SKYE

Dramatic intro music hums through the speakers and the curtains open to reveal a drum kit and guitars in front of a wall of lightbulbs, all glowing a bright white. I watch a man walk onto the stage as the crowd begins to scream. I can only see his silhouette, but he sits down at the drums so I assume it's Sticks.

I snap a photo of his backlit outline as he holds his drumsticks in the air.

Another round of screaming follows the bassist as he makes his entrance. The audience, made of mostly women, seems convinced that every person who walks out could be Jackson.

After a moment, the lights dim and a slow piano melody begins to build. I have earplugs in to protect my hearing, but the women behind me are screaming so loud they may have just popped my eardrums.

Ow.

Among the shadows, I can see Jacks walk out in a perfectly tailored floral print suit. He grabs the mic then stands with his back to the crowd.

The piano gets faster and faster until a drum kick cues the lights go up and the guitar joins in. It has a funky, rock and roll kind of a vibe. He starts to sing and I hear the whole place sing along with him.

♫"She leaves shivers when she speaks

and lipstick on my sheets

She's a fighter and she's a lover

She's a firework spark

A true work of art

She's not the kind you keep undercover"♫

He wields the microphone like an extension of his arm, swinging it and dancing perfectly to the beat. I'm stunned as he comes alive in front of the crowd. The ease he has on stage is mesmerizing. I've never been that effortless doing anything in my entire life.

His crystal-clear, deep voice resonates through the old ceilings of the concert hall.

He's actually quite good. I heard a couple of his earlier songs and they seemed so shallow; I didn't really take him seriously. But I suppose now that I'm his tour photographer I should probably be familiar with his music.

Note to self: download Jackson's catalog so I don't look like a total noob.

I take several photos as Jacks leans down to touch hands with his rabid mob of fans. A blond teenager nearly bursts into tears when he grabs her hand for just a moment. Behind her I spot someone holding up a sign that reads: 'Jacks - I have your face tattooed on my ass. Wanna see?'

Click. Definitely need that photo.

For a moment, Jacks spots my camera and looks at me as he sings, shooting me a wink that my shutter is just fast enough to capture.

"Ohmygodd, Courtney!" a girl screams behind me. "Jackson Ford totally just winked at me!"

"Nuh-uhh!" she replies. "He winked at me."

I hear a scuffle starting behind me and I try my best to stifle a laugh.

* * * * *

As the lights come up on the concert hall, fans begin slowly shuffling out. Since the first show is in Los Angeles, I invited Greg. I was hoping he would stop by to support me on my first day, but he doesn't seem to be here.

To be fair, this isn't really his scene. The place was filled with hordes of shrieking teens all wearing Roman Dewan and Jackson Ford shirts and belting out the lyrics to every song.

Nobody fangirls quite as hard as literal fangirls.

Several of them have stayed behind to try and sweet talk the bouncer so they can get backstage. I try to step around them and a girl scoffs and gives me heavy side eye. I hold up my pass and the bouncer lets me by.

I walk past the stage and I see some eyes peaking through the curtain.

"Hello there," I say, pulling the curtain back just a bit. It's Sticks, drenched in sweat and looking completely exhausted. "What are you doing?"

I round the corner to see Jacks in the process of stripping off his suit jacket down to the tank top underneath. His arms are tan and toned with a few small tattoos.

"Hey Skye," Sticks says with a smile. "I have a bet going with Jacks that the fan with the ass tattoo is gonna try and fuckin' show it to him after the show—if you know what I mean."

"Ahh yes, ass-tattoo girl." I chuckle and look to Jacks.

"I guess it's supposed to be flattering, but it kinda gives me the heebie-jeebies," Jacks says, running a wet towel over his face. His formerly quaffed hair is now in soaking wet tendrils falling forward into his face.

"Yeah, but think about it," Sticks chimes in. "You can go at it doggie style and be looking at your own face while you're fucking her. Now that's a hell of an ego boost."

"Aauugghh!" He shakes his head furiously and grimaces. "That's definitely the worst way you could have put that. That image is going to haunt me."

"That's what I fuckin' do," Sticks says with a laugh. "How'd you like the show, camera girl?"

"You guys were great," I say. "I can't believe how much you all move up there. You must be exhausted."

"I'm in peak physical shape, babe." Sticks smiles and winks playfully in my direction.

"Two minutes ago you said you thought your lung had collapsed," Jacks says with a smirk.

"Always making me look bad in front of the hot chicks, Ford. Not cool."

Jacks shakes his head before turning to me.

"You have anything to eat yet or you eating on the road?"

"Oh, I hadn't actually figured that out yet," I say with a shrug. "I don't know how this touring stuff works."

"We're stopping by In-N-Out on the way out of town. You can come hang in my bus for dinner if you'd like. I'd love to hear about how your first day went."

"Sure. Sounds good."

JACKS

I bring a couple bags of food into my bus where Skye is seated at the table.

"What did you order?" I ask.

"Grilled cheese," she says.

"I didn't even know they had grilled cheese."

"It's an off-menu thing. One of their only vegetarian options."

Okay, so she's vegetarian. Good to know.

"Interesting."

I hand her the sandwich and a soda and unbag the rest of the food.

"Your show was really good," she says.

She liked it. I'm mentally high fiving myself so hard right now.

"Thanks. I'm glad you liked it."

"Your fans are really... intense."

"You noticed that, huh?"

"When you winked at me the girls behind me went berserk. They got into a hair pulling match and had to be separated by the bouncer." She laughs and sweeps a golden strand of hair behind her ear. "Who knew fifteen-year-old girls could throw down that hard. I was amazed nobody lost an eyeball."

I nearly choke on my soda and my laugh comes out as more of a cough.

Shit. She's funny too.

"I didn't realize I was starting a smackdown with that." I smile and her eyes meet mine.

The bus stars moving and she steadies herself against the booth.

"Whoa," she says. "That's going to take some getting used to. I've never even been in an RV and this is like... the world's fanciest RV."

"You get used to it after a while."

"Does it always sound like this?"

I listen but don't hear much.

"Like what?"

"The tires on the pavement and the engine sounds. It's pretty loud. How do you sleep like this?"

"You get used to that too. I don't even hear it anymore. We can put on some music if you like."

"Sure."

"No problem. Want to pick something? If you want you can plug your phone in to the system," I say, pointing to the cable beside her.

She swipes through her phone for a moment and sighs.

"This is too much pressure!" she says with a laugh, dropping her face into her palm. "I've never had to choose music around an actual musician before."

"Can I see what you have?"

"Sure." She slides her phone to me across the table.

I scroll through song after song—there's easily a couple thousand on here.

"Beyoncé and Bad Religion?" I say. "Nice!"

"Naturally." She smirks and shrugs her shoulders.

This girl's music library is making me weak in the knees.

"Cage the Elephant? Canned Heat? You have quite the range of tastes."

"Well thank you..." she says, biting her lip slightly and looking at the ground. "I didn't realize this was an audit of my whole library."

"Well it is now." I laugh and shoot her a playful wink.

I'm trying not to be vain, but I can't help myself—my fingers immediately find their way to the J's.

Jack Johnson.

Jack's Mannequin.

Jackson 5.

Jackson Brown.

James Brown.

Well, fuck. That hurts more than I expected it to.

I'm not even one of the two Jacksons in her library.

I swipe to the N's, wondering if she has anything from my boyband days.

N3XT.

Bingo!

She's got a ton of our old stuff.

I continue browsing through her music until I stop at a familiar name.

Roman.

Roman? Are you kidding me?

She has at least seven of his songs on here and not a single one of mine.

I can't shake the sinking, tight feeling in my chest. I really wanted her to like my music. I didn't even realize how much until I confirmed that she didn't. And to add insult to injury, she's a fan of Roman's.

I'm trying my hardest to play it off like I didn't immediately go searching for my own music and get disappointed, so I scroll back up to Green Day and hit play.

"Ah, you a Green Day fan?" she asks as the guitar riff plays over the speakers.

"Who isn't."

She smiles and begins to play air guitar along to the song.

This girl is really something.

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