Page 86 of Hard Rock Deceit

But if this week was any indication, those few would feel likeyears.

Damon left. I turned back to my laptop. After examining the picture, chagrinned, I began reading thearticle.

It was good. I was a photographer, not a writer, but the piece sounded solid. Nothing exploitative like a trash mag would write. There was a bit of background about the band, the awards they had received, their reputation in the industry, their critical reception. The band's answers to her questions were printed verbatim, albeit cleaned up alittle.

And then, at the end, was a special section devoted to me. I hadn't remembered half the things I'd told the woman. Seeing my words out there for all to read sent a pang of anxiety runningthroughme.

I didn't sound bad, though. Or at least, I didn't sound like an idiot. She'd kept the questions short, and I'd done the same with myanswers.

I'm verygrateful for this opportunity. I know how lucky I am to be working with such aprestigiousband.

Yes, this is my first real job out ofschool.

No, I have no connections in the musicindustry.

Yes, I've had my work shown in a few gallery exhibits forstudents.

No, I haven't really thought about what I'm going to doafterthis.

But there had also beenpersonalquestions.

Yes,August has been a very goodmentor.

No, I didn't know who he was when he firstapproachedme.

Yes. It would be wonderful if we could continue working together in the future. I've learned a lot from him. I'd like to continuelearningmore.

August had taughtme so much. Opened my eyes to so many things.He hadchangedme.

I guess that makes me a liarafterall.

A pang of hurt hit mychest.

Every time I remembered his last words, my stomach churned. My heartached.

I didn't want to believe everything between us had beenalie.

But August Summers demanded perfection. He wanted his tour photographer to bethebest.

Is that what he had been doing? Had he been building my confidence, helping me come to terms with myself, only so that I'd perform at the level he expected? Had it all beenalie?

If so, that was sick. Beyond sick. It was monstrous. No normal person would go that far, pretend that much. I couldn't believe August would do somethinglikethat.

Then again, I wouldn't have believed August would lie to his closest friends for a year or more about something soserious.

Feeling dejected, I turned off my laptop. Instead of working, I spun around in my chair, using my toe to push off the floor. The dizziness and nausea in my stomach helped mask some of the heartsick feelings roiling around inthere.

On my fifth spin I stopped. My gaze landed on the side table. On a book. August's book. The one I'd seen him reading severaltimes.

I picked it up. The pages were yellow and dogged-eared. It looked well read and well used. I turned to see the cover.The Giver, by Lois Lowry. August's favorite book. I only knew a bit about it. A young adult novel with critical acclaim. It was on the reading list at some schools. I'd never read itmyself.

It had been left behind when we took offwithouthim.

He'd had his suitcase in the hotel room with him, but he hadn't packed everything. Looking around the bus, I noticed a few other things that belonged to him. A spare shirt. His wireless earphones. The pair of comfy sneakers he'd worn the night we climbed up those rickety fire escape stairs totheroof.

Carefully, I gathered up all his forgotten items. I scrounged around and found a canvas bag to keepthemin.

I placed the bag on my desk. I stared at it. This was all that was left ofAugust.