Page 104 of My Rock Star Neighbor
“I thought you were upset that I didn’t want to join the family business.”
“Well, yes and no,” my mom says.“If this were your dream, that would have been great.I wanted you to pursue your dream of being a reporter but for you to know that you had this backup plan and a safety net.I felt that when your dad died, my security blanket disappeared overnight.I mean that in the best possible way.I leaned on your dad for strength and for warmth, and I felt lost without him.”
“I wish I could give you a hug right now,” I say.
“Well, come home soon, and bring that young man of yours too, although right now, I’m getting a sticky embrace from your niece.Wait!”my mom yelps.“Did you just put a lollipop in my hair?”she asks, her voice muffled.To me, she says, “I have to go.”
I turn to Nick and tell him about my conversation with my mom.“I bet it was even worse for your mom, with a baby and no partner.”
He nods.“I know.But I don’t know how to break through her current mindset.”
“Has she met the band?”
“No.She refuses to come see me play, and I didn’t want her to meet the band in case she was rude or dismissive.You’ve heard her.”
“I don’t think she’d be rude to their faces,” I say.“And if she met the band, she’d understand that you’re all committed artists, not in it solely for fame or some kick.”
“Maybe,” Nick says.
My phone rings again.It’s Felicity.“Congratulations!But be careful on the way to work because angry fans are milling about the front entrance.Take a cab and come in the back way.”
“I’m not coming in the back way,” I say.“But I’ll take a cab.”
“We’ll go together,” Nick says.“We need to be seen together.”
In the cab, I can’t stop staring at the front page.It’s my first time with a cover story.It’s my name in print right there.I run my finger over my name.Madeline Hughes.Nick is holding his own copy.Our cab driver is having a conversation in Bengali.
“I love the way you wrote this part about confirming the handwriting,” Nick says.“That was so well done.”
The cab slows down as we reach City Hall.Our cab driver turns to us to say his friend, who just dropped someone off in this area, said there’s some sort of protest outsideThe Intelligencer.
We pay and exit, both pulling our black baseball hats a bit farther down.
“It can’t be about us, right?”I ask, but as we turn the corner, it’s clear that it is.
About twenty fans are holding signs that state.Did they lie to us?outsideThe Intelligencerbuilding.
“I’m so sorry,” Nick says.
“At least you have twenty fans,” I say.
He looks at his phone and growls.“It’s the Cara-wannabe woman.She’s the one organizing.She’s already uploaded a video saying she knew our relationship was fake.”
Suddenly, going in the back entrance seems like the better way to handle this.
“I don’t think it’s good if they get a picture of you with those placards,” I say.“And I prefer the focus to be on my front-page story rather than our relationship.Let me just go in the back way.”
Nick says, “If that’s what you want.”
I kiss him on the lips.“Yes.This will blow over if we show that we’re committed to each other, but we shouldn’t engage with it unnecessarily.Don’t worry about me.”
“All right.I’ll see you tonight.Go celebrate your victory,” he says.“I’ll go to the studio and work on our next song.I came up with some more ideas.”
“Inspired by real-life events?”
“Real-life feelings.And you.”He seems reluctant to let me go, squeezing my hand, but he does.His phone rings again.
“It’s my mom,” he says.
