Chapter 65: Drummer Boys Taste Hard Candy

I am super excited about this chapter. It's the first time we have EVER heard Bodie's voice. We learn a little about his background, and this scene is a fork in the road for Bodie that he'll take through Leed's book. It's gonna be a rough ride for him (the song above should give you a clue), and I'm not sure what shape he's going to be in when we arrive at his own Book 4....Drastic.

Without further ado, let's get our first image of Bodie, and the infamous Candy Girl that arrives with the label entourage...

Bodie

I'm laughing at the way we are standing here by this line of Escalades, waiting for Moran to grace us with his presence. Trace, all rigid and tense, Leed making a show of slouchin' a little in rebellion, Riley, on point, looking like he's done this manager meet and greet shit a million times.

Kind of reminds me of that show about all the old-timey British rich people, you know? When the Lord and Lady come back home to the big mansion and all the staff lines up in front of the house to greet them. Yeah, that's what we look like. I can tell it's rubbing Trace and Leed the wrong way. They are used to be the Lords, not the servants.

It doesn't make a damn to me. I don't mind playing the bitch, as long as we get done with it quick and then we actually get to play the bitch. Playin' the shows is honest-to-god what I live for.

So, Imma do my thing during the Moran Meeting: let the guys that like to talk the shit talk the shit.

I'm really not that worried about this label-promoter-lawsuit nonsense. Everybody actin' like we're gonna be busted or something.

It don't matter if they sue us, tie us up in court, bankrupt us, if my bank account gets reduced from a number with six zeroes behind it to a number with just two or three. We can make one big appearance, take one endorsement, and make as much money as most families live on for a year. In my book, that ain't busted.

I been busted. That's how I know.

I been flat out on the hood of a cop car when I was twelve years old, scared shitless.

I been laid out on the floor of a holding cell at fifteen, not sure whether the pain I was feeling was from violence I suffered during my arrest or pain-inducing terror. My guts clenched in agony, thinking about the pushers up my chain, cause all the shit I was supposed to sell for them was now in the property room of an Atlanta lock-up.

People get shot over way the fuck less, where I'm from.

By the grace of god and my momma, who refused to let me get lost in that world, I escaped my Atlanta troubles with probation and fled down to Athens to live with my Uncle and Aunt and my cousin Tam.

Once I got hooked up with a little school and a little Leed and a lot of music, you would think I woulda known better than to get on the other end of the drug business, but sometimes I'm a slow learner like that.

Soundcrush blew up and I got all kinds of crazy, and I got busted with drugs again. Busted on my LA kitchen floor, lying to my momma about what was wrong with me and begging Leed for just one more day, one more handful of candy, to get all my visiting family out of town before he made me go cold turkey.

I've bounced back from flat busted. I've learned to handle my business and my party, so I ain't worried about this bump in the road with the tour. Not at all. Not a worry in the world.

Well, except...shit. Except I'm a little worried as I look up toward the backstage and see a Madam Meltdown in progress. For once, their fight roles are reversed. I nudge Trace and he looks at what I'm looking at. Adam is pissed and Mac is pleading.

"What the actual fuck?" Trace mumbles. "Now is not the damn time."

But, as luck would have it, Madam seems to realize that too. Adam tucks away his anger and nods at Mac and she smiles her killer smile and bolts down the stairs, eager to get away from whatever they are bitching at each other about and eager to get this shit over, by the looks of her determined stride forward.

Cool. Trace and Mac will run this shit. Adam will bring the level head, Leed will bring the charm. All I have to do is keep my cool and...

Awwwwww, dayum.

Did I say cool? I see something that heats me up instantly. It ain't nothing to do with all the suits piling out of the first two SUV's.

Third ride down and bare brown legs are kicking out the truck, pretty little calves tensed to claim the street in white Converse. The legs keep coming. Shorts so short they ain't for nothing but holding her phone, which I see in the pocket above her very visible ass cheeks as she twists around to grab her bag out of the truck.

Then she slides out to standing.

Fuck me.

This girl is hard candy. Knows it. Wants to be. Nothing but a bikini tube top and a crop hoodie falling off her shoulder. Waist length chocolate curls falling out of a flirty side ponytail. Pink sunglasses, sucked in cheeks, pouty plumped lips sucking on a goddamn lollipop.

"Damn, Disney grows 'em good," Leed murmurs beside me.

That's when it hits me. Who this girl is.

Arabella Burns. Teen-tv star.

What the fuck is she doing here, with the label suits?

Dunno. But that's not the most important question here.

"She legal?" I say to no one in particular.

When no one answers right away, I follow-up with another critical question. "She ain't got no del Marco connection, right?"

Trace shakes his head, looking a little confused as he stares at the hottest thing ever to wear a pair of Mouse Ears. Probably he's not used to his dick working anymore, when Kat is not around.

"Legal," Riley murmurs discreetly sliding his phone to show me that she's nineteen.

"Dibs." I announce.

"No dibs," Leed says automatically. "She's perfect. I need a non-blonde f-and-f in the worst way."

I laugh. Fuck-and-forget, he means. I wonder what blonde chic has gotten under the Lion's skin. That tequila shit last night? He can't really be on some co-ed he hasn't seen in  four  years—that he hasn't mentioned once in all that time. I ain't got no time for Leed's pity party. He knocked up my cousin, now he's gotta grow up.

He needs to leave the candy for us kids.

But since Leed's my boy, I decide to give him his shot.

"RPS," I suggest and we quickly run a rock-paper-scissors for the candy coming toward us.

"Fuck," Leed growls, his loser paper clenching into a fist of defeat. "Two out of three?"

"Nope." I tuck my victorious scissors away.

"C'mon," he whines, but Moran is already on us, shaking hands with Trace and reaching out an arm to push the girl towards us. She needs no one to bring her along, though. She stalks straight up to me, pulls the lollipop from her lips with all kinda cruel intention, twirls her hair, and says, "Hi, I'm Arabella. Oh my god, I am so fangirling on you right now."

She sweeps down the line of us five Soundcrushers, but her gaze returns to me. Ha, I didn't even need to play Leed for the lead with this girl. She clearly knows what she wants.

Me.

She giggles a little and sucks her lollipop. "You can call me Bells." She rolls that damn candy, her tongue swirling around it, her lips damp with sugary wetness.

Goddamn. Bells is all business.

"Nice to meet you, Bells. I'm Bodie," I give her a sliding hand-around-the-back-half-hug-and-cheek-kiss thing that works in LA when you meet somebody on your level but not in your circle.

"I know who you are," she says with a sly grin. "I've really been looking forward to meeting you." She offers me her lollipop.

I laugh, and pop it in my mouth. Pink lemonade. Sweet and sour. And something bitter beneath.

A special lollie for a special girl.

I was not wrong at all.

Arabella Burns is hard candy.

Fuck. I think I'm in trouble here.