Counterpoint and Harmony Page 2

  I bite my lip to keep myself from talking more about what I worked on. Some of it was practicing things from my lessons last semester. More of it was playing those chord progressions. I also sketched out a few song ideas. I’ve always had songs written for me. The record label executives hooked me up with the biggest hit makers in the business, and they have their own production line of staff that they work with, beat makers, top liners, lyric writers. A whole crew of people writing the different pieces of the songs, putting them together for the optimal mix of hook and beat to keep people listening, keep radios playing, keep bodies moving.

  That’s what it’s all about.

  A few times over the years I’ve offered some suggestions for lyrics or melodies. But only one producer ever actually cared about my thoughts. For the most part, I was just the voice. Another cog in the machine. The one that brought their hard work to the masses. If I wouldn’t perform the songs, then they’d find another headliner to do it for them. If not me, then Katy Perry or Demi Lovato. Someone else. They’re the top of their industry, it’s not like it’s hard for them to find someone to perform their songs.

  I think, though, that if I’m going to end up going back to California—which, after meeting with Dean Andersen yesterday, seems more than likely—I’ll have to look up that producer. They call him The Professor. Fitting after spending a semester in college.

  “What’s that look?”

  Lauren’s voice interrupts my train of thought. I give myself a little shake. “Nothing. Just thinking about what’s coming next.”

  She cocks an eyebrow. “Thinking about classes starting on Monday? You’re still going back, right?”

  I let out a breath, looking away from her. “Yeah, about that. I had a meeting with Dean Andersen yesterday. He made it clear that my presence here as a student is no longer welcome. I’ll actually be withdrawing on Monday.”

  “Oh, Charlie.” Those two words, spoken softly, carry all the sympathy and commiseration a girl could wish for from a friend.

  Blinking back the tears that once again threaten, I give Lauren my signature cover smile. “Yeah. It sucks. But it’s not exactly unexpected. Could you imagine how distracting having me in class would be? Now that everyone knows who I am, where I’ve been, what I’ve been doing?” And who I’ve been doing it with goes unspoken, but hangs in the air between us.

  Lauren’s serious eyes examine me, not fooled by my attempt at cheerful bluster. “What are you going to do?”

  With a shrug, I slump back on the couch. “I’m not sure yet. My mom’s been nagging me daily to come back to California. I think at some point I’ll probably have to. But I don’t know. I’m not ready to face all that yet. Just doing the handful of interviews and reviewing the couple of press releases I’ve put out is more than I want to deal with.”

  Lauren takes a deep breath and holds it in. After a second she shakes her head and lets out the air in a noisy exhale. “Are you sure you want to go back at all?”

  I lift one shoulder again. “I don’t know. But what else am I going to do?”

  “You could quit, you know.”

  “Yeah,” I say softly. She’s right. But she’s also wrong. Because the truth is, some part of me misses being Charlotte James. There are things about the last few months that were amazing and eye opening. Many of those things revolved around my time with Damian. But also learning to stand up to my mother. Deciding what I want and going after it. Standing on my own. Making decisions for myself, uninfluenced by a long list of handlers. That’s all new for me. Which is odd, considering most people my age have been making independent decisions for at least a few years at this point. But nothing about my life is normal.

  If nothing else, the last few weeks have served to highlight that fact.

  Normal people don’t have their secret identities revealed at a famous friend’s wedding. Normal people don’t have secret identities. Or famous friends.

  But the thought of going back to my life before coming to Marycliff …

  That makes me break into a cold sweat. I can’t do it. I can’t be the same girl I was before.

  Which means I’ll have to come back as a different version of Charlotte James.

  And that’s terrifying. Because I don’t know what this new version will look like. Or how she’ll be received.

  Chapter Four

  Atonality: music that lacks a tonal center or key

  Damian

  “She’s not here.”

  Lauren’s voice behind me interrupts my scan of the lobby from my perch on the second floor balcony. I turn to face her. “What? Who?”

  She moves closer with a sympathetic smile, not even buying my pretense of not understanding who she’s talking about. Joining my surveillance of the freshman theory class that just let out before heading into our Music History class, she elaborates. “Charlie. She’s not here. I mean, she’s in Spokane still. For now. But she’s not coming back to school.”

  My head whips around to look at Lauren. “Why not?” I’d considered the possibility that she might quit. But she was so set on learning more about music that I didn’t really think she would.

  A rueful smile flits across Lauren’s face. “The dean called her in for a meeting last week. Told her she should withdraw to save everyone the trouble of her presence.”

  I suck in a breath, horrified by the coldness of the university to do such a thing. “Seriously?”

  She rolls her eyes and runs a hand over her ponytail. “Not in so many words. But basically, yeah. She told me he said the police department was already stretched thin keeping the paparazzi off school property before the semester had even started. And the faculty have been getting calls from magazines and TV shows and all the celebrity gossip outlets.” She flips a hand, encompassing all of them in that one quick gesture. “Anyway, she’s still hiding out at our place, but I think it’s only a matter of time before she leaves. She has to make a decision about her career. And I think she’s going back.”

  Her eyes spear into me, dark and serious. “If you want to talk to her and fix whatever went wrong, then you need to do it soon. Before she’s gone.”

  For a second, we just stare at each other, gazes locked. I break the staring contest first, looking down at the lobby again, nearly empty now. “I’m not sure there’s anything to fix. According to her, we were just friends.”

  Lauren makes a low sound of frustration, pulling my attention back to her. All sympathy is washed from her face, replaced by anger. “Don’t be stupid. You know that’s not true. She said that to protect you, so the press wouldn’t dig into you and your family and start following you around. Would you rather she told them you were dating and open up that can of worms? Especially since you broke up with her at Gabby’s wedding?”

  My own anger and hurt rises to the surface, and I open my mouth to say something, but the words die before they reach my lips. Torn. Because yes, I want her to acknowledge what we were to each other. I love—loved—her. And she told me she loved me. Did she? Or was that all part of the act?

  Sometimes I try to convince myself it was.

  But the only question I can’t answer is why? Why take things so far? I pursued her. Both in the beginning and after she stayed away when I turned down sex the first time. I sought her out. It was always me. So why would she lie about loving me?

  The only real answer is that she wouldn’t. But then I’d have to reexamine everything else. And I’m not ready to let go of my hurt and betrayal. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  I hadn’t considered before that she might be protecting me, protecting my family and our privacy, by telling the world that we were “good friends.” Which begs another why? Why would she protect me after I hurt her the way I did?

  With another growl of frustration, Lauren spins around and stalks away, anger pulsing from every line of her body. Well, she can join the club. I’m angry. She’s angry. Charlie’s … well, I don’t know how Charlie’s feeling. But if I were her, I’d probably b
e pissed too.

  So we can all be pissed. At least Charlie has Lauren looking out for her. Commiserating with her. Sticking up for her.

  Who do I have? Nosy family members and even nosier roommates, asking all kinds of questions that I don’t want to answer. What was she like? When did you figure out who she was? Can you introduce us to her hot, famous friends?

  All of which only pisses me off more. Because I’m not going to tell my roommates what sex with Charlie was like. I’m not that kind of guy.

  And I didn’t figure out who she was until it was spelled out for me like a moron. Everyone knew who I was dating except me. Lauren knew. Gabby knew. The entire wedding party knew who she was, and I was floating along in blissful ignorance.

  The last question grates the most. Even if Charlie and I were still talking, still together, no way in hell would I beg her for introductions for my dumbass roommates. What kind of jackass do they think I am?

  Turning away from the balcony, I slowly head for the classroom. I’m already late, having wasted too much time hoping to catch sight of someone who isn’t even here. Isn’t even real, as far as I know.

  Oh, sure. She was using her real name. But that’s not the name everyone knows. The name on everyone’s lips. It’s only the second day of classes, and I’m already tired of the looks, the whispers, the questions.

  With a deep breath, I push through the door into Music History, slouching into a seat at the back, ignoring the way everyone turns and looks at me. Dr. Paulsen makes a show of looking at me then looking at his watch before passing me a syllabus.

  “Sorry,” I mutter, and he nods, launching into his welcome speech for the new semester.

  Hopefully soon everyone will be so wrapped up in homework and practicing, and they’ll all forget that I dated the biggest popstar on the planet. At any rate, I’ll bury myself in books, hide out in the practice room, and do my best to avoid their questions. I push Lauren’s suggestion that I contact Charlie before she leaves to the back of my mind. It’s time to move on.

  Chapter Five

  Escape tone: a note in the melody that is not part of the chord in the harmony, which is approached stepwise from below and then skips to the next chord tone

  Charlie

  “Hey, Lauren?” I knock on her door as I poke my head in.

  She looks up from the lighted makeup mirror on her desk as she finishes swiping on a sheer pink gloss. “Yeah? What’s up?”

  Taking a deep breath, I steel myself to break my news. “I’m leaving tomorrow to go back to California.”

  Lauren sets down her lip gloss tube after quickly twisting the cap back in place, then turns to look at me fully. Her eyes sweep over me, her face serious. “It’s time?”

  I nod. “It’s time. I’ve probably stayed longer than I should’ve. I just didn’t want to give up …” I wave a hand toward the living room, hoping that adequately indicates everything I can’t quite put into words.

  “Your hideout?” The sting of Lauren’s words are tempered by her sympathetic smile.

  “I prefer ‘escape,’ but yeah.”

  “What time tomorrow? Do you need a ride to the airport? What can I do for you?”

  Her immediate offer of help warms me, staving off the apprehension that grows with each minute I get closer to leaving. Returning to my parents’ house. It’s not home anymore, but it’s what’s immediately available. My mom expects me to go back to the way things were, but I’m determined that everything will be different. That probably means getting a place of my own. But I’ll wait and see how things play out first.

  “I’m going to miss you, Lauren.”

  She stands and crosses the room, throwing her arms around me in a fierce hug. “I’m going to miss you, too. But you’ll keep in touch, so it’s not like we’ll never see each other again.” She pulls back and pins me with a look. “Right?”

  I laugh, sniffing and wiping my nose as tears sting my eyes. “Right. I don’t have a lot of experience maintaining friendships, though, so you’ll have to tell me if I’m being a shitty friend.”

  With a shrug and an air of smug competence, she tilts her head back and looks down her nose at me, which is even funnier since we’re about the same height. “That just so happens to be my specialty. Just ask Gabby.”

  She grins, and I laugh again, knowing there must be a story there. “I can only imagine what living with her was like while Jonathan was on tour. The few times I saw him while they were apart, he was insufferable.”

  Lauren giggles. “Yeah. It was pretty rough for a while there. We’re good now, though. So I’m confident you and I can make it work, too. But seriously. What do you need me to do? What about the house?”

  I flip a hand dismissively. “Keep living here, of course. Let me know if anything needs fixing or whatever. I’ll send you some money to hire a lawn maintenance company too.” Her eyes widen at that. “Unless you’d rather have to mow the lawn and all that?”

  She shakes her head. “No. No. I’m happy to let you hire someone to take care of it. I just didn’t expect it.” A crooked smile pulls up one side of her mouth. “I should’ve, though. It’s not like you can’t afford it.”

  “Ha. For now, anyway. And I might show up on the spur of the moment if I need to get away again.”

  “Mi casa es su casa,” she says as she spreads her arms wide and gives a little bow. “Literally.”

  I smirk at her antics. “I’ll at least try to send you a text so I don’t surprise you.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I pause, looking around. “I’m sorry I’ve made the beginning of your semester more difficult.” She hasn’t had any friends over, and I know that several people have been angling for invitations since classes started up again two weeks ago, wanting to meet me again now that they know who I am. She also came home one day the first week ranting about how people keep asking her to get me to sign things for them.

  That was what triggered my decision to head back, actually. The next day I started scheduling meetings with my manager, The Professor—the producer I’m hoping to work with again—and my personal trainer. Because even though I have no intention of doing a juice fast or whatever starvation diet my mom will try to put me on, the reality of my line of work is that I need to be in good shape. And while eating whatever I want whenever I want—like my addiction to breakfast food covered in berries and whipped cream—I feel better when I eat healthy and exercise. That hasn’t been a part of my life here at Marycliff, especially while moping the last few weeks. If I’m going to revitalize my career and my life and move forward, then I need to do things that are healthy for me. Not let other people dictate my life or keep chasing after things—or people—I can never catch.

  Lauren presses her lips together and shakes her head. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault people are jerks. It’s actually been eye-opening. My real friends haven’t treated me any differently. And I know they wouldn’t sell you out or anything. I just figured you’d want to keep your privacy while you had it.” She spreads her hands. “I’m happy to have you back whenever you need to escape. If you decide to sell the house, just let me know so I can find a new place.”

  “I’m not going to sell the house, Lauren. You can stay as long as you need.”

  She nods. “Okay.” But her voice is hoarse like she’s fighting back tears now too. When she blinks and looks away, wrapping her arms around herself again, I know that’s what she’s doing. “Dammit, I just did my makeup!” She runs her thumbs carefully under her eyelids.

  I grin at her despite the tears blurring my own vision. “Do you have a date tonight?”

  She shakes her head. “No. Just hanging out with Tamara and Madison. Nothing big. You could come if you want. I don’t think they’d be weird about it.”

  I consider her offer for a second. I’ve only hung out with her and her friends a few times. It’s tempting. One more night of normalcy before my life is a circus again. But I don’t know if she’s right that they
wouldn’t be weird. So I shake my head, falling back on my instinct to keep to myself, not let anyone new get too close. It’s too risky. “I need to pack. Thanks, though.”

  “Of course.” She gives me a smile. “Let me know if you need help with anything.”

  “I will.”

  Chapter Six

  Contrary motion: motion in opposite directions; when one voice moves up, the other moves down

  Damian

  She’s still haunting me. Everywhere I turn, Charlie’s name pops up. At school. At home. In the news. On Facebook.

  I can’t escape.

  Last night she walked the red carpet at the Grammy’s, escorted by some rockstar or something. I ended up watching the whole thing, torturing myself with glimpses of her smiling face, the way she laughed and chatted with the red carpet interviewers during the preshow as though everything was happy and right in her world, leaning in close to whisper to her date.

  Rage zipped through me every time they were shown on screen together. And when pictures of them surfaced on every social media outlet today. Him tall and model-perfect in his tailored tux and groomed scruff, next to her flawless perfection in a designer gown. My scruff is from not bothering to shave, and Carla says it makes me look like a hobo. The contrast couldn’t be any more striking.

  I’m avoiding my phone for the rest of the day.

  Once again, Lauren seeks me out, this time as I’m getting my cello out of my instrument locker and heading for the practice rooms. She appears in the doorway of the instrument storage room and looks me over. “There you are,” she says, and I know she’s been looking for me.