Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Or did I?
Fuck if I know. My head’s twisted around with what’s right and wrong, and if it wasn’t for this tour, I’d be home right now with my head under the pillow, ignoring the world.
I climb the three steps, smiling at the driver who will undoubtedly become our best friend for the duration of the tour. We’ll learn about his life, whether he has a family or not, and bring him into the fold. The bottom line is, we’ll take care of him because it’s his job to get us where we need to go in one piece.
There’s an immediate rush of cool air coming from the air conditioning and the subtle sound of the engine, idling under my feet. I pass through the front lounge area with its plush leather couches, small built-in tables, and big flat-screen TV mounted in the corner, along with Bluetooth speakers for added surround sound and to drown out road noises. I say hi to Justine, Priscilla, and Wynonna. From what Elle has said, they’re excited for the tour.
The mini kitchen tucks into one side with a sink, microwave, and full-sized refrigerator, which, if I had to guess, is stuffed with beer, energy drinks, soda, an assortment of snacks like cheese, fruit, meat slices, and whatever else people eat. Knowing my sister, the cabinets are fully stocked as well, and if I remember correctly, she sent out an email asking for items we’d like on the bus—an email I didn’t respond to.
The espresso machine catches my eye. I’m grateful it’s there because caffeine is my religion.
Continuing down the narrow hallway is a small bathroom with just a toilet, a tiny sink, and a mirror with a light above it. The sign on the door, which is meant for Hendrix, reads: Don’t shit here.
At the end of the hall, there’s a narrow, winding staircase leading to the second level known as bunk alley. There are two rows of coffin-sized beds, stacked three high, running the length of the corridor. Each bunk is marked with our names and has a privacy curtain, which surprisingly keeps the sound muffled. In each space, we have USB ports, a reading light, and a small screen to watch TV on. The last bus we had, the mattresses were soft, and I realize as I look at my bed that I’m going to miss sleeping this tightly with Nola.
At the very end of the row is another lounge. This one is more stylish and accommodating, with a wraparound couch, another TV, and a place to set up our gear. We can jam here without bothering the driver. This is where we’ll play video games, write music and get loud, and watch the scenery pass by without cars and trucks being in our line of sight.
The bus shifts and begins rolling. I don’t bother to look out the window of my bunk or open it to wave goodbye to anyone. The only person I want to see already left.
As I unpack and put my clothes in the shared closet and drawer with my name on it, I try to pinpoint where everything went wrong. One minute we’re golden, heading toward a future, and then we’re not. I wish she’d tell me what I did wrong so I could fix it. I know I asked, but maybe I didn’t push, and I should’ve.
One by one, my bandmates and the ladies from Plum come upstairs. Everyone’s chatting away, happy and excited.
Dana, Justine, Priscilla, Wynonna, and Chandler are in the first section of bunks, with the guys occupying the back half, with the bathroom, complete with a stand-up shower, separating us.
“Who created the sleeping chart?” Hendrix asks as he looks at Dana. I wish they’d figure things out. More so, I wish Hendrix would take a damn hint.
“I did,” Dana says. “Girls here, boys there.”
“Works for me,” Keane adds, knowing full well Chandler will be at the other end of the bus.
“And me,” Ajay adds.
“Doesn’t work for me,” Hendrix says.
“Why not?” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them.
“What if I want to be at the back of the bus?” Hendrix says.
“Then we’ll swap,” Dana says. “All of us.”
“That’s stupid. We’re adults. We can mix together.”
“Leave it be,” I say, wanting them to shut the fuck up already. “Who gives a shit where you fucking sleep?”
“I fucking do, and it’s not your band,” Hendrix says as he steps up to me.
I scoff. “Right. I’ll walk if that’s what you want.”
Keane steps in between us. “Come on, man,” he says to Hendrix. “It’s just a sleeping arrangement. I’m sure in a week we’ll all be moving around, switching buses, and all that. Let’s just be cool. We have a long tour ahead of us, and we need this to go well.”