It had been a week since that fatidic night and not one day went by where she didn't see him. He was everywhere she went: on posters in the subway, guest in every single talk show on TV, in YouTube ads, featured in Spotify's playlists, and of course on the radio with her songs. She felt persecuted by that angelic little face that kept smiling, mocking her by suggesting to try that new energy drink or buy his album.
Even at work – especially at work – she couldn't escape him. One of the few places in the world where she felt at home had turned into a nightmare. The bar was always full of fans trying to catch him in public or virtually get closer to his world. At least she spent her shifts inventing embarrassing rumors, some had even made the cut and appeared in some cheap magazines and online gossip pages. She was the one to thank for having shared with the world Boomer Bolt's love for Sex and the City, both the drink and the TV series, the former not a great ally for his irritable bowel syndrome. However, crazy groupies and curious journalists were not the real problem. She couldn't understand how he had gotten a hold of her songs. How was she supposed to accuse him when she didn't know how he had done it?
To make things worse, she barely slept. Every time she fell asleep, she dreamt of stadiums and arenas, hundreds of people screaming at her feet and singing those very songs that little thief had stolen. The dreams were becoming more and more realistic, she felt sweat on her skin, her ears ringing, heart beating loudly. Usually, she would wake up inspired, as if the world was sending her a signal of what her future would look like, now all of those dreams felt like a cruel mockery.
When she entered the kitchen that morning she looked like a zombie, having spent the night researching and planning her next moves. At one point, she had ended up in those forums where celebrities' hairlocks or chewed gum were exchanged. She wasn't too proud of her search history.
"Good morning sunshine" Bubbles passed her a steaming cup of coffee. She grunted in response and took a long, deep sniff, "Coffee, good", black and bitter the way she liked it.
"Good morning Townsville! And now directly from his new album, Meet Me at Mojo's by Boo-" she turned off the kitchen radio with a punch, her eye twitching. It was all a big conspiracy to drive her crazy, there was no other explanation.
"I can't believe you have never seen Boomer Bolt, I mean he called a song after your pub, he must have been a customer".
"Bubbles, I have already told you. I had no idea who that man was and now he has ruined my life" she hadn't shared yet the details of what was happening with her sisters. It sounded crazy even to her ears, and she still had to figure out how to deal with it. Besides, one crisis at a time. It was Blossom's turn.
"A few more customers that force you to work instead of goofing off are hardly a tragedy, Buttercup, you are being dramatic," Blossom said without raising her eyes, nose deep into an old book as big as her face.
"I am being dramatic?" Buttercup spat sitting beside her sister, regretting having felt sympathy towards her. "Remind me who has been hiding here for over a week?".
"That's unfair. I can't go back to Adam with these" Blossom pointed to her eyes, or rather to the sunglasses she refused to stop wearing, and went back to reading.
"Don't listen to her, you are welcome to stay here as long as you want. What are you reading anyway?" Bubbles joined them at the table and tilted her head to give a better look at the cover, "Soulmate phenomenology: from popular culture to scientific evidence… what?".
Blossom sighed and closed the book.
"I am doing research" she took a sip of her coffee, grimaced, and added two full teaspoons of sugar.
"Anything interesting?" Buttercup casually asked, not particularly interested in the topic, but anything to divert the conversation from that ego-inflated popstar.
"Nothing that I didn't already know. Each of us has its signature soulmate reveal, passed on from generation to generation, like our family, where our eyes take the color of the person we are supposed to be with. When that happens, it seems to be irreversible" Blossom had been hiding in that apartment since the day her eyes had turned green. She was refusing work calls, she wasn't answering her boyfriend, and she especially was avoiding anything that had to do with her newly found soulmate.
"Bloss, not even you can win this fight" Bubbles supplied uncertain, "there are things you can explain, and there are things that you feel".
"But-"
"Bubbles is right. At least he is hot, close the books and go talk to him, nerd. You need to face this" that was what she was going to do. Buttercup gulped down the remaining of her coffee and reached for the door, ignoring her sister's indignant grunts behind her.
She wasn't all that into that soulmates' crap and she had bigger fish to fry and the moment. She had waited a week, but now she knew what to do. She was going to face Boomer Bolt and take back what was hers.
Finding the whereabouts of a mega-popstar had turned out to be much easier than she expected. In the dark, deep web, she had learned two things: anything that belonged or had come into contact with a celebrity had a price - even things you wish they didn't - and you could find the exact schedule of appearances of virtually anyone with a consistent TikTok's following.
That was her lucky day, Boomer Bolt was supposed to record an interview and she knew exactly when and where. The crowd that had formed around the entrance of the TV station building told her she was in the right place. She fixed her hoodie, gave a quick look around to make sure there was no one there she knew - she didn't need that additional humiliation - and walked towards the group of people holding posters and signs.
The anticipation in the air was palpable and the fans were chatting animatedly. She pushed her way in. Girls around her were singing, taking selfies, and fixing each others' hair. Hearing her songs was bittersweet. It was infuriating how he had been able to butchered something so close to her heart, but at the same time knowing so many people were enjoying her writing made her feel weirdly proud and vindicated. She tried to get as close to the entrance as possible and once it was clear she couldn't advance any further she put her plan in motion.
She approached a girl about her age who looked like she had come there alone. "Hey, I am sorry can you help-" The girl turned the other way and Buttercup was left with her hand in mid-air.
"I just wanted to ask you if-" "Do you know when-" "Can you help me out"
Girl after girl proceeded to ignore her. Grantly, she didn't exactly look like she belonged. Those girls were covered in glitter and merch. They had posters, signs, and pens ready in their hands to get an autograph, while she, in her black hoodie, looked like she got the wrong memo.
"Here goes nothing" She took a deep breath, rolled her eyes, and decided dignity was overvalued anyway. "Girls" she started with a very annoying valley girl accent, "which era is his best: his white pants, bowl cut era, or his no shirt, tattoos era?". She had memorized a Reddit thread's title the night before, none of those words made sense to her but she hoped it worked.
"Girl, have you seen his abs? No shirt all the way!"
"But I thought he looked like an angel with his previous haircut".
"I like bad boys, and he is not fifteen anymore, come on".
It had worked. Like a charm. A group of girls had turned towards her talking one over the other in excitement. Boomer Bolt's smiling face was printed all over their t-shirts and they all had a lightning bolt drawn on their cheeks. They sounded so invested and unapologetically enthusiastic. She had always believed the music industry owed so much to fangirls and that was the very proof.
"Do you know when he is supposed to get here?" she interrupted that very lively debate, which she was sure could have gone on for hours.
"I hope any moment now! I have been here since six" one answered looking hopeful above the crowd.
"He probably won't sign anything this time around, maybe when he leaves" The whole group nodded. "Boomie is so busy, he usually has no time to stop".
"Such an asshole" Buttercup muttered unable to keep that thought for herself.
"What?"
"I said will you wait here all day?" she recovered, a plastic smile on her lips.
"Of course! We are real thunders"
"Thunders?" She had always joked that she and pop fans spoke different languages but now she wasn't too sure it was just a joke. They all looked at her incredulously, and she couldn't have felt more out of the loop.
"Where do you live, we are his thunders and-"
"He is our lighting bolt!" they all finished together.
"Of course. How could I forget, I am also a stormy or whatever" someone must have pitied her from above because at that moment a sleek black taxi turned the corner, and the atmosphere changed in an instant.
The crowd's murmurs turned into a collective gasp and all the girls she was talking to turned towards the car. She also stood on her tiptoes trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening. The taxi came to a stop in front of the building, and before the door even opened, the screams began.
"Ahhhhhhh! It's him! It's Boomer!" shrieked a girl next to her, her voice nearly drowned out by the surrounding cacophony.
"Boomer! We love you!" yelled another fan, jumping up and down, waving a homemade sign.
Buttercup stretched her neck and tried to keep her balance on her toes in an attempt to see the boy everybody was waiting for. She needed to talk to him, but everyone was screaming and her heart was beating like crazy. She hadn't thought that part through at all. She pushed her way forward, but so did everyone else, arms outstretched, hoping to touch him or get an autograph.
The door of the taxi fully opened, and the famous Boomer Bolt stepped out. Screams all around became even louder. The only thing Buttercup was able to see was his hoodie pulled up over his head, while he hurriedly walked towards the entrance, a wall of security guards all around him.
People behind her pushed harder and she felt lost, unable to move, trying to understand what was going on and what were her options, which at the moment felt very limited.
"Boomer over here! I love you!" the boy stopped for a second. He glanced up and flashed a quick smile and Buttercup finally saw his face. She felt a weird feeling growing in her chest. Everything around her went quiet, she could only hear her heart ringing in her ears. Why was it beating so fast? Why was she so nervous? And what was that weird sensation of warmth in her chest? The glimpse was fleeting, as he was ushered inside. Her hands closed into fists and she clenched her teeth, anger bubbling inside her. She was not going to be fooled by that boy-next-door's smile, that was the man who had stolen her dreams.
"No! Boomer, come back!" fans screamed in desperation as the doors closed behind him, and just like that she had lost her window.
The crowd's energy began to settle, a mix of excitement and disappointment hanging in the air. Some people sat on the floor, ready for long hours of waiting, some kept screaming in the hope he could hear them. She felt the crushing weight of disappointment filling her chest.
She hurriedly exited the crowd, in need of fresh air. Out of that madness, she started to reason again. She wasn't ready to go home. She had to talk to him, that was not negotiable. Her music mattered so much, she was not going to give up just yet. She had to find a way to confront him, to make him admit he had stolen her songs, and maybe get the credit she so fully deserved.
"You can do it" she whispered, scanning her surroundings. She immediately noticed the building had more than one entrance, the main one, the one used by him, and two lateral ones used by employees to avoid the general mess he had caused. Not that that made things easier, the entry into the building seemed to be restricted; everyone going in flashed a badge to the security guard.
She couldn't waltz in but maybe she could get a hand somewhere. An unknowing hand, but still. She just needed the right person
"John I told you, we are not increasing the cachet, that good for nothing is already being paid more than enough" she pricked up her ears, following with her eyes a woman walking past her. She gave her a long, attentive look. She was pacing up and down completely engulfed in her conversation, one hand holding her phone to her head the other agitately moving in the air She had freshly manicured red nails, a blowout belonging to an 80s movie, and a shiny, white badge hanging from her neck.
"Bingo".
She walked toward the woman. Phone in her hand pretending to be distracted. She braced herself for the collision and went for it. Buttercup let her body bump into her with just enough force to jostle her.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she screamed feigning embarrassment, the valley accent making a return "I don't know where my head is. My dad always tells me "Emma, look where you are going" and he is right!" The woman stumbled slightly, taken aback by that sudden loss of footing and that weird girl who was rumbling nonsense.
"It's okay. Just be more careful" she muttered in annoyance, she checked the phone in her hand and regained composure going back to her call, "John are you there? Yes, yes-".
"Will do" Buttercup smiled wickedly and walked away. She looked at the badge in her hand as if it were the most precious thing she had ever seen.
"Boomer Bolt here I come".
Entering the building had been easy enough. The guard had barely glanced at her badge.
Buttercup was guided by adrenaline and a bit of recklessness as she navigated the corridors, looking for any sign that would bring her closer to her nemesis.
She followed a group of people who seemed to know where they were going, eventually leading her to a backstage area.
"Marie, where is Marie? Hair and makeup for Boomer Bolt. Come on, people we do not have all day!" she stopped abruptly, a few people bumping into her but she didn't care. She turned towards a tall man with a clipboard in his hands.
"Me! Me!" she almost screamed running towards him, "It's me. I do hair and makeup".
"You?" he gave her a long, uncertain look from head to toe, " where is Mary?".
"Sick" she was quick to answer.
"And you are?" he didn't look convinced, but at the same time he also didn't seem to care who was going to do that job.
"Lucie" Buttercup put on her best smile, afraid to even blink. He looked at his clipboard, then at her, and again at his clipboard.
"Why don't they tell me anything? Okay, Lucie. You know the drill. You have 30 minutes, room 4" Buttercup used all her willpower not to scream in victory. Her smile grew bigger and she looked at him adorantly, too happy to move.
"Chop, chop!" he clapped his hands almost startling her, she nodded and hurried towards where he had previously pointed.
"Room 2, room 3, room 4…" she took a deep breath and stared at the number on the door. She was suddenly feeling nervous, but she would have never turned back. She opened the door and entered the room.
"Boomer, for fuck's sake, you have to attend" a man with a black baseball cap was talking to a closed door. He was intimidatingly tall, unruly red hair escaped underneath his cap, and he was obsessively scrolling his phone. He didn't look too happy.
"It's fucking boring, Brick. And I don't feel too well, something is wrong with my chest" Boomer Bolt's voice was the exact opposite. He sounded happy, high energy, almost like a kid.
"I don't care. You have to be there" her presence had gone unregistered. She shifted uneasily, that movement enough to capture Brick's - that was his name - attention.
"Ever heard about knocking?" he spat in annoyance, "I suppose you are the makeup artist, finally". Two words had been enough to decide she hated the guy. Who did he think he was? Buttercup was ready to answer him matching his energy, when Boomer came out of the changing room.
Her chest contracted to expand immediately after as if it was opening, drawn towards him, and she almost gasped at that physical reaction. What was happening? Why was she feeling so warm all of a sudden? Her fingers were tingling and, for a second, all she could feel was a deep sense of calm.
The boy stared at her in silence, lips parted and words forgotten. She saw him tilting his head and taking a step towards her, almost unconsciously, his bright blue eyes wide with curiosity.
"I gotta talk to the producer," the other men in the room said, completely oblivious to that silent conversation going on in the room, his eyes glued to his phone. "Remember: smile, you are single, always will be single, the only ladies in your heart are your fans, and stop fucking jittering so much, there are already rumors you are a crackhead".
"Yes, dad," Boomer answered, but his eyes were fixed on Buttercup. He hadn't stopped looking at her. Buttercup too couldn't move her gaze. His eyes felt familiar. Like a Deja Vu. Was he also feeling that? Why was he looking at her so intensively?
Brick waved his hand in the air and without goodbyes he exited the room, bringing his phone to his ear busy in a new conversation.
Finally alone, they stayed in silence for what seemed an eternity. She had forgotten everything she had rehearsed for days and that weird shyness didn't fit her.
"Do we- Do we know each other?" he asked, breaking the silence. He scrolled his head and let out a brief, nervous laugh. "No, of course. Sorry, I haven't been feeling well" he coughed uncomfortably before looking at himself in the mirror, fixing his hair.
"Let's get to work!" he clapped both hands together and plopped down on the chair with little grace, "I have a yellow undertone, even if it looks pink. Please, nothing shiny and sticky on my lips. And you know those k-pop idols' hairdos? I'd like something like that" he immediately took his phone out and started scrolling through what looked like funny dog videos.
A bucket full of iced water would have had the same effect. Buttercup physically scrolled her head, coming back to her senses.
"I am not doing your hair" she stated hand on her hips, but his eyes remained stuck to his phone.
"I can sign anything you want later" he dismissed her with a movement of a hand.
Buttercup's eyes widened in disbelief and she got closer, towering him. "Who cares about your signature, pretty boy" she spat with annoyance and Boomer finally raised his gaze to meet hers in the mirror. She turned the chair on its wheels so she could face him, "I want my songs back".
He looked completely dumbfounded and Buttercup grew even more irritated. "Don't act stupid. Superheroes? Sugar, spice, everything nice? Meet me at Mojo's?" she leaned down towards him, her nose almost touching his, her hands on both armrests, "I have no fucking idea how you did it, but those are my songs".
Boomer remained silent, surprise evident in his eyes. Finally, he did the last thing she was expecting, and let out an amused chuckle.
"Oh, damn. I knew you were too cute to be my makeup artist" he whined like a child. "You are one of those crazy fans. This is the third time this month" he sighed.
"What do you want? Money? A lock of hair? A shoutout on Instagram?" realization crossed his face and he gasped, "You wanna kidnap me? Brick is gonna lose it. At least I'll skip tonight's snoozefest, you win some, you lose some, I guess".
He was talking to himself as if she wasn't even there. She straightened her back, putting space between them, and interrupted his ridiculous rant.
"Stop it" she ordered, "I am not crazy. I am not a fan. I don't care about you, I didn't even know about your existence before hearing your, I mean, my songs on the radio".
"Ouch".
"Just tell me how did you do it?" she cried in exasperation, "tell me now!".
He looked up at her for long seconds, opening his mouth to speak to close it immediately after. Finally, he stood up, invading her space, but Buttercup stood her ground.
"I see that you are upset" he tried, as if he was choosing his words with extreme carefulness, "But I don't really know why" he looked confused, but not malicious. "Listen, whatever is your name-"
"Buttercup" she supplied.
"Really?" she threw him a nasty look and Boomer raised both palms in the air, "No, it's a nice name, it doesn't really suit you but- okay, sorry, Buttercup. I don't know you and I don't know what you are talking about, I wrote those songs, here" he took out his wallet from his pocket and after a few seconds found what he was looking for.
"See?" he showed her a crumpled napkin with something written on it, which Buttercup made out to be lyrics. "The songs became such a hit, that I decided to keep it. You know they came to me in a dream" he looked at that dirty napkin with pride and put it back in his wallet.
"A dream?" she repeated in disbelief. Before she could ask anything else she heard a familiar voice coming from outside the room.
"What do you mean the makeup artist just got here!" the man with the baseball cap sounded angry. "Who the fuck did you let in?" he screamed again. Buttercup's heart started beating faster, she had to get out of there.
Boomer chuckled, "as I said, too cute to be my makeup artist" he winked and Buttercup felt her cheeks heating up, not completely immune to his charm.
"This is not over," she said walking towards the door.
"I sure hope not" he answered flirtatiously and Buttercup got even more flustered.
"You are a thief and I will prove it," her hand was already on the handle, "and you ruined my pub, Mojo's is mine! Leave it alone!".
She didn't even close the door as she stormed out. She ran through people never stopping once. Only outside, blocks away from that building, far enough to feel safe again, she finally caught her breath.
Nothing made sense. Boomer Bolt was not like she expected, and worst of all, she had almost believed him. Something was off, but she couldn't pinpoint what, a suspicion growing in her mind. She quickly pulled out her phone and turned on the front camera, looking at her eyes.
Green, as always.
She sighed. What was she even thinking?