- December 22 2008 New Yorker
- February 9 2010 LA Times
- February 23 2010 NY Observer
- March 8 2010 LA Times
- March 8 2010 Wired
- June 1 2010 Publishing Perspectives
- July 6 2010 CNN
- August 24 2010 New Media Minute
The music swelled like ocean crests around them. They had great seats. Maura could make out the features of all the Luna band members right down to the tattoo that the drummer had on his wrist. More importantly, she could see each muscled ripple on the lead singer’s chest. Beaded with sweat, Brennan Kline’s pectorals glistened in the darkness as he crooned out the chords of his most recent ballad. She couldn’t believe that she and Celia were going to meet him after the concert. Just thinking about it made her pulse race. Reaching down into her tiny purse, she brushed her fingers across the backstage passes that were carefully stored there. Every few minutes she checked to make sure that they hadn’t fallen out.
At thirteen, Maura had never won anything before. She wasn’t quite a loser—just not a winner. It was a family joke. Her older brother and sister were both lucky—almost magically so. That’s why when the woman called and claimed that two tickets to Luna would arrive within ten business days, it seemed as though it wasn’t real—like maybe Joy and Semiiya were playing a prank. Maura’s first instinct was to scream because that’s what girls—and sometimes even boys—did upon any mention of Luna. The group was the most popular of the Jetsam artists, but Maura was determined not to make a fool of herself. She swallowed the scream and resurrected her skepticism. “Really funny,” she said, hanging up.
The woman called back in a matter of minutes and this time spoke in clipped tones to Maura’s mom. It turned out the prize was legit. Maura was not only going to the concert, she’d have an opportunity to meet Brennan backstage afterwards. The only question was who would she bring? She had two best friends and only one extra ticket.
Joy and Semiiya sympathized, which only made it harder to choose. Each day they came over, winding down the summer watching Maura agonize over the decision.
“Maybe we can pitch in for another ticket,” Joy suggested, although the concert had been sold out for weeks and they all knew it.
Maura’s seventeen-year-old brother Sam paused his Guitar Savior game to give a derisive snort. “Brennan Kline’s a hack. People only pay to see him because he takes his shirt off!” He finished his rift with a flourish.
Sam was always saying stuff like that—reminding everyone how close he was to adulthood. Maura’s friends rolled their eyes, but smiled indulgently when she wasn’t looking. Although Sam’s looks were lost on Maura, the other girls couldn’t help but notice the broad shoulders that lurked beneath his graphic tee and the sun-bronzed arms that jutted out as he achieved expert level on his guitar solo.
“You’re just jealous because people would pay you to keep your shirt on,” Celia retorted, likewise oblivious to her brother’s charms.
Not only did her comment put Sam in his place, it emphasized Celia’s obsession with Brennan Kline. Why not take her to the concert? Maura thought. Their mom was all for any type of sibling bonding—especially since the divorce. So when her friends went home, Maura made the offer. Celia searched her sister’s face long and hard for signs of taunting before allowing hers to erupt in the smile she had way back when they were kids, before divorce, acne and high school mind games had made her wary.
Maura tuned back into the concert as her favorite song jarred her out of reverie. She began to dance, her gaze set on Brennan. Her throat was raw from screaming and Celia’s couldn’t be faring much better for all the noise she was making. At this rate, they’d both be hoarse by the time Sam picked them up. Suddenly, the unthinkable happened: Brennan collapsed. There was a single beat of shocked silence before a sound as thunderous as applause surged through the theater—a collective cry of dismay from panicked fans. Security swarmed onstage, whisking the band off then staying behind to keep the crowds at bay.
Maura knew this meant they would not be going backstage, but she didn’t have time to sulk. Celia grabbed her arm and ran like mad to the door they came in, where she had seen a bus parked in the shadows. Through gasping breaths, she revealed her crazy plan. No matter what, she was meeting Brennan Kline.
The bus was pitch black with “Luna” scrawled across the side in lettering the color of moonbeams. It was pretty inconspicuous, considering. No wonder Maura hadn’t noticed it earlier. The guards were all inside the amphitheater trying to quell the pandemonium, so there wasn’t a soul around. The girls crept up the chrome steps to a door that, unbelievably, came open and virtually folded them inside.
“He’s bound to come back here,” Celia reasoned.
Maura’s neck prickled with apprehension. She didn’t feel right invading Brennan’s private space and glanced nervously out the darkly tinted windows to see a procession of people approaching. One of them was being helped along by the others. Assuming it was Brennan, they raced to a luxurious bedroom suite at the back of the bus and slid under the giant bed, where they anticipated emerging and getting a chance to see, and maybe even touch, their idol.
That’s when they saw that Brennan—or something astonishingly like him—was right there with them under the bed. Except this Brennan had empty sockets for eyes and sagging cheeks instead of the famous high-boned, chiseled slopes. His smile, frozen in a publicity-pose grimace, formed the summit of a mountain of cascading, crumpled skin that seemed more fitting to an eighty-year-old. The sight of him made the girls retch, but the commotion of people clambering aboard the bus covered the sound.
“The last one snuffed after only three days,” a voice complained.
“Hmmm, they’ve been snuffing out a lot lately. Let’s see.” A latex-covered hand came groping underneath the bed, very near where Maura was lying. She drew back in horror, covering her own mouth. She and Celia watched as the hand caught the limp Brennan shell and dragged him out through the dust bunnies.
“This one’s beyond hope. Activate the others.”
Under the cover of a noise like a generator kicking on, the two girls army crawled forward and peeked out into the hallway. A man and a woman garbed in lab coats stood outside the tiny bathroom stall. A blinding light was radiating from within, illuminating the edges of the door. When the light faded, the door opened and the Luna drummer came out. Celia and Maura watched transfixed as band members materialized one-by-one.
“I stumbled on him,” the man was saying. “Problem is, I don’t think he’s a fan.”
They suddenly noticed the boy who sat slumped over with one arm handcuffed to a metal chair. It was Sam.
Lab Coat Lady nodded and said even the actual concertgoers hadn’t gotten into the frenzied state necessary for the purposes of the chamber.
“What a disaster! We can only use true fans to clone Brennan,” she said. “And everyone’s leaving.”
The man looked doubtfully at Sam. “We could use him as a spare.”
The woman contemplated it. “Right now we need to harvest. The backstage pass holders are always a good bet. Even tonight, they’ll probably be the last to leave.”
Once the duo stormed out, the sisters raced to their brother’s unconscious figure and Celia slapped his cheek and shook him. Sam’s eyes popped open and he pointed accusingly.
“You guys were sneaking on the bus. I saw you.” His face registered his cuffed hand and his brow wrinkled. “Were we arrested?”
“You were almost the next Brennan Kline,” Celia said.
“Nice try at flattery, but I’m still telling mom about this.”
“Tell everyone! They need to know,” Maura said hysterically. “Brennan Kline is not just a hack, he’s been cloned! Brennan—Luna—they’re all clones. There’s this chamber in the bathroom. Then the clones snuff out or something and to make more they have to harvest souls—“
“From fans like us,” Celia wailed. “You were right all along, Sam!”
Sam looked alarmed. “Sorry? Did you say I was right?” He lifted his free hand to Celia’s forehead.
Maura nodded. “We saw it all,” she whispered, shuddering.
Sam laughed uncomfortably. “So what exactly were people smoking at this concert?”
Meantime, Celia found a key and popped the handcuffs open. Sam jumped up. “Let’s get outta here,” he said. “And get you two something to eat.”
He didn’t have to ask twice. Once in the open air, Maura fished out her rumpled backstage passes and threw them to the ground. That’s when she saw the bunched-up cloth weaved through the belt loop of Sam’s jeans.
“You bought a shirt?” she said incredulously.
Sam grinned. “Yeah, they sell shirts even though their superstar never wears one. Tons of irony in that,” he said. “How could I pass it up?”