Road To Nowhere by Christopher Pike Page A

Yet, like her black hair, they were beautiful. “I feel the same way,” she said.
    “Really?”
    Rene nodded. “Really.”
    “Why?”
    “Because you look so alive right now.”
    “I just told you, I feel like I’m about to die.”
    Rene was silent for a moment. “A lot of sick people say that when they first heard they were going to die – they really began to live.” She shrugged. “I think that's what I was trying to say, maybe not.”
    Teresa had to laugh. “Do I look that bad?”
    Rene smiled sadly. “You look wonderful.”
    At last they reached the Summit. The parking lot was full. Full! That was impossible. It was Tuesday for God’s sake. Mr. Gracione had told her that Tuesday nights usually drew about sixty people. She realized in an instant what had happened. The club owner had been telling his regulars to be sure to stop by for her show. Oh, no, she thought, she could alienate his entire clientele in one night. She almost tripped and fell as she got out of Rene's car.
    “More people than you expected?” Rene asked.
    Teresa swallowed. “Yes.”
    They went in the back door. Mr. Gracione and Bill welcomed them. Both were dressed in suits. Teresa didn't even know Bill owned a suit. He must have bought it for this evening. She introduced him to Rene and the two shook hands and said things she hardly heard. Her hands were shaking now. She couldn’t imagine how she was going to be able to play the guitar. Mr. Gracione took her aside.
    “How do you feel?”
    “Terrible. The place is full. Why did you invite all these people?”
    Mr. Gracione was apologetic. “I’ve been talking enthusiastically about you. I guess some of my enthusiasm wore off. But don’t worry, kid. You’ll kill them.”
    “I suppose it’s either me or them,” Teresa muttered.
    She went alone to the dressing-room to try to pull herself together. Outside the brightly lit cubicle she could hear the crowd waiting for the next act. Her guitar was there, sitting on a chair. Trying to tune it, she broke a nail – so low down it began to bleed. It could have been the straw that broke the camel’s back. Tears welled in her eyes and she lowered her head. She could hardly breathe she was so scared.
    I can’t go on like this.
    Then she felt strong hands on the back of her neck, rubbing her tight muscles. She didn't need to look up; she knew Bill’s touch. For a minute she just let him massage her, let her stress flow into him. Finally he touched her chin and lifted her face up. She opened her eyes. He was smiling and she was crying and that made her mad. Her anger must have shown on her face because his smile widened.
    “This is fun,” he said.
    “You should be the one who has to go out there.” She held up her bleeding finger. “Look at me, I can’t play. I can’t even tune my stupid guitar.” More tears filled her eyes. “I can’t do it, Bill.”
    He sat beside her and put his arm round her. He kissed her cheek. “You can do anything you want, Teresa. Do you know why?”
    She sniffed. “Why?”
    “Because I love you.”
    He had never told her that before. A warm balm washed over her. She only wished she had the time to enjoy it. “How does your loving me help me sing?” she asked.
    “All you sing about is love. Now you get to sing from experience.”
    A faint smile touched her lips. “What makes you think I love you, buster?”
    “You’ve been writing all these songs about me,” he said.
    “I wrote most of my songs before I met you!”
    He kissed her again on the cheek. “It doesn't matter. They were about me.”
    She almost told him then that most of her songs were about lost love. But she didn’t because she wanted to hold him instead, and tell him that he was probably right – that she loved him as well.
     
    Mr. Gracione introduced her and she stepped out into the lights. The lights – they were so bright she could have been set down before the gaze of a star. But she supposed that was why so many people