Now and Forever Page 7

  Miles and Ethan have been friends since they were little. They built a fort in the woods together in fifth grade. Ethan brought me there when we started going out. The fort was really worn down. It had a lot of missing boards and a big piece of the ceiling was gone. But the history of their friendship was almost tangible, built into the fort’s construction.

  Now that Miles and Ethan are seniors, the attention they gave the fort has been replaced by a strong focus on girls. Miles and his girlfriend, Reyna, sit with us at lunch. We double-dated with them a lot, back before Ethan started blowing up. And we hung out with our other friends a few times a week. Ethan doesn’t see his friends that much anymore. The only time I see Miles and Reyna these days is at lunch. They’re more his friends than mine.

  Everyone at the table is freaking out over Ethan’s first tour. It was announced this morning. Ethan said keeping the tour a secret until it was officially announced was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. He told me about the tour, but I had to lock it in the vault.

  “So when does your tour start?” Reyna asks.

  “January. It’s a three-month run.”

  “How many shows is it?” Miles asks.

  “Forty-six.”

  “Damn, son! All famous and shit.”

  “I wish.”

  “Seriously?” Reyna says. “Forty-six shows is amazing.”

  “Congrats, man.” Miles and Ethan pound fists.

  “Everything’s happening so fast,” I say. “It’s unreal.” I remember hearing “Night on Fire” on the radio for the first time. That was last month. Now Ethan has three singles out. They’re all getting major radio play. You can’t have Z100 on for more than an hour without hearing one of his songs.

  “That shirt is fierce,” Reyna tells Ethan. “Where did you get it?”

  “It was a gift from the designer. She sent it to Zeke for me.” Ethan’s wearing a Pacey Witter–type bowling shirt made of distressed silk. It’s black with two white stripes down the front. He looks really good in it.

  “Sweet.”

  “Ethan gets major swag,” I say. “Everyone’s sending him their designs.”

  “Because they’re fans, or . . . ?” Reyna asks.

  “They’re hoping pictures or videos of me wearing their stuff will show up. Apparently they do this a lot with celebs. Not sure why they’re bothering with me. But I’m not complaining.”

  “I love those chains,” a girl I don’t know at the end of the table says. “Are they platinum?”

  Ethan nods.

  “Can a best friend get a hookup?” Miles wants to know.

  “Borrow whatever you want. The only stuff I have to send back is what’s out on loan for appearances.”

  “Your life is amazing.” Reyna sighs. “I want to be you when I grow up.”

  Ethan laughs. “You want to train six days a week and rehearse four hours a day? Be my guest.”

  “Ugh, no, that’s too hard.”

  “My trainer doesn’t even let me eat what Sterling makes anymore.”

  “He does if it’s on the list,” I say.

  “What list?” Miles asks.

  “My trainer gave me a list of what I’m allowed to eat. If it’s not on the list, I can’t eat it.”

  I love cooking for Ethan. But he’s so determined to stick to the list that he hardly lets me anymore. Even when I make something that’s on the list, he only eats half the amount he used to. And we can’t have our fun dinners and snacks at Shake Shack after school anymore because his schedule is so crazy.

  “That sucks.” Miles takes a huge bite of chocolate cake. “I bet cake’s not on the list, huh?”

  “Not so much. My trainer would kill me.”

  I know Ethan’s training is super important. He has a grueling tour coming up. Zeke decided Ethan should take things to the next level with this big tour. There will be choreography for some songs. There will even be backup dancers. Ethan is nervous, even though he’s an amazing dancer. He wants to make sure the choreo is perfect. Staying in maximum shape is crucial. But if I hear him say “my trainer” one more time, I’m going to lose it.

  “You guys looked so cute on GMA,” Reyna says.

  It was a total surprise when Good Morning America flashed a picture of me and Ethan. They asked him about his girlfriend and he told them my name and there we were. Filling up the TV screens of millions of people.

  Ethan leans up against me to whisper in my ear. “You looked beautiful. Just like today and every other day I’ve known you.”

  Melting. Into. My chair.

  The girl at the end of the table keeps sneaking glances at me. I recognize the look in her eyes. I’ve been seeing it more and more. The longing. The jealousy. Wishing she could switch places with me. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being on this side of that look.

  But I’m happy to be here.

  18

  [5,619,320 FOLLOWERS]

  The first week of November means one thing in my town. It’s Harvest time.

  The Harvest Festival is an annual event on the river. We just call it the Harvest. It’s kind of a festival with booths selling treats and clothes and knickknacks, mostly made by people who live here. There are games and contests. Everyone comes out for it.

  I’ve been baking for the Harvest since seventh grade. Gram ran our booth back then. Now I run it. Gram says I’ve outdone myself this year. That’s because I suddenly have all this free time. The time I’d normally be spending with Ethan is like this gaping void in my life. I’ve been filling the void by baking enough cookies, cupcakes, brownies, and pies to feed a small country. According to Gram, my baking is legendary. She insists that my heart cookies are famous. She likes to exaggerate. But my favorite coffeehouse does stock them when I have enough time to make a few large batches.

  My heart cookies are abundant today. They’re wrapped in opalescent cellophane and tied with different colored ribbons. It’s kind of my signature style. I used to hang the cookies from skinny tree branches I assembled over the table. This year I wanted to do something different with their presentation. The cookies are gathered in cute heart baskets I bought from another local entrepreneur.

  Georgia is working the booth with me. After we arrange all the treats in groups, we sit on rickety folding chairs to await customers seeking sugar. We don’t have to wait long before a group of girls from school comes over.

  “Hey, Sterling!” Kelsey goes. As if we’re friends.

  “Hey.”

  “You know Markita and Ravyne, right?”

  I give them a weak smile. These girls have a seriously twisted view of the world. They think that just because they’re on cheer squad that gives them the right to torment anyone who dares to be unpopular. I once saw Kelsey put a Godiva truffle on Lynn Sweitzer’s chair in class before she sat down. That poor girl sat right on the chocolate. Kelsey and Markita snickered all through class. Lynn had no idea what was happening. I had to pass her a note to break the news. I couldn’t stand the thought of Lynn getting up when class was over and walking out with a rude chocolate smear on her butt. So yeah. These girls are not my friends.

  Not that it’s stopping them from acting like they are.

  “Are you so excited for Ethan’s tour?” Kelsey gushes.

  “Of course,” I say.

  “Why isn’t he doing a show in Connecticut?” Markita asks.

  “Yeah,” Ravyne chimes in. “I thought he’d be hitting Hartford. Since he’s from here and all.”

  “Ethan doesn’t decide where he goes,” I explain. “The production company and his manager arrange the schedules.”

  “Oh.” Kelsey sniffs. “Well, I guess I’ll go see him at Madison Square Garden. It’s so hot he’s playing there.”

  “So hot,” Ravyne confirms.

  “Wouldn’t it be awesome if we could get comped tickets?” Kelsey fishes. “Let’s see . . . who do we know who knows Ethan?”

  These girls have never talked to me before. Now they’re asking f
or free tickets to a show that will probably be sold out?

  “Sorry, I can’t get you in,” I say. “I have no control over that.”

  “Really? You can’t pull some strings?”

  “Why should she?” Georgia, who has been watching in silent disgust this whole time, can’t stay quiet anymore. “You’re not even friends.”

  “Whatever, freak. Don’t you mow my lawn or something?”

  Markita and Ravyne laugh nastily. Georgia has an internship with Marisa’s Aunt Katie, who has her own landscaping company. She’s not interested in mowing lawns. She’s learning how to transform any yard into a beautiful landscape. Which is a lot more than these beeyotches will ever do.

  “Did you want to buy something?” I ask. “There’s a line.”

  “We don’t eat desserts,” Kelsey informs me. “We’re on cheer?”

  “Have fun with that,” Georgia says.

  The girls huff off.

  “Where does Kelsey get off thinking she can manipulate everyone?” Georgia seethes.

  “Profound ignorance will do that to you.”

  Mrs. Kennedy, who was standing behind the girls all oblivious to their snark, swoops up to the table. She’s one of my best customers.

  “Sterling! I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Kennedy. This is my friend Georgia.”

  “Nice to meet you, Georgia. Do you know how delicious Sterling’s baking is?”

  “Totally. She’s my sugar mama.”

  “Everything looks so good!” Mrs. Kennedy has been buying from me since my first year at the Harvest. She bought from Gram for years before that. Mrs. Kennedy is probably tired of doing her own baking. She has four kids.

  “You should run a catering business, Sterling,” Mrs. Cherski tells me as she passes by my table on the way to her own. She knits the most adorable hats.

  “I’ve been telling her that for years!” Mrs. Kennedy says. Which is true. She tells me every year. Feedback like theirs makes me think about how I could do more with my life. Ethan’s success is pushing me to be more ambitious. I had this idea for a cooking video series. It would be a fun way to share recipes and tips. Maybe I could gear the videos toward cooking advice for teens and college students.

  “We can only hope,” Mrs. Cherski says. “I’ll stop by later, hon. Did you make some of those chocolate peanut butter fudge brownies your grandmother was telling me about?”

  “Right here.” I point to the tray.

  “Those look incredible,” Mrs. Kennedy says. “I’ll take half a dozen. You know what? Let’s do a dozen. And I’ll take two cherry pies, two blueberry pies, and a dozen heart cookies. Oh, and a vanilla cupcake. That one’s for me.”

  Georgia raises her eyebrows at me. She starts lifting brownies out of the pan with a spatula to place in a pink pastry box.

  “Wow,” I say. “Thank you.” Mrs. Kennedy just ordered twice what she normally does.

  “Thank you for the delicious treats. College is so expensive these days. I’m happy to contribute.”

  Georgia and I put the order together. We pack the pink pastry boxes into a shopping bag.

  “Thanks again,” I say.

  “I hate to ask you this, but . . .” Mrs. Kennedy pulls a folded piece of paper out of her bag. “Could you give this to Ethan from my daughter? She’s eleven now, if you can believe that. She’s such a big fan.”

  I’m shocked that Mrs. Kennedy is slipping me a note for Ethan. She’s a classic soccer mom. I thought she would be one person I could count on not to get crazy-stalker-fangirl on me.

  “Sure.” I take the note from her.

  “Oh, you’re the best.” Mrs. Kennedy picks up the shopping bag. “Have a good day, girls!”

  “Bye,” Georgia says.

  We watch the activity at the other tables for a minute. Then Georgia says, “Can I talk to you about something?”

  “Of course. Why are you even asking?”

  “It’s kind of . . . complicated.”

  “What?”

  “Remember when—”

  “Hey!” A group of four middle-school girls comes rushing up to the table. “You’re Sterling, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “OMG it’s her,” one girl says. “Can we get a picture?”

  “Of what?”

  “We want pictures with you!” she giggles. “Is that okay?”

  “Oh. Um. I guess.” Why would anyone want a picture with me?

  She comes around the table and bends down next to me. Her friends snap photos.

  “Now me!” another girl shouts. They all take turns getting pictures.

  After they run off in a squealing herd of giggles, I ask Georgia what she was going to say before.

  “Can’t talk now,” she says. “We have customers.”

  The line is so long at one point that I don’t even notice Miles and Reyna until they’re next. Georgia takes the next person in line while I talk to them.

  “You guys didn’t have to wait in line,” I tell them. “You could have just come around.”

  “Cutting in line is beneath us,” Reyna says.

  “Yeah,” Miles says. “We prefer to wait with the common folk.”

  “I heard your chocolate peanut butter fudge brownies are ridonculous,” Reyna informs me.

  “Want one?”

  “More like ten,” Miles says. “But we’ll manage with one if that’s all you’ve got.”

  “Actually . . .” I check the chocolate peanut butter fudge brownie pan. “There are exactly two left.”

  “It’s fate,” Reyna says.

  I pack them up.

  “So I haven’t seen Ethan for a couple weeks,” Miles says. “How’s he doing?”

  “He’s awesome.”

  “Gearing up for the tour?”

  “Totally.”

  Miles shifts awkwardly, scuffing his shoe on the grass.

  “I hardly see him anymore, either,” I reassure him.

  “You’re not missing out on much. That dude’s the biggest dork I know.”

  Reyna swats his arm with the brownie bag. “Be nice.”

  “If you talk to Ethan, tell him we said hey.”

  “Will do.”

  The next two hours are nonstop busy. The whole town is acting like obsessed superfans. Even dads and grandmas who have obviously never heard Ethan’s music. Ethan being from here is enough for them to worship him. In a small town like Far Hills, having someone famous living here is probably the most exciting thing that will ever happen.

  My cookies sell out in record time. Then I notice we’re out of everything else.

  “Guess we’re done,” Georgia says. She springs up from her chair, almost tipping it over. She starts quickly packing up pans and spatulas.

  “I can’t believe it. I’ve never sold out that fast.”

  “You’re rock star royalty now. Ethan isn’t the only one people are obsessing over.”

  “As if that makes sense. Who am I?”

  “The girl who just sold out in record time. Doesn’t hurt to have a famous boyfriend, huh?”

  Maybe it’s just me, but I’m picking up on some prickly energy from Georgia. She can’t get out of here fast enough.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “Who, me? Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I don’t know. . . .”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Georgia. If something’s wrong—”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Can you please drop it?”

  “Not if something’s wrong. I want to know what it is. I want to help you.”

  But Georgia doesn’t say anything. She just keeps stacking pans.

  We pack up the rest of my stuff in silence.

  19

  [6,837,328 FOLLOWERS]

  There’s nothing better than Cosmic Bowling when you’re in the mood for dorktastic fabulousness. Their lanes light up. They have glow-in-the-dark bowling balls. Their shoes have white stripes that gleam in the
black light. I’m wearing the MY BOYFRIEND IS A ROCK STAR tee Ethan gave me. The white glitter around the star looks fierce.

  My shirt doesn’t lie. Ethan’s tour already has five sold-out venues. Just as Zeke predicted. Including Madison Square Garden. Which holds about fifteen thousand people.

  Ethan is blowing up faster than even he imagined.

  He goes up to roll. The fog machine is on. I watch Ethan take his turn in the fog, picturing what he’ll look like in the fog onstage. I heard they’re doing fog in the middle of “Now and Forever.” He’s going to look amazing. The Forever Tour is going to be epic.

  I’m in a daze thinking about the tour when Ethan sits back down next to me after his turn.

  “Are you stoked?” he asks.

  “For what?”

  “The tour.”

  “I was just thinking about that.” Ethan wants me to come on part of the tour with him. Before we left for bowling¸ my mom said I could miss a few days of school for it. She understands about taking opportunities that come around once in a lifetime. Of course I can’t wait to go.

  I think I see Georgia coming toward our lane. But that happy burst of adrenaline fades when I realize it’s not her. I called Georgia before I left for bowling to invite her along. I asked her to call me back even if she didn’t want to come. She never called. Knowing something’s wrong that she doesn’t want to talk about has been making me nervous ever since the Harvest.

  “Um.” A girl is lurking by our chairs. “Excuse me. Ethan?” She’s clutching a camera.

  “Hey.” He smiles at her warmly.

  “I’m a huge fan. You’re my favorite artist.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Could I get a picture with you?”

  “Let’s do it.” Ethan stands up to pose next to her. The girl seems to be by herself.

  “Could you . . . ?” She holds the camera out to me.

  “Sure.” I take a picture of my boyfriend with his fan. One fan among millions. I wonder how many more pictures like this I will take.

  “Thank you so much,” she gushes.

  “You’re welcome.”

  This would normally be where the girl leaves to squee over her picture and Ethan and I get back to bowling. Except she’s not leaving.