Dancing Queen (Julie and The Phantoms)

11. Understanding Payback

We poofed into the 'Wilson' household, not expecting the photo of the mansion coming to life. "Just by the smell I can tell he's rich rich," I commented. It was a combination of scented candles, mostly lavander, and a glint of wine. I could not a distinguish a speck of dust in the marbled shelves. The creepiest part of the house was the gigantic signed picture of him hanging over the common room.

Alex and I walked around the not-so-small display of awards. "Bobby's house is ridiculous. Have you seen this platinum records?"

"Platinum?" Reggie echoed.

I scanned the titles of the records. If my green notebook had not resurfaced, it could mean one of three things: Bobby stole it, my parents took it (which seemed the less likely) or it was in the trash/destroyed. I deserved to know if my written suffering was exploited for money.

"He recorded 'My Name Is Luke'. MY name is Luke!" Luke complained with a pouty face.

When Reggie announced, "It's him!", our heads shoot themselves to the opening door.

"If it isn't the man of the hour," I grumbled. Luke, Alex, and I sprinted to get a better glimpse at him as he walked upstairs.

He looked worse than the picture. Bobby wore jeans, Buddhist collars, sunglasses, and a sweating t-shirt under a leather jacket, a style I knew was not common among rockstars or 40 year-old dads. His hair was slicked back, but the back looked messy. His beard gave him the appearance of the managers we hoped to avoid because the rumors of how their stars were treated.

"Hey Carrie, I'm gonna medidate."

"He wears sunglasses indoors," Reg pointed out. He did, and I wish I could take them off his wrinkly face.

"I'm in the den," the girl responded.

"Cool."

Although he couldn't hear us, we waited for him to go so we could argue about him. The bassist started the ranting. "I can't stand him."

I mischeviously quirked an eyebrow, rubbing my hands together in the process. "Time for his past to haunt him." I can't wait to see his reaction!

"Wait," Alex rushed. We halted climbing the stairs. "Let's not rush this. You know, it's my... it's my first time haunting someone. I wanna make it special." His smiling self placed his hand on his hips.

"Okay, Alex." 

The guys continued sprinting, but I stayed to poke the bear. "Let's move, first-timer."

"That was weird, okay," he admitted to himself.

"Yeah." I scoffed. I pulled his arm like they usually do with me so I don't get behind. "How you were the favorite I'll never know."

We waited for him to change into sweatpants and casual clothes to begin the fun. While the boys wanted to mess around, I explored the tranquil and incense-filled room.

Luke wet his finger and shoved it on his ear. Bobby squirmed and tried to get back to the zen zone or something. I almost gagged. "You are disgusting, Patterson."

Alex blew on the candles lying in front of him. Then, Reggie turned on the radio, which played rock music. Bobby turned it off, but Reggie played it again, so he unplugged it. They instructed me to turn on the water and hopefully spook him on the bathroom with the foggy mirror.

"Carrie?" Bobby wandered. He went through me because, as I was going outside, he was going in. On my way back to the boys, I noticed a particular item.

There it was... my journal! But the contents were not written on the name of a record like I imagined. Instead, my notebook was encased on a glass cube mounted on the wall. It had a small silver engraving on the bottom corner, which said: 'Liz G. Mercer's songs. Do not touch.' Then, on a little table under it, it had a little picture frame of us. The picture included me writing and smiling while he did bunny ears behind me and stuck out his tongue. I remembered that day; it was our first rehearsal as a band.