But first I needed to prove to her that I could make a career as a musician—that’s the only way we’d ever work things out. Until then, I was fine ducking down alleys to avoid her.
A loud gurgle rippled through the silence. We all turned to Reggie, who shrugged sheepishly.
“Hunger waits for no one.” His mouth stretched into his signature goofy grin. Then he nodded toward the food vendor across the road. His nostrils perked up at the smell of street meats, and I had to admit—it smelled delicious.
I hopped up and walked with the guys across the street. They were nice enough not to bring up the station wagon or the fight I’d had with my mom. We usually poked fun at one another about everything, but we all knew which subjects were off-limits.
“So, are you sleeping at the studio again?” Reggie asked.
“What other choice do I have?” I shrugged, stepping onto the sidewalk. Storming out of my house meant I technically didn’t have a bedroom anymore. I’d used the couch at the studio on and off for the past few months, hoping the owners didn’t think I was living there. We only rented the space for band practice, not as an apartment. Underage kids couldn’t rent apartments.
Believe me, I’ve tried.
As if he could read the worry painted on my face, Alex slung his arm around my shoulders and offered me exactly what I needed.
“I’ve got an open bunk, if you want it.”
“Thanks, Alex.” I smiled, then stepped forward to order my food. I groaned when I read the menu prices. These hot dogs were more than twice the cost at our usual joint—Sam ’N’ Ella’s Dogs. I hesitated, my fingers hovering over the few dollar bills left in my wallet.
“Come on. Live a little!” Reggie laughed from behind me.
Reluctantly, I handed the guy at the register the rest of my cash. I figured we’d be famous after our show at the Orpheum. By this time tomorrow we could have an agent—maybe even a record deal! Why not start living large now?
“Seriously, we gotta take these on the road,” Alex said between bites. “I need sleep real bad.”
“We can sleep when we’re dead.” I chuckled, wondering if any of us would really be able to sleep tonight anyway—the eve of the most important day of our lives. I shrugged, stuffing a hot dog in my face. It didn’t have the same rustic taste as our usual dogs—there was something about Sam ’N’ Ella’s that left a tang in my mouth. But I didn’t really care how it tasted, as long as it hit the spot.
We huddled together, the sound of chewing filling the air. This might be one of the last times we ate street meat together; we were rising stars, after all. Our showcase at the Orpheum would surely catapult us to stardom, and pretty soon I’d be buying steak dinners for everyone.
“Cheers to the future!” I raised my half-eaten hot dog over my head. The guys raised what was left of their own food, joining me in a toast to our inevitable success.
“Tomorrow we’re going to be legends.”
Carrie wasn’t exactly dead to me, but I could feel our friendship flatlining. For the life of me, I could not figure out what was going on. She’d been super cold and flaky since before school started, and I wasn’t sure why. My best friend, Flynn, would never treat me like this. In fact, I couldn’t remember anyone ghosting me the way Carrie had. Seriously, this silent treatment was starting to worry me. Before I knew it, I was flipping through her social media.
Yeah, yeah. I know I’m super lame.
But I was too curious to see what she was up to. Maybe she was still having a rough time at home. Her parents were going through a divorce, and as tough as Carrie tried to be, I knew she was hurting.
I scrolled through her recent posts online, gritting my teeth as I saw the time stamp on the bottom of her latest duck-faced selfie. It was taken an hour ago, right around the time I texted her about maybe hanging out and going shopping. She’d obviously seen my message and was ignoring me on purpose. Ouch.
I don’t know why I did it, but I scrolled down to the next picture. I bit my tongue when I saw Carrie making that same selfie face with Nick. Double ouch.
She knew I had a crush on Nick. I’d fallen for him the moment I heard him play one of Trevor Wilson’s soulful ballads on his guitar. The way his eyes closed as he strummed the song by one of my favorite musicians—I was all in. Carrie was crossing a line.
I lay back against my pillow, crossing my arms over my chest as I gazed at the ceiling. My heart ached, and it wasn’t just because Nick was posing for pics with another girl. The true wound came from my crumbling friendship with Carrie. I had a sneaking suspicion that I was losing a really good friend, and I felt helpless to stop it. It was pretty heartbreaking.
My thumbs rapidly tapped against my phone screen as I texted Flynn, asking her if she could hang out later. As my best bud since the first grade, she had a way of talking me down, whirling me into one of her many distractions instead of letting me dwell on the heavy. I didn’t have to worry about hearing back from Flynn—she was always there for me. I shoved my phone into my pocket, knowing she’d respond soon.
In the meantime, there was only one person I wanted to run to right now, and that was my mom.
I scampered down the stairs of my house and made a detour to the kitchen island, where a basket of fruit sat on the counter. I nabbed a banana and peeled the skin back as I nudged the back door open.
The wind hit me with a whoosh, cooling my clammy forehead as I made a beeline to the garage studio. Taking the stone steps two at a time, my mom’s piano music grew louder with each stride. I peeked through the dusty window and watched her play the sheet music for her student, who sat beside her, turning the pages as she struck the keys with ease.
“You really have to play it more allegro when you come out of the bridge section here.” Mom pointed to the sheet resting on the stand. “Practice it just like I showed you, and we’ll revisit it next week.”
After some rustling of papers and the sound of a backpack being zipped up, the door to the garage studio swung open. I scooted to the side to allow the student to get by, apologizing under my breath for being in the way.
“I thought I heard you out there,” Mom called from inside.
“I just like listening to you, that’s all.” I crossed the threshold, sidling up to her as she cleared the piano of her lesson plans.
“You can do better than listen. You can come play.” Mom slid a few familiar pages from her personal notebook forward, wiggling them in front of my face—tempting me to see what she’d added to our latest creation.
“Are you done for the day? Don’t you have another lesson?” It was Saturday morning. My mom always had lessons lined up, especially on the weekends. As one of the best music theory teachers and private tutors in central LA—a city known for its music scene—Rose Molina was in high demand.
“I had a last-minute cancellation.” She shrugged, arranging the pages on the piano.
“That’s rude,” I grumbled under my breath. Okay—maybe I was still a little sore from Carrie giving me the cold shoulder. But you can’t just cancel on people and not care about their feelings! Not when you’ve been best friends since you were kids. I deserved more than that—especially from Carrie.
Okay, Jules. Just breathe.
“Sometimes you gotta just let it go, mija. Water off a duck’s back, right?” She gripped my chin, tilting it upward so that I could meet her gaze. Her soft brown eyes melted away my lingering frustrations, and I quickly forgot about Carrie. Mom patted the seat next to her. “Ven, how about we take another stab at our song?”
My mom’s slender fingers started playing the notes to our newest work-in-progress. She nodded at me, inviting me to sing with her.
Her hands slowed as her fingers trailed off the piano keys. This was as far as we’d gotten last week—the song was still working its way out of our minds.
“I keep kicking around this line about floating in the air.” I tilted my head to the side, trying to see if I could make it fit into this song.
“Floating in the air.” My mom began playing the piano in an upbeat allegro. “Just like a chair.”
Her hand faltered on the keys as she burst into giggles. I couldn’t help but laugh, too.
“Okay, maybe we’ll save that line for another song.” My shoulders rumbled through another laugh. “Besides, a chair can’t float in the air.”
“Of course it can. Haven’t I told you that anything is possible if you put your mind to it?” She smiled at me, and then her look grew distant, like it did when she thought of the perfect combination of music and lyrics.
She slipped a pencil from behind her ear and jotted down a few more lines. This was how she wrote—in the moment, dropping everything she was doing to chase the song.
“I think I’ve got the next verse,” she said, her fingers gliding over the notes. I scooted closer, looking over her shoulder to read her new addition to the song. Mom lifted her head and sang the new lines:
“What do you think, mi amor?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she tapped the keys in a soft melody.
“I love it, but it’s still missing something. We need the chorus—the hook.” My eyes tightened as I looked at the music sheet, as if the lyrics were hiding behind a treble clef.
“You wanna know what I think? I think this is going to be good enough to debut in Hollywood—maybe at a small theater or music club. There’s something special about this one.”
“What do you know about Hollywood clubs?” I said with a laugh. Thinking about my mom out on the town—in Hollywood of all places—sent another giggle bubbling up in my chest.
“Enough to know that this song and ‘Fueling the Fires’ and all our other songs are good enough to grace the stage of any open mic night in this city.”
“Okay, stop.” I rolled my eyes, feeling my cheeks heat. She had to say that our songs were good because she was my mom. “Let’s just start with singing one at my quinceañera. Leave the Hollywood clubs to the Hollywood people.”
“Hey, I used to be one of those young ‘Hollywood people.’ Up to no good with musicians and handsome photographers.” She winked at me, and I knew she was talking about my dad. They’d met a million years ago at some dive on the boulevard. “This new song of ours reminds me a little of a band I met once. They were sort of famous in their time. Well, almost famous.”
“Are they still around?” I turned in my seat, looking to my mom. She rarely shared about her time as a struggling artist.
But Aunt Victoria chimed in before Mom could answer. “Your mother always was such a sucker for the brooding rocker. And she’s got the junk to prove it,” Aunt Victoria said from the doorway, looking like she’d just come from a board meeting in her collared shirt and pencil skirt. She lowered her sunglasses and looked over their rim, nodding toward the loft space above the piano.
“Seriously, have you seen the rock-and-roll graveyard up there?” A small smile tugged at her lips as she teased her sister.
Mom chuckled, then yawned deeply.
“Don’t tell me you and Ray went out last night, too.” Tía folded her arms and pursed of her lips. She was like a second mom to me and my brother. Sometimes she even mothered my mom, too.
“You know our date night is once a month. And it just so happens to be tonight.” Mom yawned again, looking like she might not make it until then. “No, I’m just a bit tired today, that’s all.”
“But it’s barely noon,” I said, looking at my phone to check the time.
“I think maybe I need more iron or vitamin D or something to kick-start my energy. My doctor is running some blood tests, so we’ll see.” She ruffled my hair, trying to rattle the frown off my face, but her smile was tight. She smiled wider, erasing her worry lines. “I do miss the days when I could sleep in like your tía.”
“No you don’t.” Tía waved her hand dismissively. A warm smile pulled at her lips as she looked Mom in the eyes. “You always did want to be a mom.”
“I did, didn’t I?” She nudged me with her elbow before sliding off the piano bench. Gripping Tía’s shoulders, she said, “And it’ll happen for you, too.”
“Ah,” Tía moaned, rolling her eyes. She was trying to look like she didn’t care, but I could tell that she did. “Anyway, I came for a spa day. Vámonos.”
“All right, first order of business: Find Tía some loungewear.” Mom raised her eyebrows, nodding toward her not-so-casual attire. She then gestured to her sister’s hair. “Come on. Let your hair down.”
“Está bien.” She flicked her head toward the door. “But only if you curl it like you did last time.”
“Deal.”
Mom held my hand as she followed Tía out of the studio and up the walkway to our back door. My aunt chatted animatedly about changing up her look—maybe trying something edgier, like borrowing a leather jacket from Mom’s rocker days. Mom laughed softly, indulging her sister in her plans for the day.
I was only half present, my mind still wandering through the notes of our new song. My mom’s new verse was amazing, of course, but it needed something to bring it all together. I hummed the tune under my breath, determined to find the rest of my lyrics.
But I wasn’t in a rush. We had time.
My shoulder sank into the thin mattress of the bottom bunk, and my eyelids flapped open. My sight was fuzzy from sleep, but my eyes adjusted quickly as I blinked them awake. I squinted at the clock on Alex’s desk, which said it was shortly after 7:00 a.m. I rolled onto my back to find Alex’s leg dangling from the top bunk, his toe hovering just above my chest. He gripped the railing and dipped down, nudging me with his foot again.
“Okay, I’m up,” I said, propping myself up on my elbows. My chest rumbled through a burp, and I tasted some of last night’s chili dog. I definitely hadn’t slept long enough if I could still taste our late-night eats. I collapsed onto my pillow, surrendering to the weight of exhaustion. “Gimme a sec.”
We couldn’t have slept more than five hours. Alex’s offer to crash had rescued me from the nightmare of after-hours bus transit back to the studio and gave me a solid bed to sleep on instead of a lumpy couch. I was super grateful for his kindness, and I fully intended to take advantage of it. I rolled over, prepared to slip in some more snoozing, but Alex wasn’t having it. He kicked me awake again.
“Geez! Alex, come on,” I said, my voice thick with sleep.
“Would you keep it down?” Alex’s eyes grew wide, and he flicked his head toward the bedroom door across the room. “My parents are still sleeping.”
“So?” I scrunched my face up.
“Look, I don’t want them to hear you and be weird about … you know, me having a guy over.” He hopped down from his top bunk, his long legs nearly knocking into his desk. “You know the drill.”
Ahh. The drill. It had been so long since I’d slept over at Alex’s house, I’d almost forgotten.
Alex’s parents knew me pretty well, so this wouldn’t be my first encounter with them. Back in the day, I’d slept over at the Mercer house plenty of times, especially when my mom and I were arguing. But ever since Alex came out to his parents, they were weird anytime Alex brought a guy friend home—like they were worried he had more on his mind than just hanging out with us. It drove Alex crazy.
I didn’t blame him. It drove me crazy, too, because their treatment of Alex was a downright buzzkill.
His parents largely ignored him these days, leaving a strained silence whenever he entered the room. And they weren’t exactly supportive of his musical abilities either. They used to be so warm and welcoming, but all that had changed. And their silence and coldness had started to dampen the brightness of Alex’s smile.
It really, really sucked.
So, now, when any of us came over, we did our own thing, quietly and under the radar of their watchful gaze. And if we happened to fall asleep after watching too much TV and eating too much junk food, we were up early the next morning and gone before his folks could see us and draw some stupid conclusions.
Ugh.
I don’t know. It still bugged me—all this dancing around to please parents who would obviously never be pleased. But what did I know about pleasing parents?
“I’ll get dressed.” I flung the blanket off my legs, hoping to quell Alex’s anxiety by making moves. I managed to pry myself off the twin-size mattress, but the top of my head clipped the slats above me. Alex’s bunkbeds may have been cool when we were younger but not anymore. I rubbed my head, hoping to dull the sting.
“Thanks, man,” Alex said.
“Your parents are being totally bogus,” I grumbled as I searched for my shirt.
“I know.” He rolled his eyes and chuckled. “It’s not like you’re even my type.”
I gasped, pretending like I was offended. Alex tossed me my jeans, then dug in his closet for his own clothes while I put them on.
I wasn’t sure what Alex’s type was. But I knew when he finally decided to put himself out there, he was going to bring home a good guy. I just wished I could use his smarts when picking out my own dates.
Who was I kidding?
Dating wasn’t really a priority right now. For me, it was all about the music. And we had a show in less than fourteen hours. A surge of adrenaline rushed through my veins.
I finally spotted my shirt beneath the bottom bunk and quickly grabbed it off the floor. I was prepared to pull it over my head, but the stench caught me off guard. I jerked my head back. Yup, I definitely needed to do laundry soon. One whiff of that fabric, and I could smell the sweat from the concert venue, the mustiness of the late-night Los Angeles streets, and the body odor of someone who may or may not have showered in a couple days.
Yeah, I can get a little grody. So, sue me.
“I can’t wear this.” I tossed my shirt across the room, nearly missing Alex’s face. His nostrils flared as he caught a whiff of it. He slouched against the edge of his desk, fanning his face with his hand.
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