“I’m fine.” I ran my fingers through my damp hair, turning away from him so that he couldn’t see the lie in my eyes. Bobby and I had been friends since we were kids—long before I’d met Alex and Reggie. He knew when something was eating away at me.
And he knew it now.
“Was that the song I think it was?” He slid my notebook across the coffee table and scanned the page, then plopped down on the couch with a heavy sigh. “You wanna add it to the set list for tonight?”
“I don’t know if I want to let the whole crowd in on my mom issues.” I shrugged with a strained laugh. “I’ve just been thinking about her a lot lately. You know, I thought about inviting her to the show tonight, but …” I sighed, looking out the window. “I don’t think she’ll ever talk to me again.”
“She’s your mom.” He leaned forward, his lips pursed. “Give her a chance.”
“You think?” I sputtered another sigh. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until I finally deeply exhaled. I picked up an empty fast-food container from the table and left the couch in search of the trash can, suddenly eager for a distraction.
“I’ll help you clean.” Bobby got up and started picking up discarded napkins and Coke cans.
He always knew how to help, even when I didn’t ask him for it.
The chords of my bass strings reverberated off the walls of our studio as I sang the last line of “Now or Never,” my personal favorite of our entire set list. It captured the energy of this moment in our lives—the moment when everything was on the verge of changing for the better. That’s why it was going to be the finale of our showcase.
The ladies were gonna love it—especially since I’d be wearing this seriously cool vintage leather jacket I’d recently picked up at a thrift store in Santa Monica. It had a sweet chain that wrapped underneath my pits and horizontal zipper compartments across each side, one of which could easily hold a bottle of minty mouthwash spray.
Hello, ladies.
But while I had opted for more clothing, Luke had gone for less—he’d chopped off the sleeves of his T-shirt.
“At this point, you should just go shirtless.” I chuckled as I pointed to his plunging sleeve holes. “Will you be doing this to all your shirts?”
“It’s actually my shirt. Long story.” Alex shook his head, holding a hand up. I kept my mouth shut, even though I was burning to ask if it had anything to do with his pink-tinted Fresh shirt. Alex turned to Luke, his lip jutted out in a pout. “Did you really have to rip them all the way off, man?”
“Alex, come on. The sleeves were toast.” Luke held his arms up and shrugged.
“Will you be taking some of the bottom off, too, and turning it into a crop top?” I asked, jokingly. But my chuckles faded—at this point I wouldn’t put it past him.
“Ha-ha. I’ve only done this to two shirts, and I had reasons for both.” He punched me playfully on the arm. Then he tilted his head, as if he just remembered something important. He turned to face our rhythmic guitarist. “Bobby, can I talk to you for a sec?”
“Sure.” He nodded and followed Luke over to the table on the other side of the studio. Luke clearly wanted to put some distance between us while he gave Bobby some notes on his performance. This was not the first time he’d needed to tighten his sound—and who better to tweak his chord progressions than our lead guitarist?
“You’re still coming in a tad too early on the last chorus,” Luke said in a low voice, trying not to be too loud. But the acoustics in the studio were incredible, and Alex and I could hear every word. “Just pause for a second longer before jumping into rising up right now. Got it?”
“I gotcha,” Bobby mumbled, fingering the chords on his guitar. He hung his head low, a look of determination on his face. I really felt for the guy. Playing guitar didn’t come as easily for Bobby as it did for Luke. His expression kinda reminded me of my little brother. Steve was always begging me to teach him to play bass. (What better way to escape the house for a bit, especially when Mom and Dad were in the middle of one of their epic arguments?) But his fingers couldn’t quite keep up with his enthusiasm. He sometimes got ahead of himself and fumbled the notes, but I couldn’t ever fault him for his excitement. I felt the same way about Bobby. Sometimes his passion just got in the way.
So, patience was the name of the game.
That being said, I really hoped Bobby would tighten up his timing on the last part of the song. It was our finale, and I really wanted us to end with a bang.
“Cool,” Luke said, patting him on the back before waving us over to where they were standing. We walked over to the table in the center of the room, which was surprisingly bare. Luke had obviously done some cleaning. He snaked his arm around my shoulders and gripped it tightly, practically vibrating with excitement. “I think we’re ready, boys.”
His voice echoed off the rafters of the converted garage, and I felt the life that always reverberated off the studio’s walls—we all felt it. This place had soul.
In many ways the studio was like a life raft. It had seen us through the shaky storms of high school and thousands of rehearsals. It was a place where Alex knew he could always be himself without judgment, and somewhere I could find quiet and calm when things at home were loud and tense. And now that Luke didn’t have a home to go to, this studio had become our refuge.
“Not to sound cheesy or anything, but I love this place.” I took a deep breath, exhaling as I tilted my head toward the rafters. “It gave us the space to grow, you know?”
“I know what you mean. And that gives me an idea.” Luke ran to the mini fridge that sat next to the bathroom.
“Uh-oh.” I smirked. “Does it involve all of us ripping our T-shirts up, because I might have to take a rain check.” I gripped my leather jacket and pulled it tighter, hiding my crisp white shirt.
“Yeah, the burger shack on Sunset has a NO SHIRT, NO SHOES, NO SERVICE sign out front.” Alex chortled, mumbling something about the Hamburglar under his breath. “Reggie will have his burgers.”
“Guys, guys.” Luke returned to the group, his arms full of soda cans. “Let’s make a toast—no, a pact—with the studio. Whatever happens tonight, let’s always remember this place.”
I sighed, giving the old place another once-over. From the dusty windows to the faded rug, and even the overgrown ivy and untrimmed bushes in the backyard. This was home. It felt right to show the place some gratitude.
“I don’t know for sure whether we’ll sign with a label tonight”—Luke inhaled sharply, like his heart rate was skyrocketing at the mere mention of it—“but I know this place is special. Something magical happens when we play here, and we bring that to the stage. So let’s toast to the studio.”
“Hear, hear!” I raised my soda in the air. “To the studio!”
“The studio!” Alex joined me in raising his can.
“Our studio!” said Bobby, following suit.
“May we always have a seat at this table.” Luke touched his can to ours, pausing for a moment to let the toast sink in. Then we brought the cans to our lips and chugged a couple sips. Luke burped just as Alex clapped his hands, snapping my attention in his direction.
“I’ve got our backstage passes.” He held up a green folder, filled with all the band’s business.
“And I brought my mom’s old van. Gassed her up this morning,” Bobby said proudly.
“Anyone remember to bring pens?” Alex asked.
“Got ’em right here.” I dug in my back pocket and pulled out an assortment of colored pens—a dozen of them in every color of the rainbow. “Extra colors for the ladies. And I didn’t want to jinx it, but I bought this really cool metallic one. You know, platinum status.”
“Nice,” Luke said hungrily, his eyes growing wider as he likely thought of Sunset Curve reaching the big leagues. I had to admit, I was thinking the same thing. The idea of Sunset Curve making it big—the fans, the tours, and Steve in the front row, watching his awesome big brother
rock out for a sold-out crowd—it was all so close.
“I think that covers it.” Luke sighed in satisfaction, taking one last look around our sacred space. A frown crept across his face. “Something tells me we’re forgetting something.”
“Uh, hello.” Alex brandished the band folder above his head. “I run a tight ship over here.”
“Cool, cool,” Luke said, unwilling to argue with our task master.
“Who wants to help me stuff my drum set into the back of Bobby’s car?” Alex asked. It wasn’t really a question. We all had to help. We weren’t famous enough to have roadies to load and unload our gear, so whenever we did a show, we had to stuff all the studio into the back of Bobby’s hand-me-down van.
It could take hours to dismantle and set up the whole thing again. That’s why we had to pack everything up so early. We’d need to head straight from the Spin magazine interview to the Orpheum for our six o’clock sound check. And then curtain call was at nine.
There was barely any wiggle room. Hence Alex’s folder of organization.
“Let’s load the strings first.” I flung my bass strap over my shoulder and followed my bandmates out the door. Next time we saw this place, we’d be well on our way to stardom. I broke out into a toothy grin and practically skipped to the van with visions of platinum status dancing in my head.
My nostrils flared as I sniffed the smelly mystery plate my mom had brought into my room. When she saw my horrified look, she turned her attention from Julie’s quinceañera dress to me, blinking away the dew in her eyes. I hated to break up the moment—I was just as excited as they were about the Selena dress—but I couldn’t think straight with the cloud of stink floating in the air.
“It’s tofu.” My mom shook her head as if the contents of the foil-covered plate were self-evident. “One of your favorites.”
“That doesn’t smell like any tofu I’ve ever eaten.” I frowned, looking to Julie for support, but her attention was still on the dress. She gazed dreamily at it, oblivious to my conversation.
Geez, if she can ignore this nasty tofu, she must be in love with the dress!
“It’s tofu with a twist.” My mom unveiled the plate to reveal a pile of brownish cubes and leaned forward to enjoy the bouquet. Less-than-subtle notes of boiled eggs and sweaty feet were unleashed onto the room. Julie snapped out of her dream dress reverie.
“Oh.” Julie brought a fist up to her mouth, trying to hide her gag.
“It’s slightly fermented tofu. Your father and I used to eat it all the time when we were in China. You can only find the authentic stuff downtown.”
I laughed nervously, trying not to breathe.
“Don’t worry, it’s not going to get you woozy. It’s not that fermented,” she said, throwing her head back and letting out a tinkling laugh.
It’s already making me woozy.
I stepped farther away from the plate, grabbing Julie’s arm and dragging us to fresher air. We stood next to a window on the far side of my bedroom. I pushed it open even more, praying for maximum air circulation—I’d take hurricane-force winds!
Look, I’m no stranger to eating foods off the beaten path. When I was a baby, I ate a full vegetarian diet. When I was in kindergarten, I was the only kid who brought sushi to school. In a lot of ways, I was grateful for my parents’ adventurous taste buds and even more grateful for my dad’s endless pursuit of sustainable food production. It made me a better global citizen, and I liked that.
But sometimes they missed the mark. By the smell of that tofu, Mom had really missed the mark on this one.
“I thought you girls would want a snack.” Mom popped a piece in her mouth, nodding with a close-mouthed smile like it was the most delicious thing she’d ever eaten.
“Oh, thanks, Misha.” Julie coughed, trying to not gag again. She looked at me, her eyes tight as she searched my face for help.
“Mom, thanks, but I think we were just finishing up here.”
“Come on, my young women. Broaden your horizons. Tear down the yolk of Western dietary limitations.” She raised her eyebrows at me expectantly—she expected more from my taste buds. Then she grinned, leaning closer to me, whispering conspiratorially, “This is nothing. You should see the tofu that’s kinda hairy.”
Julie inhaled sharply, holding her breath as my mom lifted the plate closer to her nostrils.
“If you gals are planning on hanging out up here for a while, you’re welcome to stay for dinner, Julie.” She shimmied her hips, dancing along to her menu plans. “Meat loaf, sound good?”
My mouth dropped.
Did I hear that right?
We weren’t technically vegetarians here. My dad worked for a sustainable seafood distributor that sourced ethically raised aquaponic foodstuffs, so we ate a lot of fish, especially when his company had a surplus. He was super concerned about sustainability, so beef and pork weren’t commonly featured at our dinner table. That’s why when I heard the words meat loaf come out of Mom’s mouth, I was instantly intrigued.
“What’s the catch?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. This house hadn’t seen red meat in years—literally.
“Don’t worry.” My mom covered her mouth as she munched on another piece of fermented tofu. “It’s a vegan quinoa meatless loaf.”
Yeesh. Hard pass.
I bit the inside of my cheek and tried not to flare my nostrils as I looked over at Julie, who was smiling nervously at my mom. As soon as Mom dove for another slice of tofu, our gazes met. I shook my head vigorously, warning her not to come anywhere near the meat loaf.
“Misha, I honestly can’t thank you enough for the dress.” Julie nodded toward the Selena dress laying on the bed. I found myself wondering if the tofu smell would stick to the fibers. I’d have to offer to dry-clean it.
“Yeah, thanks, Mom. But I think Julie has to get going.” I gave the clock an exaggerated look. “She’s, uh, helping cook dinner later.”
“That’s right.” Julie nodded slowly, her smile widening. She was up to something. “We are helping my dad perfect his homemade pasta recipe.”
Hallelujah, I’m saved. That’s my girl!
Jules was saving me from a night of dietary horrors. This was one of the many reasons she was my best friend.
“So I’ll have to try your new recipe later.” I jutted my lip in a fake pout, hoping I wasn’t hurting my mom’s feelings too much. I loved her to freakin’ pieces … just not her taste in food.
“Are you sure I can’t interest you in a piece before you go?” My mom held the plate up to Julie.
“Ehh …” Julie cringed.
And that’s when I decided to fall on my sword. I reached out to Mom’s plate of fermented bean curd and plucked a piece from the top. “I’ll try one.”
My eyes began to water the closer I brought the tofu to my face, as if the smell was making me involuntarily cry. Julie’s hands flew over her mouth, and her shoulders shook like she was laughing and gagging at the same time. My eyes tightened as I brought the cube to my lips.
I’m takin’ one for the team, girl.
I popped it into my mouth, chewed quickly, and swallowed it nearly whole. It was penance for skipping out on dinner and an expression of gratitude for Jules, since she’d saved me from a horrendous meatless loaf.
I was squared up with the universe and karma and Black Jesus. I had earned the right to eat the Molinas’ pasta dinner tonight. But right now I needed to wash this taste from my mouth. I smacked my lips, looking for a glass of water. As if she could read my mind, Julie handed me the one from my nightstand with a wink.
“Thanks,” she whispered. “I’ll see you in a couple hours?”
“Try and stop me,” I said between gulps of water.
Nothing would keep me from spending time with my best friend.
The seating arrangements in the van were always the same, without fail. Alex liked to be in the back seat so he could look after his drum set, and Reggie liked to sit next to Alex so he could bug him. Tha
t left me riding up front while Bobby drove. I spent most of the ride hunched over my notebook, trying to come up with lyrics for a new ballad that I’d been kicking around.
I ripped out another page and crumpled it up. Nothing seemed like the right angle. Sometimes I wish I had a writing partner to bounce ideas off of—to make me better. I loved my boys, but they didn’t really inspire any love songs.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could feel Bobby’s gaze boring into me. I gave him a sidelong glance, and he quickly looked back at the road. I leaned closer to the window, hunching over my pages so that he couldn’t sneak another peek at my work in progress.
All of a sudden, Bobby made a sharp turn across an intersection, drawing my attention to the road for the first time in miles. We were in a residential neighborhood with sprawling sloped lawns, manicured with pride. It slowly dawned on me that this wasn’t just any neighborhood—it was mine.
“Dude.” I gripped the armrests, my mouth agape. “What are we doing here?”
“Come on, Luke. We talked about this.” Bobby looked over at me. “It’s time to tell your mom how you feel.”
“That’s not your decision to make,” I said, my voice rising several octaves. I folded my arms and looked out the window. “Turn around.”
“Luke—”
“Turn around!” I said louder, drowning him out.
“I’m sorry, are we not on our way to the magazine shoot?” The faux leather seats squeaked as Alex shifted in the back. He scooted forward, peering out the windshield at the tree-lined residential streets whizzing by. He moaned, probably because Bobby had veered from his thorough directions—and our tight schedule. “Where are we?”
“I’ll tell you where we are.” I pointed to the stop sign in front of us. “We’re right down the street from my parents’ house, because Bobby can’t mind his own business.”
It came out harsher than I’d meant it to. Bobby was my oldest friend, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He got enough of that at home with his macho brothers. Maybe it was because we’d known each other for so long that he thought he could push me to run back home. But he’d miscalculated.
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