Blonde Ivory

Chapter Nine: Shiloh Levitsky

Shiloh Levitksy (Lead Singer of Blonde Ivory)

"So, here's the plan," Taelyn stretches his arms behind his neck and lets out a deafening yawn. "Either we both dress down in sweatpants and sweatshirts or we both dress up in designer clothes. There is no in-between for cute celebrity couples." I smile at his words because there is obvious truth to his statement.

"Sweatpants and sweatshirts it is." I laugh. He nods and fiddles with his square bead necklace. "Does that go with the look?" He rolls his eyes and looks at my reflection in the floor-length mirror.

"I don't care if it goes with the look or not, Shiloh. My mom made it for me back home." He laughs to himself. His face is distant as are his eyes- as if he is reliving a memory.

I nod and try to smooth down the curls of my hair to no avail. "It is very pretty." I murmur. He makes eye contact with me in the mirror. The butterflies in my stomach jump, but I do not know why. Maybe because it reminds me of when you are trying to focus on what a teacher is saying and then they make eye contact with you and you have to make them think that you are paying vivid attention even though you already were- if that makes sense.

"Yeah?" He asks.

I nod slowly and my hands fall to my sides. "Yes," I shout at myself in my head for sounding so annoyingly pristine.

He shrugs his shoulders and drops the necklace to his chest. "Well... It's no Gucci or Neiman Marcus, but..." He shakes his head at his words.

"But it feels like it?" I try to finish his sentence with a smile, but he shakes his head.

"God, no! I've had it for ten years and it's practically hanging by its last thread." I narrow my eyes at him through the mirror and shake my head at his pun.

Grabbing my name brand clothes that Mark sent over (part of the contract mentioned that we always have to look our best even if we do not feel our best). I glance at Taelyn who, still smirking at his dad joke, gets the idea of privacy and turns around. I quickly slip on my clothes and clear my throat when I'm done.

"It has sentimental value to you?" I ask. He turns around to face me again and nods slowly. "I get that. I kept all my school report cards. They were the only normal thing I had when you guys recognized and were the last normal things I got through the mail when we were on tour. Before we dropped out anyway."

"You guys didn't have to drop out, though. Alfonso and Marco graduated from online school when we were still busy in LA writing new music." He reprimands and collapses on my bed.

"Writing music in LA is completely different from going on a world tour with a band as popular as Firelight Moon. " He snorts and shakes his head. "You think not?"

He laughs and sits up on his elbow. He stares me down with his dark brown eyes (never call them black even though they look it because fans will attack you instantly with their shoes or will call you out about it on Twitter). "I know not, Shiloh, and I'm sure Hayden would agree. They're practically the same when it comes to how much time and effort they require. You wouldn't understand because Hayden is the one who writes most of that bullshit now."

"It is not bullshit and I help out Hayden whenever she asks me too." I correct him and he rolls his eyes.

"Hayden is the sweetest girl I have ever met in my entire life, and you're crazy if you think she'd ever ask anyone for help if she thought it would be a chore to them. You should be helping her whether she asks for it or not." I sigh at his words.

I know this of course. Hayden is the least confronting person with problems there is, not mention that she never asks for help. Especially now. Everyone milks helping her now. We help her with chores, with cleaning, with talking, but helping write songs is the only thing she has left. It is the only thing she can do herself that she prefers people leave her alone with. It is how she lets out her own thoughts without the pollution of ours. It is not our choice per say but it is a bonus because we do not have to stress about it. She does.