—Kate Bolick

I liked to think I was a logical person. So, logically speaking, I knew my hair was clean.

Surely, it was. I'd scrubbed and lathered it repeatedly, for thirty minutes in the shower.

So why did I still feel as though it smelt of egg, hours after Jesse decided to wake me up from a nap, by cracking a yolk in my hair? Admittedly, it was probably just anxiety for the night ahead of me.

Excitement, mixed with something else, was overwhelming me. Truly, I was ecstatic to be playing in the states for the very first time. This show in Arizona, though, was proving to be more than a little nerve-racking. The arena was completely sold out, a first for us in America, and even though I knew we were just the supporting act, there was a strange knot in my stomach.

So odd, I thought to myself, as I rarely got stage jitters... and this didn't feel like quite the same thing.

How ridiculous I was being. It was going to be just another night on tour, I was sure of it. Just the usual four steps, in order.

: Go out there and put on the best show that we can.

: Make our way to the green room for a nice nosh-up and a shower.

: If we're lucky enough, head to a hotel for a bit of rest, and then...

: Return to the tour bus and begin driving to our next destination.

You'll have to forgive me, for the phrase "tour bus" might be a bit misleading.

No, no, no. This wasn't just any old coach. It was absolutely brilliant.

No matter how many days I spent in its surroundings, I couldn't grow used to the extravagance of it. Even on wheels, it had more amenities than many modest homes, and was certainly built with expert craftsmanship.

Compared to where, and how, I used to live, that bus made me feel like a king—maybe a king that was falsely put into power. So, in many ways, I felt I didn't really deserve it, or belong there—both being on the lavish vehicle, and living the ultimate dream of touring in a wildly successful band.

If anyone knew my history... well, I was just glad that nobody did. Even I didn't like to think about it, really. Thankfully, though, back in those days, I never had much time to myself, so opportunities for rumination were rare.

Having my thoughts interrupted by four absolute idiots wasfar more likely.

It was June the twenty-fourth, and that day was no different.

I looked up from the brightly lit screen of my laptop when I heard someone grumbling. Next to me, on the luxurious tour bus, sat Mason in a messy bunk. With heavily inked arms—well, heavily inked when compared to my plain old skin—my closest friend and bandmate strummed his black Les Paul.

"That's not right," Mason sighed, as he played the chords again.

I listened closely as he played it once more.

"What if you tried a bar chord there instead?" I suggested, whilst shutting down my laptop to concentrate on the music. "And that second-to-last chord, it needs a major ninth to it. Give that a go?"

Mason tried to implement the changes, which made the tune sound notably more resolved.

"Thanks, Jules," Mason said with a small smile, as he focused back on his instrument. "Ace, as always."

Fumbling down the coach corridor came a familiar head of red hair. Our drummer was still slightly pissed from the night before, as his "nights" usually ended around seven in the morning.

"Damn! That sounds sick, mate!" said Jesse to Mason, whilst humming the newly written melody to himself.

As Jesse walked past, he turned to ruffle my already messy hair.

"Nice and soft, I see," Jesse quipped. "Eggs are good for conditioning, aren't they? Aww, they worked a treat! You can thank me later."

"Knobhead," I laughed, then started to change into a simple black shirt with black jeans. Since we hadn't stopped to wash laundry lately, I was running out of options for clean clothes, but these were at least fresh.

"Oi, you sure you want to wear all black, bro?" Devon shifted his focus from Halo to my attire. "It's bloody hot out there."

"Is it?" I shrugged. Since we'd left that morning, I hadn't stepped out for a smoke. With the air con flowing heavily throughout our bus, I couldn't notice the rising heat of the day.

"He's right, it's blistering," Tommy said, with a mouthful of crisps and a sarnie in his hand. "Forty degrees, I reckon! Or close to it."

Summertime in America was kicking our arses. At that time of the year, in London, it might've reached about fifteen degrees. Now, the petrol was dirt cheap, the copious sunshine was an absolute joy, but forty degrees? How did these Americans handle it?

I could never live in America, I thought. Especially not in one of the southern states.

"You know what I've found, though?" Devon said, whilst hammering his video game controller. "The hotter the weather, the hotter the birds."

"Is that so?" I sipped some cool water and leant back in my bunk. "Haven't heard that one before."

"Maybe you'll actually find a girl, now that your mop is prime," Jesse called from the front of the coach.

"Yeah, chicks love that shitty emo look as well," Devon added, solely to poke fun at my attire for the night. "Plus, you have the pouty face on expert mode."

"All he needs now are some black-rimmed glasses," Tommy laughed. "They'll be putty. Oh, Julian, kiss me!"

And the lads kept banging on... I tried to ignore it, but their rising, raucous laughter made that quite an impossible task.

I looked up just in time to see Jesse and Tommy pretending to smooch each other.

"He's so dreamy," Jesse squealed in a high pitched voice. "Julian! Julian! Sign here!"

Jesse pushed his non-existent breasts together, to a chorus of chuckles from everyone on the bus.

"Shut up, the lot of ya." I leant over to pick up my Ibanez, whilst fully attempting to hold back a grin. No matter how many times I tried to explain it to them, the lads kept ribbing me.

Maybe my mates felt perfectly fine whilst rotating new women every other night, but that kind of lifestyle never appealed to me in the slightest. Honestly, I was only there to play music, not to be out on the pull. I just didn't want a nameless female who would've liked me for all of the wrong reasons.

Unquestionably, I was much too private of a person, and for good reason. I'd put too much value in the hope of a real, emotional connection. Finding that meant so much more to me than, say, snogging some random girl on the back of our bus... or worse.

Maybe I only craved that level of closeness, because I'd never had it before. Truthfully, I didn't know what I was looking for exactly, so I couldn't rightly describe it. I'd never been very good with words.

I just felt positive that I would feel it and know it when I found her. A girl who might've changed my mind about everything.

...

After driving for ages we finally arrived at the arena, and found some space at the back of the car park.

Barely anyone had arrived yet, so Tommy used this opportunity to step off the bus to ring his mum in privacy. I really liked Tommy, but that did little to stop the waves of jealousy from flowing through me. Decidedly, being quite a jealous person wasn't my proudest trait.

At least I could admit my faults, however.

No amount of hoping would've changed my circumstances, even though I would've loved to have a mum to ring. To her, I would've divulged all of the details of my life and travels. It didn't have to be a mum, actually, just someone that I could've loved and trusted.

More than ever, I needed that. My newly acquired musical profession, however, made it quite difficult to find someone genuine. I'd all but given up on it happening.

And yet, I still kept my eyes open for the rare chance.

My loneliness wouldn't have made much sense... to other people, at least. True, I was hardly ever actually alone—spending many of my waking hours with my four best mates, our security guard, Nick, or one of our tour managers. That wasn't even counting the thousands of people we would play for, in different corners of the globe.

Still, my heart yearned for something more. Something meaningful. Something... fateful.

Fateful, for I wanted to feel as though I belonged with someone. Even in the band, sometimes I didn't feel as though I belonged.

The lads were sometimes engaged with something or other, too busy for me, and their excessive drinking made me a bit uncomfortable. Jesse loved referring to me as the old man, as I preferred to sprawl out in my bunk and read. Or watch a film. Or play guitar. Or listen to music. Or watch the football—anything but Liverpool. That was more my idea of fun.

"What kind of guitarist doesn't drink?" Devon had jested with me, back when I first met him.

A dull, ill one... that was what kind.

No, instead, my vice those days were cigarettes. Rotten little sticks. After being such a downer in other ways, I didn't know how to say no when Devon offered one to me at practise one day.

What a stupid boy. If I could've gone back and kicked myself for ever beginning to smoke, I would have.

Thinking about smoking had me wanting a cigarette, but I was at least trying to cut back on it. To distract myself, I switched between listening to Rush in my headphones, and playing repetitive licks on my guitar. Everyone was settling down a bit, and doing their pre-show rituals to calm their nerves.

That quiet peacefulnesswas my favourite time of the day.

In the quiet of the bus, though, I couldn't help but to chuckle to myself about the irony of my situation: everyone knew my name, yet nobody knew me at all.

That was because I, Julian Miles, was a fraud.

Now, I never robbed an old lady, or wrote a bad cheque, but I was a con in the sense that I lived two separate lives. I was not who everyone thought I was.

Everyone believed that I was Julian Miles, musician extraordinaire, with boundless talent and plenty of dosh. Julian Miles, leading guitarist of the fastest growing rock band in recent history. Julian Miles, with the ability to swoon any female I so desired.

What they didn't know, was that I was actually Julian Miles, the long lost orphanage runaway who escaped abuse, only to live in filthy storage units with rats. Julian Miles, whose birth mother didn't care enough about him to quit using drugs during her pregnancy, and thus was born with a non-functioning kidney. Julian Miles, the insecure sap, who bought his first guitar from the pawn shop at which he slaved, for pitiful wages.

What they didn't know, was that I was so damn reclusive, wary of everyone, and detrimentally damaged, that I would go by my middle name, Riley, to avoid interaction with fans at all costs. I was such a damn hermit, in fact, that I hadn't even had a serious girlfriend by twenty-two years of age. How pathetic.

Everyone thought I lived a glamorous life, surrounded by masses of people who adored me, but when the strobe lights dimmed each night, I was alone.

Completely and utterly alone.

My pity party was interrupted when the door of the tour bus opened and Nick stepped on.

"Come on, then. Time to head inside," said Nick, with a hint of authority in his voice. "The local band's already on stage. You're up next."

Devon made his saves straight away, turned the console off, then followed Jesse and Tommy outside. No time for a kick-about before the gig tonight.

"Everett, Miles." Nick whistled from just outside. "Let's go."

"I just need a couple of minutes, Nick," Mason called over his shoulder.

"I'll keep Mason company," I suggested. "Take those three monkeys and come back for us in a few?"

"Whatever it is you need to do, make it fast. I'll be back to get the both of you," Nick grunted, then shut the tour bus door, leaving Mason and me alone on it.

"Guess that's my cue. I should go and have a smoke now." Sitting straight up, I quickly laced my old, tan boots. "Want to come as well? Get some fresh air?"

"Erm, yeah, mate. I'll be right out," replied Mason, seeming somewhat distracted. "I've got to ring someone, then I'll follow ya."

"In a minute, then." I manually opened the bus door, as it made a sound of escaping, wheezing air.

The night breeze was very warm, and I felt the heat of it even before descending the three steep steps, off the coach.

I could hear music vibrating from the arena, and the crowd roaring. From where I was stood, it sounded like a single, low, muted shout.

We were due to hit the stage in just a matter of minutes. That thought was starting to burn my nerves, just a bit.

Damn it, quit thinking, I mentally scolded myself. I'd better make this quick. Nick'll be back any moment to grab us, and grumble about punctuality.

I could nearly hear him in my head already: "Do you even realise the immensity of this opportunity that you've been given? To support such a headlining group? In America as well?"

Of course I did, why else would I have been so bloody nervous all of the sudden?

With my back pressed against the side of our coach, I ignited the end of my cigarette. Somewhat nervously—okay, very nervously—I brought the burning stick to my lips and inhaled.

It'd been ten hours since my last smoke, so the nicotene hitting my system was a welcomed awakening of the senses. A defibrillating shock, really.

It'd never felt that strong before—sort of like my blood was singing. It was a strike to my torso that made my lungs feel heavy. For a moment, I couldn't breathe. My body jolted inside with electricity, and my heart thrummed powerfully against my chest. Pounded, not thrummed. Hammered, not pounded.

Bloody hell, I couldn't think straight.

But nicotene had never impaired my ability to form a cohesive thought before. So I was beginning to think that, maybe, the feeling of jolted electricity inside of me was not from the addictive substance coursing through my veins.

Maybe, it was actually from watching the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen, hastily pull into the last empty parking bay, just metres in front of me.

Although I didn't yet know her name, I was positive that I knew her somehow.

Surely, I did—I'd seen her in my childhood dreams.

In fact, I'd seen her over and over again, in my mind's eye. The girl—the angel—from my sleep. Curiously, I'd scanned faces in crowds whilst playing on stage before, but I'd never found anyone to closely resemble her. Until then.

Perhaps I'm still asleep, I thought. I must have been.

The beautiful girl's vertically-challenged friend gasped upon noticing me. Cover blown, I supposed. I wondered if she'd caught me staring at the gorgeous brunette like a complete creep.

I wondered what her name was, even just the first letter of it. I wondered what her voicesounded like—probably exactly like silk. I wondered how her hair smelt—I bet it was sweet. I wondered how her skin felt—so very soft, I was sure of it. And God, did I want to feel it.

Badly.

The tour bus door opened, startling me just a bit, and Mason stepped off to join me. He quickly noticed me, noticing her. Everyone seemed to notice me noticing her. Except for her.

Look at me again, I thought. Please.

With a cigarette in my hand, as a sort of cover-up, I continued to watch the girl from my dark corner by the coach. This girl... she was absolutely oblivious to her allure. I was certain of this, from the way her tiny hands fidgeted about, nervously, as Mason approached the both of them.

...And from the way she kept glancing to the ground, refusing to look Mason in the eyes for too long.

...And from her curved shoulders, lacking assurance but also lacking arrogance. I bet she was self-deprecating. And kind. And knew a thing or two about pain. What pained her?

Had she a boyfriend?

She must have had one.

Mason laughed with the girls, and I couldn't help but feel a tad bit jealous.

"A tad bit" envious, meaning that it was a shock my skin hadn't turned completely green already.

Truthfully, I found it rather odd, as Mason never approached fans like that. Nonetheless, I still couldn't pull my eyes away from her. It was as if some type of magnetic force was drawing me in.

So many questions were bouncing around my rapidly-firing brain.

Did she even know our band, or was she simply there to accompany her friend? She was quite calm and quiet in comparison, so that seemed like a possibility. Regardless, I wished that she might've known my name.

I wanted to hear her say it. I hated my name, but from her lips, I bet I'd never grow tired of the sound.

My heart fell into a sort of cacophony as she glanced up at me. Sparks. It only lasted for a moment, and she didn't hold my gaze long enough for me to thoroughly read her. I needed more. So much more.

Perhaps I'd gone absolutely mad. Naturally, I knew nothing about this girl. But that was exactly the reason behind my insanity. It wasn't an option; I had to know her.

Everything about her.

Like her favourite television show, and how she liked her tea prepared, and where she'd been all of my damn life.

In that moment, I wanted to cancel the show, just to talk to her. Hell, I wanted to cancel the entire tour. And if I couldn't figure out a way to muster up some courage, and speak to her, I would have done just that.

It was entirely mad, and I couldn't rationalise it. But... I felt something.

And from feeling that strange something, I felt that I had to do something about it.

Something about the warmth that flooded my chest when a fleck of light brushed her face, allowing me to see her more clearly, if only for a tempting second.

Even if I had no logical reason to trust this girl, I, nevertheless, found it absolutely crucial to test my theory. Well, the bow and arrow theory wasn't exactly mine, but I found comfort in its truths.

She was firing arrows at me, and I had to learn what those arrows really meant.

No, it didn't make sense at all. But nevermind that. If, in that moment, she had asked me who I was, I would have confessed everything.

I thought I would have shown her... the Julian Miles.

"Julian, come over here, please," Mason called, whilst motioning toward himself and the girls.

She looked at me and, this time, held my eyes in the dark.

With a smile that feigned total confidence, I used the ground to extinguish the flame of my cigarette, and started walking over.

Here goes nothing.

1. "She's American" by The 1975

2. "I Knew I Loved You" (cover) by Travis Atreo

3. "Take Me Home Tonight" (cover) by Every Avenue

4. "More Than A Feeling" (cover) by Hit the Lights