the other side of fear // n.h.

part 1

Kind of like my life.

"Thanks," I say flatly. "Sweaty upper lips are going to be the next big trend."

Ray swings an arm around my shoulder. Seth rounds the corner ahead of us, his phone pressed to his ear. His tour starts next week too, and then we'll be carrying on this charade long distance. No doubt his social media manager is already working out our coordinated Instagram posts.

"I'm sure no one even noticed," Ray says. As my best friend, it's her job to say that, but I try to believe her anyway. "What do you want for lunch? I was thinking that salad place on Melrose. Takeout, of course."

"Sure." Ray already has her phone out, the app open and the order in progress. Nobody knows me better than Ray, which is why when I moved to LA after my album release, she came with me as my personal assistant.

And nobody knows her better than me, which is how I know that I have to fire her.

Not today, not even this month—but after the tour ends, I have to severe our professional ties. Ray's been deferring her dream to help me accomplish mine, and I would be a shitty friend if I let that continue. I've been a pretty shitty human lately, what with the whole fake relationship thing, and I don't want to add shitty friend to my conscience.

Plus, I care about Ray. I care about her more than pretty much anything else in the world, and I know that she's got great things to give the world. She can't do that when she's too busy handling my appointments and scheduling my appearances.

Natural light streams in up ahead, indicating the end of the maze of tunnels. Seth hangs up his phone, slipping it into his pocket as he waits for us to catch up. He grabs my hand as Ray drifts behind us.

This is a practiced routine. We've done this a hundred times, so I know to bite my lips a couple of times to make it look like maybe Seth's just been kissing me, and I slip on the sunglasses Ray hands me to fulfill an agreement we made with the brand—no one will miss their distinctive reflective lenses or the shiny logo on the side. And then, as we step out into the sunlight, I don't look at the cameras.

————

Seth: Good luck tonight!! You got this!

Cody: Thanks! You too! How's the weather?

Seth: Snowing like a bitch. Speaking of, I really wish you were my opener instead of Jordanna. She refused to drink the Dasani at the venue tonight. Made them go out and get Aquafina for her.

Cody: Good for her. Dasani's crap.

Seth: Fine, I wish I was opening for you.

Cody: Much better

Cody:

————

The first night of the tour goes fine. The opening band, a group of boys whose voices have barely dropped, has the audience shrieking before I even step foot on stage, and it only gets louder from there. I don't flub any lyrics, and, despite the fact that it's the first night, my speech about how this is the loudest crowd I've ever seen goes off without a hitch.

But at the end of it, I don't feel exhilarated. I don't feel like the world is the brightest it's ever been. I don't feel like this is what I was born to do. I don't feel like I can't wait to get back out there and do it again tomorrow night, in a different city, in front of a different crowd.

All of that is true, of course. I love seeing girls lined up outside the venues in "GIRLS DO IT BEST" t-shirts and chelsea boots like the ones I used to wear, and I love hearing them sing along when I take my in-ear out. I'm so grateful this is part of my job.