Page 27 of Of Heartbreak and Harmony
“Thank you for agreeing to do this.”
I sigh. “Full disclosure, I’m not really in the position to turn down eighty grand, but something tells me you already know that.”
He doesn’t say anything, which is confirmation enough. He pushes the button on the elevator, and I turn to face him. One last time, I let myself peer into those mesmerizing green eyes, and he peers back. The eye contact stretches, making the skin on the back of my neck pricklewith awareness, unearthing memories I’d much rather leave buried, but I can’t look away.
Despite my better judgment, my eyes beg for some sort of recognition. Some sign that I was worth remembering. That I wasmore.
But I get nothing.
When the elevator door opens, the connection is broken, and I step into it without speaking. I breathe through my nose and keep my attention on the ground in front of me.
“See you Monday, Callie.”
His voice draws my eyes up once more, and he gives me a small smile. I don’t return it, but I don’t look away either. Not until the elevator door closes, and I’m plummeting to the ground.
In more ways than one.
9
CALLIE
PAST, ArtFusion Day One
The first nightof the festival, everyone dresses elaborately.
I know from the pictures and promo videos I see everywhere. Crowds full of faeries and Greek gods and goddesses. Butterflies. Angels. It’s a whole thing, and people have already started emerging in their outfits before we even get back to our van.
I made my outfit from scratch. I’ve been working on it since we got our last-minute invite to play last month, transforming a red corset-type bra and lace-up red pleather skirt by hand-stitching feathers and sequins onto them. I even made a headpiece that resembles winged-flames and bought sparkling hair extensions. Putting the fucker on inside a tent is difficult, but I manage, and then I cover my chest, arms, and stomach in gold body glitter. To finish it off, I do a smokey eye with gold-glitter false eyelashes and dark red glittery lipstick. I’m stepping back to try to inspect my outfit in the side-mirror of the van when Ezra lets out a low whistle of approval, and Pike and Rocky do a slow clap.
“Damn, Cal. That shit isfire.”
“Literally.”
“Lookin’ very good.”
I smile at their compliments and do a little twirl, showing off the way my red and orange feathers flutter like dancing flames.
Rocky, Ezra, and Pike are dressed up, too, but not as elaborately as Iam. No handmade accessories or makeup for them. Pike’s got on leopard print bellbottom pants and a pink knitted crop top. Rocky has on low-slung black leather pants with a silver chain-mesh tank-top, which isn’t much different from what he wears when we perform. Ezra is shirtless, wearing faded jeans, a giant silver belt-buckle, a cowboy hat, and black cowboy boots. He got the whole outfit at a thrift store for ten bucks, and he’s very proud of that. He’s sure to tell anyone who comments on it tonight. The equivalent ofthis dress has pocketsfor Ezra will bethis authentic rodeo belt buckle was only seventy-five cents.
“Fucking hot, Cal.” Becket wraps his arm around my waist and tugs me into his body as he speaks.
He did not dress up. He’s wearing the same pair of shorts and Avenged Sevenfold T-shirt that he was wearing earlier. I open my mouth to tease him, but he leans in for a kiss, and I turn my face to give him my cheek.
“Lipstick,” I explain feebly. “I don’t want to mess up the glitter.”
He nods, accepting my excuse. Only I know it was a half-truth.
I take a step back and smooth my hands over my skirt, then adjust my top. When I’m certain not a feather is out of place, I look back at my band.
“Alright, boys. Let’s go.”
I turn in my knee-high boots—I put feathers and sequins on them, too—and the guys follow.
As we get farther inside the venue, the crowd thickens, and lines have already started forming at various tents and food trucks. Music from the opening band grows louder, and the pop-punk headliner starts just after sunset, which is in about an hour. It’s safe to assume there are already bodies camped out in the field in front of the stage.
“Let’s split up,” Becket suggests. “Grab whatever food or drinks you want and meet back at the guitar.” He gestures toward a fifteen-foot sculpture of an electric guitar made completely out of recycled soda cans. “Then we can head to the stage.”
Ezra salutes and heads off into the crowd without a word. He’ll probably come back with something totally random, like a glow-in-the-dark lightsaber or someone’s dog. We don’t usually let Ezra out unsupervised, so this should be interesting.
