Only the Good Die Young

Chapter 16.2

It takes twenty minutes for us to check in and get our plastic keycards. I say hello to Annie and Megan. I don't know either of them, but really, I don't care. Just give me a bed and a pillow.

"I want everyone in their rooms by ten," says Mac, addressing the band in the foyer. "The gift shop has toothpaste and toothbrushes. You can get something to eat in the restaurant. No one is to leave the hotel."

"Does this place have a Jacuzzi?" calls Jesse. People laugh. The hairs on my arm prick as I remember Alex pulling back the change room curtain. My skin flushes and I seethe.

"No funny business, either," says Mac. "We'll meet here tomorrow morning at eight."

The band disperses. Most of the girls head to the gift shop while the guys wander off looking for vending machines, free internet connections, or the hotel restaurant. Some of the other high school bands were also caught in the storm, so teenagers are everywhere. The staff must love us.

I tear open my envelope that read Rebecca Lockhart – 363 written on it in pencil. A small white plastic keycard with a blue triangle on it slides into my palm.

I wonder if Mom knows what's happened. She's probably seen the blizzard on the news.

Actually, I don't care if Mom knows what's happened.

* * *

The hotel restaurant is a zoo: teenagers swarm at the salad bar, girls fill glasses with water at the soda dispenser and clusters of friends pool their money to order platters of nachos.

Kyle sits alone. Isabelle rests in her case in an empty seat across a table for two, a giant doll without a wig. A pint of Diet Coke sits on a coaster at his table. He stares at a menu.

Should I try to talk to him? It would probably just make things worse. I approach him nervously. "Hey," I say. "Can I sit here?"

"I don't know," says Kyle, not looking up. "Can you?"

Before I can think of a reply, Kyle suddenly says, "Sure, go ahead." I grasp the handle of Isabelle's case but he barks at me to get another chair.

I slide a chair over from another table and sit down, wondering how to explain Over the Rainbow. But Kyle pounces before I can open my mouth.

"That was mean as hell," he says, glowering.

"What?" I say, feigning innocence.

The look on his face shrivels my holier-than-Alex attitude. Remorse forms in my stomach, but I grow indignant and step on my guilt like a cockroach.

"She deserved it, Kyle," I say, glaring back. "You know how she's been treating me."

"No one deserved that, Rebecca."

"What the hell is wrong with you? She bullies me at school, exposes me to the store and you're pissed off with me? What are you, my mother? Besides, this wouldn't have happened if you had been standing guard like I asked."

Kyle blushes. "I thought I saw Eric Clapton."

"I don't care if you saw Arthur Rubenstein."

Kyle leans forward. "How can you not get it? Music is sacred. It's one thing for Alex to be a complete bitch to you – believe me, I know, I saw – but she was on stage. She was giving herself to the audience. She was totally vulnerable. I know she's been cruel to you, but what you did was far worse. It's like you stalked her. You waited until she took off all her armour and then you stabbed her in the back."

"That is bullshit," I say, trying not to shout. I want to pour his Diet Coke in his lap. "Alex gets off on being on stage. It's like a drug for her. And that dress she wore? This is a high school festival, not the Academy Awards. I just hit her where it hurts."