DRASTIC (Book 4 of the Soundcrush Series)

Chapter 39: Drummer Boys Rack Up Frequent Flyer Miles

Bodie,  about two weeks later

I crack every knuckle as we prepare to land at LAX.

I'm irritated. I'm out of methadone—for about three days now. But I'm sober and I'm focused. I'm ready to put on the necessary show.

The last thing I ever want to deal with is paparazzi, but I know Bells needs all the exposure she can get on the internet now that she's blacklisted in the legitimate press.

The only story the press is going to carry about Bells is the engineered break-up that is supposed to happen in a month's time, after the Grammy's. Until then, I have promised her we will be as visible as possible.

"What's the word?" I call across the aisle.

The man I brought back with me from the Philippines looks up from his phone.

He's a character with a jet black flock of seagulls haircut and more kohl guyliner than I've seen up close since Leed performed Rocky Horror Picture Show our freshman year. This guy's hair and makeup are balanced by his pink t-shirt emblazoned with the phrase "Allergic To Bullshit." The t-shirt is tucked beneath his chartreuse leather jacket.

"We're good to go. I've supplied Zack Fitch with the questions," he instructs Arabella. "Don't stop for him, don't preen, and for god's sakes, don't answer him. Just look startled at the leak. The goal is to create buzz, alright?"

Bells bites her lip and looks at me with worried eyes. "Are you sure about this, Bodie? What if I just...make things worse?"

I sit down on the couch, wrapping an arm around her. "I'm sure this is the only way, if you're sure you still want a public life."

"It's all I know," she says softly. "All I ever wanted. To be a performer."

I nod. I can't really say the same—I'm not a natural born frontman—but my best friend is, and he's not meant for anything else.

Arabella is the same. A different kind of talent—undeveloped, immature—but like Leed she's very magnetic. As evidenced for the fact that I fell for her persona before I got to know the troubled little girl underneath.

No, I can't blame Arabella for wanting to shine. To be honest, I want to see her shine, too. On her terms, for once.

But sometimes wanting something is not enough. Sometimes you have to make shit happen. Which is why I took Bells to the Phillipines and laid out the whole truth about her career problems to her. And showed her the solution: the guy sitting across from us.

"Then I'm sure Avery's label is the only way. If Hollywood is closed to you, we will make you an international star. Then they can't ignore you."

A tear slips down Arabella's pretty cheek. She kisses me chastely on the lips. "Thank you, Bodie. I promise you, I'll do everything you ask. I'll stay clean. I won't cause anymore trouble. I'll be...nice."

I give her a one armed squeeze as my only response.I'm not holding my breath that Arabella can deliver consistently on all those promises, but I just need her to try. A little each day. That's how people grow—messing up, getting back on track.

God knows I've done my share of messing up. It's only been recently I've started to grow, and I've got a decade on Bells. If anyone understands what it's like to fall down, it's me.

I direct my attention to the man sitting across from us. Avery Thompson. He's a British ex-pat that Bells and I met briefly in Thailand and the reason for the trip to the Philippines.

Well, at least he's the secondary reason for the trip, and an excellent cover for the primary reason, which has nothing to do with Arabella's career and everything to do with keeping Marley and Darius safe.