Dear Rockstar

The original picture was one of Tyler and his daughter, Chloe, in a warm embrace, her cheek resting against his black t-shirt. They were smiling, happy, and it looked as if the photographer had snapped the picture a moment too late, because instead of looking at the camera, they were half-looking at each other, their eyes locked, and the look in their eyes was of something secretly hilarious, some inside joke. The love there made me ache all over. The warmth between them was almost tangible, all the love in the world caught in that one single look.



I had painted Tyler exactly as he was, but instead of Chloe, I had done a self-portrait, putting myself in her place. The painting was almost finished. I just had a little work to do. I contemplated getting out my paints and brushes, since I was going to be in here all night without any supper. Thankfully I had a stash of granola bars in my closet and a whole case of apple juice. Pete—the stepbeast—drove a truck delivering juice and he stole it from work.



I got myself a granola bar and some juice, my stomach rumbling its thanks as I ate, looking through one of the brochures from my night stand. I’d flipped through it so many times, the edges were ragged. There was a Bulldog on the front, near the words “University of Maine at Orono”—Tyler Vincent’s alma mater. Inside, though…I opened the slick, folded sheet of paper, staring at the words: “Maine Difference Creative Competition. Open to writers, musicians, painters, photographers—artists of all creeds.”



I double-checked the prize, as I had a hundred times—an all-expenses paid scholarship to the University of Maine to the top winner in each category, and an invitation to an open house to see the campus and accept their award. The keynote speaker was, of course, Tyler Vincent himself, whose music career had started, of all places, in a Maine state university. I folded the brochure up, carefully tucking it fully back under my alarm clock.



That was my golden ticket. Tyler still had a house only five minutes away from Orono, in Bangor. I had my dreams of meeting him, my little fantasies. Maybe I’d run into his son, Michael… who says we couldn’t fall in love and get married? Or I could end up babysitting his youngest son, Ian. Or meeting Chloe if she decided to go to the University of Maine like her father.



I knew all of my little scenarios were unlikely, but they were absolutely impossible if I stayed in New Jersey and never set foot in Maine. So I was going. I would win the contest and go to Maine. I had to. If nothing else, it would get me out of here.



I looked at my painting and then at the original photograph I had tacked to the wall. Chloe Vincent. I was so incredibly jealous of her. Why should she have such a wonderful father, when I was stuck with the stepbeast? There was never a day that passed when I didn’t wish it was me, in his arms with all of that love, for real, and not just in my painting.



I sighed, shaking my head to clear the reverie. Forget it, I thought. Just get to work. I put on my painting smock and grabbed my palette and a clean brush. If I finished it tonight and let it dry, I could send it out tomorrow. The thought spurred me on, and I opened my paints, beginning to mix a skin tone. I had just gotten the right color when the phone rang.



My first thought was of Dale Diamond and the little heart I’d drawn around my phone number on the back of his hand. I’d been trying hard not to think about him at all, not even realizing how tense and expectant my body had been, waiting for him to call.



I grabbed the phone on the first ring, hoping my stepfather wouldn’t pick it up.



“Hello?”



“Sara! Where in the hell were you? I had to go home with Carrie and Wendy!”



Aimee. I’d forgotten all about her. I put down my brush and palette and sat on the bed.



“I had to stay after chem.”



“What for?” She crunched something in my ear.



“It’s a long story.” I looked longingly at the paint drying on the palette.



“So?”



I gave up, stretching out on my bed, and told her what had happened, from the moment Dale Diamond walked into my chemistry class to my invitation to give him a ride to and from the academy.



“He’s supposed to call you tonight?” Aimee was practically vibrating with excitement—I could feel it even through the phone line. “We better get off, you don’t have call waiting. Oh my God, it’s like a romance novel!”



I laughed. “It’s not that exciting. He’s a nice enough guy, I guess. But he’s not Tyler Vincent.”



I reminded myself of that fact, touching Tyler’s picture, one of my favorites taped to the wall next to my bed. This was the man I lived for, would die for. He filled my thoughts, my dreams. I had pinned all my hopes on him.



Aimee stopped crunching and groaned. “You are way too hung up on Tyler Vincent. You meet this incredible guy and all you can say is he’s not Tyler Vincent?”



“Hey, let me have my fantasies, would you? What are you eating?”



“Cheetos. But I’m going to throw them up later. Hey, speaking of Tyler Vincent, don’t tickets go on sale this Saturday?”



“Oh my God, I forgot to tell you the best part!” I squealed, forgetting all about Aimee’s Cheetos comment for a moment. “Dale says he can get us front row seats!”



“What? You’re kidding me! How?”



“He says he knows somebody.”



“Oh my God, I don’t have to stand in line overnight again? I can’t believe it!”



I laughed. “You lucked out this year.”



“Sounds like you’re the one lucking out.”



“Maybe a little.” I twisted the phone cord around my finger, looking at a picture of Tyler Vincent on my wall, but thinking about Dale Diamond. “Hey, are you really eating Cheetos?”



“Don’t judge me.” Aimee crunched again. “I’m having a bad day.”



I knew how she felt, between Woodall and washing desks to coming home to the stepbeast in a beastly mood. The only bright spot in my day had been Dale Diamond.



“I don’t care if you’re eating them, just don’t throw them up.”



“But the calories!” she wailed.



“You were fine at lunch. What happened?”



Aimee sighed. “Carrie’s older brother picked us up. That’s who I rode home with.”



“So?”



“So he’s amazing, not to mention gorgeous, and I made an absolute fool of myself in front of him!” she cried.



“You did not. It couldn’t be that bad.”



“You weren’t there!” she choked. “He pulls up in a red Firebird—a red Firebird!—and the car is hot enough, but the guy? Oh my God, have you seen Carrie’s brother? Matt Green? Do you remember him?”



“Ummm…” I vaguely remembered him from high school, a nice-looking guy, tall, with short sandy hair, basketball player. He was a senior when we were freshman.



“So he pulls up and he starts talking to me, and I didn’t even know it was our ride, I just thought it was some cute guy who pulled up and was hitting on me, and Carrie and Wendy were just standing there grinning and not saying anything.”



“So he liked you?”



“I thought he did.” Aimee morosely crunched more Cheetos. “But that was before the bee.”



“The bee?” Uh-oh. Aimee was deathly afraid of bees—like I was afraid of spiders. She wasn’t even allergic, she was just terrified of them and freaked out every time she saw one.



“It was huge! And I screamed like an idiot and started running around and swatting at it but it was chasing me and I ended up tripping over Carrie’s bag. Now I’ve got a hole in the knee of my new Jordache jeans and I can never talk to Carrie’s brother ever again.”



I was trying hard not to laugh at the image. “I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as all that.”



“Sara! He teased me the whole way home!” Her voice dropped an octave as she imitated him. “‘You know, you should BEE more careful’ and ‘I do BEElieve this is your house, Aimee.’”



I snorted laughter. I couldn’t help it. “Did you tell him to buzz off?”



“Oh my God, I hate you.” More crunching.



“I’m sorry,” I apologized, swallowing my laughter, but I couldn’t help myself. “I was just kidding… honey.”



“Sara!’



“Okay, okay…” I relented, trying to make her feel better. “Don’t they say if a guy teases you, that means they like you?”



Aimee scoffed. “Yeah, in grade school! We’re not in grade school anymore!”



“I suppose that embarrassing moment was Cheeto-worthy,” I admitted. “Just don’t throw them up, okay? Promise me?”



She just kept on crunching. “Do I get to meet this Dale guy?”



“I’m giving him a ride to the academy on Monday. You can meet him then.”



“Argh!” She gave a strangled cry. “I’ve got a stupid group therapy session Monday morning. Hey, invite him to the lunch table! Then we can all meet him.”



I groaned. “Oh, yeah, like I want Carrie and Wendy ripping him to shreds?”



“Come on, you wimp. Just do it.”



“Fine. Listen, can I let you go? My paint is drying. Besides, you’re just droning on and on…”



“Oh shut up!” she snapped. “Can I see it before you send it?”



“Yeah—if you let me finish it!”



“Okay, okay,” she grumbled. “I’ll see you and your man at lunch on Monday!”



“He’s not my—” I started to protest, but she’d already hung up.



Here I’d been thinking about Dale Diamond and didn’t even know it. How was that possible? I picked up my brush and palette, just standing there, staring at my painting. I’d been ready to paint, but now I couldn’t stop thinking about Dale and his wry smile, the way his dark hair fell over one eye, that little dent in his chin and matching dimple in his cheek.



He wasn’t just a sexy, Tyler Vincent look alike, but a musician like him too! Aimee, a firm believer in fate, tarot cards, and all things psychic, clearly thought it was an obvious sign from the universe, but I knew better. More likely, it was just a diversion, something to distract me from the direction I really wanted to go.



And Tyler Vincent was my true north.



Then the phone rang and my breath caught in my throat and my heart leapt to my chest, my body instantly betraying me, but not only that, my very first thought was, “Dale!”



I dove across my bed to reach for it, hoping I’d caught it soon enough.



“Hello?” My stepfather’s voice echoed mine.



I thought it couldn’t get worse until Dale said, “Hi, Sara? I mean, is Sara home?”



“I got it,” I said.



“Okay.” But my stepfather still didn’t hang up the phone.



“Hi, Sara, how’s it going?” Dale asked.



“Okay.” I waited for my stepfather to hang up. I hated when he did this.



“So... I told you I’d call.”



“Uh-huh.” I hated being so short with him, but didn’t want to give anything away to the stepbeast.