“I asked you if it was always that crowded out there. Are you okay?”
I smile. “Yeah, just daydreaming. Yes, Times Square has been at least that crowded every time I’ve seen it.”
“It’s crazy.” She turns her attention back outside. “How do people manage not to kill each other with all these cars and pedestrians just walking in the middle of the street? I don’t think I could drive here.”
“Maybe you get used to it.”
She turns back to me. “So what were you daydreaming about? I said your name twice before you looked up.”
I look at her face, wondering what she’ll think about my reminiscing. What does she remember about that night? “I was actually thinking about Joanie Hartfield’s party, in seventh grade. You remember?”
Her entire body goes rigid.
I wonder if it’s because of the kiss or—shit. “She was one of the people that gave you a hard time, wasn’t she?”
Daisy nods and drops her chin to her chest.
“Sorry, Daisy, I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s fine.”
She turns back to the window, and I can’t get over the difference in her, as though a hard shell has come up around her. Tentatively, I reach out to touch her shoulder, and she jerks away as if I’ve burned her.
“I’m fine,” she says, her voice dull, almost robotic.
“Daisy—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Her tone effectively cuts off any further communication.
I feel a little stunned. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a strong, physical reaction from just the mention of a name. There’s a sick feeling in my stomach. What, exactly, did Joanie do to her?
My phone starts buzzing, and I sigh, slipping it from the pocket of my jeans. The text is from Levi. Band meeting cancelled until tomorrow. Want to take a walk? Karen and Paige are dying to get out into the city.
I look over at Daisy’s back, wondering how she’ll respond. From the way her shoulders are moving, she appears to be taking deep breaths.
“Uh, Daisy? Levi just texted, and our meeting is cancelled tonight. We have a few free hours. Wanna take a walk with Levi and the girls?”
There’s the slightest of pauses before she turns back to me. Her face is more relaxed, though still closed off. She gives me a small smile. “That sounds great.”
We arrive at the hotel, our three vans lined up in the circular drive. Several bellboys rush over to unload our bags. I reach for Daisy’s duffel, but she elbows me out of the way to grab it herself.
“Whatever, Miss Independent,” I say.
She laughs, sounding slightly more like herself. I’m relieved. A bellboy has already picked up my bag, so I hand him a twenty and follow Daisy into the lobby.
It’s starting to get easy to be jaded about this kind of stuff, but Daisy’s dropped jaw tells me I should take another look around me. The hotel is pretty spectacular, with marble and chandeliers and all that other stuff that rich people tend to like. We mill about, attracting quite a bit of attention, while Dan, our tour manager, and my father go to check us in.
A skinny teenager dressed in khakis and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt approaches me, looking both scared and excited. “Are you Daltrey Ransome?”
“Yeah, how you doing, man?”
His entire face lights up. “Good!” His voice cracks on the word, and I try not to smile.
Against a far wall, a well-dressed couple is watching us. They don’t seem too happy. I can practically feel their stares zero in on my eyebrow ring.
“I’m a huge fan,” the kid says. “I have all your music, even the early stuff when you weren’t signed yet.”
“Thanks, man. That’s really cool.”
He beams, all embarrassment gone. “Could I get a picture with you?” He holds up a fancy smart phone.
“Of course.”
Daisy steps forward, a goofy smile on her face. “I’ll take it.”
“Thanks, ma’am,” he says, and Daisy and I both stifle our laughs.
I stand next to the kid and put my arm around his shoulder as Daisy snaps the picture.
“Thank you,” he says, looking down at the phone. “This is amazing! I can’t believe it.”
“No worries.”
He looks up at me. “I, uh, play too. A little. Piano, I mean. But my parents won’t let me take lessons in anything other than classical.”
“That’s okay. All my lessons were in classical, too. It’s the best way to get the technique and skills down.” I glance at the couple, understanding their stares now, since they must be his parents, and lean toward the kid. “Just practice whatever shit you want when you’re on your own. Billy Joel, Ben Folds. That’s who you should listen to if you want to play pop and rock songs.”