Bounce by Noelle August Read Free Book Online Page B

I did too, but he’s the director. Not right.
    The conversation moves on without me, since it’s all about the film. That’s how it’s been around here for months. Prior to the movie, it was all about the Blackwood/Quick merger that closed at the start of the year. Adam and Ali have merged, all right. I bet they merge every night.
    Sometimes I wonder why I feel so much drive to get my music career going. Things can’t get going fast enough for me. Then I look at the people in my life, and I get it. Overachievers, every one of them. Big time.
    Which reminds me. I have to get to band practice.
    â€œThanks for dinner,” I say, tossing my wrappers into the trash.
    â€œYou’re welcome, Grey,” Ali says.
    I grab my keys from the hook. Adam gets up and follows me to my truck. I know what he wants, so I beat him to it.
    â€œAli already told me about the charges,” I say, climbing in. “I’ll pay them. I’ll work for you and pay you back. Could you just get off my back about it?”
    Adam catches the door, keeping me from shutting it. “Mom called. She was looking for you.”
    The blood drains out of my face. I didn’t expect that. I just . . . ​didn’t. Seems today is the day for me to get sucker-punched left and right. Still, it’s been two weeks since Madeleine’s last call. And here I was starting to hope she’d forgotten about me.
    â€œ Your mom called, Adam. Not mine.”
    â€œCome on, Grey.” Adam gives me a pained expression, shaking his head. “Don’t be an idiot. It’s been eight months. When are you going to talk to her?”
    I can’t believe it’s been that long, but it’s true. I left home—home in Newport—in August. “Like you said, Adam. It’s been eight months. What do you think?”
    Adam doesn’t move. He just watches me, waiting, I think, for guilt to work its magic on me. I know he’s concerned. He’s stuck in the middle of this situation between his mother—who raised me since I was five—and me. We have the same father, so the difference between us all stems from the maternal blood. His mom is a socialite; mine was a gold digger.
    Is, I correct myself.
    She still is.
    â€œWhat happened between you two?” Adam asks.
    â€œGotta go.” I pull the door shut. Then gun the engine and peel out of the driveway.
    I sing my ass off on the way to Venice Beach. I just think of a tune and start putting words together and sing.
    It’s the only way I know to stop thinking.
    â€œSo?” I ask the band. “How’d that sound?”
    We’re in our rehearsal space—a soundproofed two-car garage a few blocks off the beach. It’s Titus’s sister’s boyfriend’s garage. Dirk charges us a grand a month, but we have a bathroom and enough space for our amps, guitars, the drum kit, a mini-fridge, a small table that seats four, and even a beat-up couch.
    Titus walks over to the fridge. He grabs five beers and lobs them around the garage, keeping one for himself. “Amazing, man. Totally awesome.”
    Usually he has blond dreadlocks, but since we shaved our heads last night, he has a huge third eye on his forehead, moving into his hairline. It’s not a bad look. It suits him. He’s a visionary with melodies.
    Two hours ago, I walked into the garage and hummed the tune I’d been playing around with on my drive here. Titus had it worked out in minutes. The rest of the band fell in with some guidance from the two of us. Now we have something real to work with. The song is coming together.
    â€œThere are a few things I still want to play around with,” Titus says, “but it’s great, bro. Really, really great.”
    â€œAgreed.” Shane nods. “Badass song, Blackwood.” His drumsticks are still tapping out the song’s rhythm.
    I nod, relaxing a little.
    This is the first