7/SEVEN

It's been three days since the picnic table.

We're getting on a plane to Orlando tomorrow. Our next concert stop isn't for another week. By then, we'll be a week away from the end of our first headlining stadium tour.

What are we doing in Orlando you ask? A major Disney event. We're going to perform a couple of songs at Disney World with a whole bunch of other artists, the typical round-up of Disney-affiliated singer-slash-actors. There's going to be parades and fireworks and some major freebies – I've heard rumors of free iPhones and possibly a completely empty park just for the performers. If I haven't said it a thousand times already, I'm saying it now: I love my life.

Most of the crew is packed up and ready to spend the down-time at home. Some already left. Jeanine is still around, though leaving this afternoon. She didn't sleep the entire night. She says she'll sleep on the flight.

She and Anya are packing. Well, not so much Anya since she got most of her packing done last night, so she is just going through any possible things she forgot. J, on the other hand...

"D'oh!" J smacked her forehead, mid-way from closing her first suitcase. "I think Erica still has my sweatshirt. Be right back."

That has been fairly typical over the past forty minutes.

It was just me and Anya now. She was pretty much done her packing. One large suitcase along with one small one were neatly sitting by the door, waiting to be carried off.

"Anya, I have a question."

"Yeah?"

"Is it true that the management makes you guys sign contracts that forbid relationships on tour?"

"I didn't. I seriously doubt that's legal though."

"So, you haven't heard anything about that?"

"No, I haven't. What a weird rumor."

I shrug. "Blame the tour grapevine."

She slings an aged leather messenger bag over her shoulders and grabs her large rolling suitcase. I carry out her small but dense carry-on. We say our goodbyes and I head back inside J's bus.

When she finally arrives, I inform her of Anya's leaving. J says she saw her out on the lot and said goodbye there.

"So, what are you going to do during the break?" I asked.

"Oh, I don't know. Something new," she said, trying to zipper her suitcase shut. "I think I'm going to travel."

"Because you don't get enough of that here obviously."

"It was a joke, Kev."

"I knew that." I really did.

"Didn't sound like it," she countered, her focus obviously not on this conversation but on the contents of her bag.

"Will you go on a date with me?" I blurt out. Holy shit, did that sound as random as I thought it did?

As if the unplanned and poorly executed proposal isn't enough, she wasn't even facing me when I said it. Her back was facing towards me because she was sifting through a closet. I have no idea what her reaction was. Her motions seemed undisturbed; she continues moving clothes around. Had she even heard me? If she didn't, it's completely understandable. My voice shakes whenever I'm nervous. I bet it was kind of high and hushed too, the way it always gets when I'm on the verge of major social failure.

I got kind of excited at the possibility of her not hearing me. At the same time, I was eager to hear an answer.

Did I want her to not hear me?

Do I want to hear her answer?

I honestly don't know.

I don't feel my heart attempting to beat its way out of my chest or the perspiration collecting on my brow or anything like that, but these moments immediately after my asking her out are nothing short of horrific.

Without turning around, she yelled a response. "Whatchu say, Kev?" She grabbed her Ohio State hoody and walked back towards me.

"Uh. I... uh.." I stumble for words.

Do I ask her again?

Is she playing dumb to help me save face?

"Da-" I clear my throat. "What date are you coming back?"

"Oh.. uh... I think I'm flying out a day before the Concord show to Boston. So I'll see you there. Geez, Kev. You alright? You look a little sick."

I fake cough. Maybe that could work as the reason why my face is so hot and red right now.

"Yeah, I just got something stuck in my throat."

"Haha, want me to fetch you a water, rockstar?'

"No, I'm fine."

For the first time in a long time, I have no words. Seven thousand awkward (almost always embarrassing) interviews and I couldn't string together a few lousy words.

--

I had something stuck in my throat.

My words will haunt me for a long time, I just know it. If I could bang my head on something without appearing insane, I totally would.

I've been walking for somewhere between five minutes to five hours: I can't really make a better estimation than that. Now approaching the end of the lot, I do an about-face and continue walking without any particular destination in mind.

The feeling in my stomach is foreign yet familiar at the same time. It feels like regret, nervousness, and weirdly enough, a little guilt. Maybe I'm just hungry. I did skip breakfast after all. My stomach growls, or rather, sneers, thus confirming my breakfast theory. I hold it tenderly, hoping the touch will pacify my very distressed stomach. So heading in the direction of food, I walk the length of one of our buses.

About to turn, I hear voices. Unable to help myself, I place an ear close to the corner and eavesdrop for the second time in nine hours.

"Joe, cut the crap." It's her.

"Okay, I did..." It's my brother. My brother? "but it was for, like, a day and I'm totally over it. I swear."

I nervously hold my stomach through my abdominal wall, hoping to suppress any noises that may jeopardize my hiding. I concentrate my best to make out the faint voices.

"Joe..." she sounds sad, maybe apologetic.

"Listen, don't feel bad for me. There's no reason to. I'm not going to jump off a building if I see you with another guy. And I will be nothing short of ecstatic if that guy is my br-"

"We're just..."

"I know; I know, but if you do, my heart will be just fine..." A beat. "How'd you know?"

"I have a sixth sense."

"Can you also see dead people?"

"Oh, that's my eighth sense. M. Night Shyamalan got it all wrong."

"We should write an angry letter."

"Definitely."

Then, the conversation rapidly descends into an awkward lull. I can't be sure of this, since I can't see the two of them, who I presume to be standing three feet from each other with arms crossed and eyes averted, but I imagine it is awkward.

I feel a motion. I don't know if it's my hands that perceive this motion or my insides, but either way, I know that my cover is going to be compromised very soon. So stealthily, I return from where I came but not without a lot to think about.

--

A/N: Did you catch how J really found out about Joe? It was kind of oblique and obscure. I hope people are still reading. I know I've been gone for a loooong time.