and a clean brush. If I finished it tonight and let it dry, I could send it out tomorrow. The thought spurred me on, and I opened my paints, beginning to mix a skin tone. I had just gotten the right color when the phone rang.

  My first thought was of Dale Diamond and the little heart I’d drawn around my phone number on the back of his hand. I’d been trying hard not to think about him at all, not even realizing how tense and expectant my body had been, waiting for him to call.

  I grabbed the phone on the first ring, hoping my stepfather wouldn’t pick it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Sara! Where in the hell were you? I had to go home with Carrie and Wendy!”

  Aimee. I’d forgotten all about her. I put down my brush and palette and sat on the bed.

  “I had to stay after chem.”

  “What for?” She crunched something in my ear.

  “It’s a long story.” I looked longingly at the paint drying on the palette.

  “So?”

  I gave up, stretching out on my bed, and told her what had happened, from the moment Dale Diamond walked into my chemistry class to my invitation to give him a ride to and from the academy.

  “He’s supposed to call you tonight?” Aimee was practically vibrating with excitement—I could feel it even through the phone line. “We better get off, you don’t have call waiting. Oh my God, it’s like a romance novel!”

  I laughed. “It’s not that exciting. He’s a nice enough guy, I guess. But he’s not Tyler Vincent.”

  I reminded myself of that fact, touching Tyler’s picture, one of my favorites taped to the wall next to my bed. This was the man I lived for, would die for. He filled my thoughts, my dreams. I had pinned all my hopes on him.

  Aimee stopped crunching and groaned. “You are way too hung up on Tyler Vincent. You meet this incredible guy and all you can say is he’s not Tyler Vincent?”

  “Hey, let me have my fantasies, would you? What are you eating?”

  “Cheetos. But I’m going to throw them up later. Hey, speaking of Tyler Vincent, don’t tickets go on sale this Saturday?”

  “Oh my God, I forgot to tell you the best part!” I squealed, forgetting all about Aimee’s Cheetos comment for a moment. “Dale says he can get us front row seats!”

  “What? You’re kidding me! How?”

  “He says he knows somebody.”

  “Oh my God, I don’t have to stand in line overnight again? I can’t believe it!”

  I laughed. “You lucked out this year.”

  “Sounds like you’re the one lucking out.”

  “Maybe a little.” I twisted the phone cord around my finger, looking at a picture of Tyler Vincent on my wall, but thinking about Dale Diamond. “Hey, are you really eating Cheetos?”

  “Don’t judge me.” Aimee crunched again. “I’m having a bad day.”

  I knew how she felt, between Woodall and washing desks to coming home to the stepbeast in a beastly mood. The only bright spot in my day had been Dale Diamond.

  “I don’t care if you’re eating them, just don’t throw them up.”

  “But the calories!” she wailed.

  “You were fine at lunch. What happened?”

  Aimee sighed. “Carrie’s older brother picked us up. That’s who I rode home with.”

  “So?”

  “So he’s amazing, not to mention gorgeous, and I made an absolute fool of myself in front of him!” she cried.

  “You did not. It couldn’t be that bad.”

  “You weren’t there!” she choked. “He pulls up in a red Firebird—a red Firebird!—and the car is hot enough, but the guy? Oh my God, have you seen Carrie’s brother? Matt Green? Do you remember him?”

  “Ummm...” I vaguely remembered him from high school, a nice-looking guy, tall, with short sandy hair, basketball player. He was a senior when we were freshman.

  “So he pulls up and he starts talking to me, and I didn’t even know it was our ride, I just thought it was some cute guy who pulled up and was hitting on me, and Carrie and Wendy were just standing there grinning and not saying anything.”

  “So he liked you?”

  “I thought he did.” Aimee morosely crunched more Cheetos. “But that was before the bee.”

  “The bee?” Uh-oh. Aimee was deathly afraid of bees—like I was afraid of spiders. She wasn’t even allergic, she was just terrified of them and freaked out every time she saw one.

  “It was huge! And I screamed like an idiot and started running around and swatting at it, but it was chasing me, and I ended up tripping over Carrie’s bag. Now I’ve got a hole in the knee of my new Jordache jeans and I can never talk to Carrie’s brother ever again.”

  I was trying hard not to laugh at the image. “I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as all that.”

  “Sara! He teased me the whole way home!” Her voice dropped an octave as she imitated him. “‘You know, you should BEE more careful’ and ‘I do BEElieve this is your house, Aimee.’”

  I snorted laughter. I couldn’t help it. “Did you tell him to buzz off?”

  “Oh my God, I hate you.” More crunching.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized, swallowing my laughter, but I couldn’t help myself. “I was just kidding... honey.”

  “Sara!’

  “Okay, okay...” I relented, trying to make her feel better. “Don’t they say if a guy teases you, it means they like you?”

  Aimee scoffed. “Yeah, in grade school! We’re not in grade school anymore!”

  “I suppose that embarrassing moment was Cheeto-worthy,” I admitted. “Just don’t throw them up, okay? Promise me?”

  She just kept on crunching. “Do I get to meet this Dale guy?”

  “I’m giving him a ride to the academy on Monday. You can meet him then.”

  “Argh!” She gave a strangled cry. “I’ve got a stupid group therapy session Monday morning. Hey, invite him to the lunch table! Then we can all meet him.”

  I groaned. “Oh, yeah, like I want Carrie and Wendy ripping him to shreds?”

  “Come on, you wimp. Just do it.”

  “Fine. Listen, can I let you go? My paint is drying. Besides, you’re just droning on and on...”

  “Oh shut up!” she snapped. “Can I see it before you send it?”

  “Yeah—if you let me finish it!”

  “Okay, okay,” she grumbled. “I’ll see you and your man at lunch on Monday!”

  “He’s not my—” I started to protest, but she’d already hung up.

  Here I’d been thinking about Dale Diamond and didn’t even know it. How was that possible? I picked up my brush and palette, just standing there, staring at my painting. I’d been ready to paint, but now I couldn’t stop thinking about Dale and his wry smile, the way his dark hair fell over one eye, the little dent in his chin and matching dimple in his cheek.

  He wasn’t just a sexy, Tyler Vincent look alike, but a musician like him too! Aimee, a firm believer in fate, tarot cards, and all things psychic, clearly thought it was an obvious sign from the universe, but I knew better. More likely, it was just a diversion, something to distract me from the direction I really wanted to go.

  And Tyler Vincent was my true north.

  Then the phone rang, and my breath caught in my throat and my heart leapt to my chest
, my body instantly betraying me, but not only that, my very first thought was, “Dale!”

  I dove across my bed to reach for it, hoping I’d caught it soon enough.

  “Hello?” My stepfather’s voice echoed mine.

  I thought it couldn’t get worse until Dale said, “Hi, Sara? I mean, is Sara home?”

  “I got it,” I said.

  “Okay.” But my stepfather still didn’t hang up the phone.

  “Hi, Sara, how’s it going?” Dale asked.

  “Okay.” I waited for my stepfather to hang up. I hated when he did this.

  “So... I told you I’d call.”

  “Uh-huh.” I hated being so short with him but didn’t want to give anything away to the stepbeast.

  “Don’t be too long,” my stepfather said gruffly and then the line was clear again.

  “Was that your dad?”

  “My stepdad. Don’t ask. So, what’s up?”

  “Not much. I was just sitting here playing my guitar and thinking about you.” He paused, and his words melted me like butter in a hot pan. I sank down onto my bed, knowing if he asked me right then if I’d been thinking about him too, I would tell him yes, and it would be the truth. Thankfully, he didn’t ask. “So, what are you doing?”

  “Painting.” I set my brush down, stretching out on my bed.

  “Like... painting your room?”

  I laughed. “No. Painting a picture.”

  “Oh, that’s right, the sketches in your notebook. You’re very good.”

  “Thanks.” I blushed at the compliment.

  “Although your subject matter leaves a little to be desired,” he teased. I could hear the smile in his voice. Normally, when someone dissed Tyler Vincent, I was all over it like white on Vanilla Ice but for some reason, his teasing felt different. Or maybe I was just making an exception because he looked so damned much like my favorite rock star and my body couldn’t seem to tell the difference. The temperature in my room had risen since the phone rang and I discovered it was Dale.

  I heard him strumming his guitar. “So what about you? Are you good?”

  “I can’t even draw stick figures.”

  I laughed. “No, are you a good musician?”

  “Yes.”

  I smiled. “You sound confident.”

  “I am.”

  “So we should all see your name in lights soon then?” I teased.

  “Oh being good doesn’t have anything to do with being a star.”

  I snorted. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you don’t need talent to be a rock star. Look at Tyler Vincent.”

  “Hey now...!” I protested, but I was laughing, something I couldn’t have imagined doing just a day or so ago. I took my Tyler Vincent obsession very seriously! “Why would you dis a rock star, if you want to be one?”

  He was quiet for a minute and I heard him strumming his guitar again, something familiar but I couldn’t quite place it. “Because if I don’t, I’ll have to graduate from the academy and go to Rutgers and get a real job and wear a suit and tie. Who wants that?”

  “You have a point,” I agreed. The life of a rock star seemed far more exciting and glamorous than some corporate hack—even a millionaire corporate hack. I didn’t know any girl who went bananas over Bill Gates the way they did over Tyler Vincent. “So you think you’ll win the Battle of the Bands?”

  “I don’t know.” He sounded a little less confident, but his guitar didn’t lie. He was playing around, strumming chords, and just that made me feel all dreamy-eyed and star struck. “Right now, I’ve set my sights on making the semi-finals. One round at a time.”

  “I’d like to hear you,” I confessed.

  Everywhere I looked around my room was Tyler Vincent, yet I wasn’t thinking about him, for the first time in I didn’t even know how long. I closed my eyes and all I could see was Dale, head cocked, half-smile on his face, that bit of hair hanging over one eye as he played.

  “Now? Over the phone?”

  “Put the phone down so I can hear you.”

  “All right, hang on.”

  The sound of his voice receded as he asked, “Can you still hear me?”

  “Yes!” I spoke up, although I was afraid the stepbeast might hear. I waited for him to pick up the phone again, but he didn’t.

  “Good.” Dale strummed idly, the sound of the guitar more prominent than his voice. “Hmm, let’s see. Well, this is what I was playing before I called you.”

  It was familiar, but I couldn’t place it at first, and then I did. It was Sting’s Every Breath You Take. Aimee called it the “stalker song,” and she teased me every time it came on the radio or we saw the video—the one with Sting and all the candles—on MTV. She would say, “Sara! Isn’t this your song for Tyler Vincent?”

  And then Dale began to sing and everything else in the world went away. My dismal first week at the academy, the stepbeast, even Tyler Vincent, they all faded away, lost in the crowd, because Dale was in the spotlight and he was all I could focus on. Even if he resembled Tyler Vincent, he didn’t sound a thing like him. His voice was deeper, rougher around the edges, and this song, in his voice, was like listening to a husky lullaby.

  I felt myself floating on his words, every sound another cloud that sent me drifting away, caught up in the music, his voice. I didn’t know how honored I would feel to be given such an intimate show. He was playing, and it was beautiful, but he wasn’t playing for just anyone. It wasn’t like listening to a record or a song on the radio because he was playing just for me.

  When the song ended, there was a brief silence. I couldn’t move or open my eyes or breathe. I was far away, and yet closer to anyone than I think I’d ever been when he picked up the phone and said my name.

  “Wow.” It was all I could manage. “Wow.”

  “See, that’s how I felt when I saw your sketch.”

  I blushed. “Subject aside, of course.”

  “I’m just jealous,” he admitted in a soft tone that stole all my breath.

  “Of Tyler Vincent? Because he’s a rock star?”

  He paused. “No, because you like him more than me.”

  “Don’t be so sure about that,” I murmured, my heart soaring in my chest. I refused to open my eyes to look at Tyler Vincent papering my walls, staring back at me. All I could think about was Dale. No, worse... at the moment, he was all I wanted to think about. “So do you play electric guitar too?”

  “Hell yeah.” I heard him grinning. “But my amp sucks. I use Terry’s old one when we practice, and it sounds awful. I sold the amp last year to buy a car and I sold the car to buy my new electric guitar.”

  “Oh the irony.”

  “Tell me about it. So...” He was strumming again, every pass of his fingers over the strings resonating in my body like I was a tuning fork. “So what are your plans this evening?”

  “Not a thing.” There was no Tyler Vincent, no painting to finish, no contest to enter, no stepbeast lurking outside my door.

  There was nothing but Dale Diamond.

  “Good, because I want to talk to you for a long time.”

  And we did.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “So where’s this stud of yours, Sara?” Carrie scanned the lunch room as she sat down at the table with her usual tray and I snatched a fry while she was preoccupied. Wendy was at the front of the fast food line and she waved when she saw me looking her way.

  “Still at the stud farm?” Aimee snickered. She had lemon Yoplait today.

  “You guys, come on,” I protested, looking nervously around the cafeteria. I hadn’t seen him since Friday—he told me he had band practice all weekend, to make up for lost time during the week now that classes had started at the academy—but we’d talked for hours on the phone until the stepbeast made us get off. “He’s new here. Let’s not make him feel like a side of beef, all right?”

  “Sure.” Carrie blinked innocently but she flashed me a mischievous grin. “No problem. So, where
is he?”

  “Where’s who?” Wendy slid her identical tray next to Carrie’s. She had hot pink spandex biker shorts under her mini-skirt today, a compromise with Mr. West, who had called her down to the office for wearing fishnets. I was getting so sick of all of us being treated like little kids. This wasn’t high school! “Oh my God, that’s him.”

  I looked up, my heart already lurching in my chest, seeing him standing in the doorway, talking to Holly Larson of all people. She was doing everything she could to keep his attention, putting a hand on his arm, leaning in to say something more intimate. Dale turned away from her, his gaze scanning the lunch room, and I saw he was wearing a Sex Pistols t-shirt under a black denim jacket, acid-washed jeans and combat boots. And of course, his signature belt.

  Aimee glared. “Looks like Holly’s got her claws in your man, Sara.”

  “He’s not—” My voice gave out when Holly flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder—the hair flip!—and laughed loudly, loud enough for all of us to hear, even over the noise of the cafeteria.

  “He’s yours if you want him,” Carrie observed, pointing, and I grabbed her finger, pulling it down and meeting Dale’s eyes. He was looking right at me, his eyes brightening, pleased and surprised, and it made me feel faint, a heat filling my whole body, as if the most intense spotlight in the world had just been trained on me.

  He leaned sideways to say something to Holly, but his eyes never left mine and I couldn’t look away. Wendy grabbed my knee under the table, shaking it wildly, her eyes big as she watched him approach, but even that couldn’t distract me. His walk was casual, hands in his jeans pockets, but his eyes had that same look I’d seen when they found me that first day in chemistry, like an animal targeting its prey.

  “Oh wow, Sara, he really likes you.” Wendy leaned in to whisper this fact and I was grateful for the reassurance, because I thought maybe I was seeing things, or I’d just gone a little crazy because of my Tyler Vincent obsession and his obvious resemblance. It was good to know I wasn’t the only one who saw the way his eyes lit up when they found me, how his energy and focus shifted from something casual to something that went far beyond interest. It was more like a hunger, and it made me hungry too.