Break It Up (Someone Else's Fairytale #2.5)

One: The Morning After

My name is Kyra Armijo and I have two problems. One is that I have a crush on Zach Wechsler. Yes, the lead singer of Triple Cross, the guy idolized by millions of other girls. The other is that I just woke up next to him in his Albuquerque hotel room. For the record, I am fully clothed and we are on top of the covers on opposite sides of the bed. We didn’t even kiss or cuddle. Nobody who catches me sneaking out of his room will believe that, though, especially not if they dug into my background a little.

Zach doesn’t know about the almost two dozen sexual partners I’ve had in my eighteen years or the miscarriage I had when I was thirteen. If I can’t get out of here undetected, the media will no doubt tell him for me. I am so screwed right now.

The clock says it’s 4:30 a.m., and my cell phone is dead. Its battery ran out hours ago and now it won’t even switch on.

Breathe, I think. I’m nobody. I’ll get out of this room and off this floor and no one will look twice. I go to the bedroom door and pull it open to find the living room empty. Not good. I came here with two friends. Neither of them is the type to talk, but if I made them jealous enough, there’s no telling what they might do.

I look back over my shoulder at Zach, who looks at peace, as wholesome and angelic as he did on his first ever album cover. His laptop is next to him on the bed, his hand draped over the keyboard. This’ll be the last time he’ll ever willingly be in the same room as me, so I take a moment to drink in the sight of him, his toned arms and chest; his muscular legs, one up on the bed, the other dangling off so that his foot touches the floor; his blond hair even more tousled than before.

“Bye,” I whisper before I make my getaway.

***

Rewind fifteen hours.

“Hey, Kyra?” said an unfamiliar female voice on a call that had come from a number I didn’t recognize. “This is Amy? Zach Wechsler’s assistant?” Her voice lifted at the end of each sentence, as if she wasn’t sure whether or not it crossed some line to call me. I couldn’t imagine why she’d think it would. She and I had met on the set of Insider. I was working in craft services, a job I got thanks to my uncle, Jason Vanderholt, Mr. Mega-Famous Actor. Zach Wechsler had a small bit part that meant he was on set for two days. I never saw him, except from a distance, but Amy came to get his meals, and she and I had gotten to know each other a little.

Now, I was at home, seated on my couch, trying to get our new ginger tabby, Boots, to let me pet him. He’s way standoffish and has been ever since the day we took him in. It’s clear he still misses his previous owner. “Oh, hi!” I put all kinds of enthusiasm into that response.

“Listen, the band’s still in town. You know they played the Journal Pavilion last night?”

“Oh, uh-huh.” Of course I knew that. I’d been there, screaming my lungs out in the nose bleed section while they performed. My parents hadn’t let me use our famous connections to get better seats.

“So do you want to meet up with them for dinner tonight?” Amy asked.

My jaw dropped—literally. I’d always thought that was a figure of speech. Boots and his issues could wait. I grabbed the bribe I had waiting for him off the counter and dropped it on the floor. It was a cardboard box that landed with a hollow thunk, which made him stir immediately. He loves boxes.

“Meet with you for dinner?” I said, padding down the back hall to my room.

“Well, no. Just the guys from the band.”

I froze mid-step. “Wait, this is Triple Cross we’re talking about? Or are you working for another Zach Wechsler now?” That band is famous for being inaccessible, kept under lock and key. If you got backstage passes at one of their concerts, you got ten minutes and then security would escort you out. Sometimes they canceled all backstage access. You got your money refunded and no place to appeal the decision. People who’ve met the band members are like unicorns. Mythical. You never, ever see one.