Chapter 6

6

T wenty minutes later, Libby's worn-out shoes padded through the discount store. She wanted to go unnoticed, but the bright store lights shone down, revealing her presence. Guilt hung on her shoulders like a heavy chain.

She found the entertainment section filled with electronics, video games, and DVDs. She searched one aisle and then another. Nothing. Panic crept over her. She had little time to return to school and catch her bus.

"Can I help you?" A middle-aged man with a big belly held a scanning device in his hand and waited for her response.

"Uh, yes," she whispered, then cleared her throat and spoke louder. "I was wondering where you keep the CDs?"

"Down here on the end," he replied, turning and walking down the aisle. She trailed after him. Did he wonder why a high school kid was in the store during the middle of the afternoon?

He turned the corner. "Country and show tunes are on this side, rock and jazz on the other, new releases are on the aisle end. Is there anything particular you're looking for?"

"Jamieson?" she answered, quieter than she meant to. "Their display is on the end. You can't miss it." To her relief, he turned and went in the opposite direction.

Libby tried not to rush as she moved to the end of the aisle. There stood a six-foot-tall cutout photo of a smiling Peter, Garrett, and Adam, advertising their latest album. Libby stood back in awe. Her hand reached out and touched the glossy cardboard imitation of Peter. The huge display dominated space next to a endcap of Jamieson CDs, every copy featuring Peter Jamieson smiling back at her.

Never in her wildest thoughts did she imagine he was so famous. He'd given none of it away when they'd been together. She wanted to scream with joy. She picked up a plastic-encased CD; his handsome face looked exactly as she remembered. She grinned back at him, then cradled the coveted music. The risk of cutting classes and coming all this way was worth whatever punishment Aunt Marge might dish out.

When Libby checked out, her hands shook as she passed the stolen bills to the checker. For a split instant, she thought of how disappointed her mom would have been about her stealing, but Libby wiped the thought away. She walked out of the store and looked in both directions to be sure no one watched. She darted around the side of the store and pulled her prize from the bag. She ripped the packaging off as quickly as she could with her still-shaking hands. Then the clear tape wouldn't let her by. She picked at it, then used a nail file to lift the edge. Inside the case lay a perfect, untouched CD, and a glossy booklet containing lyrics and more pictures of Peter and his brothers.

Her heart sang and her eyes watered with giddy excitement. It belonged to her! After a couple minutes of idol worship, she reluctantly tucked it back in the bag and into her small pack. She rushed back to school, afraid she would miss the afternoon bus home or get caught walking up to school as everyone else left.

She made it back to Aunt Marge's without a hitch. As soon as she got there, Libby snuck up to her room. She placed a chair against the door in case her aunt came up. The rest of the afternoon and that night she pored over the glossy booklet cover to cover, while listening to the CD through earbuds on an old portable CD player. She recognized Peter's amazing voice in every song and still couldn't believe she'd spent a sunny afternoon talking to him just days before. More than ever she wished her sister Sarah were here to share her excitement.

Late in the night, Libby drifted off with the glorious sound of Peter's voice lulling her to sleep. There were no bad dreams that night.

"Dad, come on. It's not even out of the way."

Peter continued to push. He refused to back down. He told Libby he'd be there today and he planned to keep his word. Garrett and Adam looked on, eager to see who would win the power struggle. Why couldn't anything in his life be private?

"We're already behind schedule. We've got production meetings on the video shoot for tomorrow, you boys have interviews and wardrobe fittings, plus I've got some tour issues to iron out," he said from the small table at the front of the bus. Today they had their hired driver, as they always did for longer trips.

Dad could be immovable at times. He always wanted life to be neat and tidy like his pleated pants.

"Just because this isn't important to you, doesn't mean it's not important to me," Peter said. "I gave my word. That should be worth something." He stood his ground, waiting for the response he wanted. The only way to get through to his dad was to out-logic him.

"I don't think it's a good idea to start letting girls influence your life. You've got plenty of girls chasing after you on tour. What's so different about this one?"

"That's the point; she is different. She's not like all the other screaming fools. She's interesting and fun, and she doesn't care about all the band stuff. She'd never even heard of Jamieson before I told her."

"I thought everyone on the planet knew us," Adam piped up from the couch as he clicked through the camera's stored photos.

Peter turned and fixed his little brother with a stare. "Peter, it's pouring rain out there. If this girl has any sense, she won't be standing in this deluge waiting for you. And if she is, well, that's another issue," his dad said.

Peter turned to his mother. "Mom, please, ya gotta help me out here."

"You know, Jett," his mother said in that soothing "I'm gonna get my way" tone, "we've always encouraged the boys to have lives outside of their music."

"I was talking about playing soccer, not chasing girls."

Peter's eyes darted from one parent to the other as if watching a tennis match. He didn't dare say a word to distract them.

"What could it hurt?" she added.

"All right, but no more than an hour. I'm not sitting around in the rain waiting for Romeo here."

Peter and his mom smiled.

"We'll go grab a quick lunch while Peter checks to see if . . ." She turned to Peter. "What is her name?"

"Libby. "

"Yes, that's right, Libby. If Libby is there."

His father grunted his assent.

"Thank you," Peter mouthed to his mom.

She responded with a smile and a pat on his arm. "Score," he said under his breath, pumping his fist.