The Ruby Riot Series: Box Set Part 45

Jake grins. "Yeah."

I laugh as Anne rolls her eyes at his less than enthusiastic response.

We reach the house and step into the blue haze. The familiar smell of weed overcomes the damp odour and I edge around the drunk girl asleep on a pile of coats on the floor. Along the cracked tiled hallway, the kitchen door is open and crowded with people. I wave at Fiona and a group of people I've spent the last couple of years studying with.

"Beer?" asks Jake and pulls a can from his plastic bag.

"Thanks." I open the can and deliberate whether to go into the lounge room. I want to catch up with friends I haven't seen for weeks, but doubt we'd hold a conversation over the music volume in there.

"Fleur!" Fiona calls from the kitchen and waves back. I'm about to walk towards her when I'm knocked into, hard, from behind.

Two girls, one who throws an apology at me on the way past, head into the lounge. I step to one side and another three or four appear and I'm shoved aside by the group.

"Excuse me!" I call.

I'm ignored by everybody apart from a straggler. The blonde haired girl with heavily made up eyes and an enviable piercing collection stops and grins stupidly, bottle of designer cider in her hand.

"Sorry! We're just excited!"

First year. I guess she never went to many parties before her student days; this isn't exactly wild. "Right."

"Are you a fan?" She looks me up and down. Compared to her blue and white striped leggings and black tank top, my short floral skirt and black leggings topped off with a plain blue s.h.i.+rt is smart attire.

"A fan of what?"

"Ruby Riot. The twins are here." Her eyes sparkle beneath the black kohl.

Ah, right. Ruby Riot fan girls. Great. UCL, like many universities, has its fair share of wannabe bands and followers, although Ruby Riot took a step from obscure to popular and were last seen supporting Blue Phoenix on tour. The guys already had an att.i.tude, especially the guitarist, Jax, and now have collected a group of hangers-on who follow them around campus. With the new influx of first year girls, it looks like their entourage is about to grow. I have faint memories of watching the band play a couple of years back, but they're not my kind of music.

The twins, Will and Nate, major in history too and I've seen them around in lectures the last couple of years but never shared cla.s.ses with them. They disappeared when Ruby Riot began their ascent to stardom and were hardly on campus. Who knows? I don't follow their story. Maybe it's not quite time for the group to 'give up the day job'. I'm surprised the band is back; surely supporting Blue Phoenix equals the big time?

Still, they have fame on campus and I expect the Campbell brothers brought their newfound status with them.

I spot Will and Nate holding court at one end of the large lounge room. I've known twins before, but these guys are impossible to tell apart. If I was a twin, I'd dress differently, wear my hair in a different style, try to carve my own image to indicate the fact my face matched somebody else wasn't what defined me. Not this pair; their identical appearance is carefully cultivated.

There's no denying Will and Nate Campbell are stars. Their confident stance and self-a.s.sured aura pull girls into their orbit. Helps they're attractive, though I doubt it would matter now if they were average or not because fame is an aphrodisiac. The pair are tall, wiry with the right amount of muscle, and dressed in black denim, combat boots with distressed band tees. A twins could've stepped out of a rocker fas.h.i.+on shoot. Their dark brown hair is spiked at the front and cut short around the sides, full mouths, and just the right amount of scruff on their faces. Definitely poster boys.

Not my type. Give me an intelligent guy with a hint of vulnerability any day. Nice hair, clean, attractive, and not covered in ink and metal.

Like Ethan.

Not that he ever notices me. Still, if I had the courage to speak to Ethan that would help. Once, drunk, I attempted to introduce myself, but I'm unsure he noticed. Call him my mission for this year. Ethan is good friends with the group who live here; maybe he's around. I'll begin this year the way I mean to go on: standing up for what I want and making it happen. Ethan will be good start.

An hour later, and the beer I brought with me and left in the kitchen is almost gone. I examine the bottles in case there's an unopened one.

"You always ignore me. You're rude."

I turn to the owner of the voice. Will. Or Nate. Who knows? Or cares. Declining to respond, I throw him a dirty look and head into the hallway.

"What's your name?" he calls, presumably at me. I ignore him. Ethan's around, I spotted him in the lounge and he wasn't with a girl. I need to talk to him before I lose the courage.

The mystery twin catches up and stands between me and the door. "Tell me your name."

I look into his green eyes, at his dilated pupils. Drunk. Or high. Probably both. "Fleur." I step to one side to pa.s.s and he matches me.

"I'm Will."

"h.e.l.lo, Will. Excuse me." I set my sights on Ethan. What does Will want?

"Talk to me."

I switch my look to him unable to hide my surprise. "Why?"

"You're cute." He casts a look along the length of my body before looking back and biting on his lip piercing.

Oh, good G.o.d. I point over his shoulder where Nate stands, with girls surrounding him. "Try one of those girls."

"Nah, too easy."

I scowl. "That's rude."

"Hey, not my fault chicks throw themselves at me."

"Excuse me while I vomit!"

His drunken smile grows. "Truth."

I attempt to pa.s.s him again, but a wall of pseudo-rock star blocks my way. "Fleur. That's French, right? Flower. What kind of flower are you?" He leans forward and his nose practically touches my neck, the heavy smell of alcohol on his breath. "You don't smell flowery. Fruity."

I step back, rubbing my neck where his breath touched my skin. "Will, I have no idea why you've decided to talk to me, but please go away."

I sidestep and again he matches me. "You're really pretty."

"You're high. Otherwise, you'd get the hint I don't want to talk to you."

Over Will's shoulder, I spot Ethan and we catch each other's eye. I smile and Ethan frowns slightly. I know why: the burbling idiot blocking my way.

The one who now has hold of my hair and is tucking a strand behind my ear.

Stunned, I grab Will's hand. He twists mine into his. "I've seen you before. Wanted to talk to you."

Will's fingers surround mine, the metal from his rings digging into my skin. I drag my hand away. "Leave me alone. This is hara.s.sment," I hiss. "Touch me again and I'll slap you."

Will's eyes register shock. "I've seen you loads of times and you never noticed me."

"What?"

"Two years. In lectures. Around campus. Wanted to talk to you, but I was too shy." He giggles.

"Shy?" The loudmouth Will and Nate aren't who I'd call shy. "You didn't look very shy five minutes ago with that girl attached to your lips."

"That's before I knew you were here!"

I cross my arms. This guy has the weirdest lines. He may be telling the truth about seeing me on campus or lectures, but I am not Will Campbell's type. If Will expects me to believe this behaviour is more than a game, he's wrong.

Ethan. The longer I stand talking to this drunken d.i.c.khead, the more he'll think I'm hitting on a rock star. Desperately, I look over attempting to catch Ethan's eye again, but he's not looking anymore. Nate appears in my line of vision.

"Hey, Will, what you up to?"

"Tell your brother to leave me alone."

They really are identical. I've never been close enough to see their faces clearly, but I can't see any difference. I expected a freckle, something, but no. Nate rubs his chin. "C'mon, leave her alone. She's not your type, man."

"Fleur's cute. Don't you think she's cute?"

Nate pulls an apologetic face. "Sorry. He probably can't even see you properly."

"I can! She has eyes like the sky and hair like straw." Will frowns to himself. "No. Not like straw, I mean the colour. Her hair's soft. So pretty..."

Will reaches out to touch again and Nate grabs his hand. "Dude!"

I'm aware of whispers. I side-glance people around and an uncomfortable number of eyes are on Will and me. Loud, obnoxious Will.

"Who thinks Fleur's cute?" Will calls and indicates me. "Seriously, I'd do her!"

Whoa. Out of line. Biting back a retort, I shove him in the chest. The action escapes Will's notice, but the incident attracts more attention. Everybody close by stops their conversation to watch us.

"Move!" I hiss at Will then look at Nate for support. No point - Nate's joined the amused crowd in watching for drunken Will's next move.

As if things couldn't get any worse, Will launches into a high-pitched version of James Blunt's "You're Beautiful".

OhmiG.o.d. This is not happening to me.

The quiet giggling intensifies, as does Nate's amus.e.m.e.nt at his stoned or drunk or maybe both brother.

If I were a lesser person, I'd run, crying at the embarra.s.sment; but I don't put up with this c.r.a.p from anybody.

"You a.r.s.ehole," I say in a low voice, hoping n.o.body hears.

Will apparently doesn't either, and he stares over my shoulder for a moment, rummaging in his pocket. He pulls out his phone and mutters, as he focuses on the screen.

Next thing, Will has an arm wrapped around my neck and his phone camera flashes in my face. "What the h.e.l.l?" I yell at him, blinking away the white across my vision from the flash. I sling his arm off my shoulder and step back.

"f.u.c.k, Will!" Nate s.n.a.t.c.hes the phone off him. "s.h.i.+t, sorry, Fleur."

"I only want a picture to remember her by. I don't think she's going to talk to me again," slurs Will.

"Correct! Come near me again and I will not be responsible for my actions."

Will pouts then giggles. Unable to take any more, I push past the twins, ignoring the stunned silence around, and head to Ethan.

Who is now talking to another girl.

2.

TWO WEEKS LATER.

WILL.

Touring with Blue Phoenix fooled us into thinking we'd hit the big time and would never return to our ordinary lives again. Yeah, Ruby Riot dominates our corner of the music scene, we're bombarded with questions and posts on social media, fan mail, and the whole deal. But, at the end of the day, we're three guys and a girl in a band.

The band's progress halted and life rewound when our lead singer, Ruby, danced off into the sunset with the Blue Phoenix guitarist and a baby on the way. Jax lost his s.h.i.+t over Ruby getting knocked up by Jem; but what's the point in freaking out? She'll come back; Ruby lives and breathes her music more than any of us. Apart from Jax, who was recently caught in feminine wiles of his own. Tegan, Bryn Hughes sister, kicked his backside into line in a spectacular fas.h.i.+on. I can almost see the thumbprint on his forehead. Things lulled as we finished the alb.u.m and while Ruby has her baby. Then, we try again.

So, me and Nate rewind several months, back to studying and fulfilling our promise to parents. Mine still think we need a back-up plan for when our little musical venture fails. If they'd bothered to pay attention to our lives over the last few months, Mum and Dad would know this isn't likely to happen any time soon.

We spent all our money from the tour within weeks. Now the choice is a job, which equals less time and energy to rehea.r.s.e, or doing what the parents want and dutifully completing our degrees. No big deal, only a year left now.

Okay, big deal because I f.u.c.ked up last year. I need high marks in all my courses this year or I'm going to fail my degree. An Arts degree. n.o.body fails an Arts degree.

Living the rock star dream involved more than the odd weekend gig rehearsals, obligatory partying, and girls. Hangovers equal missed lectures; but somehow, Nate juggled his student/rock star life as adeptly as his drumsticks. Nate studies the same course as I do, but we choose different cla.s.s times. As only a handful of people in the world can tell us apart, between us we manage to attend at least one of the cla.s.ses a week and keep our attendance average.

Nate became slack at note-taking last year, his hungover haze interfering with the ability to open his laptop, but somehow he muddled through and pa.s.sed. I came a tiny percentage away from failing the majority of courses.

I only have myself to blame.

The worst subject is history. Nate talked me into this as our major, and I agreed, thought it would be easy, but no. Hardly any cla.s.ses to attend, but so much f.u.c.king study. We study English lit too; that's easier to sc.r.a.pe through by reading notes and creating my own crazy theories. History is b.l.o.o.d.y complicated.

Two weeks in, and things are off to a bad start.

"s.h.i.+t!" I throw my paper at Nate, across the table in the cafe.

He looks at the a.s.signment-marking sheet on the front and screws his nose up. "Oh, man. Fifteen percent? Was that for getting your name right?"

"I'm f.u.c.ked!" I grumble and sit next to him. "What about you?"

"Sixty-three percent."

"How? How do you do that?"