And then he’d say, just like she had, It’s going to be okay, J. Everything’s going to be okay.
But was it? How could everything be okay after what had happened?
There was a garbage can right next to me, and I had the crazy fantasy of tossing my phone into it so I wouldn’t have to deal with any more calls or texts from people. After that, I could just get in my car and drive away. I’d find a job in a diner somewhere, waiting tables. I’d been planning on applying early to Harvard. Surely I could get a job waitressing.
I stood there, holding my phone and looking at the garbage can for a while, and then I chickened out. If I ran away, they’d find me. And once they found me, I’d have to come back. And when I came back, everyone would know I was the crazy girl who’d run away to work at a diner.
Instead of running away from home, I texted my dad. I told him I was okay. I told him I was with Sofia. I told him I would meet Kathy at the house in the morning. I asked him to stop texting me.
Because I was a good girl. And good girls didn’t throw away their phones or leave home or make their parents worry about them for no reason.
I’d left my bag in the car, and now that I had several hours to kill, I headed back to retrieve it. When I got to my car, Declan, the girl from the passenger seat, the guy who’d been driving, and the kid who’d gotten out of the van earlier were talking to an older guy in a blue button-down and a pair of khakis. He was writing something on a clipboard, and as I approached, he ripped off a piece of paper and handed it to the girl.
“Display that prominently on your dashboard so security can see it,” he said, and she nodded.
“What’s with this one?” he asked, gesturing at my car with his elbow.
The girl opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say she had no idea whose car it was, I said, “That’s mine.” My voice had an edge to it.
The man swung around in my direction. He was simultaneously pale and sunburned, like an egg someone had roasted. “And who exactly are you?”
In an instant, it was clear that the man embodied the Milltown Country Club fascist state Sofia had spoken of.
“I’m Juliet,” I said.
“Should this mean something to me?” he asked, sarcastically. He held his clipboard out to me. “If I look, will I find your name on this list? Or should I be asking you to leave now?”
My desire to tell him to go fuck himself was kept under control by the fact that if he asked me to leave, I’d have no place to go. I glared at him, furious and scared and silent.
It was Declan who answered him. “She’s with us.”
The girl, the driver, and the other boy turned to Declan, but none of them said anything to contradict him.
“She’s with you?” asked the roasted-egg man, his voice dripping doubt as he looked from the four black-haired, blue-eyed people who’d gotten out of the aging van to me, blond and brown-eyed and standing in front of my spanking new Honda, my parents’ birthday gift to me just four months ago.
“Tambourine,” said Declan. He shook the tambourine I hadn’t seen he was holding.
A car drove into the parking lot and pulled into a spot all the way at the other end. I could almost smell the egg man’s desire to go and bully the new arrival vying with his desire to stay here and bully us. The sound of the other car’s door slamming shut decided him. He glanced at my license plate, jotted something down on the piece of paper on his clipboard, tore it off, and handed it to me.
“Place this prominently on your dashboard.”
I took the paper from him and nodded.
He glared at us. “And don’t let me catch any of you wandering around the grounds, or I’ll throw the whole bunch of you out. This is a private club, and you’re here to perform, not enjoy yourselves.” With that, he turned and marched across the lot calling, “Hey! Hey!” to the guy who’d just parked and was heading toward the kitchen carrying a large green box.
“Care to tell us what this is all about?” asked the driver, turning to Declan.
“Nothing,” said Declan. “It’s fine.”
“It’s fine?” repeated the driver, sounding as sarcastic as the egg man.
“Oh, Sean, don’t be an arse,” said the girl. She came over to me. Fine boned and pale, she was even prettier up close. She might have been the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen in real life. “I’m Sinead. This is my cousin Sean. And this is my little brother, Danny.” She pointed at the boy next to her, and he gave me a shy wave. I gave him a wave back. “And I guess you already know my brother Declan.”
“Hi,” I said. “I’m Juliet.”
“Hi,” said Declan. “Again.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Again.” I gave him a nervous smile.
“No problem,” he said, and his face stayed serious.
“Well, this is just fucking great,” said Sean, slapping his thigh in frustration. “What are we supposed to do with her?”
“I really appreciate your helping me with that guy,” I said. “But I won’t bother you anymore. Seriously.” I backed away from the van. “See? You won’t have to deal with me for the rest of the night. I’m outta here.”
But as I turned to go, Sean called out, “Oh no you don’t!” His voice was authoritative. I turned back around. “If Mr. Stick Up the Ass finds you on the grounds, he’s going to toss all of us out,” Sean reminded me. “And I for one don’t want to lose a gig I worked very hard to get.”
Sinead snorted.
“That’s enough out of you, missy,” said Sean to Sinead.
“I’m sorry,” I said. I said it to Sean, but I meant it for all of them. “I really don’t know how I ended up being your problem. I’m just waiting for my friend to finish working.” I could hear my voice shaking slightly, but I hoped anyone who didn’t know me pretty well wouldn’t notice.
I saw Sinead and Declan exchange a look, and then she said, “Are you kidding? You know what a relief it is to get a break from all this testosterone? Not that you have that much, Sean,” she added quickly.
“I’m surrounded by comedians,” said Sean, walking around the van. From the far side of it, he yelled, “All right, then, you’re going to be pulling your weight if you’re sticking with us, Jules.” He hit the nickname hard, like he knew nobody called me that and he was daring me to tell him not to.
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of correcting him; I just let Sinead guide me around the van, where I stood with her while Sean kept calling me Jules as he loaded me up with cords and told me to follow Danny up the hill to the stage.
By the time we’d set up all the equipment, I was dripping sweat and my arms and legs ached. I couldn’t believe how much work it was to set up for a concert. We’d dragged mics and mic stands and amps and guitars and a drum set up the hill
