Jesse's Girl
Page 37
“Come on!” I yell and wave at him to join me. Giving me a desperate glance, he rubs the back of his neck and jogs up the plank and jumps down onto the deck. Seconds later, a boat hand comes up to retract the plank as the boat casts off.
“Remind me to run next time the word ‘surprise’ comes out of your mouth,” Jesse says.
Darkness is beginning to dye the blue sky. I sneak down the hallway, heading for the stairs that lead to the upper deck where music is blaring.
“Maya!” Jesse whispers. “What are you doing? You’re gonna ruin the party.”
I turn as he catches up to me. “Au contraire,” I reply, poking him in the chest. “Whoever’s party this is will love me forever.”
I dart up the steps and find, like, ten thousand purple and pink balloons.
And a hundred young teen girls.
A “Happy 13th Birthday, Katherine!” banner stretches across the wall behind the band.
Jesse emerges from the staircase and swallows hard. “Shit.” And the screaming starts.
Girls encircle Jesse, and he looks at me, shaking his head, his lips pursed. I expect him to flip out or be a jerk like the night we met in his dressing room, but then he cracks up. We laugh at each other as the girls swarm him and separate us.
I head toward the stage to approach the band. “Know any Bon Jovi?” I ask the lead singer.
“Sure.” The man nods past my shoulder. “Is that Jesse Scott?”
“Yes. And it’s his dream to sing on the Belle Carol Riverboat.”
“Well, get him up here then.”
I grab the mike and say, “Happy Birthday, Katherine! My gift to you is a performance by Jesse Scott!”
I swear, the shrieking is so loud, you could hear it on Pluto. Jesse makes his way up to the stage, the girls hanging all over him like barnacles. Narrowing his eyes at me, he grabs the microphone out of my hand. “Where’s Katherine?” he asks, and this skinny girl with glasses pushes her way to the front of the crowd. She raises a trembling hand.
“I also got you a gift,” Jesse says. More screaming. Girls are holding cell phones above their heads, taking pictures and recording.
“Thank you,” Katherine says, so happy, tears are rolling down her face. She’ll be the most popular kid at school after this.
“My gift is a duet,” Jesse says and grabs my hand.
“Oh no.” I shake my head as I back away. He keeps a firm grip and pulls me close.
He whispers in my ear, “Surprise.”
The band starts playing “Livin’ on a Prayer.” The drums make the stage vibrate, and the guitar’s squeal causes my arm hair to get staticky. I love it.
“Nice choice,” Jesse says. A mosh pit forms around the stage. We start to sing together, and Jesse’s face is happier than I’ve ever seen it—in person or in the tabloids. Together we belt the lyrics into the microphone, and the girls point at me and take pictures with their cell phones. The back of my neck is damp with sweat, and I shut my eyes, drowning in Jesse’s beautiful voice.
On the last verse, Jesse stops singing. I stop singing too, but Jesse elbows me.
“Keep going,” he says, dancing to the beat. “You can do this.”
I can’t let him—or myself—down. I fill my stomach with air like he taught me, and I’m careful not to sing out of my throat. I control my voice, and somehow, it doesn’t crack. The new technique works! I can’t believe I’m singing a solo in front of an audience. I don’t faint, and my voice doesn’t crack—I just sing. And, God, it feels good to hear those cheers. It’s just like in my dreams.
When the song’s over, I whisper-yell in Jesse’s ear, “That was so fun!”
“You were great,” he replies, helping me off the stage. “Really great.”
“Did you have a good time?”
The sun disappears behind the horizon as he whispers in my ear, “Definitely.”
“Jesse, how can you give this up?” I ask, grasping his T-shirt.
“Not every day is like this one.” His voice breaks. “I want to live.”
He gives a bunch of autographs and takes pictures with the kids. And it shocks the bejesus out of me when some girls ask to have their picture taken with me. One who recognizes me from the Access Hollywood video of me running from the horse cop asks for my autograph. News travels fast when it involves Jesse Scott.
“I love your dress,” one girl says.
“Are you Jesse’s girlfriend?” another wants to know, bouncing on her toes.
“Remind me to run next time the word ‘surprise’ comes out of your mouth,” Jesse says.
Darkness is beginning to dye the blue sky. I sneak down the hallway, heading for the stairs that lead to the upper deck where music is blaring.
“Maya!” Jesse whispers. “What are you doing? You’re gonna ruin the party.”
I turn as he catches up to me. “Au contraire,” I reply, poking him in the chest. “Whoever’s party this is will love me forever.”
I dart up the steps and find, like, ten thousand purple and pink balloons.
And a hundred young teen girls.
A “Happy 13th Birthday, Katherine!” banner stretches across the wall behind the band.
Jesse emerges from the staircase and swallows hard. “Shit.” And the screaming starts.
Girls encircle Jesse, and he looks at me, shaking his head, his lips pursed. I expect him to flip out or be a jerk like the night we met in his dressing room, but then he cracks up. We laugh at each other as the girls swarm him and separate us.
I head toward the stage to approach the band. “Know any Bon Jovi?” I ask the lead singer.
“Sure.” The man nods past my shoulder. “Is that Jesse Scott?”
“Yes. And it’s his dream to sing on the Belle Carol Riverboat.”
“Well, get him up here then.”
I grab the mike and say, “Happy Birthday, Katherine! My gift to you is a performance by Jesse Scott!”
I swear, the shrieking is so loud, you could hear it on Pluto. Jesse makes his way up to the stage, the girls hanging all over him like barnacles. Narrowing his eyes at me, he grabs the microphone out of my hand. “Where’s Katherine?” he asks, and this skinny girl with glasses pushes her way to the front of the crowd. She raises a trembling hand.
“I also got you a gift,” Jesse says. More screaming. Girls are holding cell phones above their heads, taking pictures and recording.
“Thank you,” Katherine says, so happy, tears are rolling down her face. She’ll be the most popular kid at school after this.
“My gift is a duet,” Jesse says and grabs my hand.
“Oh no.” I shake my head as I back away. He keeps a firm grip and pulls me close.
He whispers in my ear, “Surprise.”
The band starts playing “Livin’ on a Prayer.” The drums make the stage vibrate, and the guitar’s squeal causes my arm hair to get staticky. I love it.
“Nice choice,” Jesse says. A mosh pit forms around the stage. We start to sing together, and Jesse’s face is happier than I’ve ever seen it—in person or in the tabloids. Together we belt the lyrics into the microphone, and the girls point at me and take pictures with their cell phones. The back of my neck is damp with sweat, and I shut my eyes, drowning in Jesse’s beautiful voice.
On the last verse, Jesse stops singing. I stop singing too, but Jesse elbows me.
“Keep going,” he says, dancing to the beat. “You can do this.”
I can’t let him—or myself—down. I fill my stomach with air like he taught me, and I’m careful not to sing out of my throat. I control my voice, and somehow, it doesn’t crack. The new technique works! I can’t believe I’m singing a solo in front of an audience. I don’t faint, and my voice doesn’t crack—I just sing. And, God, it feels good to hear those cheers. It’s just like in my dreams.
When the song’s over, I whisper-yell in Jesse’s ear, “That was so fun!”
“You were great,” he replies, helping me off the stage. “Really great.”
“Did you have a good time?”
The sun disappears behind the horizon as he whispers in my ear, “Definitely.”
“Jesse, how can you give this up?” I ask, grasping his T-shirt.
“Not every day is like this one.” His voice breaks. “I want to live.”
He gives a bunch of autographs and takes pictures with the kids. And it shocks the bejesus out of me when some girls ask to have their picture taken with me. One who recognizes me from the Access Hollywood video of me running from the horse cop asks for my autograph. News travels fast when it involves Jesse Scott.
“I love your dress,” one girl says.
“Are you Jesse’s girlfriend?” another wants to know, bouncing on her toes.
