Going to Press Read online

  The boys looked at each other, clearly not expecting such a hard-hitting question. I could feel the manager quietly seething with rage.

  Liam got up and stormed off. The others followed—all except Henry. His dark brown eyes were looking at me when he answered. He sighed. “The Side Effects isn’t just another boy band. We hope to stay together for as long as this ride takes us. And if it’s ever over, we hope we’ll still be making music. But we’ll always be brothers, ’cause there’s no one else on earth who went through this with us. No one else can understand what it’s like.”

  With that, he walked away.

  Naomi nodded and we gathered our things.

  The manager stepped in, not pleased. “If you pull something like that again, we’re killing the rest of your access.”

  “No you’re not—your boys need this story. Either I run it with the cover caption ‘Long Live the Side Effects,’ or I run it with ‘Is this the Beginning of The End?’ Your choice.”

  I gulped. Naomi was blackmailing the manager. I thought that kind of thing only happened in soap operas—the kind that I caught Dad watching during the day when he was on break from an overnight shift.

  The manager blinked and handed Naomi the band’s schedule for the rest of the week. I stayed quiet. We certainly hadn’t covered this one in journalism class.

  SEVEN

  The next day, I met Naomi at the recording ­studio.

  It looked just like I’d seen on those MTV specials when they follow a band into a recording room or on a music video shoot and you get to see all the band members goof off with one another. I was excited to see the guys in their element.

  There was a big sound-mixing board in one room and a sound guy sitting behind it, mixing and adjusting what was being recorded on the other side of the glass wall. The band was all sitting on stools. No dance moves. No matching outfits. No girls dancing behind them. This was more serious than I’d expected. It was refreshing.

  “It’s an a cappella version of their biggest hit, ‘Love Me like a Star,’” the sound guy said.

  “They really can sing,” I said out loud.

  “If only they had something to say,” Naomi muttered under her breath.

  She was right. Their songs so far hadn’t exactly been deep … but they were catchy—the kind of songs you hum in the shower and while you’re doing homework. The kind of songs you just can’t shake once you know the melody.

  After they were done, I expected Naomi to ask them questions, but she just waved at them and began to walk out.

  “Aren’t we going to talk to them?” I asked.

  “Tomorrow at the party. Sometimes it’s good to just observe them in their comfort zone. Plus, they’re giving me nothing. They don’t argue. They agree about everything. They don’t get any bad press.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “If there’s no passion, do they even really care?”

  She pulled out her iPad and began writing something. Probably the mean thing she’d just said about them. Then she pushed her way out of the studio and began taking the stairs two by two. I followed her.

  “Go, see the city. I’m going to get a massage,” Naomi announced and rushed off. Within seconds she had disappeared into the crush of people on the sidewalk. I took a few steps before realizing I had left my iPad on one of the chairs next to the sound board. I ran back upstairs.

  When I got back to the studio, Henry was singing in the sound booth alone. I touched the button on the sound board that I’d seen the sound guy hit so that Henry’s voice filled the room. It wasn’t the normal hip-hop crossover pop stuff that I had heard before. It was deeper and slower, a real love song.

  I was impressed. He spotted me through the glass and stopped singing. I picked up my tablet and waved it in the air to show him that I hadn’t come back to spy on him and then began to make my way out.

  When I was walking back down the steps, Henry caught up with me. “Hey, wait up!” he said.

  “I liked the song. It’s different from what you guys normally sing.”

  “Thanks.”

  He held the door open for me.

  “I liked your question.”

  I raised my eyebrows. It was his job to charm teenage girls.

  “Everyone assumes that we don’t miss the other stuff, the real stuff.” He sounded sincere.

  “I go to a normal school and get to be a normal girl, but I still feel like I’m missing out on stuff.” I wanted to take the words back as soon as I said them. I’d just compared my little life to his big one. But he nodded as if we were totally the same.

  An SUV pulled up in front of the building with the rest of the band already inside.

  “There you are, loser. Hop in,” Liam demanded.

  “Can we drop you somewhere?” Henry asked.

  One of the other boys mimicked him, “Can we drop you—” Someone else stopped him—it sounded like Cameron’s surfer-boy accent: “Stop stepping on his game, man.”

  “That’s not game,” Manny said, drumming his hands against the back of a seat.

  “I’m good,” I said, letting him off the hook.

  He slid into the back of the SUV, and I watched as it pulled away from the curb.

  Was Henry of the Side Effects really flirting with me? It couldn’t be possible.

  The window rolled down as I started to walk away.

  “You should totally come to our rehearsal later. Your reporter mom isn’t invited.”

  “You totally should,” added another voice from behind him.

  “Should she?” Liam said, with a big pout that I’d never seen in any of their interviews or videos.

  “Okay … sure,” I stuttered.

  “Awesome. The manager will text you with the deets.” The window rolled up, and the SUV disappeared into traffic. I walked all the way back to my dorm, but I was daydreaming so much, I barely saw a thing.

  EIGHT

  When I got back to my dorm, I remembered something. Or, rather, someone … Naomi. She would kill me when she found out I’d said yes to Henry’s invitation. Maybe I shouldn’t have said yes. Did that cross some line? Had I stepped on her interview? Had I stepped on her story? I had to tell her. I called her, and she answered on the first ring, “Hello, intern. This better be good.”

  I told her almost everything, but I left out the part about the new song. Somehow it seemed private. I wanted to keep it between just me and Henry.

  “If you want I can tell the manager no.” It killed me to say it. I wanted so badly to go and hang with the band.

  “You absolutely have to go,” Naomi said eagerly.

  “Why?” I was confused. Why did she sound so excited? Maybe she was just happy for me to have friends.

  “I want you to help me get my story.”

  “What?” Oh no, I thought. What did she have up her sleeve?

  “It’s perfect. They won’t have their guard up; they won’t be rehearsed. They’ll be themselves. And if there’s any dirt—drugs, girls, booze—then we’ll get the scoop.”

  “But he asked me as a boy not as a boy-band member.” I blurted, not liking where this was going. I believed in getting the story, but this felt like too far.

  “He is a boy-band member, and he is a story. Unless he said that it’s off the record … then it isn’t,” Naomi said matter-of-factly.

  Harmon Holt’s words came roaring back to me. It may be hard to see it now, but the distance between me and you is hard work and opportunity. I am giving you the opportunity, he had written. The rest is up to you.

  I didn’t know if this is what Mr. Holt meant, but what if, like the Side Effects had said, my chance was coming now? If Naomi was giving me a chance to work on a story with her, how could I say no?

  I took a deep breath. “Okay,” I said.

  NINE

  The rehearsal session was at their hotel room. I took the elevator up to their top-story suite, muttering to myself about playing it cool the whole way up. When I ar
rived, their manager was there to greet me. I could hear music coming from the living room. It was the song that I’d heard Henry singing in the studio, and it was beautiful.

  So much for keeping my journalistic ­objectivity.

  The boys were sitting on stools and holding mics, Liam singing the lead now.

  “You’re here,” Henry mouthed silently. His face seemed to light up. I was sure that I was imagining it. He probably did that with everyone. It was part of being a teen idol. His job was to make everyone under the age of eighteen fall in love with him. I hated to admit it, but it was working a little.

  He smiled again. I forced myself to smile less. Liam suddenly dropped his mic, kicked away from his stool, and plopped down in front in the huge, flat-screen television, grabbing the remote.

  “What’s his deal?” I asked, looking at Liam. The song still seemed to hang in the air.

  Henry didn’t seem to hear me. “Hey! We’re practicing, man,” Henry yelled to Liam.

  “Not in front of the enemy,” Liam replied, firing up a video game. Manny shrugged and dropped his drumsticks. He went over and picked up a controller.

  Henry looked apologetic. “L’s not about the press. He’s about the music.”

  “I thought the whole fame and fortune thing just went with the territory,” I replied.

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we have to like it.” Henry’s face fell, like he was remembering something. “I mean, I know it’s what you want to do. No offense.”

  “None taken,” It was my turn to feel bad. He didn’t think I was here for the story. He really had invited me just to hang out.

  “You want to eat something?” He smiled and grabbed the room service menu.

  “Sure.” I’d never had room service before, but I guessed they ate that way every night.

  Hu ran past, snagging the menu right out Henry’s hands. Henry took off after him.

  “It’s my night to choose,” Hu said as ­Henry chased him around the suite and tackled him to the ground.

  “Pizza!” Manny said without taking his eyes off the TV screen.

  “Pizza!” Cameron agreed, running his hands through his surfer hair.

  “Pizza!” Hu agreed, as if it was his idea to begin with.

  “You can have anything you want,” Henry said when he returned, slightly out of breath at my side.

  “Pizza,” I said. I imagined this was what it was like to have brothers—or guy friends.

  For the next two hours, I played video games with the Side Effects, and for those two hours they seemed like completely normal boys. It was truly unreal.

  Their manager walked in, announcing it was time for them to wrap things up: “If you aren’t going to practice, you should at least sleep.”

  Henry walked me to the door.

  “That was fun, thanks.” For a second, I thought he was going to say more.

  But his manager stepped in. “There will be plenty of time for chatting at the party. It’s late, so the boys’ car will take you home.”

  “I can get home on my own.” I said, not wanting to inconvenience the driver.

  “You have to let the car drive you,” Henry insisted.

  Everyone except Liam shouted their goodbyes. The manager closed the door before I could thank anyone, especially Henry, for possibly the coolest night of my life.

  TEN

  “You’re right. No deep, dark secrets. No drinking, no partying.” I dropped my notebooks on my desk with a thud. “They were totally PG. Video games and pizza.”

  “Boring and useless,” Naomi said, disappointed. She leaned against my desk, sipping her coffee and clearly hoping for something more dramatic from me.

  I was relieved. I hated disappointing her, but spying on the boys didn’t feel right to me either. I could live with boring and useless.

  “Well, maybe you’ll do better at the party tonight,” she said and walked away before I could protest.

  There was no point arguing with her. As far as I was concerned, they had nothing to hide, except maybe Liam’s bad manners.

  I spent the rest of the day fact-checking and worrying about the party. It was an industry party—whatever that might mean. The boys were planning to perform a new song. The record execs and the press would hear their newest single before it rolled out to radio stations and launched on iTunes a little while later.

  I also worried about what I was going to wear.

  Tam brought me a cup of coffee and sat down on the edge of the window seat behind my desk.

  “I thought I was supposed to bring you coffee …” I said.

  “The Rage has never worked like that. Everyone gets coffee for everyone else, except Holiday. She only drinks that herbal green stuff. It’s disgusting.”

  I laughed.

  “How’s it going with Naomi?” she asked, crossing her legs under her as if she was settling in to hear some good gossip.

  I paused and tried to think of the right words. “She’s great. I’m learning so much from her.” It was the truth. I just wasn’t sure if all that I was learning was good.

  “Naomi treats every story exactly the same. Like she’s crawling on her belly under razor wire in a war zone and people are shooting at her. But sometimes there’s no angle or big secret to uncover. Sometimes a boy band is just a boy band. Keep your head down and try not to get caught in the crossfire.”

  I nodded. “Thanks, Tam.”

  Tam got up, still sipping her coffee.

  “Tam, one more thing?”

  “Anything, hon.”

  “What do I wear to this thing?”

  “Just keep it simple. I mean, definitely no jeans. Black is always good. But don’t try too hard. And make sure you still look like you.”

  I thanked her again and took a big sip of my coffee. I felt better already.

  ELEVEN

  It was my first industry party. My first New York City party. My first time in a nightclub. The label had rented out the space from the Boom Room, a jazz club on top of the Standard Hotel.

  The walls shimmered like the paint itself was made of gold. And there was a ginormous chandelier that dripped down from the ceiling. There was a stage by a wall of windows that looked over downtown Manhattan. A hand-painted sign in front it said, “One Night Only—The Side Effects.” The band wasn’t on the stage, though.

  Dressed up to fit the swanky setting, the Side Effects were working the crowd. Henry looked amazing in a blue suit with a silvery tie and fancy black shoes. He was standing near the stage, talking to some important-looking old guys who were also wearing suits. Probably label execs.

  Naomi wasn’t dressed up. She was wearing the same outfit she’d been wearing at the office earlier—leather pants and black tank top. But she’d taken off her blazer, revealing toned arms that would make even Michelle Obama jealous. She’d also added a chunky oversized silver necklace. She looked cool without trying.

  She had cornered Liam, who did not look at all happy to be talking to her.

  I almost felt bad for him, but I made no move to go rescue him.

  I looked down at my own outfit. It didn’t exactly stand out among all the leather, glitter, and spandex that filled the room, but it was the best I could do. I’d gone beyond simple. A black tank dress that just grazed the knee, my red pumps, and some big hoop earrings. I’d let my hair dry naturally so that it had some waves.

  I spotted Henry in the crowd again. His hair was slicked down, and his tie was loose around his neck. He was talking to Cam, who was texting and talking at the same time. Henry laughed as if whatever Cam had said was really funny. I wondered if Henry was thinking about me, if he was wondering whether I would be there.

  I reminded myself that the band, that Henry alone, had a gazillion Twitter followers. At the end of the day, I was probably just another fan. I needed to focus on the job—getting the story. I was usually so great at talking to everyone. I had a million questions ready at all times. But Naomi’s urge to get dirt on them had made it
harder for me to focus. I should have made a beeline for any of the guys and started digging for info. Instead, I headed for the bar, away from the crowds, hoping no one, especially Naomi, would find me there.

  “ID please,” said the cute and friendly bartender. Probably an actor hired to be cute and friendly, I thought.

  I automatically looked down at my purse. My driver’s license hadn’t fit in it. Not that it would have helped anyway.

  Next to me a voice said, “He’s joking. This bar is just juice.”

  I looked up, and the bartender nodded and laughed.

  “They’re serving mocktails,” my new neighbor said. He was a cute boy, also about my age, with an accent and hair color that matched Liam’s. I was relieved it wasn’t Naomi.

  “What’s a mocktail?” I asked.

  “A fake cocktail. Since the band’s underage.”

  The bartender returned with a blue drink in a martini glass. “It’s a Side-Car-Effect.”

  “What’s in it?” I asked, lifting the glass to my lips.

  “Blueberries, pomegranate … and some blue Kool-Aid,” the bartender whispered, as if Kool-Aid was a dangerous ingredient.

  “We should toast to the band,” the blond boy said.

  “Cheers.” We clinked glasses.

  “I’m Lisa.”

  “Connor. I went to school with Liam back in England. We go way back.”

  “So are you their biggest fan?” I’d heard of bands traveling with entourages. Maybe this kid’s parents let him spent the summer trailing Liam.

  “My dad is in the business. He’s a record exec. So, since we were in town …”

  “Cool.”

  The perks of my dad’s job as a cabbie were getting dropped off in the cab at school instead of taking the bus. This kid got to come to New York and hang out with the Side Effects.

  Naomi spotted me and waved me over to her. Reluctantly, I said goodbye to Connor and headed over.