He leaned back down. "Yeah. Now's not the best time. . ." He tightened his mouth and looked away.
I tried to lighten the mood. "Room's not made up yet?"
My joke cracked Bigger Tim's facade and he blew out a half-laugh. "Okay, what the fuck? Go on in. You won't last long, anyway." With a smirk, he pulled away a section of the fence.
Why did everyone think I'd wash out? Were the Fiery Boys the most evil band ever, or did the crew have me pegged as a timid wallflower? Even Bigger Tim seemed to dislike me, more than the others. I wondered if his bet was measured in hours instead of days.
As we pulled up to the Fiery Boys bus, I realized that I didn't care what the crew thought. I was here now, and nothing could take that away. Big Tim already liked me and Jason didn't hate me too much. I'd simply have to work on Bigger Tim, too.
I got out of the car and stared at my new home for the next week. The tour bus loomed over me, tall and black with flaming red highlights. And inside it were my rock heroes. The big red band name screamed to me in bold letters that were as tall as I was. "Fiery Boys!" it yelled. "Door's open; step right up."
I should have raced up the steps-I'd imagined doing it hundreds of times. But something held me back. Maybe I wanted to soak in this moment. I needed to remember, for the rest of my life, the day I first climbed on board. Or maybe I was worried that I would wash out. Bigger Tim's reticence certainly didn't help.
Whatever it was, I stood by the huge bus, unable to move. My heart pounded so hard that I thought everyone could see it beating, stretching away from my chest then snapping back like a cartoon character in love.
I had to admit the truth: I simply wasn't ready to meet them. Not that I'd ever be. My busy mind also wondered if I was even worthy. But I quickly told that part of me that I was at least as worthy as those groupies by the fence who, by the way, were now shouting derisive comments at me.
"Cheater! She doesn't deserve this."
"Why does she get a free pass?"
"Look! She's dressed like my mom."
That last one hurt. It was true, though. I had on modest light-green shorts, white sneakers, and a long gray blouse with a blue scarf. Sadly, I realized that I was dressed like that groupie's mother.
Kira had given me lectures about how to dress like a rock goddess. She had even given me some of her outfits, just in case the right opportunity came along. But I didn't want to show up like that. And I certainly couldn't compete with the women at the fence for slut supremacy.