How to Date a Nerd

Chapter 25 - How to Deal with Your Stalker P.A.

You like the way that people stare at you now
You look so fake, just thought that you should know
And you're all the same and when the curtain drops down
You'll be replaced by something typical

Chapter 25 – How to Deal with Your Stalker P.A.

 

The service van swerved uphill from Pacific Coast highway overlooking to Sta. Monica beach. I woke up with a start arriving to Sunset Boulevard. From the window, the canyon looked enormous, threatening almost. I woke up the guys once we swerved toward a narrow gravel path just before arriving to a State Park.

Soon, the trees thinned out and there stood the empty house Dad bought for me. Three stories-high, with an open veranda on the rooftop. Dad used to keep a small garden and a wood workshop there. Not much left of those now but dirt and withered plants and rusty tools. The outside survived on itself—still blue and white with the glass panels glistening in the dark. As I looked at it now, I felt a bit strange being here. It wasn’t my home anymore.

“Dude!” Chuck pushed past us, virtually tumbling his way out of the van. “That’s some house.”

I sighed and gestured for the rest of the guys to get out. After instructing the company driver to pick us up early the next morning, we piled in to the patio. I opened the door with a little help from Ricky since my other arm still irked me a bit. Once I flicked on the light switch, the guys raced to the sea-blue custom made leather couches. Dad and I used to play Game of the Generals in that corner of the house. Everything looked considerably spotless. The cleaning lady must be really dedicated to her job.

“Kitchen’s at the back, left of the hallway,” I mumbled tiredly. “TV’s at the next room, through that door. Study room at the basement—off limits, by the way if you don’t want Dad holding a grudge on you for like, eternity. Pick any of the rooms at second floor except for that two at the end of the hallway. Those are mine and Dad’s.”

I barely made it to my room when the guys caught up. All of them looked expectantly at me. Seemed like Nate told them a thing or two about the Megan situation so I filled them in on the details. I owed them at least that much. Plus, they’d have to know that this was a job with a work-at-your-own-risk tag since some psycho stalker fan was out to get me. And possibly them too.

Only Ricky looked bothered about the situation. I didn’t expect Chuck and Reed to be fazed anyway, so we decided to push forward with the plan. The rest of the week was spent on recording the rest of our songs, pictorials and coaching—for the guys since they’d have to look and act their best when presented in public. We all had to get our hair and clothes styled. After rehearsal, we headed to the gym. Jobs didn’t want his little money-makers snatching the Skinny Award from him so he forced us to work our butts out. Looked like he found a new hobby—seeing us crawl our way back home. It was tiresome. But no way we were going to back out now.

We were making slow progress with the recording. The producers were almost reluctant to give us our big break. At home, we practiced some more. Played some more. Screwed up. Then worked harder the next day. No complaints from the guys so far but I could tell they were starting to get burned out. I guess they were starting to realize that my life wasn’t all limos and girls and parties and free stuff.

Every time, I stayed up late to call Sarah. I kept getting the feeling that she was drifting away from me. Like something was bothering her. Something she wasn’t telling me. I kept reassuring her that I’d be home soon, that I was doing this for her, that everything’s going to be alright. Like that would work on Sarah. But I still did, since she’d been notorious for doing rash stupid things whenever she was in panic. It usually took me a few hours past midnight to fall asleep. All I wanted was to see her, but somehow, it scared me too. Going home would mean I had to tell her everything. She might end up hating me.