A Love Song for Rebels (Rivals Book 2) Read online

I push it wide.

  Inside is a girl with long, dark hair up in a giant topknot. She has on Beats headphones, and she’s brought a backpack and a single trunk that’s wedged at the end of the second bed that’s been untouched since I moved in yesterday.

  “Hey,” I volunteer. “I’m Annie. I guess we’re roommates.”

  The girl doesn’t answer or take off her headphones but reaches for an earpiece to touch a button.

  “Are you Raegan Madani?” I try again. This time, she cuts a glance over her shoulder.

  “Rae.”

  According to the scant roommate info form that included names, contact emails, and majors, she’s in contemporary music like me.

  Rae opens her backpack, takes out a bunch of tiny figures, and sets them on the top of her headboard. They’re little knitted dolls with yarn hair.

  Before I can ask, Rae pulls something else out of her bag. “In or out?” she asks.

  When I don’t respond, she grabs a clean shirt, twists it into a roll, and lays it along the bottom of the door.

  My eyes widen as she lights the joint.

  “I’ve heard stories of students getting expelled for less. It would be awesome if you could do that outside.”

  Rae heaves out a sigh. “Whatever.” She grabs her keys off her desk and brushes past me.

  Shit. I’m not here to make friends, but I don’t want to commit social suicide on day one either. From the look Rae tosses me as she heads down the hall, my new roomie might as soon push me in front of a subway as ride it with me.

  “Nice meeting you!” I call as I grab my things, then lock up.

  With the help of the map on my phone, I find my way on the subway over to the Columbia campus for my first class.

  The excitement that’s been missing since running into Tyler this morning slowly returns, giving my step extra bounce.

  “I haven’t seen you since the weekend!” Pen wraps me in her arms when we spot one another outside our lecture hall, and I hug her back. “It sucked we came in on the same flight only to go different directions at the airport,” she accuses.

  “Gah, I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Whatever. Gotta pursue your dreams, right? Anyway, glad you made it early so we can grab coffee. There’s a café in the same building as our lecture.”

  We head into the building, and she steers me toward a line of students in front of a counter.

  Pen and I scored the same sociology section. I have that, plus English, at Columbia on Tuesday and Thursday. Their campus is only a quick subway ride away, and Vanier has some deal with them so Vanier can focus on arts education while still producing well-rounded grads.

  “My clothes don’t fit in my room,” she goes on. “I might have gone overboard now that we don’t have uniforms.”

  “At least you have a single,” I tell her as we order Americanos. “My roommate showed this morning, and I managed to piss her off by telling her to smoke her joint outside.”

  Pen waves me off. “Etiquette 101. Thou shalt not smoke up in thine dorm room without roommate consent. Or before eleven in the morning because it’s tacky.”

  I sigh. “I missed you.”

  “Have you talked to your dad and Haley?” she asks as we grab our coffees and head and toward the lecture hall.

  “I called them when I got in and texted Dad this morning. Which means I’ve gone nearly forty-eight hours without blowing cover.”

  Pen shakes her head. “I still can’t believe you didn’t tell him about Vanier.”

  “He wouldn’t have let me come. I pitched it to him five times last year. He said if I wanted his support, I would get a real undergraduate degree before deciding whether to, and I quote, ‘piss it all away.’”

  She drops her bag, settling into a seat. “Daddy J is not the best recruiter for the industry.”

  “I know he’s had issues, but they can’t be that bad. Even if they were, he never talks to me about them, so how am I supposed to decide for myself?”

  I take the chair next to her.

  “There’s something else,” I say under my breath. “I ran into Tyler Adams this morning.”

  Pen’s nails dig into my arm. “What the hell?”

  Heads swivel toward us.

  “I told you about at auditions, but I never thought I’d see him on day one.”

  Before she can respond, the professor at the front clears his throat. “Welcome to Sociology 101. If you’ll take your seats, we can begin.”

  After a moment of looking torn as the prof talks us through the course outline, my friend pulls her phone from her pocket.

  Mine buzzes in my bag a moment later.

  Pen: AND HOW WAS SEEING HIM???

  So many emotions flood me I don’t know how to respond.

  Annie: Weird. Horrifying. Exciting. Scary.

  The third word slips out without me meaning to type it.

  Pen: Tell me he grew out of the hot badass look.

  I bite my cheek. Pen’s brows rise up her forehead, and she kicks my calf lightly.

  Annie: He grew into it.

  Maybe you’ll see his girlfriend. I flash back to the girl I saw in his lap the day of auditions, and my gut twists sharply.

  She must be a student, too, but she wasn’t with him at assembly.

  They could’ve broken up.

  Or they could be married.

  It can’t matter. Tyler Adams can date whomever he wants.

  He left because other things mattered more than me. I should be grateful for the lesson—it taught me to focus on my dreams and not my heart.

  This year, I won’t fall for anyone. Especially not him.

  When class finishes, we pack up and I check my phone. “I have English at one thirty, and you have history. Want to get lunch?”

  She lifts a shoulder. “Absolutely. I’m thinking of running for student government, and I need your opinion on my platform. But first, I got you a present.”

  We head to her dorm, and she opens the door to her single with a flourish. “Behold!”

  My gaze lands on the twin goldfish bowls on her desk. “You got us twin fish?”

  “Because we might not be at the same school but we’ll always be friends.”

  Gratitude washes over me. “The best.”

  She grabs me in a hug, then we both turn to study the fish. “What should we call them?”

  I cock my head. “Something that speaks to our enduring love. Like… the world may change around us, and we might grow old and die, but we’ll always have these fish.”

  “To be clear, they live five years.”

  A lightbulb goes on. “I’ve got it. You want Heathcliff or Cathy?”

  Pen snorts with laughter. “Oh my God. You take Heath.”

  “Deal.” I grab one of the fishbowls in my arms, and we head toward the dining hall.

  “So, are you going to at least talk to Tyler?” Pen asks once we’re outside. “You don’t think he’d tell your dad you’re here…”

  I suck in a shallow breath, adjusting my new pet in my arms. “When Tyler left, he left all of us. Dad would’ve said something the last year if they’d kept in touch.”

  “You have to tell your dad eventually.”

  “I will. But not yet. I need a chance to show him he was wrong about me, and Vanier.”

  By the next morning, I’m learning a few things about my new environment.

  One, my roommate appears and disappears at all hours of the night. When I went to bed after hanging out with Pen for most of the day, doing homework in the library at Vanier, and finally meeting Elle and some other girls from our floor for a late dinner, there was no sign of her except for her trunk and dolls in our room.

  When I got up to use the bathroom at 4 a.m., Rae was sprawled across her bed, fully clothed down to her white sneakers, and snoring.

  By eight, when I get up to shower and dress, she’s under the covers.

  I catch a glimpse of her schedule printed and lying on her desk and frown. Apparently, she h
as Entertainment Management Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays with me and Elle.

  I cross to her bed and prod her shoulder. “You getting up?”

  Nothing.

  I shrug and head outside to grab Elle for class.

  The professor is a young woman who reminds me of Miss Norelli from Oakwood except she’s wearing a black blazer over dark jeans.

  “In this class, we’ll be talking about how to manage a career. The arts aren’t only about talent. Plenty of talented people will never pay their bills using those abilities.”

  “So, once I pull down these silver jeans,” Elle says, mimicking the prof’s friendly tone from the seat next to mine, “you can practice kissing my ass. A skill that will serve you well in the years to come.”

  I swallow the laugh and return to taking notes.

  I’m most excited for the remaining two classes—my private music lessons, scheduled with my faculty supervisor on Fridays, and my elective.

  I chose a studio acting class, which is Wednesdays. I go to class with Elle, where maybe fifteen students are sitting in desks arranged in a semicircle.

  The woman at the front has me lifting my brows.

  She looks like a librarian, with pale hair twisted up in a knot on her head and a printed floral dress. Her face is wrinkled, but her eyes are sharp beneath her reading glasses.

  “Good afternoon, I’m Ms. Talbot. Welcome to my studio intensive. You’re all acting students, which means this is what you—yes?” she asks, irritated by my raised hand as I look around.

  “I’m in contemporary music, not theater. This is my elective.”

  Her gaze narrows. “Is anyone else here in contemporary music?”

  Two other hands go up—a guy named Jake I met in Entertainment Management and another girl.

  “Wonderful. Dilettantes in our midst.”

  Elle snorts next to me, and she shoots me a “WTF” look as Talbot turns away.

  “Today’s challenge is as follows,” the professor continues. “I will hand you a sheet of paper with a scene on one side and the character’s bio on the other. Read the scene without looking at the bio. Your task is to get into your character’s head quickly and understand them from their words alone.” She points at me. “You want to be here so badly, let’s find out why.”

  I head to the front of the room, squaring my shoulders.

  I can do this. I’ve been in front of far larger crowds. But this feels like my first sort-of performance at Vanier, and it matters.

  “I wish you’d listen to me,” I read off the sheet she hands me. “I know you think I stand in your way, but I’m not trying to stop you. I’m trying to save you.”

  A few snickers sound from my classmates looking at the back of my card. I ignore them and go deeper. I feel the pain in the words. Burrow into it as I read.

  When I finish the scene, I draw a long breath.

  Talbot gestures at my card, and I flip it over.

  “Wait—I’m a crossing guard?”

  The class bursts into laughter, and my cheeks flame as I go back to my seat.

  And it’s Elle’s turn. She gives a more subtle performance, and I realize this is harder than I figured.

  For the last year, all I could think about was coming here, how everything would be solved. Now, as I look at my talented classmates, I realize how far from the truth that is.

  “That was brutal,” I blurt as we head back upstairs after class, passing a dozen practice rooms, all occupied.

  “I’ve been booed off stage before, so I’m not going to lie to you. It was pretty bad,” Elle replies.

  “I need to get out of here,” I decide as we emerge from the stairwell and head down the hall toward our rooms.

  The door to my room is open, and Rae’s inside, at her desk on her computer with headphones covering her ears.

  “Then let’s go out tonight,” Elle says, dropping onto my bed as I set my books on my desk. “I saw this place called Leo’s that looks cool. They have an open mic night Wednesdays.”

  “You’re gonna need ID.”

  We both look over in surprise at Rae’s voice. She turns toward us, tugging off the headphones.

  “My cousin gave me her old license,” Elle says.

  Rae crooks a finger, and Elle digs out a driver’s license. Rae scoffs. “She’s got four inches and thirty pounds on you.”

  “I’m an actor. It’s all about posture.” Elle snatches the card back and shoves it in her pocket.

  “I don’t have ID.” I’m sure I could’ve figured out how to get one, but back home, there weren’t clubs close by.

  An idea strikes me. Beck.

  I fire off a text. The response comes almost immediately.

  Beck: Two hours. Fifty bucks. I got you, Manatee.

  After dinner, someone drops off an ID at my door and waits while I get her cash.

  I try not to overthink my outfit, deciding on tight black jeans and a matching tank top with my black suede boots. In case it’s cold, I throw on a denim shirt overtop.

  I twist my hair up in a high bun, then add a hint of mascara, plus some matte red lipstick.

  By ten, Elle and I find ourselves outside Leo’s. It’s beautiful, industrial, like nothing I’ve seen back home. Like an old factory with stories to tell.

  It’s also packed.

  “Who is Leo?” I wonder aloud as we wait in line.

  “Owner’s dead dog,” Rae answers.

  “Really?” I ask. I’m still surprised she came, but maybe this is a spot of hope.

  “No fucking clue.” She ducks out of line, and we stare before trailing after her.

  Rae stomps up to the door. The bouncer ignores the line of people waiting to glance at our IDs and let us inside.

  “How did you do that?” Elle demands of Rae but doesn’t get a response.

  The inside of the venue is exposed brick, long and skinny, and one story with high ceilings and a stage at one end. The bar’s in the center of the room, two thirds of the way from the stage. It’s round with a number of bartenders working different sections. The lights behind the bar are old-school theater style, and they spell out “LEO’S” in a burnt-orange glow.

  A guy’s on stage playing piano, crooning into a microphone. He’s good, and I let myself fall into the spell he’s weaving.

  “You came all the way down here to watch?” Rae tosses at me before disappearing through the crowd.

  “You know what?” I call to Elle. “She’s right.”

  I head toward the stage doors, Elle on my heels, and find the woman in charge of the open mic slots.

  She looks me up and down, from my tight jeans to my plaid shirt to my ponytail. “We’re full.”

  Dismay works through me as I crane my neck to see her list. “The whole night? Can I at least get on the list for next week?”

  “We’re full every week. I can’t bump one of my regulars for you. Gotta keep this crowd happy.”

  I bristle, but Elle grabs me and drags me to the bathroom. “She’s just putting you off.”

  Half a dozen other girls compete for sink and mirror space, washing their hands and touching up their careful makeup. Every one of them looks different, but they’re all unforgettable.

  It’s a reminder I’ve never lived on my own, never truly made my own way.

  I’m in a strange city, lying to everyone about where I am and who I am…

  And for what? To drink and watch someone else play music?

  Fear slams into me as I stare into the mirror.

  “You done?” an unfamiliar voice demands, jockeying for position.

  You didn’t come here to blend in. You survived getting heartbroken, worked your ass off, and now you’re here. Don’t let them say no.

  The resolve I’ve built over the past year is a block of iron in my chest, heated by my frustration until it glows red. I strip off my shirt, leaving the tank underneath, and tug out my elastic, fluffing out my hair so it explodes around my head, falling in crazy waves around my s
houlders.

  I pull out a dark pencil and use it to rim my eyes, top and bottom, until my lashes look even thicker and my eyes pop. Then, I pull out gloss and slick it over my red lips.

  “I’m not sure what your plan is,” Elle drawls, “but this doesn’t go with your outfit.”

  She unclasps my necklace and hands it to me. I hesitate before dropping it carefully into my purse.

  “Thanks. Art is art,” I say, turning to inspect myself from the side. “But they need to sell drinks too.”

  Elle lifts a brow. “You sure you want to do this?”

  I take a deep breath. “No.”

  4

  “What’re we celebrating?” I call over the music as Beck slides a shot down the bar at Leo’s.

  “Landed an audition.” He lifts his glass and clinks mine, and we both drink.

  The alcohol burns down my throat, welcome and bracing at once.

  The first two days back to school are turning out to be a rude awakening but not for the reasons I expected.

  Our fridge is broken, ruining the food I bought on the weekend. Our landlord is dodging me, and the guy I called today to fix it said he’d come by tomorrow between eight and whenever he feels like it.

  I had my first weekly guitar lesson this afternoon with my intensive professor—the guy who’s assigned to oversee my development—during which he wanted to lecture me about the “evolution of my style.”

  Which probably could’ve been avoided if he hadn’t insisted on referring to it as the “evolution of my style.”

  At Leo's, I’m ready to forget all of it for a few hours. A full third of the crowd is from Vanier, but they're here to unwind.

  Hell, maybe someone’ll catch my eye tonight.

  Because that worked so well the last time.

  “Congrats on the audition,” I tell my friend as I set my empty glass on the bar next to his.

  He tells me about the new TV series.

  “You’d leave school if you got it?”

  “Sure. That’s what we’re all here for.”

  Apparently, that’s why Annie’s here. I can’t stop thinking about her words at the assembly yesterday.

  I’ve thought about what I’d say if I saw Annie Jamieson again, but she caught me off guard, here in the last place I expected, and all I could think was how part of me that’d been dead for a year suddenly woke up.