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Synopsis
But when the paparazzi snaps a blurry picture of the singer and his “Mystery Girl” fleeing from the cameras, Rylee starts receiving social media backlash as the band’s fans begin bullying her in ways she’s never experienced before.
The world already hates her, twisting her words and making up stories, but what will happen when her true identity is revealed, and she can no longer hide behind a baseball cap?
And worst of all, what happens when her Carson-obsessed sister finds out she’s the girl in all the photos?
Release date: January 17, 2020
Publisher: Lexi Kingston
Print pages: 345
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Remember December:
Lexi Kingston
Chapter One
December 13th
“Ryleeeeee!!!!!!!”
My eyes open in surprise, I spring out of bed, and run over to the door to find my older sister jumping with excitement, the biggest smile imaginable on her face.
“GUESS WHAT?!” she practically yells.
I close my eyes and sigh. Ever since she came home from college for winter break, she’s been a boundless ball of energy. Even though she said she’s in love with her school and new college friends, I’m not entirely convinced—she’s way too excited to be back around her family for that to be true.
“Jeez, Tori, I thought something happened.”
Tori blinks rapidly and shakes her head. “Something did happen.”
“Something bad.” I roll my eyes.
“Oh. No. This is great news. Look!” She holds up her iPad with the screen showing a list of dates, each with a red heart wrapped in flowery vines next to it. Immediately, I know what she’s so excited about. “They just added a new stop to the tour… and it’s here. Here!”
“Don’t you have a job you should be at right now?” I question, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My sister, however, is sporting a full face of makeup, complete with a curly ponytail and a pair of black, Steve Madden wedges—there are two types of people in the morning.
“I called in sick as soon as I heard the news! Plus, the Wild Heart Tour isn’t even the best part. It says in Teen Queen magazine that Jamie LeMont told the column’s editor that Kris Topaz told him that Carson James wants to come here for the holidays because it’s where he grew up! Can you believe it?”
I shake my head in confusion, trying to make sense of the words spewing from her lips. “Wait—so 13 Days of December is spending their holiday here? In Ambler, Pennsylvania?” I may not know much about my sister’s favorite band, but I thought they were all from out of the country and definitely not from our little map-dot town. “Why isn’t their concert in Philadelphia?”
“It is, they’re just spending the holidays here before the tour kicks off.” She smiles sinisterly. “And I’ve already got tickets.” Tori reaches into her back pocket, pulling out two folded-up pieces of paper.
My eyes narrow. “I hope you’re taking one of your college friends.” As I inspect the seat numbers, my eyes catch on another small detail. “You really think out of the thousands of fans entering that you’ll win a meet and greet?”
Her face falls for a split second, but she chooses to ignore my rationality. “None of them like D of D,” she continues instead, referring to the band’s nickname. “Plus, I’d rather make you suffer through the concert than one of them.”
“You could take Dylan.” I offer up our younger brother as tribute. Anything to save myself from a night in hell.
Tori gives me a sour look. “He complains more than you.”
Doubtful.
Although… a giddy feeling warms my chest as I think of all the ways I can annoy my sister on concert night. I’ll annoy her so much she’ll never want to take me to a concert again.
Tori moves into my room and guides me to the mirror above my dresser. She slumps an arm across my shoulders and laughs. “I can already see it. The two of us, front row. Jeremy Dean catches my eye. Invites me backstage. We’ll be married in June…”
“Seriously?” I shove her arm off my shoulder.
“Yeah, you’re right.” She turns to leave. “Carson’s more my speed. But hey, don’t worry, I’m sure we can find a roadie for you or something.”
The door slams closed, and I’m left alone to think about how much I’m going to hate this concert. Not only the concert. The entire holiday. If the band is going to be in town, Tori will most definitely be dragging me everywhere in hopes of accidentally running into them—considering her car became mine the second she left for school.
Goodbye, afternoon naps.
Hello, sleep deprivation.
While getting ready for the day, I resign myself to listening to some of the band’s popular songs, so I’ll at least know a few for the concert in a couple weeks. I also do a quick google search to figure out which member is which, and this is what I discovered:
The band’s front man/lead singer is Carson James. After spending most of his childhood here in Ambler, Carson moved to Los Angeles when he was eleven. This is where he met the band’s drummer, Jamie LeMont, who was also an aspiring musician at the age of thirteen.
After reading two paragraphs of the headlining article, I got bored, and instead skimmed through to find the last two members.
Their lead guitarist is Jeremy Dean, who likes to be called Jer Dean, and the bass guitarist is Kris Topaz. Apparently, after deciding to sign with their label, the record company held auditions where both Carson and Jamie had a say in who they wanted as the two remaining band members. They narrowed it down to three guys, but ultimately the chemistry between the four of them was undeniable. Two years and an album later, they got their big break.
How is it that famous people are all given really cool names at birth? Is it like a rite of passage? Or is it the fame that makes the names sound interesting? I know from Tori that none of them changed their names before making it big—if you can believe what you read in gossip magazines, that is—so that doesn’t explain away their charismatic nature.
“Don’t tell me you’ve got December fever, too?”
I slam my laptop shut at lightning speed and spin my desk chair around so fast I almost fall to the floor.
Dylan bends over laughing at my clumsiness, and I flick him in the ear. He shoots me a death glare. “No, I don’t have December fever. I will have you know, I’m perfectly healthy.”
“Uh-huh. Yeah, that explains why your face is redder than a tomato.”
I stand, wanting to get out of here as quickly as possible, and as I walk by him, I punch his arm for good measure. I’m about to throw sarcasm at my fifteen-year-old brother, when a squeal erupts from the living room below.
Dylan rests a tender hand on my shoulder, his voice dripping with humor. “Might want to grab your keys. Sounds like the band just landed and your services are needed.”
“Rylee, let’s go!” Tori screams, already halfway to the car.
Dylan turns to leave. “Have fun,” he muses.
He’s not fast enough, though, because I’m now dragging him down the steps and to the car with me. If I have to suffer with our sister’s psychosis, so does he.
🎶
We stand in line for what seems like three hours, waiting to catch a glimpse of the band leaving the airport. At one point, a group of girls start screaming, and the rest of the crowd joins in, including Tori, though I’m not sure anything actually happened to warrant such screeching.
I successfully keep all of my negative thoughts to myself, but Dylan has less of a filter—complaining endlessly all afternoon.
“Then you should have eaten breakfast,” Tori snaps when Dylan complains for the fifth time in an hour that he’s hungry.
I’m beginning to understand why Tori chose me over him. It gets to the point that she threatens to duct tape his mouth shut, and I’ve got to be honest, I’m not totally opposed to the idea.
“Or maybe you should have bought me lunch,” he retorts.
The three of us are very different, starting with our personalities and interests, to our looks. Tori has an auburn tint to her hair, unlike anyone else in our family. I, however, have light brown hair, and Dylan’s is dark brown. Even our eyes are different colors. If a stranger walked up to us, they’d never know we’re related. In fact, that very thing has happened before on several occasions. Once, Tori was asked if Dylan was her boyfriend. She was so appalled by the question, she never took him out to lunch again. Of course, that was a moot point anyway because when she went away to college, the last thing she wanted to do was spend time with her teenage brother when she was home on break.
One thing we do have in common—as proven by their bickering—is when we get hungry, we get grumpy. Once there’s food in our bellies, though, we’re back to being perfectly happy—well, Tori’s back to being happy, I’m neutral, and Dylan complains no matter what.
“Fine!” she resolves. “Ry, walk down to the McDonald’s we passed before and order us some food.”
The McDonald’s she’s referring to is at least a half-mile walk. “Are you kidding?”
She shoots me a look that makes me shut my mouth real quick. “I’ll have the Artisan Grilled Chicken Sandwich with fries and a large Dr. Pepper—no, a medium hazelnut iced coffee.”
I shift my eyes to my brother. “Dyl?”
“Big Mac meal with a large Dr. Pepper.”
“Never mind. Get me the Dr. Pepper,” Tori chimes in. “You know what? No, the coffee.”
“Why don’t you just come with me?” I beg. There’s no way in the world I’ll remember everything they just said.
“And miss D of D casually strolling by? No way.”
Dylan shakes his head and laughs. “You realize they’re going to go the opposite direction of this crowd, don’t you? We’re wasting daylight.” Tori’s about to argue when he continues, “Ry, just get her the coffee, and if she doesn’t want it, she can drink mine.”
Tori opens her mouth, then closes it, lowering her eyes. “Thanks, Dylan.”
On the walk to McDonald’s, I play their orders in a loop. Why didn’t I just type them in my phone or tell them to text me their orders since I had a long walk ahead of me? I could have taken the car, but then we’d have to pay another short-term parking fee, and I refuse to put that charge on my credit card when we’re only here because of Tori’s boy-band obsession. She’s just going to have to settle for a cold chicken sandwich.
By the time I reach the fast-food restaurant I’m sweating to death in my winter coat. The line is basically out the door with teenage girls wearing 13 Days of December t-shirts. Jesus, I couldn’t escape them if I tried. In this town, you barely ever see anyone on the streets, let alone in one tiny building. I guess that shows the impact an international boy band can have on one little, unexciting town.
Sucking in a breath, greasy food fills my nostrils, making my stomach growl. I had been so annoyed at Dylan’s complaints that I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. No matter, the line is too long to wait in, backed all the way outside the doors and around the side of the building, so I find an empty seat at one of the singular tables in the back corner—the last thing I want to do is stand in the cold any longer than necessary. Despite the long line, there aren’t too many customers eating in. Most chatter about the band and worry that they’ll miss their chance to meet them if the line doesn’t start moving. Which it does, but slowly.
My stomach growls unattractively loud, and I thank God there’s no one around me to witness it.
A low chuckle sounds from my right. I turn to see the culprit, but he quickly tucks his head under his baseball cap, looking out the window, wistfully. He blends in so well, I didn’t even see him when I sat down.
“Is my hunger funny to you?”
I can’t fully see his face, but his cheekbones rise a little in a smile. He shakes his head no.
Noticing the table in front of him for the first time, I realize he already has food. Well, he has the wrappers of where his food used to be. Lucky duck. Maybe he has a few bonus fries left in that bag… I mentally slap myself for thinking such an absurd thought. The boy angles his body farther toward the window, and I realize now that I’ve been staring this entire time. Oops.
Real nice, Rylee, now he thinks you’re a weirdo.
After mumbling an apology, I turn back to watch the slowly moving line. It can’t move fast enough now. I need to get out of here before I do or say anything else stupid.
Tapping my foot against the chair opposite me, I’m uncomfortably aware of Baseball Cap’s presence behind me. I want to turn to see if he’s watching me, because I’m pretty positive he is, but I refuse. Looking back at him again would make me seem like even more of a creep.
How would I be the creep when he could be blatantly watching me? I wonder subconsciously. Oh God, imagine if I’d said that aloud. Just the thought makes me start to sweat, and I have to forcibly remind myself that, no, I did not say that out loud.
When I was a child, I used to talk to myself a lot. It was never anything diagnosed, just something I did to help myself remember things I needed to do, like chores and homework. Most of the time I didn’t even realize I had vocalized the thoughts in my head. Interestingly enough, all I have to do is sing the words to a song once, and I’ll remember them for life. But if I sit down and read a five-word sentence, I’ll forget it within a minute.
A cell phone rings behind me and I physically hold myself back from turning around. Baseball Cap talks into his phone in hushed whispers.
Oh God, I hope he’s not here for a drug deal or some other nefarious crime.
Shut up, Rylee. I scold myself. Okay, so I’m slightly paranoid. There’s a reason I wanted Tori to come with me. I have this terrible fear of getting lost or kidnapped when I’m alone. Probably because I got lost once in the Macy’s shoe department when I was nine. I like to call it a form of PTSD. Mom likes to call it “an irrational quirk.” She claims she knew where I was the whole time and that I made up the entire situation in my head. I respectfully disagree.
“But just like imagine if we actually met them,” gushes a girl in line. A coat is draped over her arm, revealing a black and silver 13 Days of December sweatshirt that’s half tucked into the front of her jeans. “I mean, they’d literally love us, right? Oh my God, we could meet up with them whenever they come to the city… get drinks together…”
I forcibly hold my eyes steady on the table in front of me so as not to roll them so hard they fall out of my head.
“They’re not all twenty-one yet,” another girl responds—as if that’s the problem with that statement. “Carson and Kris are only nineteen.”
“Does it matter? They’re celebrities. Besides, Jamie’s twenty-one,” the girl points out. “And Jer is like twenty-three, I think. They’d have fun with us.”
“We’re definitely some of their more normal fans, that’s for sure.” A third girl scrunches her nose and the rest snicker quietly, glancing around at a few of the more flamboyant groupies.
“Yeah, I really don’t think they’ll be interested in any of them…”
I wish I had the guts to tell them I don’t think any multibillion-dollar celebrities will be interested in them, either.
“Definitely not,” another girl agrees. “I’m sorry, but they’re kind of weird.”
Yes, because obsessively wishing to date someone you’ll probably never meet is the dictionary definition of normal.
Baseball Cap snorts behind me, then clears his throat. Whoever he’s talking to must never stop because he hasn’t responded in several minutes.
“You know, obsessing over things can be considered a nice distraction from your own life,” says a deep voice from behind me.
I purse my lips, refraining from banging my head on the table.
“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” I risk a short glance behind me at Baseball Cap, who is not on the phone, but I refuse to turn around. He must have hung up while I was eavesdropping on the group of girls.
“A little bit, yeah.” Thankfully, he still hasn’t lifted his head, so I don’t have to see the judgment that’s probably written all over his handsome face. Well, I don’t know if he’s good-looking or not, but judging by the deep and warm sound of his voice, he can’t be anything but.
Tapping a thumb on my thigh, I try to keep all of my thoughts inside my head and off of my blabbing tongue. The line is almost inside the door, and once it is, I’m getting our food and never stepping foot in here again.
I hear the boy shift in his seat, then crumple his trash into a ball. He tosses it toward the garbage can. I only know this because he misses, and it hits me in the back of the head. Now I have no choice but to turn around.
“Please don’t tell me you play basketball. Or any sport, for that matter.” I raise my eyebrows, holding back the smile that wants to break through.
His lips quirk upward as he tugs his hat down, almost like a nervous tic. “Quite the opposite, actually, but I used to.”
My eyes open in surprise. “Well, give your teammates my condolences.”
This is the most he’s said to me the entire time we’ve sat here. All I want to do is keep the conversation going so I can hear more of his voice. It’s deep, but also light and playful.
I open my mouth to say something, wanting to keep him talking, but my words come up short, so I settle for, “So, where are you from?”
So, where are you from? Really? I don’t think he’s in town for the boy-band aesthetic.
He casually glances around, eyeing our surroundings carefully. “Here, actually. But I moved away a few years ago.”
“Visiting family?”
He smirks at that. “Sort of, yeah. You could call me a local celebrity.”
The chattering behind me grows fainter, but I can’t take my eyes away from the stranger.
Baseball Cap suddenly looks uneasy, and he tugs his hat down lower, if that’s possible.
“Don’t worry, I won’t out you,” I say sarcastically. As if whoever this guy is could overshadow the biggest boy band in the country coming to—
The realization hits me like a truck. “No way…” I deadpan, letting out a laugh. “No way.”
He shakes his head. “How’d you figure it out? You didn’t seem to recognize me before.”
“The chances of a ‘local celebrity’ being in Ambler the same day the biggest boy band in the world comes to town, which coincidentally has a member from here? Yeah. No clue how I figured that one out.”
He stares at me in awe. I wonder how often he gets to have normal conversations that don’t revolve around the band or with the band. “So… You’re not a fan?”
My lips part in a smile. “My sister is in love with you guys. Though, I’d make your move now because she might decide to marry Jamie instead. It’s really a toss-up at this point.”
I blink. For all I know this could be Jamie, though from what I recall, Jamie is the drummer, and this guy doesn’t look like he’d know what to do with sticks if you hit him in the head with them. And judging from his bad aim, I don’t think he’d have the hand-eye coordination that’s necessary for playing the drums anyway.
A bewildered look crosses his face, and he sits up a little straighter, seemingly forgetting he doesn’t want to be seen. “You’re funny. Has anyone ever told you that?”
I’m about to reply when the realization sinks in. “No. Though, my parents think I’m hilarious.”
The room seems to quiet down, excited whispers pulse through the silence, and I think the change in energy is all in my head until Baseball Cap curses under his breath.
Suddenly, he pulls the hat off his head, revealing a mop of messy, dark blonde curls. I don’t have time to admire them before he’s shoving it in my hand.
“Put this on,” he orders.
“Why?” I ask, ready to turn toward the line of fans. He surprises me by grabbing my shoulders.
“If they get even one picture of you talking to me…” he trails off.
“Got it.” I push the cap down low over my eyes and pull my scarf up over my chin.
Baseball Cap stands, extending his hand. I take it without hesitation, and he leads me toward the side door, away from the fans who have suddenly forgotten why they’re in line.
Some of them scream as we walk by, others give me a look I’m not quite comfortable with until everyone in the entire restaurant has discovered who this boy is… everyone but me.
“OH MY GOD!” one girl screams, yanking on her friend’s arm. “ANNIE, LOOK! LOOK!”
Her words are lost in a sea of others, pushing each other to get closer to us.
All eyes are now on us as a swarm of girls fall over each other in hopes of laying a hand on Baseball Cap. My eyes widen, torn between wanting to take in the madness and look the other way as more people take notice.
Baseball Cap lifts his arm, giving a wave to his fans, saying, “Hi” to a few, “Hey” to others. Instead of basking in their idol’s presence, though, they pull out their phones to get proof of the encounter. Because otherwise it didn’t happen, right?
“Will you take a picture with me?”
“Can I have a hug?”
“Will you be my prom date?”
“Carson! Over here!”
“We love you, Carson!”
Holy crap. Carson. As in the lead singer of 13 Days of December Carson. I’m just casually holding hands with the lead singer of D of D, walking through a stream of fans. No big deal.
If I were a fan, I’d totally be fangirling right now.
Once we get past McDonald’s we break into a slow jog, and round the corner toward a small alleyway where we take refuge.
We lean against the brick wall, out of breath, and I hand him his hat back. Despite our privacy, Carson pulls it low over his eyes. I still haven’t gotten a chance to see what color they are.
He looks at me under lowered lashes, his cheeks a rosy shade of red—from cold or exertion to escape, I don’t know.
Panting, I ask in a breathy tone, “Do—do you have to deal with that all the time?”
Geez, I need to work out more.
“No, it’s usually worse. One time some girl actually dove at me. Broke my freaking wrist. Then my security guard tackled her, and she filed a lawsuit. He won, but because of all the bad press, I was forced to fire him anyway.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, and mean it. I can’t imagine what he and his bandmates have to deal with on a daily basis. My sister’s obsession is too much for me, and hers is mild compared to most people.
“I knew what I was getting into,” he sighs, shaking his head, then draws the baseball cap from his messy hair, running his fingers through it before putting the hat back in place. “Look, I’m sorry you had to go through that, but I knew if I left you in there, they would hound you. Your privacy would be gone. You would end up on the freaking cover of Teen Queen.”
“It’s okay. Since I’ve met you, I can probably cross like three things off my bucket list, so thanks.”
He drops his eyes and laughs. “Still, I apologize… and you should probably take off your coat. If anyone from in there recognizes it—God, I’m sorry.”
I slip it off, revealing the off-white sweater I pulled from my closet this morning. Not only is it cute, it’s also really warm. I silently thank myself for deciding to wear it. I fasten my scarf around my neck so it looks different than it had before. There aren’t too many stores around here, so a lot of people in town have the same black scarf. I should be safe for that reason alone.
I’m ready to say goodbye when my stomach growls. Loudly.
“You never got to eat,” Carson realizes, looking regretful.
I brush him off, downplaying the hunger pangs. Already I feel like this will be a memory I will never forget. “I’ll be fine. It’s my whiny brother you’ve got to worry about.”
“Let me take you through the drive-thru. My treat, I insist.”
“Are you sure? You’d be buying for both my brother and sister, too.” I mentally roll my eyes at my ridiculous comment.
Yeah, I’m sure money for fast food is an issue for Carson James.
As if he’s thinking the same thing, but doesn’t want to embarrass me, he bites his lip to hide a smile. “I think I can handle that. Come on, my truck is this way.”
“I thought you guys flew in?”
“We did. By the time the fans were lined up at the gates, we’d already been to my parents’ house to pick up my old truck and checked in to our hotel. The boys weren’t hungry, so I came to grab food alone, and… yeah. You know the rest.”
“Why didn’t you use the drive-thru to begin with?” I wonder. He had to have known this sort of thing would happen.
Carson shakes his head ruefully. “The guys and I… we’re taking a break from everything for a while to regain some mundane sense of normalcy. We haven’t had any real time off since our big break six years ago, and it’s such a small town I didn’t think anyone would care that we were here. Normal people can walk into McDonald’s and order food. I wasn’t expecting such a turnout.”
“I’m sorry to break this to you, but you’re definitely not normal people,” I inform him dryly. Sighing, I put my coat back on now that I think we’re in the clear. Still, Carson hands me his hat while we walk to his truck. I’m grateful, mostly because this life he lives doesn’t seem to be all that glamorous, and I realize almost instantly that I don’t want any part of it.
We go through the drive-thru rather quickly. Instead of having Carson repeat everything I say, I lean over the driver’s seat and speak out the window, making sure to keep my hat low.
A whiff of his cologne—after shave?—finds its way to my nose, and I breathe in ever so slightly. It’s like a mixture of a citrus and a woodsy scent. I feel his eyes on me as I lean away from the center console, suddenly edgy from our proximity. I can only imagine how red my face is right now. Dylan’s tomato harassments about my skin tone reverberate in my brain, making my skin feel hot.
The cashier hands Carson our food, giving him an overly friendly smile, and I can’t help but wonder if she knows who he is. She turns to whisper something to the girl next to her, and they both look up at his truck. They first look at Carson, then at me, expressions turning from sweet to sour in a matter of seconds.
Carson gives them a small wave. “Have a good day, ladies.”
“They worship you,” I say quietly, more to myself than him.
He shrugs a shoulder. “They don’t know me. And if they did, in a different world where I’m not famous, they probably wouldn’t even like me.”
Somehow, I find that hard to believe with his good looks and charming personality. “I would.” The words fall out before I can strap them back into the car seat of my brain. “Well, I just mean… you’re… nice.”
Those were, undoubtedly, the most painful words I’ve ever spoken. Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I risk a glance in his direction. He’s biting back a smile. As if on cue, he looks at me, allowing it to overtake his face.
“Thanks for dealing with all the crap that follows me around.”
In my dazed state I hadn’t noticed he parked the truck and took off his seatbelt. I’d been too busy accusing myself of being a babbling fool.
Brushing off my embarrassment, I force my tongue to work. “It wasn’t that bad. Some might even refer to it as—dare I say—fun?”
“You really are funny.”
My response is a smile. Then I yank the handle, jumping out of the truck.
“Usually I’d get the door…” He lowers his eyes in defeat.
Reaching over the console, I squeeze his wrist, surprising him. “It’s okay. How long are you in town?”
“My flight is January second. Maybe I’ll see you again before then.”
“Maybe,” I agree, certain he won’t. The fact that he happened to be sitting behind me in McDonald’s is unimaginable. We—I mean, I—won’t get a chance like that again.
He looks like he wants to say something more, but thinks better of it.
As he drives away down the road, leaving me with two huge bags of food, I realize he never even got my name.
🎶
It takes me ten minutes to find my siblings once I make it back to the crowd. Carson dropped me off near the herd, but still a safe-enough distance away so that we wouldn’t be seen together.
“Jesus, what took you so long, woman?” Dylan lunges at me like a rabid animal. “I almost had to resort to cannibalism. Sorry, Tori.”
“Hilarious.” She rolls her eyes, giving me a pointed look. “You left me alone with him for forty-five minutes. You owe me.”
If only she knew.
“Where’d you get the hat?” Dylan asks when Tori is submerged in her chicken sandwich.
What hat—oh crap. I’m still wearing Carson James’s hat. How bad would it be if someone recognized it? Recognized me from the pictures that are probably circulating the Internet by now. I snatch it from my head, burying it in my purse. “Uh—a friend,” I stutter. My brother gives me an incredulous look. Thankfully, he doesn’t ask any further questions.
“Hey!” Tori hollers. “Where the hell is my coffee?”
Oops.
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