Page 101 of Disharmony

I groan. “You can be really nosy sometimes, you know that?”

Between our busy schedules and Cookie working all hours of the day to make sure the final show will run smoothly, we haven’t spent a huge amount of time together. Meals in the mess hall are growing increasingly awkward too. The twins’ feud is still underway, and the two of them never eat at the same time. Whatever fight is going on shows no sign of stopping, and neither of them will talk about it.

“It’s my job to be nosy,” she says. “Jacqueline taking your phone was a real shitty move, but maybe you should start to look at it from another perspective.”

“Like having my freedom stripped away is something that should be celebrated?” I scowl. “If I wanted that, I would have stayed home.”

“I’m not saying that,” she replies tactfully. “But if you play by her rules, I know something amazing will happen. You’re so talented, and you might not be doing exactly what you want to do yet… but you’ll get the chance to. All you need to do is make a name for yourself first, then you’ll get all the freedom in the world. You have your entire life to get in touch with the Basilisks again, but you’ll never get this chance again.”

How can I explain to her that not speaking to them is making me physically ache? I didn’t think it possible to feel this way about a guy after meeting him once, let alone three! But Cookie has a point… even if I don’t want to admit it.

Cookie strolls over to review my weekly timetable that’s pinned on our notice board. Our schedules are posted under our doors at the start of every week, and Cookie likes to pin them in a place where we can both see them. She trails a finger down mine.

“You have a mentoring session tomorrow,” she says. “Maybe that’ll help?”

“Yeah right,” I scoff. “How can the Lionheart lothario help with any of my problems?”

* * *

I arrive at the studio where I’m scheduled to meet Damon Archer. Every camper has an individual coaching session with one of our mentors. The sessions have been keeping the Lionhearts busy as I haven’t seen them around camp at all.

I’ve drawn the short straw and been allocated Damon. At least Levi can help with lyrics, and Zach seems to know about the drums… but the only thing Damon seems good at is breaking supermodels hearts and smoking pot in the woods when he thinks no one is looking.

I’m half-expecting he won’t show up. Eleven a.m. seems early for someone used to partying all night. I try to channel Cookie’s positivity and, to my surprise, he’s already waiting. Something seems different about him today, but I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe he got laid…

He clears his throat as he stands to greet me. “You’re late, Video Girl.”

I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s two minutes past. “Late?”

“I’m kidding,” he says. If his mentoring is going to be as shit as his humor, it’ll be a long hour. “Are you ready to go?”

“Go?” I frown. I assumed we’d be heading into a practice room. “Go, where?”

“I thought we could go for a walk,” he says.

I raise my eyebrow. “A walk?”

“I think better when I’m walking.”

“Sure,” I say reluctantly, conscious it’ll attract attention from the other campers.

“Zach is running a session on performance in the mess hall.” He tilts his head to the side as if he’s read my mind. His stare is weirdly intense, and I look away. He’s probably high. “It’ll be quiet.”

“Why not?” I shrug nonchalantly. “A walk it is.”

Neither of us say anything as we set off. The sun beats down overhead, but there’s a light breeze to keep us cool. I still stick to the shade. Despite being slathered in SPF, I have a tendency to burn like a lobster.

Damon breaks the silence, “Have you been to the other side of the lake before?”

“Where the VIP’s stay?” I ask mockingly. “No, I’m not camp royalty, or don’t you remember the video that came out a few weeks ago?”

“There’s a great spot there,” Damon continues, brushing over how I’m acting like a brat. “It’s good to go there if you need a place to calm your mind. I’ll take you, but we’ll have to drive.”

We’re not far from the parking lot. Damon pulls car keys out of his pocket and twirls them around his finger as the lights of a red Maserati flash. Woah, it sure beats Dad’s cop car and the pile of junk Brick drives around.

“It’ll take too long to walk there,” Damon explains as we walk over, oblivious to my awe. He walks to the passenger side and opens it for me to sit inside. “It’s only a few minutes if we drive.”

“Uh-huh,” I mumble sheepishly.

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