Identity Crisis Read online

  Tori links her arm through Eva’s and asks, “Pinkberry?” As if nothing is wrong. As if we should just go grab smoothies and hang.

  I say I am leaving and turn to head home. This air is pulsing with body heat and I feel like I am going to be sick.

  “Noelle, don’t go!” Eva says. “What’s the matter?”

  I can’t disguise the hot accusation in my eyes.

  “What?”

  “I . . .” What now? I pause, and try to pick my words carefully. I tell Eva I think that was harsh. That this game is getting out of control.

  Her dark eyes widen innocently. “Why? It’s not my fault she made up a fake boyfriend and got busted when he didn’t show.” She shakes her head, as if she can’t quite believe it herself.

  “Come on, Eva,” I say quietly. Is that the story she plans to share with the school? I can’t believe I am sticking up for Annalise Bradley, but someone needs to. “It’s enough. We should quit while we’re ahead.”

  Eva looks surprised that I am daring to defy her. When was the last time I contradicted her? Never? She looks at Tori, who rolls her eyes, as if I’m the one being lame. Before Tori came along, Eva always used to stick up for the underdog: usually me, but others, too. When did she change?

  “Okay,” Eva says slowly, pulling out her phone. “So say we want to quit. How, exactly, do we do that? Do you want to just dump her, Noelle? Tell her ‘Declan’ is really sorry, but he’s met someone else? I can do that.”

  And that’s when the reality of what we have set in motion is clear—we, no, I am trapped. If Annalise finds out the truth, what we’ve done, how we could publicly humiliate her, she will be crushed. But if we just stop the game, pretend Declan has had a change of heart, cuts it off, she will be equally crushed. I knew this was a bad idea. Knew that I never should have gone along with it. Why did I? And now, I am the one stuck cleaning up Eva’s mess. As usual.

  “No,” I whisper, knowing I will handle it. I will apologize for Declan’s no-show, come up with something convincing. And then what? Figure something out. Some way out.

  “Okay. So we continue.” She starts typing something into her phone. Too late, I realize what she is doing. Remotely logging into Declan’s account.

  Why didn’t I change the password when I had the chance? Now it’s too late. There’s no telling what Eva will do. When she is finished, she holds up the message for Tori and me to see.

  A, So, so sorry I missed you today. Emergency! I’ll explain later. Please forgive me. Did you win??? xoxo Declan.

  Chapter 15

  ANNALISE

  After I apologize a million times, Colin finally stops muttering “bugger,” and says, “s’okay,” looking a little embarrassed by his initial outburst. He takes the gob of white paper napkins in his hand and attempts to wipe the chocolate stains off his face and shirt. “I’ll buy you another,” I offer, reaching into my purse and pulling out some dollar bills. I try to push them into his hand.

  “No need,” he says, rejecting my money, and the bills flutter to the floor. I kneel to pick them up, shoving them in my pocket, and he offers me a chivalrous hand up. It is too much, this simple gesture of kindness, and I burst into tears again.

  “Please luv, there’s no crying over spilt ice cream,” he says. He notices the band poster clenched in my hand, now dented and spotted with brown smears. “Or over lost concert tickets,” he adds. “Is that it?”

  I nod, yes, then shake my head, no. It is more than that.

  “They’ll be around next year, I’m sure. Or, you’ll fancy some new band by then.”

  Why do all these grownups keep saying that? I shake my head vehemently. Never.

  He sighs to himself. “Trust me, luv, cry over Darfur, if you must, but not bloody Viggo Witts.”

  At this, I just wail louder.

  He looks around, anxious to move on, but unwilling to leave a sobbing girl crying alone at the mall. “Where’s all your mates? Are you here alone?”

  “Someone was supposed to meet me here. This boy . . .” It’s all I can muster. He shakes his head and offers me one of the unused napkins to cry into and waits there patiently until my snot has turned the napkin all soggy. When I’ve finally recovered enough to regain my wits, I can’t help but wonder what he’s doing here. He was obviously in London doing post-production work on “Inner Beauty” all week, but shouldn’t he already be with the rest of the band in Las Vegas, for this weekend’s Teen Pick Music Awards? “Why are you in Boston?” I blurt out. “Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to Vegas by now?”

  He gives me a double take, like I’m some crazy stalker for following basic industry news.

  “The TPMAs?” I stammer, knowing the band is strongly rumored to win, which means they have to show. “Isn’t sound check, like, tomorrow morning?”

  “Huh,” he chuckles uncertainly, looking around as if for assistance. Mall security, maybe. “Do I need a restraining order here?”

  “Johnny Cape tweeted he had a bad night at craps at the Hard Rock,” I say, referring to the band’s drummer. “I thought you were all out there already.”

  “Ah, right you are,” he says, relaxing a teensy bit. “I stayed a bit late to tweak things. My flight had an eight-hour layover at Logan. Figured I’d pop in on an old chum for lunch, and since I was right here, check the turnout.”

  I nod; it makes sense. He’d once told Rolling Stone that too many music execs get out of touch with their fans, and that he likes to sneak up into the cheap seats occasionally to watch a show. Then, something else clicks in my brain. “Oh! You mean, Roger Fenley?” I’d read in some industry magazine profile eons ago that Colin and Roger had been roommates at the London College of Music, and Roger Fenley was now a tenured professor at the Berklee College of Music.

  “Right again,” he says slowly. “Roger. How’d you know that?” He eyes me, and I can tell he is thinking that he really does need a restraining order.

  Now I am blushing like crazy. “No, it’s just, I read it somewhere, I guess. I’m sorry. I’m just a big fan of your work.”

  “Well, thanks, luv.” He looks around again, as if trying to find an invisible escape hatch to escape. But there is no way I’m letting that happen.

  “Although, I have to say, I kind of liked the first version better,” I blurt out, desperately trying to keep his interest in our conversation alive. “Of ‘Inner Beauty.’ It was less auto-tuned.”

  His head swivels sharply in my direction. “You think so?” He looks at me critically, as if I’ve finally said something noteworthy. I beam, not believing I am standing here in a discussion with the Colin Dirge. Then he frowns. “Wait. How did you hear the earlier version?”

  Busted. I stammer out something about an unauthorized copy online that a friend slipped to me.

  “Bloody little buggers,” he shouts, slapping his thigh in anger, and then interrogates me on the little I know about the bootlegged copy. Eventually, his eyes soften and lock on mine. “Well, I happen to agree with you, but the president of the label thought otherwise.”

  “Not that it was bad,” I say hastily. “It was still amazing. Viggo’s voice, his lyrics . . . he’s a genius.”

  “Right,” he smiles knowingly, as if he’s heard this all before. “Plus, he’s easy on the eyes, eh?”

  “It’s not that,” I protest. “Not for me.” My voice lowers to a whisper. “His music. It just says something to me. I can’t explain it. That’s why I wanted to meet . . .” My face crumples as I think again about Eva winning tickets, singing with him, Eva, who doesn’t even—

  I sniffle a little and try to blink back my tears by staring furiously ahead.

  “Oh, sod it,” he says suddenly, whipping out his cell phone and wallet and pulling a business card out from inside. “What’s your name, luv?”

  I hesitate for a moment, not sure why he is asking.

  He flashes me an impatient look. “Come on, no more blubbering. Quickly. Before I change my mind.”

 
; “Annalise Bradley,” I reply, confused, as he types that into his phone.

  “Right. Now, text that number on my card a day before the performance, and remind me. I’ll have two tickets waiting for you at Will Call.”

  And he hands me his business card, which should read “Fairy Godmother” but instead says simply, Colin Dirge, Manager, and a cell phone number.

  “Really?” I whisper in disbelief. I’ll be there, in the crowd, and maybe Viggo will bypass Eva and pick me to sing instead, you never know. “Thank you so much, Mr. Dirge—”

  “Colin—” he says with an involuntary shudder. “Mr. Dirge is my father.”

  But I can’t call him that. “You don’t know—this means so much.”

  He smiles at me. “Well, I was fifteen once. Couldn’t get backstage passes to meet Oasis, but my cousin was a roadie, snuck me in, eventually got me a job in the business. Good times. My parents thought I was throwing my life away. And here I am. Not like it’s all sunshine and lollipops, mind you.”

  He grins furiously and it hits me—here is a career not limited by my boobs. Forget math tests, and snotty girls, and well, high school. This, this is the real deal. Maybe I could do what he does someday, discover and promote musicians I love, hang with radio DJs, organize ticket giveaways, oversee worldwide tours. It’s so obvious, so perfect, it’s almost enough to force a slight curve to my lips.

  “That’s the spirit!” He pats me on the back, completely unaware he has just triggered a life-altering epiphany here at the mall. “Right now, off you go. Just remember. You tell no one, this never happened, understand? I can’t go getting tickets for all your mates.”

  I do. Sort of. I stare at the card, mesmerized, nodding my head and planning to text Maeve as soon as is humanly possible. She’s never going to believe this.

  He turns and heads back to the counter, ready to order another cone. “Fantastic stuff,” I hear him murmur as I pull out my phone, which has just pinged. “Best thing in the whole bloody States.”

  Chapter 16

  NOELLE

  I don’t talk much to Eva or Tori the whole train ride back. When I get home, I hear voices. Loud ones, in the living room, coming from my mom. And soft, pleading ones from my dad.

  “You didn’t think to consult me first?” My mother sounds harsh, angry, wounded.

  “Elise,” he says in a firm voice I’ve rarely heard my dad use. “You know I just couldn’t take another day under that jackass.”

  “That’s what grownups do, John,” my mother snaps. “They suck it up. For their families.”

  “What, I have to have the dignity sucked out of me? The life? Just take the abuse? Never take a stand for myself? So we can still afford fancy Key West vacations and your Botox injections?”

  What are they talking about? What’s going on? My mother does Botox? I walk into the room and hesitate by the door. The two of them are squared off in anger; neither one notices me standing there.

  “You really think that’s why I’m upset? You think I’m that shallow? We have responsibilities. Obligations. You don’t just make impulsive decisions without talking it through. With your partner. This affects me, too.”

  “I have thought about it. Did you ever think about the message I’ve been sending to Noelle? Did you ever think of that? That it’s okay to be bossed around like that? She saw it firsthand, this summer.”

  At the sound of my name, I kind of clear my throat. They both start, finally noticing me standing there. “What’s going on?” I ask nervously.

  My mother whirls and glares at me, as if I had something to do with it. “Your father just up and decided to quit his job, that’s what. In this economy. Without so much as another offer.”

  Gulp. Maybe I did have something to do with it.

  I look at my dad to see if it’s true, and he nods at me. His eyes locking with mine, as if to say, let’s keep this just between us. “I gave notice. But don’t worry, honey. We’ll be fine. Your mother’s paycheck will cover us until I find something else. We’ll just cut back on a few of the extras, that’s all.”

  “Hmph,” my mother snorts as I scan her wrinkle-free forehead for frown lines.

  Go Dad! I want to shout, secretly proud that he’d finally stood up to his jerk boss. It couldn’t have been easy for him. Why couldn’t my mom see that?

  “Well, if anyone cares about my opinion, I say Dad did the right thing.”

  My mother turns to me, her perfectly glossed lips pursed, furiously containing herself. “Noelle, could you please go up to your room? Your dad and I need to continue this discussion. Privately.”

  I escape upstairs and shut the door, not wanting to eavesdrop on the rest of their conversation. But it doesn’t work. I can still hear the raised voices shouting below. It makes me twitchy when my parents fight, always nervous that one of them will just storm out, never to return. That happens, doesn’t it? I mean, look at Annalise’s parents. I know they split up, from the little she’s said, although she hasn’t told me exactly why. Was it money? One too many arguments? One wrong word that can never be taken back?

  The phrase my dad had used downstairs is still ringing in my ears: the message I’ve been sending to Noelle?

  Me.

  I know exactly what he meant. The message that you have to stick with people, even the ones who make you feel like garbage. Out of inertia. Or fear. But maybe that’s not true. Because look at my dad. He did it. Quit. Just like that. I can’t believe it really was because of me, because of what I had said. What do I know? I’m just a kid. Still, my dad’s actions embolden me. If he can stand up to his bully boss like that, why shouldn’t I stand up to Eva, who was supposed to be my friend but lately feels more like my frenemy?

  A flicker of rebellion sparks inside me. I know exactly what I have to do. I click onto the account settings and carefully change the login and password; then I log into the e-mail account Eva set up that first day and do the same.

  I set the password to: Mistaken_Identity.

  Click. Now, my decision can’t be vetoed ever again.

  I finally have the nerve to check my messages, and sure enough, Annalise had replied to Eva’s fake note of apology on behalf of Declan. I almost don’t have the nerve to read it. The image of her, running sobbing through the mall, ticketless and abandoned, is still replaying on a loop in my mind. What if the apology didn’t work, and she’s going to start berating me for standing her up?

  I sigh. I can’t avoid this forever. I click on her message to open it. But to my surprise, Eva’s words seem to have done the trick, because Annalise seems positively chipper.

  KnuckLise99: Dec, r u ok??? You won’t believe what happened!!

  DecOlan: what? u won?

  I know that can’t be it. But what could have possibly changed her mood between now and then?

  KnuckLise99: no. the most amazing thing! but first what happened 2 u? what was the big emergency?

  DecOlan: sorry i had to bail. it’s all on me. my parents meeting was canceled. they came back when i was leaving. close call.

  KnuckLise99: oh no!

  I feel sick telling more lies, for stringing Annalise along, but what can I do? For now, I am trapped. If only there were a way Declan could just fade out gradually, avoiding heartache and betrayal. Move overseas. Or spend a year in juvie. Or even better, if only I could kill him off, like a minor character on a soap opera. Freak skiing accident in the Alps? Open elevator shaft? Killer bees? Annalise would be devastated, of course, but she’d move on eventually. But then, of course, the two of us would never get to speak again.

  DecOlan: what’s your news?

  KnuckLise99: i didn’t win . . .

  KnuckLise99: <>

  DecOlan: lol . . . on edge of seat.

  KnuckLise99: <>

  DecOlan: tell me, you big tease!

  KnuckLise99: i bumped into Colin Dirge!!! literally.

  Colin Dirge? I rack my brain. All my studying pays off. Right. Band manager.
>
  DecOlan: yeah?! and?

  KnuckLise99: he’s leaving me two tickets at Will Call! <>

  DecOlan: what? why?

  KnuckLise99: we got to talking about the Inner Beauty track u sent. they remixed it and i told him i liked the original better. i dunno. i must have impressed him.

  DecOlan: atta girl!

  KnuckLise99: so u see it’s all thanks to you. so you are so coming with me.

  DecOlan: <> you know i can’t.

  KnuckLise99: what are you, under house arrest?

  KnuckLise99: forever?

  DecOlan: not forever. don’t be mad.

  KnuckLise99: <> then tell me why. u never did. you owe me.

  This time, at least, I am ready. I’d been racking my brain since the start what might have gotten Declan in trouble, bad enough to be grounded, sympathetic enough not to freak her out. Then I realized, the answer was staring me in the face. Right from my own life history. It was hands down the worst thing I had ever done. I still had mounds of guilt over it, even though I was only nine when it happened and my mom has sworn she has forgiven me by now.

  DecOlan: got in a dumb fight w/my mom. shoved her. she fell. hurt her wrist. broke it. cast for six weeks.

  KnuckLise99: OMG. that’s awful.

  DecOlan: i swear, it was a total accident. i feel sick over it. my punishment was loss of phone and to stay around the house until she gets the cast off.

  I hold my breath, waiting for her to reply. Will she believe it? How will she react? Have I bought myself some more time? How much? I wait, hoping to see the signs that she is writing a reply. Nothing.

  DecOlan: do u hate me?

  KnuckLise99: no, it just reminds me. when i was eleven, i threw some stupid CD at my sister. scratched her cornea.

  DecOlan: ouch.

  KnuckLise99: she was fine. milked it for sympathy. made me feel wretched.