The Way Back Home by Alecia Whitaker Read Free Book Online

we could work it out and get back to normal. When I head toward the couch, Stella slips down next to Dylan before I can sit, her expression that of attempted nonchalance although she clearly cut me off. Then Dylan oh-so-casually drapes his arm around the sofa, not necessarily across her shoulders, but the two of them look quite cozy as they stare past me at the television, apparently super absorbed in the opening scene, as if we haven’t seen it a million times before.
    I turn around slowly and drop into the recliner with the unsettling feeling that it may be too late for normal.

    It was a madhouse in my dressing room tonight. Troy was prepping me on a few talk show appearances he wants me to make, and Stella was frantically trying to get a lipstick stain out of my opening costume. Sam and Tammy were talking nonstop about a
Real Housewives
scandal, and Amanda was in a mood about us being five minutes late. All that to say that by the time I took the stage, there still hadn’t been a private moment to talk to Stella about what is going on between her and Dylan, because clearly something is happening there and clearly she wants me in the dark.
    And it hurts my feelings. Yeah, okay, the likelihood of a “Stylan” relationship is a little, um,
yuck
, but I’m her
best friend
. During the last couple of costume changes, I’ve just wanted to shout,
Hello! I’m not an idiot. Talk to me.
    â€œLet’s bring it down, one time,” I say near the end of “Notice Me.” The band softens and the instrumentals play as I talk, totally off script. “Is there somebody out there you’ve been friends with for a long time? Maybe you’re thinking about being more than friends. Maybe you want to take things to the next level, but you have absolutely no idea if that person feels the same way.” I glance back at Dylan and raise my eyebrows. He looks away. I knew it. “In fact,” I go on, stronger now, “maybe you think they like you back, but there’s another factor, another person maybe, that’s in your way. Or that you assume might be in your way. Anybody out there want somebody to see you as more than what you’ve always been?”
    The crowd cheers.
    â€œSalt Lake City, let ’em know!” I shout out. I cue the band, and they play louder at my lead, nearly fifteen thousand voices filling the arena as we sing:
“Is it real? Do you see? Say you notice me.
Come on!
Notice me. Oh, say you notice… me.”
    As the crowd goes wild, we cut the song and I race backstage. A short video plays on the giant screens onstage, a roadie hands me a bottle of water, and Stella rips off my fire-engine-red sequined dress. We’re going fifties-mod for the next song, the one I wrote with Adam last year called “Worth Being in Love.” I know now is not the right time to bring this up, but I can’t stop myself, blurting out, “Do you like my brother?”
    Stella has a vintage black-and-white polka-dot dress halfway up my body, and she stops cold. “What?”
    I tug at the dress. “Keep going. I’ve only got another minute until this video is over, but it seems like you guys have been flirting lately and, I don’t know, maybe I’m crazy, but do you like Dylan? Like
that
?”
    She looks away, pulls the dress all the way up, and steps behind me to zip me in and tie the halter. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “I do.”
    I shake my head.
    â€œSee, I knew you’d be mad,” she says, walking around and fluffing the full skirt with its tulle peeking from the hemline. “That’s why I didn’t say anything. Well, that and I don’t think he likes me back.”
    â€œAre you serious?” I ask. “First of all, I’m not mad that you like him, although I do question your taste in men. But why didn’t you tell me? I asked you about him before, and you said he wasn’t your