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Chapter Two / Nick


“I think my main problem is I fucking hate this verse.” I put the headphones down on my neck and glowered at Kevin through the window, where he was leaning back against a desk chair with his feet up on the soundboard next to Dan, the producer. He scowled. “It's stupid… I don't want to sing this bullshit. I wanna sing like substance.” I picked up the sheet music and waved it at them.

Kevin leaned forward and hit the intercom button, “Just fucking sing the god damned song, Nick,” he begged.

I put the lyrics back on the stand and folded my arms over my chest.

“You've gotta be shittin' me, this is not happening,” Kevin grumbled, letting go of the intercom button and throwing himself backwards in the chair. I saw his mouth continue moving in a string of obscenities, but I couldn't hear them with the com off. I took a deep breath through my nose. As I watched, Dan said something to Kev and Kevin threw his hands up in the air and stormed out of the room.

Dan leaned forward and pressed the com, “I think you're taking a break,” he said, a bit of a question lifting the end of the sentence.

“Fine,” I said. I pulled the headset off and dropped it onto the stool behind me, abandoning the cheese-ass lyrics. I pushed my way out of the booth. I didn't know where Kevin went, but I knew I needed coffee - strong coffee - if I was going to deal with him being a bitch all day like this.

I jogged down the steps into the parking lot of the studio. There was a construction team working on the high rise across the street. I tilted my head back to look up-up-up at the scaffolding and cranes and shit they had lining the building's skeleton, then pulled out my cell phone and opened up the Maps app to reorient myself with this part of the city. There had to be coffee nearby somewhere within walking distance, I told myself. And sure enough, there was.

We were on the West End of Nashville, just off Music Row, a few blocks from Vanderbilt hospital. It was an old studio, historical, even, and we'd only scored a day's worth of recording time there, which was part of why I didn't want to sing some bullshit song we were never going to release. Cheese doesn't make for good A&R, but fuckin-god-forbid I argue about things like that. Kevin always acted as though I was being an unreasonable child when I had an opinion.

I rolled my eyes and shoved my hands in my pockets, setting off down the street toward the coffee shop. It was chilly – probably technically warm for the time of year, but I'm a Florida-California boy through and through and anything under eighty is “chilly” to me. Cars rushed past me in midafternoon traffic, though the sidewalks were mostly clear. Which is why it's weird I didn't realize she was following me until she stepped into the cafe behind me.

JJ's Market was a messy little coffee hovel a couple blocks from the Vanderbilt college campus, and you could tell. It was a teeny grocery and coffee place with a whole rack of single-serve Poptarts to select from. I shook myself off from the cold as the heater enveloped me and heard the ding-ding of the door behind me as she came in. I turned around. The girl who had followed me was tall, for a girl, and had short black hair in a bob that framed her face. She blushed when I looked back at her, and ducked down the aisle closest to us.

Maybe it was just a coincidence she'd been behind me the whole way here, I thought.

I walked past the little grocery, not really interested in any of that (although they were the only retailer in Nashville that had roasted corn flavored Toblerone and that was always a temptation), and went out to the cafe area to order myself the biggest cup of coffee they had. The cafe half of JJ's looks like something straight out of Friends, and it struck me as I waited my turn at the counter that I should've brought AJ along. I'd have to bring him down here before he left Nashville, I told myself.

When I had my coffee, I decided to sit for a few minutes before going back, so I could collect my thoughts and decide what I was going to say to Kevin when I returned. I sat down in an old orange chair and leaned back, sipping my coffee and looking around the brick-walled room. There was a huddle of college kids playing Taboo at one table, and most everyone else in the room had headphones on, staring at complex looking med student notes. The guy at the table nearest me had a page up displaying a colorful, weird-shaped cell thing that was labeled “RABIES” in big letters. He was eating one of the strawberry Pop-Tarts from that rack.

Suddenly the girl that had followed me came over and sat down in the old orange chair that matched mine, just on the other side of a small end table. She sat at the edge of the seat, looking all jittery, and stared at me until I lowered my coffee from my mouth. I stared back at her for a moment. “Can I… help you?” I asked.

“Hi,” she said. She looked really nervous.

I realized I could go easy on her – she obviously must've been a fan and probably wanted a picture and an autograph or something (although this sort of behavior isn't really usual in Nashville, people tend to be more cool when they see a famous person around the city which was part of why I liked Nashville so much) – but where was the fun in that? “Hi,” I answered back in a tone like I was unaware of what she could possibly want.

“You're Nick Carter, right?” she asked.

I nodded slowly and sipped my coffee.

She thrust her hand to me. “I'm Lemon,” she said.

I lowered my coffee and shook her hand, “Lemon?” I asked. “Like… the fruit?”

She nodded. “Well, and the pie. I think mostly the pie. Like lemon meringue pie? My mom craved it when she was pregnant so she named me Lemon. I blame the painkillers.” She said all that really fast, the words kind of blurring together from nervousness. “I mean, whoever heard of naming somebody Lemon, that's not even a name. Like you said, it's a fruit! Or a pie, like in my case.”

I blinked at her.

“Sorry, I'm rambling. I always ramble when I get nervous. It's like I just start saying things and I can't stop, all these words just keep coming out of my mouth, like – what was it they called that in that one movie Lindsay Lohan was in? Word vomit?”

“Yeah,” I answered, nodding, appreciating the Mean Girls reference enough to sort of half smirk at her.

“So, yeah, word vomit. Sorry for the word vomit,” she streamed on. “It's just, like, I think my brain starts overworking when I'm nervous so I just say stuff to fill the empty void, especially when the person I'm nervous about talking to is kind of quiet and you seem kind of quiet, and it's quiet in here, too, because of everyone listening to their iPods instead of talking, which is weird, right, for a cafe? Like the silence and --” I raised my eyebrow and she flushed, “And I'm doing it again. I'm sorry. So… yes. Nick, I'm Lemon.”

“Hi, Lemon,” I said. It occurred to me that nobody on the face of the earth could look less like someone who should be named Lemon. She had a very dark complexion.

“Hi,” she said.

She fidgeted in her seat while I took another sip of my coffee. This was one of the more awkward fan encounters I'd had, so I decided to just cut it short. “Look, I gotta get back to the studio we're taping at today… Do you want like a selfie or something before I go?”

Lemon flushed again. “No, that's okay. I just wanted to – to say hi.”

“Okay,” I said, “Well. Hi.” I stood up.

“Hi,” she said again. She also stood up.

I didn't know what else to do so I shrugged, “Bye,” I said, and I headed for the door of the little grocery, carrying my coffee.

Outside, I realized she was following me.

“Look, seriously, if you want a selfie, we can, like, do that,” I suggested, walking backwards on the sidewalk to look back at her as I went. I almost bumped into a valet guy standing outside of the restaurant next door to the market. “I don't mind taking it.”

Lemon ducked around the valet guy and shook her head, “No it's not that, it's just --” she bit her lip, “I was hoping to maybe… to maybe see Kevin?”

Of course. She wanted to see the other guys. I sighed. “He's in a shitty mood today, you might do better to come another time to see him.” Although usually Kevin was good at aiming his shit moods only at me and keeping others out of the crosshairs.

“Oh,” Lemon said. We came to a stop at a corner as cars rushed past and I hit the pedestrian button. “Yeah… I don't want to bother him in a bad mood.”

She looked sad or something, though, and I felt myself – against my better judgement – actually feeling kind of bad for her. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “Look, this is the only day we're recording at this same studio, but we're still gonna be in Nashville a while longer taping, just further down the street here… We always get coffee, but usually we all go to the Frothy Monkey on 8th on the way in to the studio...” I shrugged, “AJ's addicted to their sweet potato latte, y'know? So I'm just saying… if someone was there... around, say, ten in the morning… they'd probably get to meet all five of us.” I shrugged.

Lemon looked up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I replied.

Her eyes lit up, sparkling, and… I dunno, something about the way she looked I suddenly felt like I'd seen her before some place, but I didn't quite know where. There was just something disturbingly familiar about her and I wondered if she'd gone to concerts in the area before.

Suddenly the little tweety-crosswalk sound started and I realized we could go across the street, so I turned and we both jogged over to the other side. “I gotta get back,” I said, thumbing behind me, “So… yeah.”

“Thank you,” Lemon said.

I nodded and raised my cup of coffee at her in a cheers, then turned and walked up the street, trying to ignore the fact that I could feel her watching me wall the way. “Fuckin' weirdo,” I muttered.