Break It Up (E.M. Tippetts) by E.M. Tippetts

Author:E.M. Tippetts
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2013-11-11T23:00:00+00:00

ONCE WE’RE on the ground in Lisbon, Zach announces that the band will spend the afternoon giving interviews. Rick does not seem happy about this but says nothing.

“No way,” says Ben. “Gimme a break.”

The air outside the plane is hot and so muggy it feels like I have to swim through it. Our surroundings shimmer mirage-like in the heat, and the breeze smells like jet fuel. Brent trains his camera on the feuding cousins.

Great, just great. The band has wanted a concert movie for so long, and here they are, giving it footage like this. I wish there was something I could do, but obviously, there isn’t. Even if Aidan will blur my face out of his shots, there’s always a chance of getting shot by paparazzi when we’re in the open like this. One long-range lens could easily snag pictures of me interacting with the guys.

Thus, I have to make sure I don’t—or if I do, that it doesn’t look the least bit interesting.

“Ben, show a little gratitude,” says Zach. “Fans put us where we are today.”

“Talent put us where we are today,” Ben shoots back.

“No it didn’t,” says Logan.

I wince and all three of the guys look at me. I stay firmly in Brent’s shadow, too close to be shot, and make a cutting gesture across my throat at Logan. The last thing they want to say in their documentary is that they don’t have talent. Maybe some fans will find it adorably humble, but it’s still a bad sound bite. No sooner have I completed the gesture than I realize that here I am, interacting with the band. I’ll just have to hope no paparazzi are watching and that I’m just paranoid.

Logan’s expression goes from obstinate to defeated. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll do the interviews.”

Ben waggles his eyebrows at me. “Yeah, okay.”

I notice Zach’s poised to thank them and I shake my head. Don’t, I think. Don’t make them think they’re doing it for you.

He freezes then says, “’Kay, let’s go get ready.”

The three singers file on past us and the crew, their shoulders slouched. They look exhausted. The rest of us follow the band at a discreet distance, if there is any such thing as a “discreet distance” for a camera crew.

Aidan punches me lightly in the shoulder. “You sure you don’t want to be in this film?”

“Positive.”

“Okay, well, listen. You can’t do any more interactions like you just did without featuring in some way.”

“So keep quiet?” I say.

“Or sign a release.”

Keep quiet it is.

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