“Whoopsies. Rose, you’re such a klutz.” She giggled as she held up a single tea bag. “But I got one!”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I said, running over to meet Rose by the bar. She tossed the tea into the mug and poured hot water over it. In that moment, she reminded me of my mom and how she used to take care of me whenever I got sick—the way she always took care of me. My heart panged at the thought of not having her here tonight, of not sharing this amazing day with her.
I shook my head, unwilling to get sucked into that train of thought. After our close call this afternoon, I was more determined than ever to make things right with my mom. I would go see her tomorrow, and hopefully that would be the start of everything getting better between us. My eyes refocused as I looked back to Rose, taking a small sip from my piping hot mug. “This is really hitting the spot. Thanks again.”
“It’s no problem. You sounded like you needed it.” Rose leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially, “But if anyone asks, you didn’t get that from me.”
She winked and walked off, dragging the damp rag off her shoulder so that she could continue wiping down tables. Bobby joined me by the bar, watching Rose intently.
“I’m definitely going to try to get her number later,” Bobby said in little more than a whisper as he watched the waitress retreat.
“Not if I can help it.” Reggie nudged his side, also eyeing her. In an instant, his crush on the Spin intern from earlier this afternoon disappeared in a poof. He only had eyes for the curly-haired beauty.
“I saw her first.” Bobby pushed off the counter, standing up straight. He stood head and shoulders above Reggie, and he was obviously trying to stake a claim.
What a bunch of amateurs.
“Guys, you can’t call dibs on a person.” I bristled at the notion of them fighting over someone, especially since they hadn’t even spoken to her. They weren’t wrong to admire her—she was very nice to give me hot tea, even though she wasn’t supposed to be behind the bar. And of course she was gorgeous with her long spiral curls reaching well below her shoulders. But she didn’t deserve to be bickered over.
I wanted to tell them that there was no way they’d ever get girlfriends if they treated women like something to be conquered. Instead, I settled for their more obvious hurdle. “She’s perfectly able to make her own decisions. Let her decide for herself—after the show. Okay?”
Bobby nodded with a cocky grin, clearly convinced that he would prevail. Reggie held his hands up, spinning around to walk in the opposite direction, viewing it as a deferred challenge.
Backstage was a maze of hallways that led to set staging areas, break rooms, and guest lounges. I wandered deeper into the bowels of the theater, passing our tiny green room, where Alex was thumping his drumsticks against the back of the couch—warming himself up for sound check. At the end of one of the halls was an emergency exit, propped open with a piece of wood wedged underneath the doorframe. I stepped out into the cool shade of an alleyway, my hot tea steaming into the wind. My footsteps echoed off the narrow pathway as I walked to the edge of the sidewalk.
The sun was already beginning to sink behind the Hollywood skyline, and the theater had finally turned on the neon lights of its iconic two-story sign. Now the blue and white lights of the Orpheum stared back at me, blinking with anticipation. Written on the marquee in big black letters was our band name.
SUNSET CURVE SHOWCASE—SOLD OUT.
“They’re ready for us for sound check.” Reggie leaned out the doorway, cupping his hand around his mouth so that I could hear him down the alley. “And when we’re done, let’s grab a quick bite before the show? We found some loose change underneath the couch cushions in our green room.”
Count on Reggie to always be hungry.
“It’ll have to be super cheap.” I jogged over to meet him, sloshing warm tea over the rim of my mug in the process. We’d spent literally all our money on those T-shirts. We were flat broke.
“We’ll figure something out. We always do!” Reggie skipped down the hall to gather the rest of the band. I took my time as I followed him, letting the hot tea soothe my throat. I knew it was just a sound check, but I wanted to blow it out of the water anyway.
Because tonight was everything.
Our car eased to a stop in front of the Dog Gone Lounge, a hole-in-the-wall, with a green awning covering a weathered redbrick façade. It was squished between a travel agency and a dimly lit alley, where workers were moving amps and black boxes into the back door of a theater. The entrance to the Lounge was on the other side of the block. A short line formed underneath the awning, as people waited to be seated in the small venue.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get seats. The place is bigger than it looks, and we’re on the early side of the night,” Dad said as he unlocked the car doors. He brought my mom’s hand to his lips and gave it a soft kiss. “You go ahead while I find a parking spot. I’m not gonna pay a valet to do something I’m perfectly capable of.”
Mom sighed as she reclaimed her hand. “Mi amor, last time it took you over half an hour to find a spot. It is a Saturday night in West Hollywood, after all.”
“Yo lo sé.” His grip tightened around the steering wheel. He had a thing about wasting money on valets. If he spent ten dollars on parking, he’d spend the rest of the night looking at the menu and pointing out all the things we could have bought with that money. He wouldn’t budge on this; his mind was made up. “I’ve got this; don’t worry.”
“Okay, dear.” Mom closed the door. Rapping on the backdoor window, she motioned for Flynn and me to come join her in line. “Let’s leave Dad to his own devices. Come on, girls.”
On the sidewalk, the city was alive. Hot dog and sandwich vendors sold their food down the block, and a bodega with every kind of newspaper stood to the side of the club’s door. We settled into the short line, the third party to be seated. Flynn pressed her face against the glass and waved for me to join her.
“Jules, you’ve gotta see this.” Her breath fogged up the glass.
I leaned in closer, looking at the circular coffee bar in the middle of the room and the mismatched couches and comfy armchairs scattered around the room. The lounge looked more like a coffee shop with a stage than an actual club. Now I understood why my parents were cool with me and Flynn tagging along.
“No way. I didn’t know Trevor Wilson sang at the Dog Gone.” Flynn pointed to the sun-bleached poster in the corner of the window. “Your parents are seriously cool to bring you here.”
“I guess, but Carrie’s dad is way cooler. I mean … Trevor Wilson! One of the greats,” I said, thinking about all of Trevor’s music. He inspired me to write my own songs. There was just something about his lyrics that called to me—that touched the very essence of my soul and spoke to me in a way nothing else did.
I used to talk to him about music whenever I went over to Carrie’s house. But now that she’d basically stopped talking to me, that was over, too. My heart hiccupped. I knew I needed to accept that things between me and Carrie weren’t going back to the way they were, but it still made me sad.
I breathed sharply, feeling a sudden wave of nerves rumble through my body. Her dad’s music flooded into my head, great ballads I couldn’t compete with. I couldn’t stand on the same stage Trevor Wilson did.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I said in a breathy whisper.
“What?” Flynn whipped her head around, her long braids flying in the air. “Of course you can do this.”
“Okay, we’re up. Let’s go put our names on the list,” Mom said over our gushed chatter. “I want them to call us before it gets too late.”
“Can we stay out here?” I asked. I hadn’t stepped forward when the line moved up, and there was a huge gap between us. I was frozen to the spot. “Just need to catch my breath.”
Mom chewed on the side of her cheek as she thought about my request. She bent over so that she was at eye level with me. “You can stay outside for
a little while longer only if you stay on this side of the block—and you two need to stick together.”
Flynn and I nodded in agreement, but Mom lingered a few moments longer, obviously worried about leaving us on a busy LA street. But she trusted me enough to give me space, and that was exactly what I needed right now.
As soon as she disappeared into the Dog Gone Lounge, I took off down the sidewalk. The evening breeze was cool against my skin as I pushed the limits of my one-block radius. The patter of Flynn’s shoes thumped behind me.
“Um, hello!” Flynn grabbed my shoulder, pulling me to a halt. “Remember when we made a deal that we would always tell each other when we’re standing in our own way?”
“Yeah,” I said, looking down at the pavement instead of at Flynn’s face.
“Well, duh. Hi. You’re doing it again.”
I knew what she was talking about. Over the summer, when I’d tried out for the super competitive music program at Los Feliz High School, no one was allowed in the auditorium to cheer me on. I couldn’t lean on my mom or Flynn to give me strength. I was so nervous before the audition, I nearly threw up. Thankfully, I was accepted into the program, but I sometimes thought about how close I came to failing.
But this situation was different—performing my original music in front of a crowd of strangers in Hollywood. Stars had graced the stage of the Dog Gone. I wasn’t on that level.
Right?
“Trevor Wilson sang there.” I pointed down the block, where the line in front of the Lounge was growing longer. “I’m just a freshman who wrote a song with her mom. And I’m not even sure it’s good.
“It is good—great even.”
“We finished writing that song months ago and haven’t even practiced it.” The blood drained from my face as I conjured up a horror image of what could happen tonight. “Oh my goodness, what if we get booed off the stage?!”
“Hey! Don’t talk about my best friend like that.” Flynn clapped her hands, snapping my attention back to the present. She gripped my shoulders with both of her hands. “Jules, breathe! Remember the day of your music program audition? Remember what I told you then?”
“Oh, you mean right after Carrie walked out of her audition looking smug and perfect?” I muttered under my breath, remembering standing in the hallway freaking out. Flynn was at my side, giving me a pep talk, and Carrie pushed through the doors of the auditorium, looking like she’d just gotten a perfect score from the faculty board. And even though we were supposed to be friends, she didn’t even stop to wish me good luck, which had really rattled me. It was one of the first times I really realized how much our relationship had changed.
I wondered what would happen between us if we stopped being friends altogether. How would we act if we passed each other in the hallway at school? Would she keep ignoring me—or become my biggest competition?
“Ugh, forget about Carrie!” Flynn rattled my shoulders again. “She’s literally just a miserable human who doesn’t know how good she had it being your friend. It’s not like she’s your nemesis or enemy or whatever. But you know what? If she does turn out to be your enemy, then she’ll be mine, too. Because the enemy of my friend is my … enemy? Wait how does that saying go?”
Flynn released her grip on my shoulders, frowning as she tried to remember the exact phrasing of the old adage.
“Flynn.” I waved my hand in front of her distant stare. “Flynn! It doesn’t matter—I get what you’re trying to say.”
“Come, on. What did I tell you before your audition?”
“You said: Strut onto the stage with entitlement, because while you’re on it, you own it.” Just saying those words gave me a jolt of confidence, just enough to turn my feet back in the direction of the Dog Gone Lounge’s open mic night.
“Exactly. Go own that stage.”
And then I walked arm in arm with one of my biggest cheerleaders.
Mrs. Molina’s eyes looked equal parts worried and relieved as they followed me and Julie through the coffee shop. We wove through the tightly packed crowd, shimmying through rows of couches and tattered armchairs until we got to the corner of the room where she’d saved us some seats.
Everything she owned was slung over the surrounding chairs—her jacket, her purse, a lone pair of reading glasses. Anything to make it seem like the seats were taken.
“You had me worried.” She gripped Julie’s arm. Her eyes were still tight with worry, but she smiled through it. She brought Julie in for a hug. Over her head, she looked to me, mouthing, “Thank you.”
Aww, shucks.
I shook my head. It was nothing. I’d do anything for my best friend. And if that meant running down the block to stop her from running away from fate—so be it.
“I got some last-minute jitters, that’s all.” Julie took a deep breath and sank into one of the chairs.
“I get those every time I go up.” Mrs. Molina scooted a chair closer to Julie, resting her hand on her knee. She rubbed her thumb against Julie’s leg in small, soothing circles.
“Really?” I raised my eyebrows, surprised. I stepped closer to their conversation. “Don’t you get onstage regularly?”
“I’m only human.” She shrugged. “The nerves and adrenaline are normal—they let you know you’re alive. Never let that stop you from getting onstage. Lean into it, not away from it.”
“Any tips and tricks?” Julie asked, leaning closer, clearly interested in how to up her game.
“I picture mi abuela. I know it sounds weird because she’s gone. But I imagine that if I sing loudly enough, if I sing with enough conviction, she can hear me all the way on the other side, wherever she may be.” Her eyes glazed over, like she was thinking about her grandmother now. She shook her head, returning her gaze to us. “Sometimes I think about singing to your father. You can pick anyone to sing to. And when you are singing to that loved one, the audience sort of melts away. And it’s just the song that carries you.”
As if Mr. Molina could feel his wife’s pull, he swung open the door to the Lounge and scanned the crowd, locking eyes with her as soon as he spotted our little corner. In his piercing gaze, I caught notes of adoration and love. I looked away, giving them their private moment.
He wove through the crowd, only breaking eye contact with Mrs. Molina long enough to look where he was stepping. When he reached us, he wiped his forehead in mock relief.
“See, I told you no worries,” he huffed, clearly still out of breath from wherever he’d parked the car. He looked at his watch, smiling at the time. “That only took twenty minutes. I’m getting better at this.”
Julie laughed and shook her head. But Mr. Molina didn’t notice—he’d locked eyes with Rose again. He wrapped his arm around her waist.
“Ay, mi amor.” He kissed her cheek, lingering slightly too long. “I forgot how much I love that leather jacket.” He lowered his voice, leaning closer to her ear. “Remember that time we went to Las Vegas and you got up onstage and—”
“Um, hello? You have company.” Julie pointed her finger at her chest, then at me. “This is supposed to be date night lite, okay?”
I cleared my throat, not even thinking about mentioning the heart eyes her dad had made across the room. I’d keep that one to myself. Mrs. Molina squeezed Julie’s chin and wiggled her nose playfully.
“Right. We’ll talk about Vegas later. Where did you stash the car this time?” Julie’s mom raised her eyebrows toward her husband, her eyes alight with amusement.
“Eh.” He bobbed his head side to side, avoiding her intent gaze. “It’s tucked safely away behind a shopping center cargo bay. It’s fine.” He held his hands up in defense. “We won’t get towed.”
He slid Mrs. Molina’s sheet music across the table with a wink. “You don’t want to forget this up there, do you?”
“All right,” the emcee boomed as he hopped onto the stage. He peered down at the clipboard in his hands. “Next up on the list is Dos Dahlias.”
Ohmigod, cutest n
ame ever, right?
“You ready to sing to your person?” Rose Molina held her hand to her daughter.
“Can my person be you?” Julie asked from her chair, frozen to the spot.
I watched intently, curious to know if her advice worked even when the person you were singing to was on the same stage.
“Of course it can, mija.” She grinned, her eyes growing bright. Julie grabbed her hand without hesitation and her mom drew her in for a tight hug. “Come on. Let’s sing to each other.”
The emcee handed both of them microphones. Julie held hers in her hands, and she smiled awkwardly as Mrs. Molina slid onto the bench behind the keyboard onstage, adjusting her mic in the attached mic stand. I shouted before the music started, “Woo! Go, Team Molina!”
Julie and her mom smiled warmly at each other, and then, with her fingers poised on the keys, Mrs. Molina nodded her head, mouthing down her countdown.
Then she started playing—a soft thrumming intro before her lips found the mic.
Julie rushed across the stage, commanding it like I knew she could. She sidled up to the keyboard, her brown curly mane swinging behind her as she swayed to her mom’s instrumentals. She threw her head back, raising her mic in the air, and joined her mom on the chorus.
Julie took a deep breath before launching into her verses.
Rose picked up the tempo of her piano accompaniment, lifting the song to new heights. She leaned forward to join Julie for the last few verses.
My voice trailed off as the memory of that perfect day faded into the back of my mind. It was kind of amazing that my two favorite memories both revolved around me doing a live performance, especially considering how they used to kinda freak me out. But now, every time I took the stage with my own music, I got a little less nervous—especially with my phantoms standing beside me.
My mom had told me to hold a person in my heart while I performed—that if I sang loudly and with enough conviction, that person could hear me all the way on the other side, wherever they may be.
Whatever Happens Page 10