My knuckles on the steering wheel are bone white from gripping it so hard.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous before.

Okay, so I can think of a few times. But even so, my nerves are stretched to the max.

And it doesn’t help that traffic on the 405 has slowed down to a crawl and everyone is honking at each other even though no one is going anywhere. You’d think people in LA would be used to this shit day-in and day-out but I guess honking and getting angry are just part of the deal. If you didn’t spend hours in traffic releasing your anger on other drivers, did you really live?

Normally I wouldn’t be driving toward the airport on a Monday nearing rush hour but when my father called me an hour ago, I couldn’t refuse.

And I didn’t want to.

Even though seven years have passed since I was that awkward girl who fainted at the And Then show, even though I’ve learned to let go of my adolescent fandoms and obsessions (let’s not forget how I stalked Thirty Seconds to Mars all around the country when I was sixteen), this is still something pretty amazing.

I’m on the way to pick up Brad Snyder from the airport.

Yes. The Brad Snyder.

That Brad Snyder.

The man who turned me onto music to begin with, who put that shred of hope in my soul and made me realize that I could do anything I put my mind to. Without Brad’s own music to inspire me, I never would have picked up the bass guitar, never would have paid for my own lessons behind my father’s back, never would have filled notebooks upon notebooks with my own songs and lyrics.

Never would have been given this opportunity…

I push it out of my mind and concentrate on not slamming into the car in front of me. The fact is, I’m not just picking him up, I also have to be the bearer of some sad news for him.

Which makes this all really weird since I don’t know Brad. At all.

Yes, we met at the show at the Palladium when I was fourteen and yes I fainted. And after that I had met him a few more times. My father had a large party for them at my house when one of their albums went platinum, I also went backstage a few times after that. But that was all when I was still in private school, still just a teenager. I’m twenty-one now and even though I know I’m still young, I don’t feel it. And for Brad’s sake, I hope I don’t look it.

The moment I graduated, I was out of Los Angeles in a second. I’d had enough of the city – something about growing up here as the daughter of one of the country’s most successful record producers makes you grow real jaded of the whole scene. I backpacked across Europe, working odd jobs here and there and then spent my last year in Southeast Asia and Australia doing the same. I managed to score a job picking grapes (under the table, of course) in the town of Mildura, in Australia’s Victoria province and wouldn’t you know it, I actually kept working there for a few months, until I felt I had enough of getting dirt under my nails.

All that time I was traveling, I had my bass guitar and my special effects pedal with me. Whenever I had a second I would either be practicing or joining local bands and playing live shows. Sometimes it was just solo – like the awkward show I did in an expat community in Bali. Other times I would be in a band of sorts. Because I stayed in Mildura for so long, I officially joined the Kumquats (I didn’t name it) and played around Victoria and New South Wales. It was mainly pub shows in rural areas, but the band was psychedelic and really let me experiment with sound.

That’s when I realized I had something to bring to the table. I was finally moving past being that bass player that just follows that same prescribed rhythm. I wasn’t D’Arcy from The Smashing Pumpkins, just nodding her head and strumming those same notes over and over again. I was Mlny Parsons from Royal Thunder or that chick from White Zombie, rocking the bass but not fading into the background. I had something to contribute, a sound and a method all of my own.

Yes, it was those shows, as small as they were, sometimes only playing to one drunk farmer in the corner, that taught me more than school ever could.

But you can only run away from life for so long. I knew I couldn’t illegally pick grapes and play in dusty bars forever. I had to come back home and find a life for myself, even though what I really want to do isn’t that practical.

Or, it wouldn’t seem that practical in any other family. In this family, however…

So I came back to LA. Instead of living back at home in my father’s sprawling mansion in Calabasas, I chose to be as far away from the Kardashians as possible. I found a roommate, sharing a simple garage converted into guest house that we rent in Sherman Oaks and got a job as a waitress at a restaurant down the street.

I wanted as little of my father’s help as possible.

That was three months ago. In that time I’ve kept up with my bass, been busy writing songs, playing with various artists, and I managed to adopt a dog, a tiny Chihuahua called Baby Groot, all while working and trying to figure out just how to make happen what I need to happen.

Then I heard the news of what happened with And Then, how a few weeks ago they fired their bassist Nick. It wasn’t a surprise – anyone who followed the band knew that Nick had been asking for it for some time. Fame goes to people’s heads and sometimes it goes to the wrong people’s heads. I don’t care how big you are, no fan likes it when someone from the band berates them while on stage.

So then I asked my father for one of the biggest favors of my life, something I know I’ll always be in debt to him over.

And to my total surprise, he said he would see what he could do. That’s the thing about my father. For better or for worse, he can make almost anything happen.

Which is one reason why I’m so nervous on this drive, along with the fact that I have to tell my hero Brad Snyder some bad news when I’m pretty much a stranger to him, and I’m going to be late to pick him up because of the damn traffic.

I sigh and brush a piece of hair behind my ears, it’s bright color catching my eyes in the rear-view mirror. I know I certainly don’t look like the young kid with straight blonde hair and gap-toothed smile. My hair is dyed teal, my favorite color, and today I played with beachy salt spray to make it wavy. I may have also done a YouTube tutorial for my makeup before I left the house and now I’m wondering if I went overboard with the contouring. Nothing says trying too hard like stripes of brown on your face.

I lick my fingers and try and wipe it off until it’s subtler in the harsh light of day. I know it’s totally silly and I shouldn’t be worried about how I look, but I can’t help it. There’s a part of me deep inside that feels like I’m fourteen all over again.

God, if only I had an idea back then how unreal things are about to get. Hell, if only I knew I’d one day be picking up Brad Snyder and putting him in my car.

If only I knew I’d be one step closer to uncovering the mystery of this man.

The man, the myth, the legend…and all that fucking jazz.

Fuck. I hope I don’t faint.