Ten
I stayed late, an hour after the music department cleared out.
An hour wasn’t long enough.
A huge crowd still gathered outside, waiting. People who couldn’t get into the lecture and then the people who were inside and left, adding to the crowd.
I knew what I had to do. I was tired. I didn’t feel like it. Sometimes putting on a work face or turning on the switch of the person everyone wanted you to be was exhausting.
I thought longingly of the beer my uncle kept in the fridge. I wasn’t supposed to be drinking, but I did anyway. I didn’t like when people told me what to do. It pissed me off.
Becca stepped into the room, walking with energy and purpose down the aisle toward the stage, where I was sitting on the edge.
“They’re not going anywhere. They’ve got the front and back entrances staked out.”
I nodded. I didn’t even know why she bothered to look anymore. It was always the same.
“Ten, twenty minutes tops.” She went on. I didn’t know why she bothered to promise me amounts of time that were grossly under-exaggerated. It was like she thought I was fucking stupid.
I hopped down off the stage and rubbed a hand through my hair. It was longer than it used to be. I hadn’t cut it since I went underground. I’d been hoping the longer hair and the new scruff on my jaw would make me a little less recognizable.
It didn’t. Not really. At least not in places where people expected me to be.
It did seem to conjure up some press. What else was new? I was “letting myself go” and on a “downward spiral of despair.” One online report actually said I’d given up showering and all hygiene.
Whatever.
Two bodyguards flanked me, and we made our way through the building as a unit. Becca followed along behind, reminding me the entire time how to be with the fans waiting outside.
I wanted to tell her that half those people out there weren’t fans, but she wouldn’t care. Image was image, no matter who was watching. In fact, according to her, I had to put on an even better show for my haters.
Before stepping outside, I adjusted the collar of my black-and-white flannel shirt, making sure it was slightly visible beneath the collar of the black leather jacket I wore. The shirt was open to reveal a white T-shirt, and I had a couple necklaces on dark cords draped against my chest.
After running my hand through my hair, making sure it was suitably disheveled, I nodded, and the guards opened the double doors.
The crowd went nuts. I smiled and waved. I shook people’s hands, took selfies, signed autographs, and told girls they didn’t need to cry.
News vans were nearby. Reporters had out their mics and cameras.
It was the same old, same old.
Some people got too handsy. The crowd started pushing in. Security ushered me away, back inside the building. I heard Becca thanking everyone for coming and announcing I was done signing autographs.
A lot of people moved on. Still, some lingered.
Luckily, they were all out front, hoping I’d come out one last time. One of the guards was able to go grab the Jeep and pull it up close to the back door. I slipped inside and drove off, all without anyone seeing.
I drove a few blocks, then pulled onto a side street and cut the engine at the curb. The first thing I did was shed the jacket, the black-and-white shirt, and the necklaces. Picking up a black baseball hat, I pulled it low on my head, allowing the brim to shade my face.
It was dark. The night air was cold and seeped into the Jeep through the ragtop and doors.
I needed to decompress, and even though the beer in Derek’s fridge beckoned, I wasn’t ready to go back to the duplex yet.
I thought about the girl, how envious I’d been of her walking down the street. Glancing around, out the windows and through the mirrors, I noted the street was empty. No one else was out walking. The occasional car would go by, but they might not know it was me. No one was expecting me to be here.
Without another thought, I got slid of the Wrangler and started to walk. I tried to imagine that I was some ordinary guy—a no-name college student—and this was just another night. Tucking my hands into the pockets of my jeans, I thought about going back for my jacket but decided against it. Ten always wore leather. It was basically a large neon sign of my identity. At the end of the street, I hesitated, glanced back at the dilapidated white Wrangler, and decided to keep going.
Turning the corner, I walked down the next street, this one looking a little livelier. Some of the buildings still had lights on in the windows, and as I walked, I wondered if maybe I should turn back to the street that was darker.
Chill. I was just a guy out walking. No one would think anything of it.
A little farther down the street, I passed by a coffee shop. The scents alone made my stomach rumble. I wanted to go in, but I knew better. I couldn’t remember the last time I went and got coffee on my own.
Actually, I did remember. It made the news. I’d gotten my order, taken a sip, and made a face because, like a dumbass, I’d burned my tongue. Someone, of course, snapped a pic, and it made the front-page headlines.
“Ten disses local coffee shop.”
“Worst coffee ever, according to Ten!”
No one wanted to believe that wasn’t true. Not after all my other actual indiscretions.
As I passed, the door to the place opened and a group of college students spilled out onto the sidewalk.
My shoulder blades tensed, but otherwise, I kept moving.
“Is that…?” I heard someone whisper.
“No way,” someone else whispered back.
“He was on campus tonight.”
“Hey!” a deeper voice yelled.
My feet stuttered, but then I kept walking, ducking my head farther.
“Ten!” a female yelled. “It is him!”
The sound of pounding feet started up not far behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to confirm they were rushing toward me.
“Oh my God!” A girl gasped. She grabbed the girl beside her. “Ten!”
I bolted. Becca would have read me the riot act, but Becca wasn’t there. I didn’t want to perform for people who could later log online to brag they met me.
I started jogging. The people behind me started running.
Picking up my pace, I sprinted down the street and skidded around the corner. The students were still pursuing. I heard them loud and clear. I had to think fast, get rid of them so I could double back and get the Jeep.
Being a regular guy on the street was nice while it lasted. For, you know, all four minutes.
Partway down the block, light spilled out from wide-open windows. I rushed toward it and inside the door without even pausing to see what kind of place this was. Quickly, I darted away from the windows, farther into the room, which seemed to be an art gallery.
A nearby doorway caught my eye, and I ran for it and slipped inside. There were a lot less windows in this room, and I breathed silently in relief. I knew I wasn’t completely in the clear yet, so I plastered myself against the wall, away from the window, and listened intently for the students to run by.
Soft jazz played overhead, and I closed my eyes for long moments and relaxed. The voices of the people looking for me shouted, and I spun around instantly, pressing my back into the wall.
A low muffled gasp from inside the room (where I thought I was alone) made me forget about my stalkers outside.
I swung around in time to see someone disappear behind some giant sculpture, as if they too didn’t want to be seen.
The plan might have worked if it weren’t for the pencil.
I waited for a hand to reach out and snatch it back. None came.
Amused, my lips twitched. Did they really think I didn’t know they were there?
I glanced at the window as the loud voices of the people on the street grew more muffled as they moved on in their search.
Now would be a good time to escape. I could rush outside and back the way I came, get in the Jeep, and have a longneck in my hand in under ten minutes.
I didn’t do that.
Curiosity spurred me forward, closer to the white ball in the center of the room. I wondered how long the person would hide. How long until they would assume I left?
Not long.
I felt them move before I even saw them. After a few minutes, the top of a blond head appeared, and a pair of wide blue eyes collided with mine.
I don’t know how I knew, but I did. Instantly. It was the girl from the street.
I didn’t need to see any more of her to know. No, I didn’t get a good look at her earlier, but I didn’t need to.
I knew this was her. The nobody on the sidewalk. The girl I’d been jealous of.
The urge to stare at her now was the same thing that made me look at her as I drove past.
“Ah!” she gasped and retreated.
I stifled a laugh.
What the hell was she even doing lurking around in a darkened gallery?
Amused, I went forward, picked up the pencil, and stepped around the ball. She was plastered against it, her knees pulled into her chest. It was like she didn’t want to talk to me.
Intriguing.
“You dropped something,” I told her.
My voice seemed to startle her. The girl jumped up. The notebook in her lap was forgotten and tumbled to the floor. “Shit!” she muttered and glanced down to where it fell.
I chuckled. Instantly, her eyes shot to me. I waited for them to go wide, for recognition to slam into her body. I actually braced for it.
But hey, one girl was better than a gaggle of people chasing me down the street.
It didn’t happen, though. There was no light bulb over her head. No indication I looked familiar.
“How’d you get in here?” she asked, breathless.
“There’s this thing out there… It’s called a door.”
She rolled her eyes and muttered, “I would find the only crook who thinks he’s a comedian.”
I blinked, surprised. A grin split my face. “You think I’m a crook?”
“The gallery is closed,” she said, lifting her chin in a haughty movement.
Her face was shaped like a heart. Her cheeks were red, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. I knew because she didn’t look plastic or fake. Her skin tone wasn’t flawless, and there were faint shadows under her eyes, like she was tired.
Call me intrigued times two.
“The door was open,” I rebutted.
“Abella must have forgotten to lock it,” she said to herself.
I assumed Abella was the person who owned this place.
“If the gallery is closed, why are you here?” I asked.
She crossed her arms over her chest. She had a good-sized rack. Probably a good handful. A strand of blond hair fell over her cheek, and she brushed it away as if it bothered her. “I’m friends with the owner.”
“So am I.” I lied.
“You are not!” She gasped.
Her indignation was adorable. What’s more, she didn’t seem to recognize me.
This was the first time that had happened, well… ever.
“If you don’t leave, I’m going to call the police.” She threatened.
Ignoring the threat, I bent to pick up the notebook she’d dropped. “What’s this?” I asked.
“It’s nothing!” she said, lunging closer to snatch it away.
I was taller, so I held it up out of her reach. She made a sound of dissatisfaction and tried to jump at it.
It was a drawing, all in pencil. Some sort of comic strip or cartoon. The paper was divided into a block of four scenes. It was amazing.
It was also about me.
“Did you draw this?” I asked, tearing my eyes away from the drawing for a second.
“Yes,” she said. “Now give it back.”
“In a minute.” I brushed her off and studied it anew. Pulling my arm down, I tucked the bottom of the pad into my stomach and stared at it some more.
“This is awesome,” I said, awe in my tone.
Her annoyance shifted, and I felt her stare. “You think so?”
I nodded, enthusiastic. “Is it about that singer… uh…?” I feigned stupidity. “You know, the one who was on campus tonight.”
“Yeah. That’s him.”
“Ah, Ten, right?” I asked.
She made a sound. “Yep, the guy with a number for a name.”
She thought my name was stupid.
“Something tells me you aren’t his biggest fan.” I goaded.
“Whatever gave you that idea?” she asked, batting her eyes.
I laughed and pointed to the drawing. “Um, this for starters.”
She shrugged one shoulder, then reached out to snatch the book and flip it closed. “It’s just a drawing. I thought it might be fun to poke fun at the people who literally flock to catch a glimpse of someone they don’t even know.”
“Not you, though,” I said, settling a little more firmly into my sneakers. I liked this. This was the best conversation I’d had in a while.
She made a sound. “Definitely not me.”
I hitched my chin at her. “So what do you have against him?”
She shrugged one shoulder and reached for her bag. “Besides the fact that he peed all over his own fans?” She snorted.
I stifled a laugh. “Yeah, besides that.”
She glanced up at me after shoving her notebook into the bag. “How about you? I don’t see you over on campus, climbing over the crowds to meet him.”
“Guess I don’t like him either,” I deadpanned.
“I have to go,” she said, moving as though she were going to step around me.
I felt a pang of disappointment and the sudden urge to stop her. “Wait.”
She stopped and glanced at me curiously.
“What’s your name?”
She tilted her head. “Why?”
“So I can look you up on social media later and stalk you,” I replied without pause. “If you could tell me your first and last name, that would be great.”
She rolled her eyes. “You aren’t a stalker.”
“How do you know?” I said, slightly offended. I could be a stalker.
“Thief, yes. Stalker, no.” She went on.
I laughed. “You think I’m a thief.”
“Well, your shoes are nice.”
“There are these places,” I told her. “They’re called shoe stores. Some of them sell nice ones.”
“So where’d you buy those?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
Was she calling my bluff? This girl who seemed to have no idea who I was. This girl who thought I was a criminal.
I opened my mouth to respond, but then I realized I hadn’t actually bought these shoes anywhere. They’d been sent to me. By a highly exclusive designer whose shoes usually retailed for thousands of dollars.
My lips snapped closed. I couldn’t exactly say that. Well, I could. But I liked the fact she had no idea who I was.
She laughed. “See.”
“I, uh, didn’t buy them,” I said, recovering. “They were a gift. From my mother.”
“Oh.” Her arms fell to her sides, and she glanced at them again, then back up to me. “That hat doesn’t help you look any less like a vagrant.” She pointed out. “I can barely see your face.”
Ah. So that was why she didn’t know me. The knowledge made me feel disgruntled. I thought about walking away, but something held me in place. Instead of leaving, I did something else. I called her bluff.
If you considered her asking to see my face a bluff.
I reached up and pushed the brim of the hat up so it was just sitting atop my head, not really on it.
“Better?” I asked and lifted a brow. Nerves coiled inside me. I waited for the reaction I always got.
She gasped.
A snarl automatically pulled at my lips. Here we go.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
My eyes went wide. Confusion caused the angry snarl I was barely holding back to die. “Huh?”
“Is that why you were lurking around here, hiding your face with a hat? Were you running from someone?”
“Do I look like the kind of guy who runs?” I intoned. As if to challenge her to look at me closer, I stepped forward.
Never mind the fact that I actually had been running.
“Hmm,” she said, looking me over. Her eyes touched on several places around my face. It was odd to be looked at as if I’d never been seen before. The sensation was oddly humbling. I wondered what she saw, what she thought of me—just a guy from the street. There wasn’t a speck of recognition in her gaze, not a single glimmer.
She didn’t answer my question. Instead, she stuck her hand out between us. “Violet.”
I mentally high-fived myself. I passed whatever test she had given me and won the reward of her name. A beautiful name at that.
“Violet,” I said, trying it out on my tongue. I wrapped my hand around hers, noting how small it felt in mine. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she said, ducking her head and pulling away. Suddenly, she was shy.
No one was ever shy around me.
It was endearing.
“Usually when you tell someone your name, they tell you theirs.” She pointed out.
My face split into a grin. I began to introduce myself—but then stopped abruptly. I couldn’t tell her my name. The second I did, she’d know. Plus, she already declared dislike of my name.
The thought of the way she was looking at me just then disappearing made me ache a little. Her shyness would evaporate. Hell, after the drawing I just saw, she would probably run. It was obvious I’d managed to find the only girl in town that didn’t like me.
Oddly, that made me want to be around her.
I cleared my throat. “Stark,” I said, thinking fast.
It wasn’t necessarily a lie. Stark was my name. My last name. The media rarely used it. I was just Ten to everyone.
I didn’t want to be just Ten to her.
“Stark,” she repeated, and I nodded.
She was short. Short enough I had to look down when I looked at her. She wasn’t tiny, though, not even small. Just little. I hadn’t ever realized there was a difference between little and small until now.
She definitely wasn’t at all like the girls I was used to. In looks or behavior.
“Well,” she said, clearing her throat. “Since you aren’t running from anyone and I know I don’t have to protect you, I should go.”
I barked a laugh. “You protect me?”
She drew back, offended. “I could be a black belt for all you know. I could kick your ass.”
I pressed my lips together. “Are you?”
She paused. “Well, no.”
I pulled the hat back down on my head and snickered.
“Whatever. Let’s go.” She motioned for me to go ahead of her.
I raised a brow. “I have to leave, too?”
Her button nose scrunched up, and she drew back, offended. “I’m not leaving you here with Abella. I’m not completely convinced you aren’t thinking of doing something felonious.”
Well. It definitely wouldn’t be the first time.
Funny. She didn’t know me, yet she kind of saw me.
I held up my hands in surrender. “All right, I’m going.”
She didn’t say anything, just motioned for me to get moving. Chuckling, I went, her following.
I wasn’t sure if the people out on the sidewalk were gone. I sure as hell hoped so. This new Stark persona was someone I suddenly wanted to explore.
Abruptly, I halted. Partly because I wanted to buy some time. Partly because I wanted to talk to Violet.
I tossed a smile over my shoulder. “You’re totally checking out my ass right now.”
A laugh burst out of her. It was entirely genuine, and she slapped a hand over her mouth. Recovering, she said, “You’re delusional.”
I started walking again, putting a little swagger into my step. “Totally looking,” I sang.
The large windows afforded me a view of the sidewalk, and what I could see was vacant. No sign of the students from earlier. ‘Course, I still didn’t relax. Just because I couldn’t see them didn’t mean they weren’t there. The windows only showed so much.
I didn’t hesitate when I got to the door, though. I pushed right through, telling myself that if I was outed, I’d just take off again, this time in the direction of the Jeep. The cold night air smacked me in the face, and my eyes watered slightly as I looked up and down along the block.
They were gone.
I breathed out a sigh of relief and turned back to Violet. She was still inside, though, holding the door open a bit. I heard her yell.
“I’m leaving, Abella! Don’t forget to lock the doors!”
A muffled voice from somewhere inside the gallery echoed, and seconds later, Violet came the rest of the way outside.
The air ruffled her hair, pulling loose, light-colored strands so they waved around her face and cheeks. The rest was pulled into some kind of messy knot at the base of her skull. The strap of her messenger bag slashed diagonally across her chest, pressing the hoodie she was wearing against the front of her body.
She glanced up and down the street. Then her eyes came back to me.
“You go to BU?” she asked.
I nodded. I was just racking up the lies tonight.
“Me, too.”
“I’m guessing art major?” I said astutely.
Violet nodded and stuffed her hands into the front pocket of the university hoodie. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”
“You’re walking back to campus?” I said as she started to leave. “Alone?”
She turned around, walking backward down the center of the sidewalk. Wind blew behind her, pushing all those loose strands into her face. “I can handle myself.”
I frowned. Before I met her, I didn’t like the idea of her walking around alone. Now that I knew her name and her obvious aversion to me, I hated it.
“I’ll drive you.” I decided out loud.
She stopped walking and glanced at the curb. “In what? You’re imaginary mobile?”
“My Jeep is a street over,” I explained, hitching a thumb over my shoulder.
“I’ll pass.” She turned and began walking again. “See ya later, Stark!” she yelled over her shoulder.
My name floated on the wind. She just told me no. The thought bewildered me.
I couldn’t just let her walk away. She was a clean slate. A chance to have something I thought I never would again. Anonymity. She would have no expectations. I wouldn’t have to be anything or anyone I didn’t want to be with her.
At least for a little while.
Well, other than the fact she thought I was a criminal.
I grinned to myself. I definitely couldn’t let this one get away.
She was far too entertaining.
I didn’t stop her, though. Instead, I turned and jogged off in the opposite direction.