Chapter 2

2

T he next day, Libby walked solo through the crowded halls of Rockville High School.

"Libby, could you come in here for a minute?" Miss Orman called out in a friendly voice. When Libby started at Rockville, Miss Orman immediately made it her mission to help her. Sometimes it was a little overwhelming, but Libby didn't mind; she liked the woman, and she always meant well.

"Yeah, sure." Libby hiked her backpack higher on her shoulder and entered the tiny office. It was always nice to hang with Miss Orman. Posters of positive thinking with adorable kittens lined the wall; a bulletin board overflowed with official letters about DARE and the school dress code as well as a couple of long strips of student photos.

She dropped her pack on the floor and sank into an orange metal chair squeezed in next to an overflowing bookcase.

Miss Orman settled behind her desk in her tan dress pants and stylish heels. She leaned toward Libby with sincere eyes. "So how are things?"

"Fine." Libby offered her standard answer.

"Tell me, how are your classes going? You're carrying a heavy course load."

"Calculus is tough, but I'm doing okay."

"That's good, and how about at home? Anything you want to share with me about your aunt?" Her face showed compassion.

Miss Orman was the only person who had a clue about her horrible life with Aunt Marge. Libby would never consider that dilapidated old house a home. There was nothing of hers there, other than a few token items. "I get by. I just try to stay out of her way."

Miss Orman forced a smile, but her lips were pressed tight. "Sounds like a good plan, but promise you'll let me know if you have any problems."

Libby nodded.

Miss Orman's phone rang loudly on the desk. She ignored it and then leaned in and asked, "Have you thought any more about college?"

"Yeah, but I'm going to wait for my dad to come back before I pick a school. We're going to check out campuses together." Libby and her dad had been planning to travel east to visit colleges since she had turned fourteen.

"That's wonderful," Miss Orman said, but her smile didn't reach her eyes this time. "Are you making any new friends?" Her voice sounded hopeful.

"I'm fine, really. I prefer to be on my own." It was easier this way. If she made friends, they'd want to hear all the details of her tragic life, and she didn't want to talk about that. Plus, she only planned on staying here until her dad returned.

"I wish you'd open yourself up to the students here. I think you could make some good friends." Miss Orman gave her a pointed look. "You are a gifted young lady with a lot to offer."

Miss Orman's support made Libby feel just a little bit protected, like maybe her mom was still here.

"It's okay. They all think I'm like my aunt, the town crazy woman." Libby couldn't believe how just a couple of events had turned her from the popular girl at her old school into an outsider here.

"I don't want you walking around believing that. You just need to make an effort to get to know them better. What happened to you working at the concession stand during the football game?"

"My aunt said no. She thinks I'll be corrupted by all the kids who drink." Libby rewarded Miss Orman with a half smile .

"Well, we'll come up with something else." Her counselor curled a lock of hair behind her ear.

Libby paused for a moment. If Miss Orman was so concerned, maybe she should mention Peter.

"Actually, I met someone," Libby blurted. Miss Orman looked up, visibly surprised. "At Parfrey's Glen." Her pulse rate jumped just thinking about it.

"Oh? Tell me about it." Miss Orman scooted her chair closer.

"I was just sitting there when this huge bus pulled in. It was this family that travels all around. One of them, this guy"—her face warmed, but she ignored it—"he came over and talked to me for a long time. It was really sweet."

"Well, that's terrific!" Miss Orman leaned back and slapped her hand on the desk. "So who is he?"

"His name is Peter, and he is so nice. He and his brothers are in a band, and they perform all over." She couldn't contain her joy as she recalled their afternoon together.

"What were they doing in Rockville?"

"Just stopping for a break, I guess. When I left, they were having a picnic. They weren't performing here. I don't know where they were going, but he said they're promoting their new CD."

Miss Orman nodded. "Wow, that's impressive. So, what's the name of their band?"

"He told me the name, but I can't remember." Libby looked toward the ceiling and tried to recall. "Something like Double Danger, I don't know." How could she have forgotten already?

Miss Orman pursed her lips.

"He said they're touring the country," Libby offered, to make up for her lapse in memory. She realized how farfetched the story sounded.

"Where do they play next?" Miss Orman asked, her tone doubtful.

"Um, well, I'm not sure, actually." She shrugged and chewed at her lip.

Miss Orman smiled, but this time it didn't look genuine. "Well, that's still great. Too bad we don't know who the mystery man is. Maybe you'll see him again?"

"I don't know. I doubt it." Libby tried to predict how she and Peter would ever hook up again. Most likely it would never happen. "Probably not." Her head dropped, and she focused on the floor. Suddenly, all she wanted was to escape this tiny office.

Miss Orman reached out and patted her arm. "I think it's wonderful you met someone, even if you never see him again. Just think what a great memory you have. Heck, maybe he'll make it big someday and you'll recognize him on TV."

Libby smiled wanly, her spirits deflated. It was all basically a dream. A really great dream that no one would ever believe. "Well, I better go." She picked up her backpack and boosted it onto her shoulder .

"Hey, look on the bright side. Maybe you had a brush with a future star."

With a forced smile, Libby left the office.

Heart-pumping music blared through the New York City photo studio. Giant fans created windblown effects for the action shots.

"Peter, lower your chin. Good!" James, the photographer, yelled over the music. James moved constantly to catch every angle possible. Photo shoots tended to go long, and today was no exception.

The bright lights burned down as flashes popped. Peter always got a kick out of all the primping for the shoots and the goofy way photographers posed them for the perfect look.

"Adam, this way. Hold your concentration! Remember, you are a hard-core rocker."

Adam and Peter broke into laughter. "You can't say stuff like that if you want us to keep a straight face," Adam replied, and pushed his fingers through his mop of curly hair.

The guys walked around the set and laughed to shake off pent-up energy.

"You guys are killing me." The photographer lowered his camera while the hairstylist stepped in to fix Adam's tousled curls.

"Ya know, it's hard to be ‘hard-core' anything when you travel with your mom, and she's always nagging you to brush your teeth and pick up your clothes," Peter added.

James couldn't resist laughing. "Okay, this is the last set. Let's pull it together for a few more minutes. Remember, this is for Rolling Stone; it's worth the effort."

Peter couldn't get over the fact that Jamieson would grace the cover of the legendary magazine. Their popularity shot through the roof this past year. They were living the dream.

"Okay, guys, I want you to think ‘brooding rocker'— think Kurt Cobain or Jim Morrison." James raised the camera to his eye.

The brothers, always consummate professionals, fell back into place, doing their best to follow direction even though they were slaphappy after three wardrobe and set changes.

"You do realize they both died of drug overdoses," Garrett added.

"Yeah, and you should be very sad about their wasted talent. Now show it to me on your faces," the photographer said with a pointed look.

The threesome switched gears and slid easily into character. Peter thought about his dream to be a career musician, not just part of a boy band with the shelf life of a ripe banana. Jamieson had been fortunate with great reviews and success beyond his dreams, but this was a fickle industry. He wanted to have a lifelong career like the rock greats before him. Their careers had legs, and so would his. Giving a serious expression wasn't so hard after all.

Twenty minutes later, the primping and posing ended and they headed off set.

"Guys, grab some lunch while we go over details for the rest of the day," their middle-aged manager, Wally, instructed.

A few minutes later, with their plates piled high, they, along with their entourage, gathered around a large table in a meeting room at the studio.

"We have another busy day ahead of us," Wally said, scratching his balding head. He opened a binder filled with tour information. "The CD signing begins in one hour. We'll bring you in through the side fire exit."

"That's good," Adam interrupted. "We'll know where to get out when the fire starts. 'Cause we're so hot!"

"You are such an idiot," Peter said.

"Security is already in place," Wally continued, looking at Roger, their personal security manager. "So, hopefully, we won't have any problems like in Miami. Roger has been working with store management. You have two hours to get the crowd through the signing. We can't go long because you have a live interview with WABC-TV at four. Sound check follows that. Oh yeah, tonight we've got a kid from Make-A-Wish who will shadow you until after the concert. Anybody want to take lead on that? "

"Boy or girl?" Garrett asked, wiping mustard off his fingers and onto Adam's sleeve.

"Don't you have respect for anything?" Adam shook his head, dabbed at the smear of mustard with a napkin, and tossed it into Garrett's soda.

"Let's see." Wally ignored them and looked over his notes. "It's a twelve-year-old boy. His name is Jacob."

"Nah, I'll pass, but when you get a hot eighteen-year-old chick, she's all mine," Garrett said.

"I'll take him." Peter signaled, his mouth stuffed with turkey and cheese. He grabbed his soda, took a long drag, and swallowed. "What's he got?" Seeing kids suffer broke Peter's heart. He remembered his own hospitalization for appendicitis at age fourteen. He'd been terrified. He couldn't imagine how scary it was for kids who were really sick.

"Some kind of cancer. It doesn't look good," answered Wally shaking his head sadly. "Roger, anything you want to add to the schedule?"

Roger, their trusty bodyguard, was tall and built like a giant oak. Whenever they were out and about, he became a constant companion. Peter loved having him around. Roger had served in Iraq for a while and didn't want to settle into a regular job when he returned home. Working for Jamieson was anything but regular.

"Yeah, the crowds at the record store are huge, and the entry space is tight. We're gonna have to make a fast in and out. No time for shout-outs or photos." Roger stared at Adam. "And, yes, that means you. "

Adam loved to let the girls fawn over him, and it drove Peter nuts. He held the group up constantly with his friendly banter and willingness to pose for photos with every single fan. Roger constantly had to shoo the girls away. Probably his most difficult job on the tour.

Peter loved the fans for their enthusiasm and support, but that's where it ended. There was a fine line with fans, and he wasn't interested in crossing it. It was impossible to connect with a girl who'd screamed your name moments before and then trembled with nervousness—or worse yet, cried—the whole time she talked to you. Touring wasn't a normal way to make friends. He wanted to meet someone the old-fashioned way, not under the guise of fame.

Peter thought of Libby. Meeting her felt normal. No crowds, no cameras, just two people hanging out. She looked so beautiful and relaxed sitting under a tree with her long, blond hair blowing in the autumn breeze. He loved that she didn't know who Jamieson was. Even if she did, he wasn't sure it would make any difference. He wouldn't mind seeing her again.

Wally interrupted Peter's thoughts. "We've got a busy day, so let's stay on task. That's all I've got." He snapped the binder closed.

# # #

After hours of hand-cramping signatures, a limo whisked the brothers, their publicist, manager, and bodyguard to Madison Square Garden, where the roadies finished their stage setup. Including lasers and pyrotechnics, it took a crew of over thirty more than twelve hours to create the enormous stage and set.

Peter was proud of their show. They'd worked hard to make it one of the most impressive concerts on tour, and performing at Madison Square Garden was the pinnacle of venues. This was a dream come true.

The interview team from WABC was in place and ready to film. A half hour in hair and makeup and the Jamieson brothers were ready to roll tape.

They sat in matching directors' chairs and faced the interviewer, Andrea Jacobs, an attractive, young redhead who wore masterfully applied thick makeup. She probably looked better without it.

Two cameras were set among the many lights. The news producer stood close by and began the countdown. "Five, four . . ." He signaled the last three counts by pointing his finger on each beat.

"This is Andrea Jacobs, reporting live from Madison Square Garden. Joining me today is the chart-topping teen sensation, Jamieson."

Peter hated it when the press reduced their sound to a teenybopper boy band. The camera panned across each of the brothers and then back to include all three as a group.

"In a few short hours, this arena will overflow with thousands of teenagers and adults, too! What is your secret to attracting such a diverse crowd?"

Peter lifted his microphone. "It's really the music. Our sound appeals to a wide audience. "

"No argument there," Andrea responded. "Your latest single is climbing the charts at record speed. Is it true you write your own music?"

"Actually, Peter is the genius behind our music. Adam and I contribute, but Peter's instincts are on the pulse of what's great," Garrett answered.

Despite Garrett's many flaws, he always gave Peter credit for their songwriting success. Peter appreciated it.

"That's incredible for someone your age. You've written some amazing hits. How about Adam and Garrett? Do you have a specialty?"

"Adam is master on the guitar," Peter offered. "Without him, we would be a mediocre bar band."

"And Garrett?" Andrea asked. She licked her puffed-up, gloss-covered lips as she eyed Garrett in a way that made Peter want to cringe.

"I play bass guitar. I also work on the business side of things. I make sure we stay on top of the trends and work to come up with ways to remain successful."

Peter nodded in agreement. Garrett was annoying, yet effective.

"You are a group of talented young men, mature beyond your age." She directed her comments straight to Garrett. He gave her a sly smile.

It was impossible not to mature quickly when you carried a multimillion-dollar business on your back. The livelihood of dozens of people relied on their success .

"We asked Jamieson fans to send us their questions. Here's what your fans want to know," Andrea said. "Who is bossiest?"

"Garrett!" Adam and Peter said at the same time. The guy was a total control freak and could make life on the road miserable when he wanted.

"Hey, someone's gotta tell you what to do," Garrett said.

"Who has the most girlfriends?" she asked with interest.

"Garrett!" they answered again. Garrett shrugged. He enjoyed the perks of playing in a band.

"Who is the leader of the group?"

"Peter," his brothers said in unison.

Peter wasn't sure why that was. Taking the lead onstage seemed as natural as breathing. He felt connected to the crowd.

"Who is the goof-off?"

"Are you kidding? It's all Adam," Peter answered.

Adam shrugged, never a care in the world. He was always seen with either a camera or a guitar in his hands.

"Okay, who is the shyest?"

Garrett and Adam looked straight at Peter. No words necessary.

"Really, now that surprises me," Andrea said, her brow raised. "You write the music and lead the band, yet you're the shy one?"

Peter tried not to squirm. "I don't know that I'm shy, but I keep to myself more than Garrett and Adam. They're more outgoing. I like to spend time alone."

"Aw, the brooding artist. No wonder your music is so successful," she responded with a sly smile. "This last one is for each of you. What is your idea of the perfect girl?"

"I'd say it's a girl who makes me laugh," Adam said with his trademark grin.

The camera moved to Peter.

"I'd like someone who is interested in me and not all the other crazy parts that come with success," he said.

"I'm looking for a beautiful girl who loves to party." Garrett looked at her pointedly.

The camera refocused on Andrea with a blush on her cheeks and fanning her face with her note cards. "There you have it, girls. Now you know what it takes to attract one of these charming young men. Thank you for your time, guys, and have a great concert tonight. It's sold out, but I'm one of the lucky ones who hold a backstage pass." She looked at Garrett with silent meaning.

Peter was happy to see the interview end before Garrett embarrassed them all. As he followed his brothers offstage, he thought of Libby. He bet she would never act like the reporter. Libby seemed interested in him and not everything else that came with being in a band. He wouldn't mind running into her again and finding out for sure.