I was afraid now that we didn’t have an audience, he would say hi sarcastically. Or even worse, just ignore me and look the other way. He was so famous that he could've gotten away with that. His trajectory to bona fide rockstar status was already well underway.

  I prepared to turn around and walk away.

  But he surprised me, and in a good way, smiling at me with a genuine smile as he blew out his smoke and offered me a cigarette.

  I waved it away.

  He put it back in his pack and held the one he was smoking farther away from me, smiling like I was some long lost friend he hadn’t seen in years. "Hi, Tracy. Pleased to meet you outside of work. So what goes on around here?"

  He caught me so off guard that I giggled in front of him, something I never want to do in front of any guy, it made me sound so young and silly. "Oh, nothing you’d be interested in hearing."

  He wrinkled his nose in the cutest way while he leaned back against the short brick wall that separated the diner from the gas station. "Try me."

  I gave him my ‘are you kidding?’ look.

  He gave me the most adorable ‘go ahead’ shrug, making his leather jacket creak.

  "Okay,” I said, relishing my tale and seeing it happen before my eyes, no doubt giving me a far-off look. “Well, Marge’s daughter Lucy thinks she's going to inherit the diner, like, tomorrow. She keeps coming in here and trying to boss the rest of us around. But Marge won't have any of it. Whenever she catches Lucy at this, she puts the brakes on it fast, puts her in her place. Yesterday she handed her a rag and said, ‘Go clean the front tables.’" I did my best imitation of Marge for this last line.

  He chuckled, and although I didn't think it was possible, I fell in love with him a little bit more. "It's good to have a supportive boss. Our manager, Paul, is like that too. He doesn't let us take any nonsense from anyone. He found us playing in a bar and got us this tour, you know."

  I couldn't help from smiling at him as if we were old friends and I'd heard him tell this story a hundred times. I'd read it in a hundred different Tweets. "Yeah, Paul is great." As soon as I said that, I heard how silly I sounded, never having met Paul. "I mean, from everything I hear, Paul's great." I trailed off, embarrassed and again expecting him to dismiss me.

  But he didn't. "So it sounds like you know how lucky you are to have Marge for a boss, then."

  Grateful to be back on familiar ground, I smiled and gushed. Probably a little too much, but I was talking to Gunnar Smith, you know. "Oh yeah, Marge is like family to me now. She took me on at the diner when I really needed it. Both my parents died when I was in my senior year in high school. I was 18—"

  His face fell, and the most sympathy I'd ever seen shown in his blue eyes when he put a hand on my arm, stopping me dead in what I was saying. "I'm so sorry you lost your parents so young. My friend Levi lost his mom when he was young too. I’m not going to say I know how it feels, but you have my sympathies."

  His touch on my arm was more stimulating than all the people talking in the diner. I was overwhelmed, and I needed to excuse myself quick before it became too much for me and I started getting crabby and ruined this stellar memory I was making.

  I immediately backed away and looked for an exit, backing around the dumpster and making my way from there as fast as possible, making my excuses. "Wow, I didn't know Levi lost his mother young. You know what? I have to go. I just remembered I have someplace I have to be." I didn't want to give him a chance to interrupt me and ask what was the matter. It was always really hard to explain to people why I suddenly needed to get out of social situations.

  When I was younger, I used to try. I would start with what my pediatrician said to tell people: “I’m overstimulated.”

  But no one ever understood that. They always wanted to argue with me, saying ‘There's no need to be shy. We’re talking just fine, you have nothing to worry about.’ Even my extended family would say things like that, back before my parents died and they were still around.

  No, I couldn't give Gunnar Smith a chance to talk me into sticking around, because I wouldn't be able to resist his enthusiasm. I would resent that and get grumpy, ruining the nice memory I had of meeting him.

  So I just kept blathering on as I rushed to the car. "That must've been really hard for Levi. I know how hard it must've been. And now it makes so much more sense, how Levi's the one who got the rest of you involved in Dark Horse. I always wondered why he was playing in bars when he was still in high school. Well, this is my car, and I gotta go. I know I'll see you on Twitter. Say hi to me!"

  As soon as I said that last bit, I felt more embarrassed than ever before in my life. Why kid myself? Gunnar Smith was not going to say hi to me on Twitter. Oh well. I hadn’t ruined the moment too badly. And he was still on the other side of the dumpster, so he couldn’t see the anguish on my face.

  2

  Backstage, Tracy

  Tiffany was already in the car. "Who are you talking to? Where have you been?" she said with more puzzlement than irritation. "I went to the bathroom, and when I got out, I couldn't find you anywhere. I asked Marge, but all she did was look at me funny, like you guys have a secret. Spill."

  Not wasting any time, I popped the car into reverse, turned to look behind me, and jammed out of the parking space, pausing just long enough to pop it into first gear so I could dart down the alley, away from the diner.

  The last thing I needed was to see other girls coming out to talk to Gunnar.

  We’d had a moment.

  I wanted to remember its sheer perfection, unsullied by sights I knew would make me cry. In that moment, I was the only girl in the world to him. I knew I was being unrealistic, but I wanted my memory of him to stay that way.

  "Earth to Tracy.”

  I glanced quickly at my roommate. “Sorry, what?”

  She laughed her frustrated laugh, the one she used when the contestants on Family Feud just didn’t get the category of answers they needed to give. “Where were you just now?"

  I pulled onto the side street, headed away from the highway toward our apartment in our tiny town. In my mirror, I confirmed none of the crowd was heading into town, thank God. I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand, drying it on the short skirt of my waitress uniform. "Okay," I told Tiffany, "I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to scream in my ear."

  She wrinkled her forehead when I glanced at her. "Why would I scream?" And then her eyes got big and she put her hand over her mouth and shook in her seat. The scream was working its way into her throat even as she fought it off with a sparkle in her eye that told me she had guessed where I'd been.

  I stopped at a stop sign and turned to look at her with as much seriousness as I could muster, considering how excited I myself was. "Promise you're not going to scream. I’ve had just about as much excitement as I can take, do you understand me?"

  The scream worked its way into her throat.

  To her credit, Tiff just let it come out her nose and not her mouth. It was much less loud that way.

  Rolling my eyes, I pulled away from the stop sign and tapped my friend on her upper arm with the back of my hand before putting both hands on the wheel and driving responsibly (like I always do, in case you're reading this in Heaven, Mom). "Good job covering up your scream. Thank you. Yep, I was with Gunnar Smith out back while he smoked a cigarette."

  I guess I can't blame Tiffany for what happened next. I had, after all, confirmed her excited suspicions.

  She squealed like no other scream she's ever let out before, pounding her heels up and down as she did so, making my good-luck feather bounce around where it hung from the mirror. She laughed and screamed some more and grabbed my arm.

  "Hey, watch it!" I pushed her off my arm and held firmly to the steering wheel. "I'm driving here, remember?"

  "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," she kept saying over and over again as she got her phone out. "I have to tell everyone. I'll just use this picture I happened to take while you were back there leaning into Gunnar Smith with his hair combining with your hair. It's perfect for the story."

  I pulled over to the side of the road and snatched her phone. "You can't do that, Tiffany. We can't post that picture. I'm not gonna make you delete it, but I want your promise."

  She laughed and reached for her phone.

  I held it away, not smiling.

  Her face turned puzzled. "Why not? It’s the greatest bragging right you'll ever have in your life."

  I inched her phone closer to her, seeing how she was being reasonable. "I don't want Gunnar to be bragging rights. He treated me like a person, so I want to give him the same respect. He’s so different from Mike and Mike's friends. Not one of his bandmates tried to grab under my skirt or even looked at me that way. They deserve better than to have their pictures plastered all over the place as if they were statues or something."

  Tiffany's eyes opened wide. "Wow, you really like this guy. You do understand he's a celebrity, right? Plastering his picture all over the place comes with the territory. It also guarantees you are never going to see him again, not up close and personal."

  I handed her phone back and used driving as an excuse not to say anything, pulling away from the curb and looking behind me at zero traffic.

  Tiffany put a hand on my shoulder. "Tracy. Answer me. You do understand you aren’t friends with Gunnar Smith, right? You know talking to him for a minute during his smoke break doesn't mean anything, right?"

  "Of course I understand that," I told her. It wasn't a lie. I did understand. But I had gotten carried away in the moment, and now the reality was settling in. "I still don't want that picture shared on social media, okay?"

  She didn't say anything.

  I stopped at another stop sign and looked to see if she was going to fight me on this some more.

  "Okay," she told me absentmindedly as she opened up Twitter.

  "Good," I told her as I pulled away from the stop sign.

  Our apartment building, like everything else in our small town, had been built in the 1940s and was run down. At least our parking space was near our door, wonder of wonders. I parked the car and grabbed my stuff, ready to go in and take a shower.

  But Tiffany hadn't moved from the seat of the car. She was glued to her phone.

  I laughed at her as I hurried to our door. "Stay in the car and gawk at all those pictures people posted of Dark Horse if you want. I'm taking the first shower."

  "Tracy, come over here. You’ve gotta see this. I can't believe it."

  "It can wait till after I shower," I told her irritably.

  I heard the car door slam and her footsteps running over. Just before the front door closed behind me, she was right beside me, shoving her phone in my face. "Gunnar Smith publicly tweeted an invitation for you to see him backstage after tonight’s show!"

  I smiled. “See, he’s human, thinking a waitress can afford to be at his show.”

  But she smiled back and showed me Gunnar’s Tweet on her phone:

  “Hi, @TracyWilliams! Two backstage-pass tickets for you at Will Call tonight. Come see me after!”

  I was excited, but my face fell.

  "What's wrong now?” Tiffany asked me, incredulous.

  "I don't have anything to wear."

  Tiffany pursed her lips and looked up at the ceiling for a moment, tapping her fingers on her chin. She raised her finger, excited again. "You can wear Jeannie’s Hollywood dress!"

  I was hopeful again. That dress was gorgeous, just the thing. "Do you think she’ll let me borrow it?"

  Tiffany raised her eyebrows and found Jeannie on her phone. "She will if I have anything to say about it."

  I was laughing now, watching Tiffany in action as she cleared her throat and looked pompous even on the phone, where Jeannie couldn't see her.

  Jeannie must've answered.

  Tiffany talked a mile a minute, scarcely pausing to let her friend get a word in edgewise. "Jeannie, it’s Tiffany. … Yeah, hi. Listen, we have a fashion emergency. … We’re going to see Dark Horse tonight at Marymount Stadium, and we have backstage passes. … Oh, you saw that Tweet? … Yeah, Tracy waited on his table, and they hit it off, and she went out and sat with him while he had a smoke, and here we are. Anyway, you have to loan Tracy your Hollywood dress. … Yes, you have to. … You owe me, remember? … Right. So you'll bring it over right away. No stalling and no excuses. … Good. See you in a few."

  I put Dark Horse’s playlist on and set my phone in the dock, turning it up. "Wow, when you set your mind to something..."

  "Yep," Tiffany told me, dancing to the song.

  I joined in, showing off the jazz moves we’d both learned in gym class. Dark Horse didn't play jazz. They were a pop band, but we thought our jazz moves worked.

  Tiffany danced into her room. "I have to figure out what I'm going to wear."

  Tiffany and I were ready. She found a dress she'd forgotten she bought. It was a little black number she’d been planning on wearing if she ever had a date in the city.

  I was wearing Jeannie's Hollywood dress, of course. The stilettos I'd bought as a gag on Halloween went perfectly with it. Tiffany helped me do my long hair so it fluffed out instead of being flat against my head like usual.

  I swallowed hard when we had to drop $10 on parking, but $10 was a good price for a night out like this, I had to admit.

  Tiffany was all business as she ran her pendant up and down her chain and asked the man at the will call window, "Are these backstage passes good now, or just for after the show?"

  Embarrassed, I elbowed Tiffany in the ribs. "Let's just go sit down at our seats. We’ll go backstage after the show, like he said in the Tweet."

  But will call guy assured us, "With these tickets, you can go backstage anytime you want. The guys are in the green room now, and you can go right in. See that man with the flashlight over there standing by the door? He'll show you the way if you show him your passes."

  I still wanted to just go to our seats.

  But Tiffany was not to be stopped. She grabbed my hand and hurried over to the guy with the flashlight. "Ticket guy says these passes will get us backstage now. He says you’ll take us."

  Flashlight guy looked at the passes, then opened a door I hadn't noticed, set flush with the wall. "Right this way, ladies."

  Tiffany was jumping around in her shoes, she was so excited, looking back at me every few seconds to make sure I was following.

  I was, but I was looking around to make sure no one was following us. This felt like some spy operation, going backstage through the secret door.

  Flashlight guy took us down a narrow hallway to where a guard was standing. "These ladies have passes," he said without ceremony before turning around and going back out.

  The guard was a big beefy guy, and he grinned at us while turning around and showing us the way. "I take it you've never been backstage before."

  This surprised me. "How do you know?"

  "Just the way you're so nervous and impressed and not looking like you own the place. It's refreshing, seeing some ladies who actually appreciate the special gesture that’s been done for them."

  This rang true for me, and I tapped Tiffany's arm with the back of my hand, scolding her with my eyes when she looked at me. "That's what I'm talking about. We need to be thankful when we see him."

  She gave an exaggerated shrug and nod just as we came into a hallway with lots of talking and music.

  The big guard gestured toward a door. "The party’s in the green room. You ladies are welcome to go on in. If you want to go out and find your seats, they'll be through that door there where Jared is. Have fun." He turned around and went back to the door where he’d been.

  "How do I look?" I asked Tiffany with my hands on my hair and standing up straight with my shoulders back.

  "You look great," she told me as she adjusted the top of my dress where it had fallen off my shoulder. "Come on."

  A female voice I recognized stopped us cold before we went in the door. "Oh you're dressed all wrong for this, girls." She tsked. “Too bad you went to such trouble with your hair and makeup.”

  I looked up, and there was Jessica Wiggins. As usual, she was wearing the latest designer dress. She was a B actress, and rumor had it Levi was dating her.

  "Hi," I said to Jessica in my friendly voice, willing to correct her error. "This dress is from Hollywood. It's perfect for a show like this."

  Tiffany winked when I met her eye.

  But Jessica threw her head back and laughed at me. "Oh honey, that dress is five years out of date!”

  The green room door opened and let out the sounds of people talking.

  I sighed with relief. The last thing I needed was Jessica Wiggins laughing at me some more.

  But then it got worse.

  Lydia Sykes came out. She wasn't as thin or as pretty as Jessica, but she was just as fashion trendy. From Twitter, I knew she was also a B actress, and dating Dark Horse’s sax player, Max.

  Lydia cozied up to Jessica like they'd been besties their whole lives and raised her nose at me and Tiffany, then smiled a fake smile at me. "I couldn't help but hear your voice out here, Jessica. Nice of you to let these girls know their mistake." She looked straight at me with her fake smile. "You'd be better off in jeans."

  Jessica switched her very small amount of weight over to her other stiletto heel, flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder, and gave Lydia a sage nod of approval, then turned to me over her shoulder and shook her head as if everybody knew what she was going to say but she was going to have patience and say it anyway, seeing as how I was such a moron. "Yeah, at least then no one would know you were trying to fit in. And failing."

  They both wrinkled their noses at me as if this were just a little joke among us girls and then turned to go back in the green room.

  Jessica held the door open for me and Tiffany, smiling like we were children. "You can come in."

 

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