Page 13 of I Think We’re Alone Now

Elle

“Where are we going?”Travis asked as I grabbed my purse and walked out the front door of my parents’ house.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” I replied. “I just need out of the house.”

Staying at my parents’ house for the last week had been great—at first. Being able to sleep in, not having to follow a schedule, and having home-cooked meals every night had been a dream come true after months of living out of a tour bus. It had even been nice to have Travis there with me—and not just because of the newfound chemistry between us. We actually had a lot more in common than we had realized, from books that we enjoyed to both of us disliking my mother’s tuna noodle casserole. He'd spent hours telling me stories about his time in the army, while I caught him up on all the things he missed in Pine Grove. Plus, the sneaking out to the treehouse when we wanted some extra alone time wasn’t so bad either.

But right now, I needed to get out and do something.

Travis rounded the truck ahead of me to unlock the door, holding it open for me. I collapsed into the front seat with a heavy sigh as he scurried back to the driver’s side. I couldn’t explain the sudden itch, but it was overwhelming.

“Elle, I will gladly take you anywhere you want to go,” Travis said, his voice incredibly patient for as difficult as I knew I was being in this moment. “But you at least need to tell me which direction I’m driving in.”

“Anywhere but the mall,” I snapped.

“Anywhere but the mall, got it.” He backed his car out of my parents’ driveway and started to drive toward downtown. Which was the same direction as the mall.

It is also the direction of a lot of other things, I reminded myself. I inhaled a long breath, trying to make myself relax. When my lungs couldn’t hold any more, I let out the most epic sigh ever. Well, hello, drama queen...

Travis glanced at me out of the corner of his eye but didn’t say anything. Instead he flipped on the radio, letting the music fill the silent space between us. Madonna’s voice crooned, backed by a heavy beat that under normal circumstances made me want to dance. But right now I felt so stuck in my own skin that even Madonna couldn’t make me smile.

Turning to look out the window, I watched as we passed the familiar sights from my childhood. Madonna’s voice faded on the radio as we turned down the small side road that led to our old elementary school, and a sickeningly familiar beat took over. It was my own song.

“Turn it off,” I groaned.

“But it’s you! It’s ‘Make Me Want To,’” he said, pulling into a parking spot by the playground. “That’s gotta be cool to hear yourself on the radio.”

“It was, the first few hundred times. Now, I’m over it.”

“Over it?” he repeated.

“Yes! I’m fucking over it!” I opened the car door and stumbled out, the rage that was taking over me guiding the way. I slammed the door shut as Travis tried to respond, not caring about what it was that he had to say. I needed air.

I spun around, looking for somewhere to go, and made my way to the first thing that caught my eye. The swing set.

I plopped down onto one of the swings, enjoying the feel of it moving underneath me. Something about the motion put me at ease, which was exactly what I needed right now. Staring up into the bright blue sky, I took what felt like my millionth deep breath of the day. This time, though, it was different. Maybe it was the fresh air—or maybe that I was not currently surrounded by all the newspaper clippings and magazine articles my parents had saved about Glitter—but for the first time today, I felt like I could breathe.

The crunch of the gravel underneath Travis’s shoes gave him away as he approached the swing set and took a seat next to me. He let us sit in silence awhile, swaying back and forth in our seats, but then he finally turned to me, a small, impish smile on his face.

“I’m sure I’ll get smacked into the middle of next week for asking this, but…are you surfing the crimson wave and didn’t tell me?” he asked.

“No!” I exclaimed, reaching over and smacking him with the back of my hand. “And don’t ever ask me that again!”

“Okay, okay,” he said, a lightness to his voice. “I just needed to know what I was dealing with here. Want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up,” I sighed.

“Not Glitter?”

“Not Glitter,” I repeat, putting my own emphasis on it. “Glitter is fun, don’t get me wrong. And I love singing and performing, but it’s not really who I am. It’s not the artist I really want to be. I want to sing my own songs, have some creative control. I want to be Elle.”

“How long have you felt this way?”

“A long time,” I admitted, letting my guard down. “When the label approached me and wanted to turn me ‘into a star’ as they put it, I had no idea what they meant, so I went along with it. But I can’t spend the rest of my life performing in malls!” I exclaimed. “And sitting at home, surrounded by all the stuff Mom and Dad have collected…they’re so proud, but that’s not me. That's Glitter!”

“Have you told the label this?”

“I tried. They weren’t really interested in hearing it. ‘Maybe someday’ is what they said.”