Chapter 3

When The World Didn't End

……………

"I'm sorry." My head jerked up at the sound of Jacob's voice. "You okay?" Was I okay? Was he kidding?

I shook my head. No use in pretending.

"Um, who…who i-was she?" Shit. Shit shit shit.

"Uh, she's my little cousin's mom, and a real good friend of mine." Wow, that was quick thinking on my part. Alright, who went and took over my brain while I wasn't looking?

Strange thoughts you have in situations like these, huh?

"You're little cousin's mom? Your aunt?"

"No, not quite. It's kinda complicated." Actually, I did have a cousin whose dad wasn't my uncle, so that wasn't so unbelievable. And it was complicated, just not the way I had him think.

And why am I sitting here explaining this to myself? Shouldn't I be doing something? Calling someone? Crying? Oh, wait. Already did.

"Um, do you need to call Mike and Mike?" I looked at him cluelessly. "Uh, you told your mom that you were coming out there. Right? So, you need to call them to get the schedule fixed." Oh, yeah. That made sense, didn't it?

"Yeah," was all I could think of to say.

"Do you want me to talk to them?"

I looked up at him gratefully. "Yeah. Thanks."

"No problem." He stood there uncertainly for a moment, looking very uncomfortable. I guess he didn't know much about consoling people whose friends have just died. I'd really prefer to be left alone to wallow in self-pity for a little while, thanks. "I'll, uh, go call, now."

I nodded in relief as he went into the kitchen to give me a little privacy. I heard him carrying on a one-sided conversation, but didn't concentrate on it enough to understand what he said. Instead, I let the murmuring lull me into a relaxed, almost euphoric state of half-consciousness. I wondered carelessly if this was a result of shock, and what I must look like sitting on the couch, with my shoes on the cushions and my head on my knees, a phone in my lap, and my mouth hanging open in a stupor. Probably not what you see in your average magazine. Unless it's a National Inquirer article. I could see the headline now, "Boyband Member Forced To Listen To His Singing, Truth About Their Music Revealed."

Once again, strange thoughts you have in situations like these.

I chewed on my lip some more as I thought about anything and everything but Katie. I don't know how long it was that I sat there before I realized that I wasn't hearing Jacob's voice any longer. I looked up, startled, when he cleared his throat from the doorway.

"Hey Ash, Mike wants to know when you want to leave."

Now. Like, right now. What I needed was one of those handy things like they had on Star Trek, where you just stood there and said, 'Beam me up, Scottie,' and *zap* you were there. "Uh, like as soon as I can get to the airport. The next flight out." Wasn't that the name of a song? Next flight out? No. It was…hold on, just a sec. It was…aha! "Last Flight Out," by Plus One. Yeah. And there was that song, "Leaving On A Jetplane."

"He says we have rehearsal tomorrow that you have to be at. Why?" It took me a minute to realize that the last question was directed towards Mike. "But—yeah, I know, but—" He sighed. "Well, it's just—uh." He paused, rolling his eyes heavenward. I wondered if that was where Katie was now. Well, yeah, hopefully. "Ok, fine. Ash, there's some kinda specialist we called out to meet with us tomorrow, and he threw a fit about having to fit us into his busy—" Jacob made mocking quotations with his fingers— "schedule, and we can't change it and you have to be there."

I was already shaking my head. I was going, whether they liked it or not. Screw them. Screw rehearsal, screw the freaking specialist. Screw management. While we're at it, just screw the whole frickin' world. Stop the world, I wanna get off.

"No way. I'm going."

"He says he's going." Jacob listened for a minute, frowning, and I wondered why he was still messenger boy. "Well, no, it's his, uh, cousin?" he looked at me questioningly and I nodded. "Ah, Ash? He says that immediate family emergencies are the only priorities over business. Uh, and he says sorry." Yeah, I bet he's sorry. Sorry my ass.

"Fine," I practically shouted. "Screw him, screw this whole damn thing. I'm going!"