Keeping the Beat Read online

Lucy had intended to do exactly as Jason said after he left them to settle in. Somehow, though, instead of watching a film in the cinema-sized screening room in the basement and making themselves milkshakes from their fully stocked ice cream and smoothie bar, she’d ended up agreeing to go to a house party that Harper swore had been Ash’s suggestion for a “mellow first night in LA.”

  “I dunno,” Iza whispered to Lucy in the third-row seat of the red SUV, which turned out to be the transport Project Next was providing them for the summer. “Mr. Darrow said we ought to stay in. Are you sure this isn’t going to get us into trouble?”

  “Relax, Iz,” Harper called from the front passenger seat. “Your mum’s five thousand miles away. She doesn’t know you’re out after curfew.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Lucy added quietly. “We won’t stay long.”

  “Yes, we will!” Toni crowed. “You grannies will just have to get used to having a little fun.”

  Rafe Jackson was bored. Sometimes he thought he’d spent more of his life being bored than he had doing anything else. His earliest memory was of standing on a red carpet, surrounded by sweeping skirts, sequins and black-tuxedoed legs and being stupefied with boredom.

  He relaxed into the grungy, oversized sofa in the porch at the back of his fraternity house. Rafe took another hit off the big glass bong and passed it to his girlfriend, Skye Owen, who tried to pass it on to Jack Logan without taking a hit.

  “C’mon, sexy,” Rafe wheedled. “Let’s get high and go watch the stars. It’ll be romantic.” And maybe I’ll get a little action tonight, he added silently to himself.

  Skye was almost never in the mood if she wasn’t at least a little off her face. Getting his girl high to have his way with her probably made him a crap boyfriend, but he’d just spent the last forty-five minutes listening to her chat Jack up about some remake of a 1970s television program that her dad was producing and she thought Jack’s dad should star in. She owed him.

  “It’s good herb, babe,” Rafe added. “You’ll love it.”

  Skye rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine.” Then she shot him the wicked look that had made it so easy to fall for her in the first place. A look he hadn’t seen in a while. “Shotgun, please.”

  Maybe this was going to be his night after all.

  Rafe drew a lungful of smoke and leaned in to kiss Skye, letting the intoxicating stuff flow between them as her mouth opened under his. No matter how dreadfully boring Skye was when she was in mini Hollywood-mogul mode, she was blisteringly hot when she wanted to be. Rafe usually went for blondes, but there was something about Skye’s rich mahogany hair and ivory skin. There was no denying her when she got that particular look in her big violet eyes.

  “Oh, please. Toni will destroy you at beer pong. I guarantee it.”

  The sparkling female voice floated in from the living room, penetrating the pleasant fog of smoke and Skye that he’d managed to wrap his brain in.

  “In fact,” the voice continued, “let’s make this interesting. Whoever loses, loses their shirt.”

  It couldn’t be.

  “I’m serious. Are you too chicken for a little strip beer pong?”

  But it was.

  He’d know that voice anywhere. A voice he thought he’d left behind. Far behind.

  He pulled away from Skye and struggled out of the ancient sofa’s depths.

  “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  Then he let the familiar cascade of crystal laughter that seemed to fill the house draw him in.

  There she was. Looking like a fairy princess who had just wandered into a troll’s den. Milky skin and effortless blonde hair making the short black skirt and ribbed tank top she wore totally irrelevant. She would have been beautiful dressed in a sack.

  It was her. It was Harper McKenzie.

  “So you just throw the Ping-Pong ball into the cup?” Lucy asked. This game seemed simple enough, and the cheerful Asian boy who was teaching her the rules was gorgeous.

  “You got it, your ladyship,” he said with a playful bow. He thought her accent was hilarious. She only hoped he thought it was a bit sexy, too.

  “Okay, peasant,” she declared, playing along. “Let’s have a try then!”

  It was shaping up to be a perfect first night in Los Angeles, after all. She’d been suspicious when Ash had pulled up to a fraternity house that just happened to be at USC, but the boys there all really did seem to know Ash well, and they were actually great fun. Lucy was having a blast learning beer pong from her adorable new friend and Toni had dragged Robyn off to play late-night volleyball in the backyard. And Lord knew where Iza was, but hopefully she was having a good time. Lucy was glad she’d come.

  Then Rafe Jackson walked in.

  Lucy dropped her Ping-Pong ball. “Sorry,” she said to her instructor. “I’ll be back in a sec. I need to speak with my friend for a moment.”

  Without waiting for a response, she grabbed Harper and dragged her down the hall, past the line and into the bathroom before the girls who had been waiting had time to object.

  “You swore to me! You swore this had nothing to do with Rafe.”

  “I wasn’t lying!” Harper said.

  “Oh sure. We just happen to end up at a party in what is clearly Rafe Jackson’s fraternity house on our very first night in Los Angeles and you want me to believe you weren’t looking for him? That you haven’t been planning this all year? I know you, Harper McKenzie,” Lucy snapped.

  Harper looked like she was about to argue, but then she sighed and slumped onto the edge of the bathtub. “Yeah, I guess you do. I’m sorry, Lucy.”

  Lucy felt something shrivel up and die inside her. All of the suspicions she’d ignored for so long, that she’d allowed Harper to talk her out of because she was pleased they were friends again — they’d all been right.

  Even worse, her mum had been right.

  “I cannot believe you’ve done this to me. Again! My parents aren’t speaking to me, Harper. I’m going to lose any chance of getting into Oxford. I needed to study all summer to have any hope next year. And all for what? For you to have a band so that you could worm your way into Project Next and back into Rafe’s life?”

  A horrible thought darted across Lucy’s mind. “Did you fix this with Rafe’s dad? Did you pay the judges off? Is that how we got here?”

  “Lucy, no!” Harper actually looked offended. “We got here because we’re amazing. How can you not see that? I might have had the idea because I wanted Rafe back, but Crush has become something way bigger than I ever dreamed. We’re brilliant, Luce. The band is amazing. And so is having you back.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “And maybe, just maybe, I can find a way to get Rafe back as well.”

  She looked up at Lucy with pleading eyes that brimmed with tears. “I love him, Luce. I can’t stop. Believe me, I’ve tried. That’s where our songs came from, you know. I couldn’t stop thinking about him so my therapist suggested I try writing poetry about it to get him out of my system. But it didn’t work. I still love him. I can’t help it.”

  Lucy shook her head. “You should have told me. You shouldn’t have played it like you really wanted to be friends again.”

  “But I do!” Harper exclaimed. “I didn’t realize how much until we started hanging out this year. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Rafe. I just … I knew you’d react this way and I didn’t want Rafe to come between us. I know I don’t deserve it but … I missed us being friends too much, Lucy. I couldn’t pass up the chance.”

  The ghost of Dad’s words echoed in Lucy’s brain. I’m not going to let you follow Harper McKenzie off a cliff.

  Was he right? Had she followed Harper off a cliff for the second time in her life? If so, she was already midair, legs pinwheeling over the vast canyon of disaster she’d only just noticed was below her.

  She had two choices. She could
keep running, hoping she’d sprout wings and soar, or she could crash to the rocks below, call her parents and stagger home.

  It wasn’t much of a dilemma.

  “You’re right. You don’t deserve it,” Lucy said, finally. “But I deserve to have my best friend back. And Crush deserves the chance to win this thing. I just hope you remember that we’re way more important than some guy who’s done nothing but let you down.”

  Harper threw her arms around Lucy in a sudden bear hug. “You’re the best, Luce. Thanks for understanding.” Then she yanked the door open and hurried back up the hallway.

  Lucy watched her go and hoped, with everything she had, that this wasn’t a huge mistake.

  Iza was lost. Well, as lost as you could be inside a packed fraternity house. She’d got separated from the others while looking for the bathroom and by the time she’d retraced her steps to where she’d left them, they were gone.

  She’d searched the entire ground floor of the house and found no one who looked familiar. She’d been on the brink of panic when someone had suggested that she check the rec room in the basement.

  That’s where she’d found the piano.

  She hadn’t meant to play. It just happened. It was always that way. Pianos were like magnets, drawing her fingers to the keys like the needle on a compass finding north.

  She found herself slipping into Gershwin, her absolute favorite. She let the notes uncoil the tension in her shoulders and wash away the unwieldy blocks of anxiety that were crammed into her brain. When she could play like this, with no agenda, no audience, no need to do anything but enjoy the notes, she felt invincible.

  As Iza rolled out the final phrase, she heard clapping behind her. She whirled to find a tall, broad-shouldered boy with closely cut blond hair standing in the doorway.

  “Oh, sorry, I …” Iza jumped from the piano bench as though it were suddenly on fire. “I didn’t mean …”

  “Don’t apologize,” said the boy. “‘Short Story,’ right? Gershwin? The violin part is just amazing. It’s my favorite thing to play in the whole world.”

  “You play the violin?” Iza blurted, surprised. He looked more like an athlete than a classical musician.

  “I know, I know,” the boy said with a grin. “A frat boy who likes classical music. We’re a rare breed. But I come by it honestly — my dad’s a conductor, so I’ve spent most of my life surrounded by the stuff.”

  He stuck out his hand. “Luke Thomson.”

  Iza just stared at him. He was flirting. Voluntarily. Which meant she should say something. She needed to say something. Anything. Now. She knew how to talk. Didn’t she?

  Come on, Iza. It’s your very own name. Just two words. You can do it.

  “Izabella Mazurczak,” she managed.

  See, that wasn’t so hard.

  Feeling bolder now that words had successfully made their way out of her larynx, she added, “But my friends call me Iza,” as she reached out to shake his callused, long-fingered hand.

  He smiled. “Does that mean I get to call you Iza?”

  “Um, sure.” She hoped she wasn’t blushing.

  “So, Iza,” he said, collapsing into one of the garden chairs that were the room’s only other furniture and gesturing for her to join him. “How did you end up in my rec room, playing one of my favorite pieces, during a house party?”

  “I, um, I came with some friends,” she said, perching in another of the rickety chairs. “I was looking for them, but then I stumbled on this and … I didn’t mean to play that long, actually. I just can’t seem to help myself.”

  She winced. Now she sounded like some deranged piano addict. If there was such a thing as a deranged piano addict, which there obviously wasn’t. But Luke was nodding, as though he actually understood what she meant.

  “I’m the same way with the violin,” he said. “I missed an exam once because I found some sheet music for a Chopin nocturne I hadn’t played in a while when I was packing up for class. I decided to take a couple minutes to play and, like, relax before the test and stuff. Two hours later I realized I was still playing and I’d missed it.”

  “It’s mesmerizing, isn’t it?” Iza said. “Almost like time stops.”

  “Exactly.” Luke nodded vigorously. “It’s like the music puts me under a spell or something. I can’t believe … How come I’ve never seen you at one of these parties before?” He sparked a mischievous grin. “Please tell me you’re not here visiting one of my frat brothers.”

  She giggled. She’d never been flirted with before, but this was a lot like she’d always imagined it’d be. Better, actually. “No, my friends and I were invited by a guy who used to live here … I think he graduated two years ago. Ash Chester? He’s our manager’s assistant. We started a band this year and tried out for Project Next — you know, the reality show?”

  He nodded. “And you won the UK round? I mean, you must have if you’re here. You don’t sound like you’re from LA. Not that that’s a bad thing or anything — I like your accent. A lot. I mean … Ack! Shut up, Luke!” He smacked himself on the forehead. “Sorry. I babble around pretty girls sometimes.”

  He thought she was pretty? This time Iza could definitely feel herself blushing.

  “Um, yeah, we won. Or at least, we’re one of the UK finalists. We’re here all summer for the show.” She couldn’t seem to restrain the stupid grin on her face. “I’m completely nerve-wracked, of course, but I am excited as well. I’ve never been to America before. I hope we’ll get a chance to sightsee, though I’ve no idea how much time we’ll have really, what with performing and recording and whatnot.”

  “What do you want to see most?” he asked.

  “That’s easy,” she said. “The Walt Disney Concert Hall. They say it’s got the best acoustics in the world. I would die to play there, but I’m sure they won’t have a band like Crush in, so I’ll have to settle for one of the guided tours.”

  “Actually,” Luke said, almost shyly, “I play with the LA Philharmonic sometimes. I’m way too young for them normally, but I was filling in last summer while Dad was guest-conducting and they invited me back full-time this year.”

  “You must be good,” Iza said, impressed.

  He shrugged. “I guess. I just love to play. Anyway, I’ve got rehearsals for the new season all month at the Hall … If you ever wanted a tour, I could … I mean I’d be happy to —”

  Then Toni’s head popped through the door.

  “There you are!” she said. “Come on, we’re drawing up beer pong teams. We need you.”

  Iza jumped up, shyness slipping over her like a suffocating cloud. She really wanted to say, “Sorry, I’m busy, Toni,” but what came out was, “Okay, coming, Toni.”

  Iza half ran for the door. She’d totally blown it, the first time a boy had ever asked her out on a real date and she’d behaved as though she wasn’t even interested. Like she was trying to get away when she wanted nothing more than to stay there and talk to him for hours. Iza just wasn’t cut out to deal with boys.

  Just outside the door she stopped. In the last six months she’d joined a rock band, been on TV and traveled five thousand miles to a terrifying city on the other side of the world, all on her own. She wasn’t cut out for any of that either. But she’d done it.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, Iza whirled back into the room where Luke was slumped in the garden chair looking depressed.

  “Give me your mobile,” she demanded.

  “What?”

  “Your phone,” she tried again. “Give it here.”

  He laughed a little as he fished an iPhone from his pocket and handed it over. With shaking hands she dialed her own phone number and hit CALL.

  As her phone began to ring, she tossed his iPhone back to him.

  “That’s my number, so you can text and tell me when you’re takin
g me on my tour,” she called over her shoulder as she dashed back toward the door.

  Skye Owen couldn’t decide exactly how she was going to murder Harper McKenzie, but it had to be done. Behead her with one of the alien battle-axes that Dad had let her keep after she’d been his assistant last summer on Mars Must Die 3, maybe? Or push her off the top of the US Bank Tower? Maybe Skye could steal a bucket of acid from the chemistry lab and replace Harper’s shampoo with it, make all of her hair fall out and her face melt. That would be nice. Maybe once Harper was all oozy, Rafe would take his eyes off of her for three seconds.

  She could still throw a fit and force Rafe to take her home, she guessed. She’d been building up to exactly that when Harper had mentioned that her stupid band was a Project Next finalist. Sir Peter’s favorite Project Next finalist, no less. Which now meant that, as much as Skye wished Harper would come down with swine flu, she’d have to play nice.

  No wonder Sir Peter had insisted that Skye and Rafe intern on Project Next this summer. He’d known that Rafe’s friends from high school were likely to be on the show.

  Skye wished she’d vetoed the idea, but at the time it had been a godsend. Hell, it still was. Anything was better than interning at her mother’s office at the studio again. The last thing Skye wanted was another summer of people whispering and tiptoeing around her because she was the daughter of the president of Feature Film Production and calling her “the Dragon Lady’s Mini-me” when they thought she couldn’t hear them. Of course, hanging out with Rafe’s dumb-blonde ex-girlfriend all summer might not be much better.

  “I should have known Dad was up to something,” Rafe was telling Harper. “He told me Crush was his favorite, and that he thought they’d be mine, too. I’m sure he’s planning to surprise me with you at some point. I’m glad you found me first.”

  He meant it, too, judging by the stupid grin on his face. Skye sighed on the inside, though she kept her smile planted firmly in place. He was such an idiot sometimes. Okay, most of the time.

  If Skye was going to be stuck with Harper McKenzie in her life, she figured she’d better take control of this situation — and fast. “I have a great idea!” She beamed, suddenly glad she’d gone through her acting-classes phase two summers ago. “Why don’t you all come to Malibu tomorrow? My mother’s got the most amazing house up there and she never goes because she’s always working. So it’s all mine. We’ll barbecue, swim … What do you say?”