How to Kill a Rock Star Read Free Page B

invisible strings.
    I heard the train approaching, and the air that blew through the passageway was a fleeting reprieve from the heat. The guy in the green suit looked down into the tunnel, and then back at me with his head tipped to the left.
    He eyed my backpack suspiciously and, in a low shout, said, “What’s your name?”
    His voice caught me by surprise. It was a confident voice pretending to be shy.
    “What’s your name?” he said again.
    I remained mute, figuring it was dangerous to give personal information to a stranger in the subway. But even if he was a mugger, he was too far away to attack me. And let’s not forget, he was cute. This was a new life. A new me. The
1chance to at least pretend to be the person I wanted to be.
    And I was never going to get over Adam if I didn’t start paying attention to cute strangers.
    “Come on,” the guy said. “ Hurry .”
    “Eliza,” I final y replied.
    The guy smiled, and his face lit up radiantly, as if someone had poured gasoline on a pilot light inside his mind.
    Then he looked me up and down in a way that made me feel naked.
    The train was seconds away from untying the curious knot that joined the two of us. “Eliza,” the guy said, pointing at the approaching headlights, raising his voice. “Do not get on that train.”
    Then the train pul ed in and I couldn’t see him anymore.
    The new me was begging my legs not to move, but apparently the old me was stil in charge of my motor functions because I stepped through the doors of the subway car, and the electricity that had been on my tongue surged down into my chest like a shot of adrenaline to the heart as the train began to pul me away.
    Crossing the car, I looked out the window, hoping to catch one last glimpse of the guy in the green suit. He was stil looking at me, smiling, and shaking his head.
    I ended up on the wrong train. Turns out I’d been standing on the wrong side of the station and had been on my way uptown until I deciphered the word Harlem coming through the train’s distorted loudspeaker.
    It was after eight when I final y found my way to Second Avenue, walked the last few blocks down Houston Street, and then spotted the landmark tel ing me I had almost arrived at my destination—the Wheel of Fortune -like letterbox sign of Katz’s deli on the corner of Houston and Ludlow.
    From Katz’s, I could see Vera standing halfway down the block. Vera had a cel phone to her ear, her lips were moving like mad, there was a tote bag over her shoulder, and she was wearing a plaid, below-the-knee wool skirt with socks and sneakers. Vera was the voice of reason in my life, but she dressed like a crazy Russian librarian, even when it was ninety degrees outside.
    “ Yay . You’re here ,” she said when she saw me coming down the sidewalk.
    Vera was a cute, brainy girl with dark hair and bright green eyes speckled with amethyst, though when she had her glasses on, which was almost always, it was hard to notice this feature.
    She threw her arms around me. I hadn’t seen her in months and her presence was a relief.
    “Sorry I’m late,” I said. “Have you been waiting long?”
1She pul ed a set of keys from her tote and shook her head. “I just got out of work. I left a message for your new roommate to meet you in the West Fourth Street station, but he has a bizarre subway phobia and rarely ventures underground. He never cal ed me back.”
    Vera hugged me again and I could tel something was off.
    She’d squeezed too hard, and when she pul ed back her chest looked inflated, as if she’d taken a deep breath and forgot to let it out.
    “What’s wrong?” I said.
    “Long day.”
    It was a typical Vera answer. She was a whiz whenever I was in trouble—she’d wasted a week of her vacation time to come home and stay with me after Adam left—but she didn’t like to burden anyone with her own problems.
    “I don’t believe you.”
    “You just got here, Eliza. Let’s enjoy the moment.” She