Induction Day: Book Two in the Butterman Travel Series Read Online Free Page B

something to this retro stuff that hasn’t been tapped into in years. 2070 will be the year people reacquaint themselves with authentic performances and leave the electronica age behind.”
    I smile. He’s put so much thought into it. “Maybe you’re right.”
    He squeezes his arms around me. “Means a lot to me to get it right, not let anyone down. You get that, don’t you?”
    “It’s how I feel about Titanic and my Induction Day.”
    He squints at me a second, then grins. “Right. We gotta make sure you get your Induction Day.” He pauses, then perks up, turning up the volume on the concert again. “Hey, that’s it … we need another time trip. We could go back to the grunge era, to this concert right here even.”
    The holo-GIF image from Web-Celeb Today flashes in my mind. I still have to tell my parents what’s going on. They may not agree to book Tristan another time trip. Especially after what happened last time. They were not happy at all about the Timeline Rewrite.
    “The sooner the better,” Tristan says, as if it’s all settled. “I’d love to be ahead of my deadline, and no freebies either. Just ‘cause I’m seeing Butterman Travel’s booking agent on a personal level doesn’t mean I expect any discounts. I want your parents to trust me.”
    Maybe that’s it. Bringing Tristan back to Alaska with me would keep him out of trouble, and let him write his songs without distraction. Not to mention secretly monitor his sobriety . He said himself he was still weak, and still had cravings. I can’t have him getting all down on himself and losing his creative mojo. Promising him a time trip, which he still pays for, and giving him space to write music may be the perfect situation to prevent any more rumors.
    I smile. “Fine. Let’s do it. You can fly back with me and we’ll set up a booking to the 1990s.” I glance on-screen, hoping he doesn’t see through to my ulterior motive of keeping him clean. “Depending on what dates my parents agree to, you can spend your down time working on your songs.”
    Hesitating, his brows furrow as he studies me. “Hmm, okay, yeah. That can work. I’ll record them when I get back here and send them on to my producers for edits.”
    I grin, nod.
    Tristan’s face is still serious. “Wow, you really do like me, don’t you? This must be moving faster than I thought.”
    “Oh geez.” I push myself off him, making a puke-ready face. I know he’s kidding, but I can’t let him get too full of his superstar golden boy self.
    He tackles me into an embrace that lands us on his hover-mattress and I scuffle to get away, giggling like a child. A silly, stupid child.
    He tickles my sides. “Tell me the truth, Butterman. You need me, don’t you? Tell me.”
    I try pushing him off me, struggling to speak. “No, I was kidding.”
    “Liar. Tell the truth, or there’ll be hell to pay.”
    Squirming beneath him, I finally let go and laugh hysterically. “Never.”
    “Come on, now, say it … you can’t wait to get me alone in your time-craft again.”
    A loud blip startles us both and we turn toward the holo-screen. A face message blinks and dings, begging to be opened.
    Tristan hops off me and moves toward it, readying himself in his chair. Minimizing his face window so the area behind him isn’t visible, he accepts the call.
    The face of an older red-headed woman emerges in midair. “There you are, darling,” she says in a tight British accent. “Okay, let’s get down to business. It’s getting ugly. I’ve arranged a press conference via real-time video later today. 10AM. I want you squeaky clean and coherent. Got it?”
    “What now ?” Tristan asks, running his fingers through his messy bangs.
    “You’re better off not knowing. Just stick to the same three answers we’ve gone over in the past, or slight variations thereof. And lots of personality. More important than ever. Let them see you’re on top of your game. And you are, darling, you are.