CHAPTER ONE
You got a piece of me
And honestly
My life would suck without you.
“My Life Would Suck Without You” by Kelly Clarkson
“I can’t believe you’re leaving.” My best friend Christie flops on my bed and lets out a depressed sigh. Her almond eyes find mine and I see that she’s genuinely upset. “I mean, how can I survive high school without you? It won’t be the same. I can’t complain about Mr. Barnes to anyone else but you!”
I shift my guitar so it’s resting better on my knee and offer her a half-grin. “Don’t you think it’s the same for me? If I had a choice, I’d record all my songs here and email them to Hollywood Records.” I strum a few random notes and then continue, “They want me in Los Angeles for better PR. I don’t get it because all I’m doing is recording right now; I have no relations to the public at all.”
She sighs again and folds her legs underneath her. She twirls one strand of her smooth brown hair ‘round her finger, a sign that she’s upset. “I can’t believe you’re leaving,” she says again. “Brooklyn won’t be the same without you on your front stoop trying to figure out the notes to a song.”
“Yeah, the pigeons will miss me.” I make her laugh and that makes me feel better.
“Do you think that they’ll let you sing your own songs?” she asks.
I think about this and then shrug. “What do I sound like?” I say. “If it sounds too rebellious, they’ll chuck it. It is Disney we’re talking about. Maybe I’ll get lucky and they won’t make me sing the crap they force of their actors turned singers.”
“You sound like a combination of the Jonas Brothers and Paramore. Get what I’m saying?” She lays on her back and stares at my ceiling. “Like, you have all the right hooks for the teen crowd, but the stuff to recruit tiny rockers. The kids at our school will listen to you and the kids at the middle and elementary schools will listen. I predict that you’ll have a pretty big audience.”
A smile stretches across my face and I feel reassured. “Do you have your video camera with you?” I ask. “I think we should post a goodbye video for our lovely viewers.”
Christie sits up with a smile lighting up her features. She goes to her bag and retrieves a handheld camcorder. “So, a goodbye video?” she asks and I nod.
I’m forever grateful to YouTube because that’s how I got discovered. Tons of singers put their material up on there and some get lucky -- I was a part of that some. Christie and I share a joint account and we post videos of our random day-to-day lives and sometimes I put out a song that I thought was excellent. When I’m bored I sometimes work on a cover song and then post it on our account, but most of the time Christie and I just post random vlogs (video logs; like a blog but in video form) and once in a blue moon, I make a video of me singing.
We have tons of loyal viewers (two hundred and fifty subscribers!) and when I posted the “breakthrough video” -- the video that got me discovered -- our subs went up about a thousand in two nights. It was incredible.
“Okay,” Christie says once the camera is set up, “what are we going to say?”
“Just like, goodbye because we’re not going to be making any videos any time soon.” I set my guitar down on the floor and tuck my hair behind my ears.
She raises three fingers, then two, then points at me with one. This is how she tells me that the camera’s recording.
“Hey guys,” I say, waving a little, “I’m just making a short video because I’m leaving for Los Angeles in a week. It’s going to be a little hard to make videos with Christie while I’m across the country, so don’t expect anything soon.” I make a sad face. “I’ll be posting a blog, though, so I’m not vanishing completely. The link’s in the description -- oh, and I have a Twitter! That’s in the description too… I’ll update as often as I can but with moving and everything it’s probably going to be a little difficult. Anyway, I just wanted to thank you all so much for all the support over the years! I couldn’t have done it without you guys and I love you all so much! So follow me on Twitter and comment on my blog! I’m going to miss you guys! Thanks again!”
Christie stops the camera and nods in satisfaction. “Okay, I’ll upload it in a sec. Boot up your computer.”
I grab my laptop bag and pull out my metallic blue Mac. I open it and press the power button. As it’s booting up, I put my guitar back on my knee and strum the opening notes to a song I wrote a while back. “Open your eyes and maybe for once you’ll see…” I type in my password and then hand the computer over to Christie.
“Keep playing,” she says as she handles the computer, “it sounded nice. What’s it called?”
“ ‘Blind,’” I reply easily. “Open your eyes and maybe for once you’ll see, open your eyes and tell me, tell me how you were so blind…”
The video is uploaded and when that’s done, Christie surfs the internet while I start piecing together the chords for a new song. This is what we do usually; we enjoy each other’s company. There’s no need for constant conversation.
“People commented!” Christie cries after a good ten minutes. “Aw, they say that they’ll miss you!”
I kneel down beside her and peer at the screen. The comments she’s talking about do say that they’ll miss me. “That’s amazing.” I glance at her and then sit on my butt, landing with a thump. “LA is going to suck without you.”
We glance at each other and at the same time, we burst out singing “My Life Would Suck Without You” by Kelly Clarkson. I get totally into the song, actually standing up and grabbing my hairbrush off my dresser and singing into it. Christie laughs and sets the computer down and starts to dance.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” I say loudly into the microphone, as if addressing a huge arena crowd, “Miss Christie Patterson!”
“Thank you, thank you!” she gushes, taking large and theatrical bows. “But I owe it all to my wonderful and talented biffle, Hailey Michelle Vaughn who is secretly part chicken!”
“Oh God,” I say while collapsing into laughter, “you’re so random!”
“Sonny With A Chance!” she screams, and we laugh even harder.
I fight for breath and wipe the tears that pooled at the corners of my eyes. “I’m definitely going to miss that,” I say with a small chuckle.
“Duh,” Christie says, “because I’m totally and completely awesome.”
“Word up, sister.” We knuckle-punch and then slump back against the wall.
“When you get to LA,” she says after a few moments, “can you hook me up with Zac? Or Corbin? Or Mitchell, even? Any of those hot Disney guys. When I come to visit during spring break, you better have some dates lined up for me.”
I gently smack her shoulder and roll my eyes. “Like I’ll even talk to those guys,” I reply, “you know me. I stick to my music and that’s that.”
Suddenly, she scrambles up onto her knees and faces me. “Hailey,” she says seriously, “I have such a strong feeling that you’ll meet the guy of your dreams while you’re in Hollywood. I’m telling you; there will be a guy that meets all of your requirements and you’ll fall in love with him whether you like it or not.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “And what exactly are my requirements, Miss Christie?”
She sits back down and her voice becomes dreamy. “A quiet guy, because when you’re happy, you’re all over the place. Obviously not now because you’re all moody, but when you’re happy, you are one bundle of energy. And a guy who likes music. If he doesn’t like music you’ll never be happy together.”
“Well, that definitely narrows it down.” I stand up and pad over to my guitar. “But thank you, because you just gave me a song idea.”
I spend the next few minutes working on lyrics and notes while Christie returns to surfing the internet. I’ve just got the chorus down pat when she screams out, “Aha!” and startles me. I face her and find her showing me a picture of Benjamin Hamilton, the newest voice on the radio. “Chris, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I sigh.
“He’s perfect for you!” she squeals. “He’s the strong, silent type and he likes music! He writes all his own songs and --- Wait. A. Minute.” She types something in and suddenly Nick Jonas’s face replaces Ben’s.
A groan escapes my lips and I bang my head down on my desk. “I am so out his league, Chris!” I cry.
She laughs and says, “Okay, I’m done. Go back to singing.”
Another fifteen minutes goes by and Christie’s bored with the computer. She’s blasting a WhatTheBuck episode and I can’t hear myself think. I stop writing and glare at her until she lowers the volume, but as soon as I try to start writing again, she’s rifling through my closet.
“Ugh, Hailey,” she says.
I glance up and see her holding up my hoodie with “Wedgie” -- my unfortunate nickname -- painted on the front. “What?” I ask innocently. “That’s my favorite sweatshirt. It’s coming to Hollywood with me.”
“Are you serious?” she asks.
I nod.
“Fine, but don’t you dare set foot outside with this on,” she returns it to the closet, “the paparazzi will tear you apart for that.” She thinks for a few seconds before saying, “Can I help you pack?”
I roll my eyes but nod. Christie’s the fashion genius and insists that I’m a little fashionably challenged; I tell her I’m just stupid. While packing my most flattering clothes, she gives me tips on what jewelry to wear with what, what makeup, shoes, whatever. She even gives me a list of things to buy while I’m in LA so that everything comes together. While her back is turned, I add “neon colored Chucks” to the list.
Christie hates the fact that I have an addiction to Chuck Taylor All-Stars. I have five different pairs, all different colors, and she insists that I don’t need that many Chucks; I need more ballet slippers, she tells me.
Whatever. Chucks are so much cooler.
When she’s finished, my entire closet is empty and two huge piles are on my bed. One pile is the keep pile and the other is the “never see the light of day again” pile. My Wedgie sweatshirt is in that pile, but I plan on sneaking it into my suitcase while she’s gone.
“Oh crap,” she mutters after getting her phone out of her pocket, “sorry, Hails. My mom demands that I get home -- family stuff.” She grins and wraps me into a tight hug. “Talk to you tomorrow, okay?”
“See ya,” I say, and watch as she disappears down the stairs.
I sit in my computer chair and grab my guitar. As I strum, my mind wanders. What if Christie’s right?
What if I do meet the boy of my dreams?
I sigh and write down some lyrics. Only in Hollywood.
