Strike a Pose (Blame It on Fame #1)

6. Riley

Chapter 6

Riley

“ T

hey don’t have this in North Carolina,” Nash says.

“They definitely do not,” I concur, staring into the Grand Canyon.

We’ve been hiking for the better part of an hour, finally reaching one of the most iconic lookout points in the entire park. None of us had ever been to the Grand Canyon before, so we figured it was the perfect use of our day off. We’ve just finished playing two shows in Arizona, and tomorrow, we leave for San Diego.

“Yeah, I don’t know if the Smokies can compare to this. They’re beautiful, but this is…otherworldly,” Waylon affirms, gaping at the sprawling landscape laid bare before us. Hundreds of hues of red, orange, yellow, and brown are cascading in ribbons along the canyon’s rock formations, topped with fluffy green and brown brush. Contrasting those colors is a strikingly blue, cloudless sky, complete with a powerful sun beating down on us. With this sun, I almost regret wearing a jacket despite the January chill.

“I’ve never seen so many shades of red before,” Ethan says. “It’s beautiful. ”

“I bet that’s what you say to all the ladies,” I tease, clapping him on the shoulder of his ‘Eat Pussy, it’s Organic,’ T-shirt. “So, does the Sex Pest of Appalachia believe in God now?”

“As much as I appreciate the new nickname, you know I don’t believe in all that mumbo jumbo. But your mom sure screams his name a lot when we’re fucking,” he smirks.

“Hey, fuck off, man,” I give him a slight shove. “I thought we were having a moment.”

“If you want me to yourself, Riley baby, all you have to do is ask,” he purrs.

“As if,” I scoff.

“You like the red of this canyon? Wait until you see the red of my carpet. Safe to say they match these fiery drapes?—”

“Damn, dude, do we need to get you a sex doll or something? You’re all horny today,” Waylon interrupts him.

“I’m always horny, but thanks for noticing.” Ethan winks.

“Maybe you should reapply your sunscreen. Your hair isn’t the only thing that’s looking red right now,” Waylon taunts.

Ethan sighs, pulling a tube of sunscreen out of the side pocket of his backpack and squirting some onto his hand. “Not everyone was blessed with your melanin,” he grumbles as he slathers the white lotion haphazardly onto his face.

“Well, I might be mixed, but I didn’t get your baby blues. It evens out,” Waylon concedes.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you two were complimenting each other,” I tease.

“Are you feeling left out?” Ethan asks.

“Or do you just hate healthy masculinity?” Nash joins in. I smile to myself, happy to see the friends from different areas of my life meshing so well with each other.

“No, no, don’t stop on my account.”

“Don’t worry, Riley, your green eyes are just as pretty as Ethan’s blue ones,” Waylon grins at me, flashing the dimples we share.

“And what about me? I don’t have melanin or colored eyes,” Nash says.

“Yeah, but you’ve got the brains,” Ethan says.

“And that geeky rizz,” Waylon adds.

“Geeky rizz?”

“Yeah, like how Riley has country boy rizz. You’ve got geeky rizz.”

“But I’m also from the country,” Nash argues.

“Yeah, but that’s not where your rizz comes from.” Ethan shakes his head. “It’s all about the dominant rizz factor.”

“And what’s yours?” Nash asks.

“Ask your sister.”

“You walked into that.” I chuckle. Waylon howls with laughter.

“Maybe I’ll use my geek rizz on your mom then,” Nash tries to fight back lamely. He’s not one for this type of banter, and I cringe even more when I realize his faux pas.

“Good luck finding her,” Ethan snickers, but I can sense an undercurrent of pain beneath his snide remark. “That crack whore is probably dead in an alley by now.”

“What?” Nash asks, taken aback.

“She left me when I was a baby. I lived with my grandparents for a few years, but they were dirt poor, and eventually, CPS took me away when my teachers reported the unwashed, emaciated boy with a spotty attendance record. I was in and out of foster care until I left for App State.”

This conversation has taken a very sharp turn , I inwardly cringe.

“Shit man, I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Nash concedes, looking genuinely distraught at making an insensitive joke, even if he wasn’t aware .

“It’s okay, man. How could you have? Enough of this depressing talk. We’re at the Grand Canyon! Let’s see who dares to get closest to the edge. Winner drinks for free tonight,” Ethan suggests.

The other three of us quickly shoot down this idea down.

“Fine. Should we see who can piss the furthest stream down into the canyon?”

“Dude, what are you on?” Waylon shakes his head. “And don’t say my mom,” he adds quickly.

“Would it be so lame to just stand here and admire the view?” I ask.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Nash agrees.

“Alright, alright, I guess I’ll have to settle for basking in the glory of the natural world.” Ethan rolls his eyes playfully.

And so we stand there together, admiring the view, waiting until the sun starts its slow descent to head back.

“Hey Riley, have you looked through your mail yet?” Nash asks, returning to the gaming area of the tour bus with a stack of envelopes in hand.

“Nope. They’re probably just ads and bills.” I shrug, my eyes fixated on the screen as Ethan and I face off. “I don’t know why my mom bothers forwarding half that stuff to me.”

“You might want to look at this one,” he says, extending his arm.

“Can it wait until the end of this game?” I ask.

“You’re going to want to see this now,” he responds. When Nash—a naturally meek guy—puts his foot down, I listen. I pause the game.

“Hey,” Ethan whines.

“Sorry, man,” I say, grabbing the envelope from Nash. My heart stops when I see the return address. I look at Nash, and he nods subtly, urging me to open it.

I pull out a black sheet of cardstock depicting a golden gramophone.

“Holy shit,” I breathe.

“What is it?” Waylon asks, craning his neck to see what I’m holding.

“It’s an invitation to the Grammys.”