Love and Fame Games (Book 1)

02 (Part Two)

I had lost track of how long I sat in the dark, clutching my phone, staring at the frozen image on the screen. I didn't really need to keep watching, I reminded myself once again. I already knew what I would see. It felt like going by a car crash—I was aware that I would only be devastated if I looked, but couldn't not do it, either, or I'd be making up far-worse scenarios all night.

My finger hovered over the screen, about to press play, but I changed my mind at the last second. I bought myself more time by texting Alex, just so she wouldn't feel ignored. Just because she hated texting and similar forms of communication didn't mean that she didn't expect me to send her messages on a regular basis.

I didn't know what to say, so I sent her several messages consisting of random characters and emojis, similar to the ones she had sent earlier. With any luck, she would just take it as me freaking out—which I was. Just not in the way that she was. I decided to grit my teeth and get it over with. I played the video from the start, in case I missed anything.

Once again, it was just Jordan Castle and her spotlight. She held a sparkly microphone in her hands and was very casually addressing the audience.

Now this was a star: a restless crowd of thousands and she didn't even need to raise her voice to be heard. I could be screaming my head off and, half the time, no one would even look my way.

The familiar melody of the next song swelled in the background and she began to talk about how special that song was to her and how—she cast the audience an adorably sad look as she said this—it wasn't meant to be sung alone. The audience responded with just the appropriate amount of sympathy: cooing and yelling words of encouragement. And then, she introduced her so-called friends whom she brought in to help her with the number. Instinctively, my pulse began to quicken and I braced myself for the upcoming scenes.

Each time Jordan Castle welcomed a band member, a spotlight came on with a resonant click and shined on the spot where that person was positioned. Tristan Lazaro was near the back, on a platform behind a drum set. He was a skinny boy with dark features, who responded to his introduction by twirling one of his sticks in the air and then crashing both on a cymbal. I rolled my eyes at this.

"Lame," I mouthed, as if Tristan could see. The audience didn't seem to think so, judging from the sound of their squealing.

Then again, what did I expect from a group of mostly preteen girls? They didn't know any better.

Another spotlight came on to Jordan's left. Ethan Scott was a lanky blond guy who, when introduced nodded, first at Jordan, then to the audience. The squealing only got louder from there.

Seth stood to Jordan's right and was fiddling with the settings on his keyboard when his spotlight went on and he was introduced. He stopped what he was doing to shield his eyes from the glare with one hand. The crowd went wild as soon as he saw him but he just stared ahead with a blank expression, like he was either unaware of his surroundings or was thoroughly unimpressed.

"Jesus Christ, Seth." I scolded the figure on the screen and made a face to show my disapproval. "Would it kill you to smile?"

"Give it up for Off-Kilter." Jordan Castle finished her introductions with a flourish and I couldn't help but cringe inwardly when I heard the band's name; I had lobbied against it when they were starting out but they had their reasons for choosing it.

The song began, and a change seemed to take place in Seth. He was almost unrecognizable, and it was not because of his professionally styled hair and new clothes. He always looked fine, but tonight he was beyond presentable.

It was something else, something almost magical. He was always a different person when he played.

Gone was the deer in the headlights expression and the awkwardness. This was Seth Frasier—at his very best and in his element. He looked confident, comfortable, and even Jordan Castle could not outshine him.

Not to say that he stole the spotlight from her. Together, Jordan and Seth were magnificent—maybe better than I had ever seen each of them, individually. They sounded like they were born to sing together; I couldn't look away. When the number was over, there was a brief hush in the video. I actually thought that the sound went out but then the crowd began to roar.

"Off-Kilter, everyone," Jordan Castle reminded the crowd. "Keep an eye out for them. They're gonna be huge!" That set off the audience again. Jordan Castle's word was law for these people. If Off-Kilter had not completely made it tonight, they were well on their way. I put down my phone, unsure of how to feel about what I had just seen.

I wasn't surprised—not really. After a year of daily lessons from Seth's mom, the only things I really learned were the following: One, I had zero musical talent and there was no point in continuing my lessons; And two, there was more to Seth than what met the eye.

I first saw him play in third grade. His mom was a speaker on career day and he was part of her demonstration. He was brilliant and made me want to be, too. I could not wait for my dad to stop talking about his job at a pharmaceutical company so I could beg him to get me lessons with Seth's mom. I thought, how hard could it be if even the moody kid who never made eye contact and mumbled when he spoke could do it?

The answer? Super hard. Seth didn't just play the piano and have the voice of an angel. He turned out to be some kind of musical genius, who could learn to play almost any instrument that he got his hands on, and was then only three years away from composing his first sonata.

In other words, Seth only made it look easy and I had been hustled. If I had known a good lawyer at the time, I probably could have sued for false advertising.

This was bound to happen. Having a mom who was a music teacher and gave him an early start in music, on top of what he had been born with, kind of sealed his fate. If anything, I should be surprised that it didn't happen sooner.

I wasn't unhappy, either. If this had happened before the last week of tenth grade, I wouldn't even have thought twice about celebrating in a way that woke up the whole neighborhood. It was just that, the way things were at the moment, I didn't feel at liberty to do so.

I blinked, realizing I had hit the nail on the head.

I hated myself. What the hell was my problem? Did I really expect Seth to spend the better part of the past three months sulking like I did? Was I really holding the fact that he did something worthwhile with his summer break against him? Was this the person I had become? Pathetic. I refused to accept it.

I picked up my phone once more, hastily tapped out a message, and sent it before I could overthink.

To Seth: Heard the good news. So happy for you. (2:12 a.m.)

I felt lightheaded and my mouth went dry when I heard the little sound that told me it was too late to change my mind. I bolted out of bed and headed downstairs to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, taking deep breaths with each step.

Cookies sounded good all of a sudden so I returned to my room with a plate of those, along with my water. Getting back into bed, I saw that my phone had two new messages, both from Seth.

I read the first one and frowned.

From: Seth: Thanks. That means so much. (2:21 a.m.)

Like, what the hell was that supposed to mean? Did he mean it, or was he being sarcastic? I couldn't tell. A text message was hard enough to interpret, but the source of this one made it damn near impossible. I would have gotten riled up again and demanded an explanation right then, if it hadn't been for the other message, sent immediately after the previous one.

From Seth: Didn't mean to sound short. Things are crazy right now but I promise we'll talk more soon. (2:22 a.m.)

I didn't have the heart to talk to him anymore, after that. Here I was, trying to be the bigger person about what happened but obviously, I wasn't, and couldn't even pretend to be.

What happened between Seth and me before he left was a bigger deal for me than it was for him. Not only did Seth not dwell on it, he seemed to have forgotten about it already.

I couldn't really blame him. Maybe if I had better things to do with my time, I would have, too.

I stared at the screen, feeling smaller than ever. "Well," I said, feeling deflated. "Guess he showed me."

This was just another reminder that musical talent was the least of our differences; Seth Frasier was better than me in a lot of ways.