Starstruck

Peter was attempting to lug his suitcase across the threshold of the Leeds’ family home. It was a struggle; the wheels got caught on the corner and he became frustrated as it jammed into the corner over and over again. He had packed far too much for the amount of days they were gone for, but he didn’t know what the weather was like in California. One day it could be raining, or a cold front could move in, or the sun would beat down on him and make him sweat bullets-- Peter really had no clue, and just knowing he was prepared, calmed him down.

Mr. Leeds saw Peter’s distress. He ran over to the doorway and lifted the suitcase, placing it under the coat rack. “Jeesh, Peter! What’d you pack? Gold bars?”

“I wish,” he said, adding a slight chuckle. Mr. Leeds, although being the father of Peter’s best friend that he had known for nearly a decade, had never really been someone Peter was entirely comfortable around. They had small, awkward discussions about what was on the news, but other than that, their only exchanges were Peter asking where Ned was, and Mr. Leeds answering. Now, they were all going on vacation together. “Thank you, Mr. Leeds.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. I just wish my son could peel himself away from the TV for two seconds, so I wouldn’t have had to strain my back.” Mr. Leeds waited for Peter to laugh, and when he didn’t, he hurryingly added, “I’m joking! My back is just fine for someone who is pushing fifty.”

Peter forced a smile. He liked that Mr. Leeds was trying; he still wished that Ned would come around and save him, though.

He excused himself from the interaction and drifted towards the living room. The Leeds’ three suitcases were resting against the couch, all of them much smaller than Peter’s rolling one. And on the couch was Ned, who was absolutely mesmerized by what was on the TV. “Put you on repeat,” he sang along to the lyrics, “Play you everywhere I go, everywhere I go.”

Of course this was what he was doing, Peter found himself thinking. Rewatching all of Michelle Jones’ tour videos, for the umpteenth time. Frankly, Ned was obsessed with her; his room was covered in Michelle Jones memorabilia, he and his girlfriend started the MJ Fan Club! and he started printing out all the times she had noticed their Twitter account, and he was threatening his parents that he’d get a tattoo of her face on his eighteenth birthday. A threat that Peter was entirely convinced wasn’t empty in the slightest.

Ned just loved her. He loved the way her voice sounded and how kind she was to her fans. He loved how her music spoke to him. He loved how she was only seventeen, like him, and she was already the number one debut artist.

Peter, on the other hand, didn’t get his fascination. She was a bit… overrated. Her music sounded too electronic for his taste, but he wasn’t going to bash her for that alone, since everyone had different tastes. But Peter would bash her just for the relentless onslaught of times Ned talked about her. It was all the damn time. He would scream about her outfits and her selfies and her date nights with her boyfriend--a relationship that wasn’t even confirmed, Peter would clarify--and now, Peter was developing an acid reflux for when her name was mentioned.

Maybe he was being overdramatic. Michelle Jones was probably a decent person, and was loved by many, but he was just so sick of hearing about her. But, she made Ned happy, so Peter was sticking to his sarcastic comments and was trying to ride out the Michelle Jones love parade. Eventually, he would find something new to obsess over, and that day would be the best fucking day of Peter’s life.

“Ned,” he spoke, but wasn’t awarded with a reaction. Spotting the remote, Peter leaned over the couch and seized it, slammed the Off button, and then slid it into his pocket.

“Dude! What the hell!” Ned yelled, turning around in his seat. “I was watching that!”

“Dude!” Peter mimicked. “Go get ready to go.”

His friend bit the inside of his mouth, staring Peter down. “I am ready… When did you get here?”

Mrs. Leeds came bouncing in from the hallway, her hand patting Peter on the shoulder as she passed him. He had a better relationship with her than her husband; she was the one who supervised everything-- sleepovers and rides on the metro and concerts when they were little, and would always pay for Peter’s half of things. She didn’t mind, as she had sympathy for the Parker family. They had been through too much in such little time. “Get off the couch,” she commanded her son. “You should be thankful that Peter is coming at all.”

“W-- I am! Really, I am. I won’t survive my grandma’s without you, Pete.” Ned let out a sigh and, when his mom shot him another glare, bitterly rose to his feet. His shoulders slumped as he relaxed, and he pulled his friend in for a loose hug. “Thank you for coming.”

“You’ve said that like, a million times.”

“Still. Thank you, dude.” His mood shifted now, becoming more energetic as he eagerly shifted from foot to foot. “So, I was thinking, we start off by visiting that little café she always goes to. Just in case she’s there.”

When Ned asked Peter to go, he had agreed but, “Only if there’s no MJ nonsense.” Ned swore up and down that no, they wouldn’t be engaging in tomfoolery, and would go around and look at all the basic tourist spots. Of course, Ned didn’t see that as a binding contract. He was going to meet Michelle Jones. Hopefully. It increased his chances if he went to her favorite spots.

Peter couldn’t back out now, not when they were already halfway out the door.

“You said no MJ nonsense,” Peter reminded him.

“This isn’t nonsense! This is important, life altering, MJ sh-- stuff.” Ned was hyper aware of his parents behind him, knowing too well what it felt like to have their glare on him. “Just think about it, okay? Please?”

Peter thumbed his opposite palm, looking upon what seemed to be a face of pure optimism. Ned didn’t need to meet Michelle, and Peter sure as hell didn’t. If he met her, and if he enjoyed meeting her, then hell would have frozen over. “I’ll think about it,” he then agreed, but only because he knew his later answer.

They soon departed for the airport. Peter gave his aunt May one last call when they got there, where she stressed the importance of him and Ned sticking together at all times. “Promise me, Peter. Otherwise I’ll just worry every single second of every day and convince myself that Ned left you in some crack den.”

“Crack den?” he scoffed, and received glares from an older gentleman sitting near him. “May, where would we even find one of those?”

“They’re somewhere. Just promise.” She had drilled that into him since the day Peter asked if he could go. The buddy system, May preached, was important. Even though her nephew was seventeen years old-- that didn’t matter. To her, he was still that five year old that was thrown into her arms, who got lost at Sea World.

“I promise, May. But promise me that you won’t be thinking about where I am the whole time.”

She sighed, “I guess I won’t. Imagine all the new wrinkles I would have if I did, though. Ugh.” May smiled, hearing Peter’s chuckle. She already missed him, and was already beginning to fret over if he’d even make it to California. (Plane crashes weren’t common, at all, but still, May’s stomach was twisting into knots.) “Love you, kid. Call me when you get there.”

“Yeah, I will. Love you, too.” Peter hung the phone up and slumped into his seat. He pressed play on his favorite playlist--full of hits from The Beatles and The Rolling Stones and The Who and other similar rock bands, because he had taste--and waited to board the plane.

His playlist carried him all the way into Los Angeles, only fading into silence about halfway to Grandma Leeds’ house. At that point, Peter didn’t mind and unplugged his earbuds and shoved them into his backpack. He and Ned sat in the back of the rental car, the both of them peering out the window with pure excitement.

Peter had never been outside New York before, and to experience the outside world with his best friend was going to be exhilarating. He was looking at palm trees. Palm trees. The mythical flora he saw in TV shows that compelled him to think of the beach. He had yet to see the Hollywood sign, or any other landmark, but one day he’d get there. On the plane, instead of thinking about Ned’s request, he wrote out an itinerary.

Day one just included landing and resting at Grandma Leeds’ house. He wrote down ‘Beach?’ But only in case there was a beach nearby. Peter didn’t want to do too much in that first day, of course.

Although, Ned was sitting next to him, with a completely different plan. He was finally receiving all the texts from his girlfriend, when she sent him a link to an article. The headline read: Michelle Jones to perform at boyfriend’s birthday party? It clearly specified that it was a rumor, however Ned was already convinced. The party was being held at an all ages club that night, and he instantly came up with an excuse to tell his parents.

They pulled into Grandma Leeds’ house to find her squinting down at her phone. She looked up, shocked and elated. “I’ve been trying to track you!” she yelled once they got out of the car. She was a short and round woman, with wrinkles embedded into her skin. Mainly, smile wrinkles-- Peter could already tell she would never stop grinning. “Every single one of your phones says you’re still in New York.”

Ned pulled his grandmother into a hug, and then his father and his mother. Peter stood by the rental car, fidgeting with the handle of his suitcase. “Hi, Mrs. Leeds,” he greeted. The last time Peter saw her was when he was ten, when Ned had his tonsils taken out. His grandma took Peter out for lunch, since she saw how worried the little boy was.

“You are so big!” she yelped. “Come here, come here.”

Peter left his suitcase by the car and jogged in front of her, reciprocating her smile while they briefly hugged. Meanwhile, Ned checked his watch-- it was five p.m. An hour and a half until Michelle was rumored to perform.

“Hey, Grandma?” Ned started, his voice getting high. “So… I can’t drive the rental, since you need to be twenty-five. D-do you think I could--”

“Edward,” his mom’s voice was strict. “Don’t you think you should spend time with your grandmother instead of galavanting around the city?”

His grandmother let go of Peter, and began to dig her keys out of her pocket. “He doesn’t want to spend time in this stuffy house, Elaine. Let him and his friend have fun! So, kids, what are the plans for tonight?”

Peter croaked, blanking on his response of, Oh, well, I kind of just hope to stay in, actually. Instead, Ned pipped up as the keys slid into his hands. “Peter really, really wants to see some of the big tourist places, so I’m going to show him my favorite spots. That’s okay, right?”

Grandma Leeds beamed, her only demand was that they be safe and stick together. Ned’s parents nervously glanced at each other, disliking the fact that they were letting two seventeen year olds--only one of them their own--explore a city that was practically unfamiliar.

Still, Peter found himself sinking into a violently hot pink 1997 Toyota Corolla. He was bottling his emotions, letting out a yawn instead as Ned pulled out of the driveway. They gave his family a wave goodbye. “So,” Ned said, “MJ is performing at this club downtown. You don’t mind, right?”

“Oh, god, Ned. Are you serious?”

“Y-yeah. Please, Peter? Pretty please?” He reached over the middle console and nudged Peter’s thigh. “This is super important.”

He whacked Ned’s hand away. “She is just a stupid celebrity. It’s not that important.”

“You’re only saying that because all your idols are dead. If Bon Jovi walked into the school, are you telling me that wouldn’t be the most important moment of your life?”

“Bon Jovi is still alive.”

Ned groaned. He hated making Peter upset or uncomfortable, so he wasn’t going to force him into anything. But he needed to attend this. If not for himself, then for Betty, who was arguably a bigger fan of Michelle. “If I meet her, I’ll stop talking about her for the rest of the trip. Swear on everything. Swear on our friendship.”

“Ned--” Peter glanced at his friend, who was pouting his lips and was crossing his fingers, murmuring ‘please’ over and over again. “Fine. But I’m staying in the car.”

“Deal! Oh my God, I’m so excited. I wonder what she’s wearing. I wonder what she’ll sing. I hope she sings Replay.”

They pulled into a drive thru before making it to the venu, as Peter’s stomach wouldn’t stop rumbling. And, as Ned pulled into a tight spot right in front of the building, subsequently leaving Peter alone as he disappeared into the large crowd, Peter finished his burger. His seat was all the way back, his feet on the dashboard, his favorite songs playlist playing once more. He was completely fine on his own.

The car door was locked, obviously. The line outside was too long and crowded for Peter not to be nervous, and every so often he would check if Ned was in his view. But, not once did Peter ever find him. Hopefully, he made it inside. (Peter had already broken May’s rule of sticking together. Whatever-- she didn’t have to know.)

So, for close to an hour, Peter sat there. He sucked his milkshake dry and emptied the bag free of loose french fries. He scrolled through his phone, trying to find something interesting to do to pass the time. There was absolutely nothing. And as time progressed, Peter became less and less fine with being alone in that car.

Grabbing the keys from the ignition, he made a rash decision and exited the vehicle. He locked the car door, departing onto the hard pavement. Peter’s stomach turned when he saw the crowd outside the door; it was possibly even longer than it was just a small bit before. Paparazzi, also, clambered to get a good view, and every so often knocked into some unhappy pedestrians. Peter, deciding that was the last thing he wanted to deal with, wondered if there was another way in.

He peered around the building and spotted an alleyway. It had just gotten dark outside, the sun not even completely set, so it was still lit. Peter walked down it at a slower pace. He pulled his phone out to text Ned, only glancing up once to spot a door leading into the club. Peter drafted his text, ‘Are you almost done? I’m--’

Then, in an instant, he was flat on his ass.

The heavy metallic door had sprung open, hitting Peter and knocking him down. His head banged against the concrete, and he winced and moaned in pain. “Shit,” he heard. “Did I just hit you?”

“No, the door magically opened by itself.” Peter rubbed the back of his head as his eyes fluttered open. A girl hovered over him, her long curly hair hanging too close for comfort, her uneasy smile obviously only there out of concern for herself. She looked familiar. Peter had seen those eyes before, he had heard that voice before. She almost resembled… “You’re Michelle Jon--”

Michelle’s hand covered his mouth. “I’ll give you free tickets to my next concert if you don’t scream my name,” she said, rushing. Every so often she glanced up like she was worried about something.

He pushed her hand away, with more force than he removed Ned’s. “I don’t want tickets to your stupid concert.”

“Oh, god,” Michelle sighed. “We need to get you to the hospital.”

Peter just had one question. Of all the people in the world who so desperately wanted to meet Michelle Jones, why the hell did it have to be him?