Page 15 of Ticket to the Stars: Part One

Bringing his gray eyes back to me, Priest said, “Ever since Pope’s fuck-up, we’ve been forced to be on our best behavior. Telling me not to go crazy is like telling a tiger not to hunt. Unnatural.” He heaved a giant sigh, as if it really was the worst fate ever. “It’s such a drag. I’m glad all that’s changing now that you’re here.”

Ramona stopped, standing in front of the TV, her arms folded over her chest. “It’s not changing. There will be no girls and no parties for the foreseeable future for any of you.”

Priest raised his hand. “Does that mean no girls for Angel too?” It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why he was asking; he was a guy. Of course he’d like the thought of me with another girl. I could not roll my eyes harder at that.

“Yes,” Ramona said. “No girls for Angel, either. And no guys.” She tossed a quick glance at me, as if trying to remind me of the little talk we’d had in the car—something I didn’t need reminded of. Telling a stranger that I was a virgin, that I’d never been kissed, wasn’t the kind of thing someone like me forgot.

“You are no fun,” Priest muttered, a frown tugging at his handsome face.

“Yes, well, I’m trying to keep this band afloat, and going crazy with booze and chicks will only make you end up like Pope. Is that what you want, Priest? Because let me tell you something: they might love you now, but in a few years, no one will remember Black Sacrament or its members if you don’t shape up and do what needs to be done. After all that bad publicity, Black Sacrament can’t handle any more. From here on out, it’s either good publicity or nothing at all. Got it?”

Her voice was stern, and as I listened to her scold Priest, it hit me: she sounded like a mother. Like a mom scolding her child, something she’d done time and time again, and something she’d do countless more times.

It was actually kind of funny, because, now that he wasn’t focusing on me, Priest looked like he wanted to argue with her, the petulant child in this scenario. In the end, all Priest said was, “Yeah, got it. All aboard the boring express.”

Ramona didn’t appreciate the sarcastic comment. I could tell by the way the corners of her mouth turned down into a frown, but before she had the chance to say anything, someone else entered the suite, drawing her attention away from Priest.

“Bishop,” Ramona spoke with a sigh, visibly relaxing somewhat. “You’re here. Great.” She motioned for him to come over to her, and the one who was known as Bishop did as he was told. She set her hand on his shoulder once he reached her, and they both turned toward me. “Angel, meet Bishop. Bishop, Angel.”

Bishop was the one she said was a good kid. He stood taller than Ramona by quite a few inches, though not as tall as Priest. He had short brown hair shaved close on the sides of his head, the top length two inches longer, a little kink to it. His face was clean-shaven, his jaw square. Let’s just say he looked way different here than he did in the pictures I’d found online, just like Priest.The masks really did hide everything, huh?

It was only when I met his hazel eyes that it hit me.

I knew Bishop.

Chapter Eight – Angel

“Look what my dad got me!” He ran over to me to sit with me on the front porch. Cleo was still in daycare. Mom said I’d have to be older to watch her myself during the summers. The item he carried with him was almost as big as him; he was a skinny kid.

Two years older than me, and I was ten. He had other friends, but being neighbors meant we hung out all the time.

Well, sort-of neighbors. Technically he lived down the street.

He sat down next to me, his hair a little too long. He pushed it out of his eyes, leaning the object onto his lap. “Isn’t it awesome?” he asked, a wide smile on his face. He couldn’t take his eyes off it.

“Does it work?” I asked, leaning closer to him to eye it up.

He gave me a look. “Of course it works. It’s a guitar. Even if the strings break, you can replace them.”

I didn’t know much about guitars or anything like that. I liked to sing; that was it. Our love of music was shared, only he preferred instruments. This particular guitar looked like it didn’t need to be plugged in anywhere. What did they call those? They had a name, but I couldn’t think of it.

“Play something,” I told him, and he did. Even though the guitar was too big for him, his fingers worked at the strings like I imagined a pro’s would. I listened to the notes he played, trying to put it together, and then it hit me: “Is that Twinkle Twinkle Little Star?”

“Uh… yeah.” He gave me a sheepish smile.

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It was just ridiculous to me that he’d get a guitar and only know how to play that song.

“Hey! I’ll get better. I’ll learn all about it and play you a whole set list.”

I didn’t know what a set list was, but I stopped giggling and nodded. That sounded like a good thing, something fun.

Of course, he never did play me that set list at that personal concert of one, because that guitar had been a present from his dad to try to make things better. It didn’t. I never saw him again after that day, and it was only because my mom found out through the local grapevine that his parents had divorced. His mom took him and they’d moved away.

I never saw him again, hardly spared the boy any thought… until today.

Until I sat, staring up into a pair of hazel eyes I hadn’t seen for eight years. Set in a face that was much older—and a lot cuter—it had to be him. Eight years was a long time apart, a hell of a long time to grow up, but my gut twisted in recognition, and I knew. I just knew.

Bishop’s real name was Cody.

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