Moving Neutral

By Katy Atlas

Casey Snow is grounded for life... or at least until she leaves for college.

After driving her car into the side of her parents’ garage, Casey is stuck filing papers in her mom’s office during the day, and confined to her house on the weekends. Worst of all, she’s not allowed to see her favorite band, Moving Neutral—whose lead guitarist, Blake Parker, just might be the love of Casey’s life.

But with her best friend’s help, Casey comes up with a plan to sneak out of her house for the concert. And as she’s standing in line at a coffee shop near the show, everything changes. Because behind her is Blake Parker, ready to sweep her away for the best summer of her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Katy Atlas
• Release date: Nov 15, 2011

Katy Atlas

KATY ATLAS graduated from Princeton University, where she majored in English and took courses in contemporary fiction, creative writing and playwriting. At Princeton, she wrote for the Daily Princetonian and published short fiction pieces in the Nassau Weekly.You can visit her online at www.katyatlas.com. She also runs Sugarlaws.com, her food and fashion blog, which has been featured in Seventeen, Cosmopolitan, Saveur, and New York Magazine.A recent transplant from Manhattan, Katy now lives in Houston, Texas with her husband and two dogs.

Book preview

Moving Neutral

Katy Atlas

Copyright 2011

Smashwords Edition

For Chad,

the mouse with Dumbo’s feather.

Chapter One

When you think about it, everything that happened was really because of Madison’s earring. If she had gone with a dangly necklace or some chain-link cuff, I would have had a completely boring summer, like every other summer I’d ever had.

Someday I’ll have to thank her for that.

They say that a butterfly flapping its wings, through some unpredictable chain of cause and effect, can cause a tornado in China or an avalanche in Antarctica. I used to think that couldn’t possibly be true -- that each link in the chain was too tiny to matter, each moment too insignificant, each butterfly wing too fragile to move that tiny burst of air that started the sequence.

But then my whole life changed, and I can trace it all back to Madison’s fake crystal earring, with the back that wouldn’t stay put. So now, I guess, I believe it.

It feels like all I ever did before meeting Blake was sit around and wait for something to happen. So it’s hard to complain when, finally, something did.

Casey, if you don’t get out of bed this instant, I’m coming in there, my mom called through the door, her voice sounding particularly shrill to my still half-asleep ears.

I groaned. She’d do it, too. My mom wasn’t into things like privacy or boundaries.

Pulling back my comforter, I called through the door that I was getting up. Chill out, I added, under my breath. It was summer, after all.

I checked the clock -- eight thirty a.m. She’d let me sleep a whole half hour past when I got up during the school year.

I stumbled out of my room without bothering to change out of my pajamas. My mom pursed her lips as I walked into the kitchen, pouring milk into a bowl of cereal for me. Not good cereal. The organic kind, with lots of fiber, that tastes like you’re chewing on tree bark.

I took a diet coke out of the fridge and cracked it open, chugging a big gulp without pouring it into a glass.

My mom ignored me, focusing on getting my little brother, Trevor, to eat the two soft-boiled eggs that were sitting in front of him.

They’re too jiggly. I tried not to grin as he made gagging noises. Trevor was only ten, he could still get away with that stuff. He changed tactics abruptly. I can’t eat them -- they’re baby chickens.

My mom cooed at him, smothering the eggs in a burst of ketchup. They’re good for you, sweetheart, she kissed the top of his head as she said it.

It wasn’t Trevor’s fault mom liked him more than me lately. I was a little angel when I was ten, too.

Frankly, I was still a pretty good kid, if you looked at the whole picture. I was a great student, finished with high school and heading to an Ivy League college in two and a half months. Really, that should have been more than enough -- my parents should have been kissing my feet this entire summer, thrilled at what a smart, hardworking daughter they’d raised.

But somehow it wasn’t turning out that way. It seemed like everything I said caused a fight lately -- so I’d stopped saying anything at all. Sometimes it felt like my parents and I were speaking two different dialects where the same word had different meanings -- I’d mean to say something nice and they’d mean to say something nice, but our signals would get crossed, and we’d all walk away mad.

I figured it would get better when I went away to college. Ten more weeks, I thought.

Casey, my mom picked up her car keys from the kitchen counter, dropping them into her leather purse. What are you going to do today?

My lack of a schedule was a near-constant point of contention. We were two weeks into summer and I hadn’t gotten a job yet -- and I didn’t plan to. Not even as a counselor at the day camp I’d worked at the previous summer, or as a waitress at the coffee shop I where I sometimes filled in during the school year.

I ignored the disapproval in her voice and grinned at her -- I was genuinely excited about my plans, even if she wouldn’t be. Scream Four, I said, and then as an afterthought, and Scream One, Two and Three. Horror movie marathon -- Madison’s coming over.

My mother sighed heavily, one of those breathy sighs that just sounds like disappointment. Come on, Trevor, she said, holding out an insulated lunchbox. Don’t make me come home to dirty dishes, okay? You two are little piglets, and I have to work all day.

Now it was my turn to sigh. See you later, I groaned, heading back to my room. I could still get a few more hours of sleep before Madison got to my house.

It hadn’t been this bad for long. My parents had always been overprotective, and their rules had always been strict. But before I got into college, we didn’t clash over it -- I was just as focused on getting into Columbia as they were, and I had been ever since I visited sophomore year.

But after I got in, I wanted to enjoy my last few months of high school, which meant no curfew, no summer job, and no responsibilities.

My parents had other plans. They insisted on enforcing the most ridiculous eleven o’clock curfew, even on the weekends. They claimed they waited up for me if I was out, my mom especially. It was probably true, but she needed to learn to get over it. It’s not like I was going to call them from my dorm room every night when I got home.

The worst part was that if I missed curfew one night, it was an hour earlier the next time. The week my exams ended, by Sunday, my curfew was four p.m. I’m not kidding. Before the sun even set.

Madison showed up at noon, still in her pajamas. Her hair was brushed, though, and she had makeup on -- on most people, that might look a little strange, but she pulled it off. She was, by far, the prettiest girl in our high school class -- she could pull off just about anything.

Should we take my car? Madison’s car was newer than mine, and the sound system was better, so she usually drove whenever we were together. Her car’s stereo would play our iPods, while I was still driving a ten-year-old Volvo that used to be my dad’s.

Sure.

I had already put on jeans, and I felt a little silly walking to the car with Madison in her boxer shorts and camisole. Some middle-aged guy walking his dog did a double-take as she leaned over to open the car door, and I tried to pretend like I didn’t notice.

Guess what’s not that fun, sometimes? Being best friends with the prettiest girl in my class.

It was a perfect summer day outside, sunny and bright. I pulled my sunglasses on and wound my hair into a ponytail as I opened the door to Madison’s Audi. She turned on the ignition and I immediately rolled my window down, resting my elbow on the inside of the window’s edge.

I didn’t ask what Madison wanted to listen to. We had the same favorite band: Moving Neutral, who ran the fine line between being popular and being mainstream pop. Their songs were like poetry set to music, lyrical and gut-wrenching.

And we had tickets to see them in four days.

I can’t wait, I murmured, and Madison grinned at me, flipping her hair back. I didn’t have to explain what I was talking about.

It’s going to be amazing. Have you told Jeanne and Chris yet? Madison insisted on calling my parents by their first names. Not to their faces, of course.

One time only, curfew extension until two. If the show ends by twelve, we can get home in plenty of time.

My curfew was a running joke among our friends, and I was sick to death of leaving parties before everyone else. It was part of why I never had a boyfriend -- by the time people coupled off, I was always back at home, eating graham crackers and watching late night infomercials.

But it wasn’t such a loss, because there was only one guy I had eyes for, and he definitely didn’t live in Rockland, Connecticut, where Madison and I were stuck. Blake Parker, the lead guitarist and only songwriter for Moving Neutral.

I closed my eyes for a moment, listening to the music and the breeze through the car window and thinking about summer, my last few months to have stupid curfew battles with my parents before the beginning of the rest of my life. And kicking it all off with tickets to see my favorite band.

A minute later, Madison pulled into the coffee shop parking lot next to the video store and turned off the engine. Without waiting for me to snap out of my daydream, she jumped out of the car, slamming the door behind her. I scrambled out just as she hit the remote to lock the doors.

We finished the last movie right before my mom got home with Trevor in tow. We’d shut all the curtains to make the movie scarier, and the pizza we’d ordered for lunch was still sitting on the coffee table, the cheese on the last two slices turned greasy and congealed. When I heard the car pull up, I rushed to toss the pizza box into our recycling bin.

I heard Trevor before he even got to the door, screaming out imaginary battle noises as he lugged whatever arts and crafts project he’d made at camp that day into the house. Catching Madison’s eye, we retreated to my bedroom to avoid getting into a conversation with my mom.

My room was yet another point of conflict between me and my parents. It hadn’t been redecorated since I was six. Everything -- sheets, walls, even my nightstand -- was some variation of pink. And it wasn’t like I hated pink or anything -- I wasn’t some crazy goth kid with black lipstick and spike leather collars. I just didn’t want to live in a room that looked like it could double as Barbie’s Princess Playground.

My parents said they didn’t want to redecorate my room when I was leaving for college so soon, but I had a sneaking suspicion that they wanted to turn my bedroom into an office or a media room as soon as I moved out. I’d probably be sleeping on a couch in the middle of the living room when I came home for vacations.

Madison picked up a copy of Spin from my nightstand, leafing through the pages until she found the article on Moving Neutral that I’d bought it to read.

It had a picture of the whole band, and a separate one of Blake. April, the lead singer, didn’t get her own photo in this one -- usually she was front and center in every profile I read. She was 5'9 and as skinny as a model, with cheekbones that could cut glass and big blue eyes. There were always tabloid pictures of her and Blake together, in those Are they or aren’t they?" columns. I would have totally hated her, if she weren’t the lead singer of my favorite band.

Sophie, the drummer, was always in the back. It was pretty cool that Moving Neutral had a female drummer, hardly any bands did. The White Stripes, obviously. And Moe Tucker from the Velvet Underground -- my favorite. I thought Sophie must be pretty awesome, because she was only a little older than me, and she’d been drumming since she was a kid. What kind of eight year old girl wants to learn to play the drums?

Not the kind that decorates her room like Barbie’s dreamhouse, that’s for sure.

Madison’s cell phone buzzed in her pocket. Looking at the number, she flipped it open to answer the call.

Hey, she giggled, and I half-listened to her side of the conversation. Oh yeah? she said, looking interested. Okay. See you then. I’m going to bring Casey, is that cool?

I sighed. A party that Madison had been invited to. No one invited me to things directly -- they always invited Madison, and she always invited me. Sometimes I wondered, if she moved out of town, whether anyone even knew my phone number.

Matt Andrews is having people over tonight. That was Jason. She sounded gleeful -- Jason had graduated from our high school the year before, and Madison had been obsessed with him since she was a freshman. They had the kind of friendship that oozed with sexual tension, and now that he was home for the summer, Madison was positive something would happen.

She was probably right. When Madison wanted something to happen, there weren’t many ways to stop her.

Can you come?

I nodded. Sure. What time?

She looked at the alarm clock next to my bed. It was already almost six. Yikes. Two hours. I’ve got to go home and get changed.

I was happy she didn’t want to stay in the boxer shorts, at least. Should I meet you there? Text me when you’re leaving, okay?

She grinned. Can I borrow this? She held up the magazine.

Sure, I said. I’d already practically memorized the article, anyway.

Jesse, though. I forgot about Jesse, the bassist. Jesse was the grandson of Elvis Costello, and it was his connections that got the band picked up in the first place, when they were still in high school in Los Angeles. Jesse was dork-cute and wore big black plastic-rimmed glasses in every photo. He had curly black hair and was the exact same height as April, which wasn’t very tall for a boy. They always tried to disguise it in the photos by having him sit down, or having her lean against something. But I knew pretty much everything about Moving Neutral.

Bye, Mrs. Snow, Madison called to my mother as she bolted out of the house to her car. I followed her to the door and watched as she drove away, not saying a word to my mother. I narrowly avoided tripping on one of Trevor’s tennis racquets as I walked back to my room and shut the door, hard.

Chapter Two

I saw Madison’s car parked outside when I arrived at the party, and breathed a sigh of relief. I got to Matt’s house forty five minutes late, on purpose. I didn’t want to be the first one there, since technically, no one had actually invited me.

There were about twenty people inside, all of them seniors or recently graduated from my high school. We all went to the private school in Rockland, Prospect Academy, which wasn’t the kind of private school that billionaires and foreign royalty sent their kids to. It was pretty much just like the public school in Rockland, but with a better college acceptance rate.

Everyone said hello, and I took a beer out of a cooler on the side of the room. There were only bottles, no cans, and I scanned the tables in the room for an opener.

No luck. No one seemed to notice what I was looking for, so I walked into the kitchen, hoping Matt’s parents would have well-organized drawers.

Madison was in the kitchen with Jason, so I killed two birds with one stone.

Casey, she called out like she hadn’t seen me in a week. You look so cute, she squealed. Jason, doesn’t Casey look cute?

It was the kind of thing that a girl only says when she knows she’s the prettiest in the room. Madison was my best friend, but sometimes she drove me insane.

But if not for her, I’d be at home watching television with my ten year old brother. So I just smiled.

How’s college? I asked Jason. He was cute, if you liked that polo shirt, flip flop type. Which Madison definitely did.

Oh, man, he said. It’s great. What a bummer to be home, right?

Totally.

So you’re going to Columbia?

Yeah, I sat down next to them at the table, my beer still unopened. I can't wait.

You guys are going to hang out all the time, he said. The village is way more fun than the Upper West Side.

Madison was going to NYU, which was perfect, because they had a great theatre program, and she wanted nothing more than to become an actress. She had tried to convince her parents to send her to Julliard, but they’d insisted on a normal college. Madison still hadn’t gotten over it, but at least she’d be in the city. I couldn’t have even imagined how much she’d have flipped out if she’d been only been accepted to schools in Colorado or New Hampshire.

I wish we were going to the same school.

Madison said it, but I was thinking the same thing. It was weird thinking about the fact that I wouldn’t see her every day anymore -- we hadn’t gone more than a week apart since we met as little kids. Up through junior high, it was us and my next-door neighbor, Brett, but he’d moved away at the end of eighth grade. For the rest of high school, it was just me and Madison.

We butted heads sometimes, but school was so much easier with Madison always there to be outgoing, to make friends and drag me along to parties. As much as I couldn’t wait to get out of Rockland, sometimes the idea of college terrified me.

I should go say hi to Matt, I told them. Mostly I felt like I should leave them alone -- nothing was going to happen with Jason if I was hovering around them all night. Where are his parents anyways?

They’re at the Cape, Jason replied. They won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon, probably later with traffic. You guys can stay overnight if you want.

I tried not to notice the look he gave Madison, smiling in a cocky way that made me a little nauseous. Suddenly I wanted to be anywhere but in this kitchen.

And it’s not like I could have stayed over anyway. Curfew from hell, duh.

I picked up my beer bottle and went back out into the living room, sitting down in an empty space on the couch. Everyone was talking about some video on YouTube I hadn’t seen. I didn’t want to admit I hadn’t seen it, because then someone would run around until they’d dragged out Matt’s laptop and played it for me, and I’d be expected to have some visceral reaction to it just because everyone had been talking about it.

It was easier to just pretend I’d seen it.

The good news was, Matt noticed my beer and handed me the bottle opener on his keychain. I wondered how he explained that one to his parents, or if other parents just weren’t as crazy as mine. We were all going to be in college in a few weeks anyway. What was the point in keeping me on such a tight leash?

So, I heard you guys are going to see Moving Neutral this weekend, Matt said as he sat down next to me on the couch.

I snapped back into focus, grinning at him. Yeah, we’re so psyched. They’re my favorite band, it’s going to be amazing.

I hope they’re not too big to play the college scene next year, Matt said.

They probably are. The concert’s at some giant venue in the city, tons of people. But yeah, maybe they’ll still do some college shows.

I was trying to be nice, but Matt was about a year too late. Moving Neutral had gotten started playing college shows, but they’d gone way past that.

I didn’t notice that Madison had come back into the room until she plopped down on the arm of the couch next to me.

Are you going too? She asked Matt, eyes wide. She’d woken up at 7 a.m. on the dot to buy our tickets, which was unheard of, even during the school year. Thanks to her, we were in the best row that had gone on sale to the public.

Yeah, he said. Actually, it’s pretty cool. My stepmom knows someone at their record label. We’re in the second row.

It felt like my stomach gave out. I stole a glance at Madison -- she was gaping at Matt, her eyes already starting to narrow.

Maybe we were overreacting, but we’d spent most of the past year obsessing over this band. Obsessing. And Matt had second row seats, and he didn’t even realize they were bigger than the college circuit.

We were in the sixteenth row. And the whole floor space was flat. And neither of us was over 5'4". We'd be on our tiptoes the whole concert, and we’d probably still be stuck staring at the monitors. While Matt would probably be able to slap hands with April as they came onstage.

Or with Blake.

Before I even knew what was happening, I heard Madison’s voice from next to me.

That’s cool, she said. But we have backstage passes. It’s so lame to watch shows from the audience.

Matt gave her a weird look, as if he knew she was lying but was trying to be polite. Somehow that made me even angrier.

Yeah, I agreed, surprised to hear the words tumbling out of my mouth. We’re going to hang out with them after the show.

Matt’s eyes widened. Madison stretching the truth was one thing, but when I went along with it, I could tell he was starting to believe us.

Madison pulled her leg onto the arm of the couch and pretended to be playing with the cuff of her jeans. It’s no big deal, she said, and she looked so nonchalant that even I almost believed her.

She was going to make a great actress.

It was 10:40 when I finally drove home, and I tried not to think about how ridiculous it was to show up at a party and have to leave two hours later. Madison walked me to my car, rummaging around on the floor of the passenger seat for a pair of flip flops she swore I’d borrowed (I hadn’t). As I pulled out of Matt’s driveway, I fumbled in my bag for some gum, assuming out of habit that my parents would be up, waiting for me, when I got home.

I switched from the CD player on my car stereo to the radio, listening to a late night DJ dedicate songs to random names. When we were in middle school, Madison and I used to call the station to dedicate songs to whatever boys we had a crushes on -- the kind of bizarre, stalker-y thing that little kids can do without it being weird. We never gave our real names, of course. We used to listen

Reviews for Moving Neutral

[RonSmilEs · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The story was simple cute and fun, wish i can find my moving neutral. But not all of us can afford to just escape, to much responsibilities. P.s read this book to escape with Casy, who is pretty much living out the fantasy of most woman out there. Remember, if you don't take a chance, you will never achieve your dreams..