The Theory of Second Best (Cake #2) Read online

  No. I never went there. My mind wouldn’t allow it. I shook off the memory and sealed it back up where it belonged – far away from the life I lived today.

  Refocusing on happier times, I remembered what a poser I’d been. Whatever Jake did, I copied… until it came to music. There was no competing with him in that regard. Don’t get me wrong – I tried. I really did. And I guess I could be considered a decent guitarist by everyday standards; but I had never been up against average. When you grow up in the same household as a prodigy, even the smallest of accomplishments seems mundane in comparison. And it was clear from a very young age that Jake was truly gifted. Obviously, when the musical fairy was sprinkling her talent dust, she bequeathed Jake with a double dose. And I, of course, got none.

  From my spot on the couch, I scanned the gathering of people in search of the hot chick from earlier. Had she made it past security? Sometimes the guys would let the smokin’ ones slip by just for the viewing pleasure of our beauty-deprived roadies. And, bless their hearts, some of those hotties even occasionally went slumming, hooking up with a roadie when they couldn’t nail down one of the more desirable members of the tour.

  Yeah, there was definitely a hook-up hierarchy on the road. It started on the low end of the spectrum, with the sweaty, overweight truck drivers; moved up a step to the dentally challenged roadies, followed in equal parts by the more ‘put-together’ tech guys, managers, and security guards; and then on to the highly visible, and coveted, band members. Those guys got probably ninety percent of the booty to be had on any given night, leaving the others to fight for the leftovers.

  Jake, of course, was the holy grail of hook-ups. It was, after all, his show. But given that he was so damn picky and cranky most of the time, getting into his pants was like winning the lottery. And who was there to pick up the pieces when the rock god didn’t magically appear to whisk them away into a life of riches? That’s right. Me. The consolation prize. See, just before the ninety percent trickled down to the band mates, they filtered through me.

  That was the truly awesome part of my life: I got to share in the spoils. I didn’t have to be a rock star to live the life of one. Hell, I was more into the lifestyle than Jake was. All I had to do was mention my last name, and boom – instant respect. Well, maybe respect was too strong a word. It was more like instant curiosity.

  Really, the only obstacle with these singularly fixated ladies was getting the focus off Jake and onto me. First I had to get passed all the annoying questions about Jake and then all the nauseating begging to go back and meet him. Once the desperate women understood that their chances with Jake were nil to none, I started looking a whole lot more appealing… certainly not ideal, but better than nothing.

  I yawned and glanced around the green room. The crowd inside had almost doubled. I didn’t recognize anyone; but then, why would I? These were people lucky enough to get backstage passes: VIPs, contest winners, people with connections… and, of course, hot chicks. Tonight’s group milled around excitedly, waiting for Jake and the other band members to make their appearance. My brother was not done performing yet, and this was clearly his least favorite part of the night. He wasn’t good at interacting with strangers on a social level. At times it was almost painful to watch. But there were reasons behind his awkwardness, reasons that had shaped his personality and pushed him inside his own head. Jake’s life, for all its riches and awards, had not been an easy one. The kidnapping had turned his life upside down. I doubted anyone outside our family really understood what it took for him to stand in front of those people every night and make them feel welcome.

  Once this group cleared out, the room would fill up once more with our crew, who would devour the buffet like starving tomcats. Jake was usually gone by then, slipping out and retreating to the quiet of the tour bus. Sometimes I stayed and hung with the guys, but more often than not I took my exit when Jake took his. My place was, and always would be, beside my brother.

  2

  Kenzie: My Mother’s Daughter

  Rain! Always rain.

  My hand swiped over the foggy glass, heavy condensation trapped inside its panes, as I attempted to get a better idea of what I was dealing with… a steady spattering of rain or a torrential downpour? Did it really matter anyway? It wasn’t like a ray of sunshine would be poking out from behind those dark clouds anytime soon. I wrinkled my nose at the offending smell radiating off the windowsill. Mildew was growing around the corners of the window, eating away at the wooden frame. The moist environment in which I lived was a breeding ground for the fungus. No matter how diligently I scrubbed and bleached, the black, moldy dots were always lurking, just waiting for the minute I turned my back so they could creep back into their cozy spot by the window.

  “Sunny California, my ass,” I complained.

  Growing up in the shade of the Coastal Redwood Forest, my tiny town in Northern California saw three times the rainfall that other parts of the state did. It felt like I’d been damp and cold the vast majority of my life. And although I lived a few miles from the ocean, there were no beach days for me. Even if the sun occasionally made an appearance out from behind the gray, heavy fog, not only was the seawater freezing cold but the waves and riptides were unruly and dangerous. It always brought a knowing smile to my face every time a Hollywood movie made California out to be one big sunny beach resort. That wasn’t the place where I lived. Not even close.

  I stubbornly strapped on my big-city stilettos. I’d already been forced to change my planned outfit, the yellow sundress – it was summer, after all – to accommodate the downpour, but I wasn’t budging on the shoes. My slim, straight khaki pants and flowing white top needed something to dress it up, and rubber boots just weren’t going to cut it. I couldn’t help but worry that my pointy toed pumps, although a fairly modest four inches, were way too ambitious for a girl like me. I was more the jeans and t-shirt type of woman, who preferred the comfort of flats to the sexy of stilettos. Maybe if I had someone to dress nice for… but as it was now, I could wear a burlap sack with Birkenstocks and no one would care.

  Leaving the gloomy window behind, I plopped myself back down at my vanity and evaluated myself in the mirror. My naturally straight hair was now styled in big, bouncy curls that flowed down my back, and my makeup was spot-on after I’d taken the extra step of going online and studying the trends before applying. I nodded my approval as I went through my mental list. Hair? Check. Make-up? Check. Outfit? Meh. Kick-ass female? Check. Yep, I was sufficiently impressed with myself today, and that didn’t happen too often. Normally I kept my preening in front of the mirror to a minimum because, really, on a day-to-day basis, there wasn’t much to admire; but today – damn, I was feeling good. Maybe there would be a single guy out there who’d want to buy a little of what I was selling. Hold up! That didn’t sound right, did it? I needed to cool it with the self-important inner chatter. Besides, a guy now would not be good timing, what with me leaving in a month. That’s funny, Kenzie. I actually laughed at the mirror. As if I’d be finding me a man any time soon. Suddenly I wasn’t feeling so full of myself. I stuck my tongue out at my reflection and then got up and grabbed my purse.

  My heels made an annoying clicking sound through the kitchen, signaling to all in the house that I was indeed moving through it. My father, who’d been sitting at the table on his computer, looked up from his screen and stared.

  “Mackenzie?” he asked in surprise, as if my beauty transformation was so stunning he no longer recognized me.

  “Who else would I be?” I replied, slightly offended.

  “I’m just… wow, you look so pretty,” he said, appearing genuinely gobsmacked.

  Again irritation spread through me. Sure, I didn’t dress up often, but he didn’t have to act like I’d started out as a warthog. Looking ‘pretty’ was my little sister Caroline’s job. Mine was forty hours a week managing a rental business with untold amounts of unpaid overtime, followed by household chores and helping my younger
siblings with all their insignificant teenage problems.

  “Are you sure you want to wear those shoes? It’s raining outside.”

  “I’m aware, Dad, but I can’t wear rain boots to a television interview,” I snapped. I didn’t know why I was being so testy with him, but certainly the last person I wanted fashion advice from was a guy who’d worn the same basic outfit of Levis and plaid shirts for the last twenty years.

  My dad put his hands up and made the face he always gave me when he thought I was being unreasonable.

  “And besides, if you’d allowed them to come here to the house to interview me, I wouldn’t have to go out in the rain.”

  “Look around, Mackenzie. Would you really want them coming here?”

  Even though I didn’t need to, I still took that look around and my resolve faded. No, I definitely didn’t want the cameras in here. This was a house that was bought and furnished by a man… and not by just any man, but by a man with no style. Nothing in our home matched; everything had once been broken and then repaired back to an even shabbier replica of its prior dingy self. The carpet had not been replaced in all the time we’d lived here, and if I had to guess, it had probably graced these floors for longer than I’d been alive. None of us were certain what color it had actually started out as, but now it was decidedly a chocolate brown shade. And worse still, my dad’s idea of home décor was displaying his children’s school artwork on the walls with a single thumbtack. Over the years the flimsy paper had folded inward, and the original masterpiece could only be seen by smoothing it out against the wall.

  “Hey,” he said, interrupting my thoughts. “Relax. Everything will be okay.”

  He knew me well. I was scared. My shoulders drooped. Being the center of attention had never been my thing, and the idea of having someone interview me about my life sent shock waves of fear blasting through me. Granted, only viewers of our local county news station would see the interview, but still, for me, it was a huge deal. What was I going to say? I led the world’s most boring life. In fact, that’s how I’d made it onto Marooned in the first place: I sent in a video of myself basically documenting my dull, small town girl existence and somehow that caught their eye. I was convinced that the fact that I’d never ventured further than three hundred miles in any direction from my hometown in all my life was what sealed the deal. I would be their token ‘fish out of water’ contestant.

  And now here I was about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime. Thirty-nine days on a deserted island, living off the land, scrounging for my own food, and surviving with just the clothes on my back. There would be no bathrooms, stifling heat, and cameras in my face 24/7. Damn, that sounded awful. I mean really, just… yuck!

  The truth was, I was far from an adventurous person. The only reason I’d applied in the first place was because the money I could potentially win on the reality show far outweighed the misery I was about to endure. That cash would not only provide for my family and secure their future, but it would be just the push I needed to finally make my stand and escape this monotonous life.

  I looked up to find my dad still staring right at me with that surprised look in his eyes.

  “What?” I asked impatiently.

  “I never really noticed how much you look like your mother until today.”

  A lump instantly formed in my throat, and I fought the urge to cry.

  “You’re so much like her. Do you know that?”

  “I know,” I whispered my response. “You tell me all the time.”

  “But I never really saw the uncanny physical resemblance until today.”

  The far-off, pained look in his eye softened my resolve. I walked over and hugged him. “You still miss her so much.”

  “You don’t just get over the love of your life, Mackenzie.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you do.”

  We stayed quiet for a moment, remembering the woman we both loved.

  “I know you’re going to argue, but I’m just putting it out there again. You need to start dating.”

  “No one can replace her.”

  “I’m not saying replace. I’m saying move on. It’s been sixteen years, Dad. Someday we’ll all be grown and out of the house, and then you’ll be alone.”

  “You’ll never leave.” My little brother Cooper burst into the room in order to make his thoughtless observation. I glared at him, bristling at his suggestion that I’d be an old maid living at home with Dad for the rest of my life. He flashed me his signature cocky smile as he ran his fingers through his brown wavy hair. Cooper was in dire need of a haircut, and at that moment I wouldn’t have minded shaving it clean off his head for him.

  “Well, theoretically, Coop, I could find a guy and get married and have a family of my own.”

  “Yeah, I guess, theoretically,” he shrugged, grabbing a snack from the cupboard.

  I didn’t know what I’d been hoping for, but it certainly wasn’t such an apathetic reply. But then what could I expect from Cooper? He was the world’s most self-absorbed sixteen-year old.

  “You looking for a date?” He asked our father. “My English teacher, Miss Marshall, is single, and she’s sort of hot if you like them old.”

  “Miss Marshall’s in her early forties,” Dad chuckled. “I’d hardly call that old.”

  Cooper shrugged again. “Whatever floats your boat, Pops.”

  Dad looked like he wanted to argue, but there was no winning with Cooper. He didn’t have enough going on inside that brain of his to have a decent debate. “Anyway, let me know. I’ll hook you up.”

  “Wow, so tempting. Where’s your other half?”

  Dad was referring to Cooper’s twin brother, Colton. The two were identical in every way and never far from each other. When they were babies, the only way to tell them apart was by tying a length of colored yarn to their ankles. To this day I’m not sure if we switched them around a few times in the beginning.

  “Locked in the shed,” Cooper replied, matter of factly. He graced us with his third noncommittal shrug of the day.

  Both Dad and I gaped at him.

  “Is there a reason he’s locked in the shed?” I asked, still unclear if I needed to be worried or not.

  “Yep.”

  “Cooper,” I scolded. “Why is your brother locked in the shed?”

  “Because he was trying to shove me in there first.”

  My sister Caroline breezed in. “Hey, does anyone hear that banging noise?”

  “That would be Colton. Apparently he’s locked in the shed.”

  She startled at the information. “And we’re okay with that?” she asked, with a raised eyebrow.

  “Not necessarily,” Dad said. “Cooper, you have thirty seconds to explain before I lock you in there myself.”

  “He got mad because my clothes were on his side of the room, so he threw them out the window. I made him go get them, but then he tried to shove me in the shed, so I pushed him in instead. The lock was hanging open, so I swung it shut and locked him in.”

  Cooper seemed to think it was a perfectly legitimate excuse for imprisoning his sibling. Dad’s face turned hard. “Get him out now.”

  “You want me to go out in the rain?” he protested.

  Dad gave him the death stare.

  “Fine.” Cooper stomped off.

  We hurried over to the big window facing into the backyard and watched Cooper set his brother free. Colton came out swinging, and the two boys began rolling around in the mud and rain. Dad shook his head, disappointed but resigned, and then calmly walked over and locked them both out of the house.

  “You look pretty,” Caroline said to me, seemingly unfazed by her brothers’ shenanigans. Certainly she was used to them. Caroline was six minutes older than Colton and ten minutes older than Cooper. Yet despite the miniscule age gap, she was more grown up than the two of them combined, although that wasn’t saying much as Caroline was hardly the model of maturity. She was a typical impassioned teen with a flair for the d
ramatic, as evidenced by her repeated use of the words ‘basic’ and ‘squad.’

  As Caroline complimented me, she flipped her long brown hair back with the flick of her hand. I soaked in her youthful beauty. It had taken me all day to look presentable, yet she made it seem effortless. Caroline and I shared the same overall features, but that’s where our similarities ended. My sister had the confidence of a girl who’d lived her life in the limelight. Being a triplet made her unique. When they were little, the three were like little shining stars. Wherever they went, fanfare followed. Of course everyone in this close-knit community knew our story. My parents had grown up here, and my mother’s untimely death had been a blow to the entire town.

  “Are you sure I can’t come with you? I want to see the studio,” Caroline said, as she spruced up my curls with her fingers.

  “You can’t. I’ll be too nervous as it is.”

  “You better get over it, Kenzie. You’re going to be on national television in a few months.”

  “Don’t remind me,” I groaned.

  “Are you kidding? I’d kill to go on that show.”

  “Like you could survive a month without your phone.”

  Caroline made a face, covered her cell with her hands, and whispered, “Shh, you’re going to hurt her feelings.”

  The boys started banging on the back door to be let in, and I took that as my cue to leave. The last thing I wanted was for their filth to rain down upon my outfit. I slipped out the front door and dashed through the downpour to my car. Once in the dry vehicle, I thought about my family. I’d never spent a day away from them, and now, not only would I be gone for nearly two months, but I was also planning to leave them altogether after the show was completed. I wondered if I would have the courage to leave them behind to follow my own path. God, I hoped so.