Songs About a Girl Read online

  OMG if u get to meet aiden I will literally die

  Keep you posted x

  Olly’s conversation seemed to be wrapping up, and I was about to put my phone away when Melissa sent another message.

  Oh btw, hot goss from y’day. After we left, 8 people were sick from the punch & 2 windows got smashed. Mr Bennett gonna go cray-craaaaay

  From the sound of it, we’d left at the right time. The rumors were probably exaggerated, but even so, it would have taken some pretty oblivious teachers not to notice there was vodka in the punch.

  Come Monday morning, Mr. Bennett would be on the warpath.

  “Sorry about that,” said Olly. “Boring stage stuff.” He pointed to the table of food behind us. “Fancy a snack?”

  “I’m good, thanks,” I said, pocketing my phone. “I do have one question, though.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “While I’m here, what do you want me to, like … do?”

  Olly smiled at this, as if he’d been waiting for me to ask. He moved closer again, and I got the faintest sense of his aftershave on the air, sweet and spicy, like cinnamon. Not like the boys at school, who smelled of cheap deodorant and soccer cleats.

  “Truth is, it’s up to you. We haven’t done this before, so it’s kind of an experiment. Our other photographers, they’ve all got tons of gear because they’re shooting for magazines and stuff, but you … your pictures are for the fans. You should just hang out with us, get to know the guys, and if you see something cool, snap it. They won’t let you shoot the concerts for some legal reason, but you can watch from backstage. Everything else is fair game.”

  I rubbed at a stain on the arm of the sofa.

  “There is one other thing…”

  Olly sat forward.

  “What’s that?”

  “If my photos do get used on the fan page, which I guess they probably won’t, but if they do … can you ask them not to use my name?” I tried my hardest not to blush. “It’s just … the idea of all those people knowing who I am, it kind of freaks me out.” I gave a nervous laugh. “That’s not too weird, is it?”

  Olly held up his hand. “Course not. I totally get it. You’re not interested in the fame, right?” He gave me a grin, and then his face softened. “Seriously, though, it’s cool. Whatever you want. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

  Suddenly, I felt a rush of excitement. This was actually happening.

  “Amazing.”

  “Yo, Samson! Leave that poor girl alone.”

  A spiky-haired, half-Japanese boy I knew immediately as Yuki Harrison was approaching us from across the room, tossing an apple in the air as he walked. Stopping by the sofa, he threw the apple upward, nodded hello, and it dropped back perfectly into his hand. Then he took a big, juicy bite.

  “Photographer, right?”

  I glanced at my camera.

  “Sort of, yeah.”

  “This is Charlie Bloom,” said Olly, sitting up. “Charlie, Yuki.”

  “Hi,” I said with a small wave. Yuki swallowed his bite of apple.

  “I’m glad you’re here. That old dude we had last week kept catching me with my eyes closed. Plus he was kind of creepy.”

  Yuki was wearing a faded Muse T-shirt and charcoal-colored high-top boots with the laces undone. He was angular and good-looking, all cheekbones and dark lines, and his jet-black hair stuck up at the back like a peacock’s tail. At the front, it half covered his forehead in a just-fell-out-of-bed fringe.

  He hopped onto the edge of a large metal case beside us, munching, his legs dangling over the side.

  “So where’s Gabe?” asked Olly.

  “Carla just showed,” said Yuki, rolling his eyes. “I think he’s off with her somewhere.”

  Olly frowned. “I thought he wasn’t into her?”

  “He’s not, but she’s got a backstage pass, man, and she is HOT for him. Poor guy doesn’t stand a chance.”

  “Who’s Carla?” I asked, sipping at my drink.

  “Martinez,” said Yuki through the crunch of his apple.

  “Who’s that?”

  Yuki raised his eyebrows and let out a long whistle.

  “You don’t know who Carla Martinez is?”

  I looked from him to Olly and then back again. “Should I?”

  “No way, man,” laughed Yuki, leaning back on his elbows. “Don’t sweat it.”

  “She’s one of the leads on Hampton Beach,” explained Olly, checking his watch.

  “Oh … right.” I thought about this. The odds were good that Hampton Beach was some kind of television show. “I guess I don’t really watch that much TV.”

  Yuki studied my face for a moment in stunned silence. Just as this was starting to make me nervous, a huge grin spread across his face.

  “I like you, Charlie Bloom,” he announced, tossing his apple core into a nearby bin. “But yeah, she’s, like, GQ’s Hottest Hottie of the Year or something dumb like that. In at number one.”

  After a quick glance around the room, Yuki hopped down off his box, perched on the arm of the sofa next to me, and said under his breath: “She’s had her eye on Gabriel for weeks. I reckon she was waiting for him to break up with Ella, because—”

  He stopped himself as the door opened and two people walked through. It was Gabriel West, in torn jeans and a baggy sweater, and a slim, elegant girl with shiny hair and catwalk looks. Dressed in a black leather jacket and swinging an expensive-looking handbag, Carla Martinez looked like she’d just walked off a film set, which in all probability, she had.

  Gabriel and Carla were looking straight ahead as they drifted past the buffet tables, Gabriel grabbing a handful of snacks and a six-pack of Coke, Carla plucking a bottle of mineral water from the back and slipping it into her bag. She looked as if she didn’t eat.

  They were heading for the opposite door and clearly not stopping to say hello. In fact, it seemed as if they hadn’t even noticed we were there. But just as Gabriel was leaving the room, he turned to look back in our direction and his amber eyes briefly met mine.

  7

  There was something not quite real about Gabriel West.

  Tall, lean, and tanned, he had wavy black hair that broke out at the front in two or three cascading strands, and an intense, hypnotic gaze. A hint of stubble shadowed his jaw. All the boys were well known in the media, but for months now Gabriel had been the most photographed, the most interviewed, the most hounded member of the band. Even for someone like me, who didn’t watch Make or Break or follow Fire&Lights, actually seeing his face in real life, staring back at me, it was strangely … unbelievable.

  “She is going to eat him alive, bro.” Yuki was watching Carla leave, one hand buried in Gabriel’s choppy, chaotic hair.

  Olly laughed. “She knows what she wants, I’ll give her that.”

  I looked back toward the door, but by then Gabriel was gone, vanished into the dark with Carla. I had to admit, the girls in the cafeteria at school had been right about one thing: he did have amazing eyes. They were a brilliant, magnetic amber, and when our eyes met they’d flickered at me in the light … as if he was trying to tell me something.

  And I could see how a certain type of girl might really fall for that.

  “Come on,” said Olly, standing up from the sofa. “Aiden’s in the dressing room; he’s really excited to meet you.”

  * * *

  The Fire&Lights dressing room looked exactly the way I’d imagined it. There were lights around the mirrors, miniature fridges, and bowls full of M&M’s. Aiden Roberts was sitting in the corner on his own, earphones in, nodding to the beat.

  “Hey, Aid!”

  Aiden, engrossed in his music, didn’t respond, so Olly walked over and tapped him on the shoulder. Aiden spun round on his chair and, when he saw me, suddenly stood up, straightening his T-shirt. His earphones were tangled in his hands.

  “Hey, er. Hi. You … are you Charlie?”

  “That’s me,” I replied, slipping my camera bag off my shoul
der. It seemed weird that they all knew who I was.

  “Olly showed me the shots you took of that band,” said Aiden, hands in his pockets. He had a strong, but soft, Irish accent. “They’re, like … amazing.”

  “Really?” I said.

  He nodded enthusiastically.

  “Thanks.”

  Aiden was quite small, not much taller than me, and slim, with a mop of shaggy blond hair and very serious green eyes. According to Melissa, he came from this tiny fishing village near Galway, so the entire population of Ireland had voted for Fire&Lights in the big live final and they’d won by a landslide.

  “You’re doing some shots for us tonight, right?” he asked. Next to me, Yuki grabbed a fistful of M&M’s and fed them into his mouth, one by one.

  “Yeah,” I said, fiddling with my sleeve. “At least, that’s the plan.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Aiden replied, leaning back against the counter. A row of colored wristbands ran up his forearm. “In fact, I bet you’ll be way better than that, um … that old guy last week, who was he? Clive something.”

  “EXACTLY,” added Yuki with a mouthful of chocolate, pointing at me. “Exactly what I said. Creepy Clive.”

  I smiled at this, and Aiden smiled back.

  Yuki threw an M&M at him and, when it missed, he lobbed two at Olly instead. Both hit Olly in the face, and they all fell about laughing.

  “Hair and makeup, guys.”

  A woman had appeared in the open doorway. She was holding a clipboard and looked important.

  “Thanks, Tara,” said Olly. “We’re coming.”

  The woman noticed me, and a disapproving glance flashed across her face. Then she disappeared.

  “Charlie, you should come too,” said Olly, as the boys all drifted toward the exit. “Maybe take a few snaps…?”

  “Yeah, watch us getting our faces put on,” added Yuki. “Manly, right?”

  On the way down the corridor I fell into step with Aiden, who was wrapping up his earphones, acoustic guitar strapped to his back. Up ahead, Yuki was ruffling Olly’s hair and jabbing him in the ribs.

  “So you and Olly went to the same school?” asked Aiden, shooting me a glance.

  “Uh-huh. But we only met, like, once.”

  “Olly’s the best. Incredible singer, too.”

  “Yeah … yeah, he is.”

  I stared at the floor as we walked.

  “You’ll like it here,” said Aiden, zipping his earphones into their case. “I mean, it’s crazy, but in a good way. Y’know?”

  “Sure,” I said, as we passed through a set of double doors into a brightly lit hallway. “I mean, normally on a Saturday night I’d be watching The Breakfast Club and eating Doritos straight from the bag, so I think I can handle crazy.”

  Aiden laughed, quietly at first, then a little louder. He cleared his throat.

  “That’s funny,” he said, as much to himself as to me. “That’s real funny.”

  In front of us, Yuki and Olly were rapping a nonsense song together, Yuki beatboxing and slapping a flat palm against the wall as he walked. Somewhere else in the building, someone was banging drums and tuning guitars.

  “You wanna do this for a living then, like? When you leave school?”

  I toyed with a loose thread on my camera case. “One day, maybe. I figured I’d do photography at college first, and see what happens. But now I’m here, shooting you guys … which is a bit scary.”

  We made fleeting eye contact. Aiden was one of those people who constantly looked like he was thinking deeply about something.

  “I know how you feel,” he said, turning away again. “One minute you’re in school, normal like everyone else, then the next minute … you’re here. And nothing’s normal around here.”

  A man with a beard pushed by us, talking on his phone. “Yep—yep, Sian has the guest list. She’ll be with you in ten…” He shot me a sideways look as he passed.

  “Tell you one thing, though,” continued Aiden, as we arrived in the main backstage area. A lady holding a pile of white towels took him by the hand, and as he walked away, he looked back over his shoulder and said: “Whatever happens … it’s mad-exciting.”

  A team of makeup artists descended on the band, and I watched as the boys were shepherded to their chairs, Yuki and Olly still rapping, Aiden joining in over the top.

  I was suddenly on my own.

  “This your new direction then, boys?” said the towel lady, unscrewing the lid from a tin of hair wax. “Hip-hop?”

  “All the money’s in hip-hop,” replied Yuki, picking up a copy of Men’s Health and flicking casually through it. “All the green, an’ all the laydeez…”

  The towel lady tutted, a smile playing on her face, and began warming a ball of wax between her fingers.

  As I looked down at my camera case, there was no escaping it. It was time to start doing my job. I pulled out my camera and, spinning the dial to portrait mode, crept into a corner and began to shoot. From where I was standing I was able to frame Olly, Yuki, and Aiden sitting in a perfect row, people buzzing around them, running product through their hair and dabbing on foundation.

  At one point, one of the makeup artists turned around at the clicking of the shutter and frowned. I stopped for a moment, but then Yuki began flicking peanuts into his mouth and attacking Aiden with hair spray, and I started up again.

  Screw her, I thought. This is the reason I’m here.

  I had work to do.

  Scrolling through the photos, I couldn’t help but smile. The three of them were so laid-back, so carefree, laughing, telling jokes and flirting with the makeup girls. Fire&Lights was a manufactured group, everyone knew that, but I was starting to see that, over time, they’d become more than that. They’d become friends, brothers … a real band. Something nobody could fake.

  And that, somehow, was what I had to capture on camera.

  One thing, though, was nagging at me as I flicked through the gallery. An inescapable image, repeated in every photo. A single empty chair where Gabriel West should have been.

  * * *

  “Once more, please—and can we really feel it this time, boys?”

  Yuki was standing on a chair in the middle of the green room, conducting his bandmates in a chaotic rendition of “God Save the Queen.” The four of us were scattered around the large room: Aiden perched on a stool, strumming his guitar; Olly lying on a sofa with his feet up; and me in the corner, leaning against a wardrobe, camera focused on the action.

  “It’s no good,” said Olly, shaking his head. “We are never going to make it in show business.”

  Aiden played a deliberately tuneless chord on his guitar.

  “Hey, Charlie, whaddya think?” called Yuki, across the room. “That sound any good?”

  I smiled at him from behind the camera.

  “I’m a photographer,” I said, twisting the focus. “I’m not officially here.”

  Yuki stuck his hands on his hips. “Wha’?”

  “You’re supposed to ignore me.”

  “Seems a bit rude,” reflected Yuki, jumping down from the table. “Still, you’re the boss. Consider yourself ignored.”

  He saluted me, then crossed to the sofa, where he lifted Olly’s legs in the air and spun them round, making room for himself. He dropped down next to his bandmate and glanced at the clock. “D’you think we ought to rescue Gabe from Miss Martinez?”

  “He’s a big boy,” said Olly. “He can take care of himself.”

  While they chatted, I scrolled through the pictures. There was a nice one of Yuki conducting, his arms held aloft, and a cute one of Aiden, concentrating on a guitar chord, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. Lowering the camera, I watched Aiden picking out a gentle tune on his guitar, singing to himself and flicking the hair out of his eyes. His gaze caught mine for a second, and he gave me a little smile.

  “How they looking?” Olly was leaning against the wall next to me. I arched an eyebrow.

  “I
thought I told you I’m not officially here?”

  “Good point,” he said, bowing his head. “You did mention that.”

  He craned over my shoulder to peek at the photos. With a side smile, I pulled the camera away.

  “It’s time,” said a voice from the hallway, and we all looked up. A stage manager was standing in the open door, a small, serious-looking man with spiky hair and thick-rimmed glasses. He clicked his fingers three times. “Boys?”

  Yuki and Aiden stood up from their seats, and Olly pushed away from the wall.

  “You coming?” he asked.

  I looked around the room. “Coming where?”

  He nodded at the door. “You’ll see.”

  My pulse quickened as we were ushered from the room and herded down a tight corridor. The stage manager with the spiky hair was speaking into a walkie-talkie, which buzzed every few seconds with burps of static and fuzzy, urgent-sounding replies from the other end. The corridor culminated in a short flight of stairs, leading upward to a black, windowless door reading “STAFF ONLY.” The stage manager climbed the staircase and, pressing his ear against the door, pointed back in our direction.

  “Everyone ready?”

  I glanced at the band, wondering whether “everyone” included me. Yuki looked over his shoulder.

  “What about Gabe?”

  The man checked his watch and blew air through his lips. “Not ideal, but we’re short of time. He’s on his way. Let’s just get this show on the road.”

  Around me, the boys all nodded, and the stage manager curled his hand around the doorknob. I gripped my camera tight, becoming aware of a distant thunder, a high-pitched roar, coming from somewhere beneath my feet.

  “Now this,” said Olly, as the handle slowly turned, “is really going to blow your mind.”

  8

  The door creaked open, a wedge of sky appeared, and a noise like nothing I’d ever heard before tore through the walls of the building.

  Impossible, unimaginable … screaming.

  Yuki, Aiden, and Olly bounded up the stairs and out through the open doorway. As they emerged, the roar swelled and ruptured, and loud music blared through outdoor speakers. I was standing alone at the bottom of the staircase, unsure of whether I should follow, throwing furtive glances at the spiky-haired stage manager. Would I get in trouble if I joined them? Was that against the rules? Maybe it was, but the noise from outside was rising by the second, and I itched to be out there with them. When a crackling voice on the walkie-talkie distracted the man’s attention, I stepped onto the stairs, flew up them two at a time, and dashed past him into the night.