Page 63 of The Girl with No Name

I take some deep breaths and try to let go, not freak out that this crazy, bearded man just drugged me as Turnpike finishes their last song.

“Thank you, Lexington! Y’all rock! Have a great night. Who’s ready for Zach Bryan?”

The crowd whoops and hollers, and when I turn around again, our mothertrucker friend is nowhere to be found.

“Well,” Dunn says, “should be an interesting night. We’ll be fine. Just have to stick together.” Dunn bobs his head to the music, clearly lost in his own little world.

Luna pulls closer to me. “Hey. I’ve been meaning to tell you something. I need to tell you before I forget.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“You know the only difference between these artists and you?”

“What?”

“You’re just as good as them. But they believed they could become something. And then they became it. And you know what else?”

My head is starting to feel a little light. “Hit me.”

“You think you’re so secure in your life. In everything. But nothing is as secure as you think it is. You should be following your bliss. That’s the only real security these days.” She moves close to my ear. “Stop worrying about what could go wrong. And start getting horny for all the ways life could go incredibly right.”

I crack up. “That’s one way to put it.”

“And for what it’s worth, I’m loving spending time with you guys. Your friendship gives me hope.”

“Hope for what?” I ask.

“That not all men suck. Now I see that I had to take this trip to understand that.”

“Did someone hurt you? Why do you keep saying that?”

She averts her eyes, and I think she might be skirting my question. But then I see where they’ve landed. It’s the hotel desk employee who checked us in, Randy.

Randy is wearing street clothes now, jeans and a ZB T-shirt, but there’s no mistaking his icy cold eyes.

“Is it the LSD, or is he staring at us?” I whisper to Luna.

“He sees us. He’s staring at us,” she says.

“Well, well, well,” Randy says as he approaches us with a haughty grin. “If it isn’t ‘the Red Lemons’.” He makes air quotes. “Shouldn’t you be backstage prepping for your set? Seven thirty, right? It’s almost seven.”

Dunn looks over, and even Charlie Dunn, king of the high school prank, seems caught off guard.

Oh shit. We’re in big trouble.

“The jig is up. Your asses are mine,” Randy says. His smirk is evil. Ugly. He holds up his phone. “I’m going to give the hotel a call and have them make sure you can’t get in your room. They should throw all of your things in the garbage. So you better hurry back and get all your stuff.”

My stomach does a tumble.My guitar is in the room.

Dunn growls in my ear. “I didn’t come this far just to throw in the towel. No way I’m missing my two favorite artists tonight.”

“What the hell are we going to do?” I whisper back.

“Double down,” he growls.

“Double down? What does that even mean in this situation?”

“We double down on the lie. Wearethe Red Lemons. YouareHenry Cooney and Violet Benson.”

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