Page 31 of Ticket to the Stars: Part One

“Mom,” I interrupted her rant. “I’m fine. Really.”

“Have you sung with any of them yet?” Mom asked. “Do you even know if you’re a good fit together? Cleo says you’ll kill it, but I’m not sure what that means. I tried listening to Black Sacrament a little, but you know I’m not really into rock.”

Yes, I was well aware my mom was heavily into the nineties.

“Not yet. Ramona’s meeting us at the studio tomorrow. She booked us a whole day to practice and get a feel before we sit down and discuss which songs we’re going to re-do.”

“You’re going to re-record some of Black Sacrament’s older songs?”

“Yeah. Some older stuff, and then some newer stuff. She’s working on booking venues in a few months, and a nation-wide tour later next year.” Technically, my contract expired in the summer of next year, but it looked like everything was going to take a bit longer than Ramona had anticipated… which meant I had to stick around. One album, one tour. That’s all I was legally obligated to fulfill.

Unfortunately, it seemed like it’d take longer than a year. The sad thing was, it’d probably take that long to get used to this life and living with these guys.

“Oh, that’ll be exciting! I—” Mom paused, and in the background, I heard Cleo’s voice. She sighed. “Mags, your sister wants to talk to you. I have to go start dinner, anyways. I love you.” She blew a kiss to the camera before handing the phone over to Cleo.

“Hi!” Cleo grinned, waving to me, and I waved back.

“Hey, brat.” I was going to say more, but right then, the view on my phone jostled as Cleo raced through the house. I had to look away; it was getting me nauseous. I heard the sound of a door shutting, and then the phone screen finally stabilized. “How’s school?”

Cleo now lay on her bed, on her stomach, and she held the phone in front of her, grinning at me. Her dark blond hair was filthy, totally greasy, but she didn’t care. “School sucks,” she declared. She had her own phone, but it was an old model that always glitched out when you tried to video chat. “How are the guys? Are they working on any new songs?”

I chuckled. “I don’t think I can tell you that, but they’re good. We’re going to the studio tomorrow. It’ll be the first time Priest and I sing together.”

She let out a swoon. “I bet it’s going to be amazing! Priest is such a good singer. He should’ve done more vocals before Pope got kicked out—” She spoke with an authority an eleven-year-old definitely shouldn’t have. Her next question caught me so off-guard, I didn’t know what to say: “Have you kissed any of them yet?”

“Have I…” I started to repeat her question back to her, but I trailed off once I realized what she’d asked.Have I kissed any of them yet?Where in the world would she get the idea that I would be kissinganyof them?

The look on my face must’ve said enough, because Cleo blabbered on, “They’re hot, Mags, and you’re living with them without Mom there.”

“You’re eleven. You’re not even allowed to call guys hot yet,” I told her. If she was Alexa asking this question, I probably would’ve started to blush—because, yes, the guys were hot, and I might’ve thought about kissing Bishop and Priest a few times, but what girl could live with guys like that and not imagine certain Wattpad scenarios when they’re falling asleep at night?

Bishop suddenly remembering who I was, and then his need for me would become so strong, he’d just have to kiss me under the fireworks of our biggest show to date. Priest declaring, for everyone in the audience, that I was the only girl he wanted, sweeping me into his arms, spinning me around, and then dipping me low as his lips met mine…

Okay, yeah, so I might’ve gotten a little into it. You can blame my stupid imagination.

Cleo blinked at me. “I might be eleven, but at least I’ve kissed a boy before.”

“Youwhat?” My mouth dropped open at that. She had to be lying. She had to be. At eleven years old, you were still a kid. Sure, my sister had started her period young like me, so the hormones were going crazy all the time, but come on. She waseleven. She couldn’t have gotten her first kiss beforeme.

And if she did, I was more pathetic than I thought.

When Cleo only grinned a toothy smile, I demanded to know, “Who? When? And does Mom know?”

“Tommy, and it was on the bus on a dare, so it doesn’t really count I guess, but whatever.” She shrugged, as if she didn’t care that her first kiss had been lost on a stupid game while on the bus with a neighborhood boy. “And Mom doesn’t know, because she doesn’t need to. You better not tell her.”

Ah, so this must be why she ran to her room and shut the door as soon as she got ahold of the phone.

I couldn’t believe this. I literally couldn’t believe this. My little sister, who was a mere eleven years old, had kissed a boy before me. God, if I could crawl under a rock and die, that’d be great.

Cleo scrutinized me intensely. “So, you didn’t kiss any of them yet?”

“No! And why do you keep sayingyet? I’m not going to—” I lowered my voice. “—kiss any of them, ever. We’re working together, that’s it.”

She pouted. “That’s so boring.” Then she shook her head. “No, you’re going to kiss them. You’re going to kiss all of them.”

Thank goodness I had the TV on and the volume up, because I could only imagine what the guys would think if they overheard my little sister saying, with such authority, I’d be kissing them all.

“Cleo…”

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