They follow me as I walk upstairs, pausing in the doorway to Milo’s room. I step inside, looking around at the few things he has here. A basket of folded clothes on the floor, a pair of sneakers by his bed, and coconut oil on his nightstand. His Doves Have Pride T-shirt is at the top of the basket, which confuses me. Doesn’t he need it for his show?
I picture the boys now. I bet they’re nervous and jittery because the A&R guy will be watching. And I bet Raf will throw a fit about Milo not having his shirt. I wonder if I should call him or bring the shirt to their show tonight, but I decide against it and force myself to leave his room.
I go and sit down on my bed. Tomorrow, everything is going to go to crap. I have to think about what I’m going to tell my parents and Kerri. They’re going to ask why I didn’t say anything sooner, why I thought I could handle any of this on my own, and I won’t have any answers. Flopping back onto my pillow, I let out a deep sigh.
The thought of sitting here alone in Gigi’s quiet house until I have to face my doom is unbearable. I know I saw Gigi tonight. I wish I could tell someone about it. Milo is the only person who knows what’s happening, but I don’t want to distract him on such a big night.
Then, as if I thought him up, he texts me. Is there any chance you’re at your grandma’s? I forgot my band shirt and I *really* need it. Can you please please bring it here? I’d owe you forever.
I text back right away, I’ll bring it.
Without a second thought, I sit upright, go into his room, and grab his Doves Have Pride T-shirt. Then I’m on my way out the door.
* * *
Adrian doesn’t bother carding me when I get to The Goose’s Egg. He just sighs. “Oh, look. It’s Milo’s friend who is not his girlfriend. New haircut?”
I reach up to touch my head and remember I’m only wearing my baseball cap. I’m not even wearing my sunglasses anymore. If I can walk through Bryant Park and not be recognized, I think the chances of me being recognized here are pretty slim. The disguise Kerri and I created is starting to feel a little silly now.
“Hi, Adrian,” I say, holding up Milo’s shirt. “Milo needs this.”
He narrows his eyes and then nods. “Go on in. No drinking, or—”
“I know,” I say, and he actually cracks a smile.
The show hasn’t started yet, but the crowd is here, and they’re ready. I keep my head down as I walk straight to the back room. I knock twice, and Milo opens the door. We stand face-to-face for the first time since our awkward morning. My heart rate quickens as I fumble for something to say.
“Hey” is what I end up with. I shove his shirt into his hands. “Here you go.”
“Thank you so much, seriously,” he says, smiling, clearly relieved. He wraps me in a quick, tight hug. I’m caught off guard but immediately relax in his arms. He pulls away too soon and glances behind me, biting his lip and looking anxious.
“What?” I say.
He nods his head. “Just spotted the A&R guy.”
I turn around and find a tall white man wearing an orange baseball cap sitting at the bar, nursing a beer. He looks bored, like he’d rather be doing a million other things right now.
But to Milo, I say, “He seems excited.”
He nods quickly, as if he’s trying to convince himself that this is true.
“Are your parents here too?” I ask.
“Yep. They promised they’d be standing front and center.” He steps aside and holds the door open for me. The other boys are sitting on the couch side by side, looking incredibly anxious, just like Milo.
“Evie found my shirt,” Milo says. He whips off his current plain black T-shirt and switches it for his band shirt.
Wow. Half-naked Milo. Look away. Look away!
“Thank God!” Raf says, hopping up. “Or, I guess, thank Evie.” He starts pacing like a caged tiger. “Can you imagine the immediate rejection we would have faced if we went out there and only three of us matched?”
Vinny groans, clutching his saxophone to his chest. “Yeah, I’m sure that would have lowered our chances.”
“My shirt still stinks from the other night,” Ben says, sniffing his underarms. “I didn’t have a chance to wash it.”
“Just try not to lift your arms around the A&R guy, okay?” Raf says.
“He’s out there now,” Milo adds. “We’re past the first battle. He’s here, so we can relax a little.”
“Yeah, nothing big riding on this night at all,” Raf says, sitting down once again, bouncing his knees. “It’s not like our entire lives could change or anything.”
“Shut it, Raf.” Vinny closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “What we need now is positivity, not your sass.”
Raf blinks, dubious. “My sass?”
“Can we not do this right now?” Milo begs. “We don’t need to be nervous. We’re good. We know that. Other people will see it too. We’re good.”
I’m struck by Milo’s conviction, how he knows the group’s value. The rest of the boys stare at him in silence. Ben is the first to stand up. He taps his drumsticks together once, twice. “Well, guess we’d better go, then.”
Milo, Raf, and Vinny stand too. The boys share one determined look and then put all their hands into a circle, bumping fists before they break apart. They’re like the Doves Have Pride Power Rangers. It’s kind of adorable.
“You’ll be fine. You’ll be great,” I whisper to Milo as we leave the room. I want to tell him about seeing Gigi, but now seems like the wrong time. He’s already so nervous. I don’t want to throw him off even more. I’ll just wait until they’re done. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” He squeezes my hand before we separate.
Eager fans burst into cheers as the boys step onto the small stage, and I notice a middle-aged Black couple standing up front, watching the crowd with bemused expressions. They must be Milo’s mom and dad. Even if they want him to give up music and go to school full-time, it’s nice that they’re here supporting him anyway.
I make my way to the back, standing near the bar again. I’m only a few feet away from the A&R rep. He glances down at his watch as one of the bar employees introduces the band. They take their positions, and the A&R guy lifts his head.
“What’s up, y’all?” Raf says into the mic. There’s a loud burst of feedback, and then the mic cuts off.
Oh no.
Milo leans into his mic and tests it, his eyes widening when there’s no sound. He looks off to the side of the stage and waves someone up for help. A collective groan erupts from the crowd. The A&R rep frowns and places his drink on the bar. He calls over the bartender. Crap. Is he asking to pay his tab?
One of the employees is still trying to figure out what’s going on with the microphones. Meanwhile, the crowd is only getting more and more antsy. The A&R rep stands up to leave, and I glance at Milo up onstage, who looks panicked. All his hard work to get this record-label guy to see them is going right down the drain.
I know how terrible it feels to lose out on the chance of a lifetime. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, especially not Milo, after all the sacrifices he’s made for his music. I’m standing right here. I have to do something.
I take a couple of steps forward and place my hand on the A&R rep’s shoulder. He turns around and quirks an eyebrow.
“Hey, do I know you?” I ask. “You look familiar.”
He looks me up and down. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure? Weren’t you at Yara Shahidi’s birthday party last February?” I wasn’t even at Yara Shahidi’s birthday party, but I heard about it.
“Nope,” he says. “Wasn’t me.”
I spare a quick glance past him toward the stage. Raf leans into the microphone again, but it’s still not working.
The A&R rep shoves his wallet into his pocket.
“Maybe you just have one of those faces,” I say, coming around to stand in front of him. I lift my baseball cap so that it’s no longer so low on my face. “I’m Ev
ie Jones. You might not know me, but my parents—”
“Are Marie and Andrew Jones,” he finishes. “I know your grandmother. You were involved in that Paul Christopher drama a couple of months ago.”
“All water under the bridge,” I say smoothly, flashing a bright smile. Although on the inside I’m wondering if I’ve made things infinitely worse. He could be one of Paul Christopher’s superfans.
“I’ve never seen a Paul Christopher movie,” he says. He grabs the beer that I thought he was trying to abandon. “Thrillers aren’t my thing. I like classic movies. Like your grandmother’s. They have them all on Netflix.” He peers at my face. “You look different.”
I shrug easily. “I cut my hair.”
He makes a hmph sound and looks around. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I’m a big fan of the band. They’re really good.” Insert dramatic pause. “I hope you weren’t planning to leave before you even heard them play. Were you … Sorry, I don’t think I got your name.”
“Adam Griffin. Vivid Music Group.” He finishes scoping the room and returns his attention to me. “So you like this band?”
I nod quickly, glancing once again over his shoulder. Milo says something into the mic. “Testing, testing.” And it works! Thank God. The crowd starts clapping as Milo strums on his guitar.
“They’re the best,” I finish. “Hottest thing out right now.”
“You’re not the first person to say that,” he says. “I hope you’re right.”
Adam turns around, observing the crowd’s enthusiasm. Slowly, he sits back down. I let out a relieved breath.
The good news is that the boys don’t disappoint. Aside from the mic mishap, and Raf forgetting a lyric or two from nerves, their performance is mostly flawless. Raf hops around on the stage, leaning down to sing to the audience, and Milo does that thing where he focuses intensely on his fingers while he plays. Ben’s drum solo elicits a few whistles, and Vinny makes playing the saxophone look effortless.
Adam nods his head along throughout, and when the band finishes with “Leather Pants,” he even smiles.
Their set wraps up, and the crowd’s cheers are thunderous. Up in the front, Milo’s parents aren’t jumping around like everyone else, but they are clapping.
Adam looks over at me, a hint of a smile still on his face.
“You were right,” he says. “Thanks for the tip.”
“No problem.”
I watch as Adam makes his way to the stage. The boys huddle together to meet him. When I see smiles break out on their faces, the knot in my stomach loosens. I was able to use my name for good. Go figure.
I sit at an unoccupied table in the corner to wait for Milo to finish talking. A few more minutes pass before the boys finish their conversation with Adam. He shakes each of their hands and makes his way out the door.
Milo stands on tiptoe, looking around, and after a beat, I realize that’s he searching for me. My stomach is a butterfly nest.
He spots me and lifts a hand, beckoning me over. I’m halfway to him when his parents beat me there. They’re both tall with dark-brown skin, just like Milo. They’re dressed as if they were on their way to a church picnic but were accidentally detoured. When I reach them, I hang back a few feet, trying to give them space. But Milo waves me forward again.
“Evie, these are my parents,” he says. “Mom, Dad, this is my friend, Evie, Ms. Conaway’s granddaughter.”
His mom, who has beautiful, thick eyebrows just like her son, looks a little uncomfortable in the setting, but she smiles at me and shakes my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Evie. Your grandmother is wonderful.”
“Thank you,” I say.
Milo’s dad has a bald head and a thick goatee. “Let me ask you something, Evie, do you think it’s too loud in here? I said that to Milo, and he thinks I’m overreacting.”
Milo sighs, smiling. “Dad, come on.”
“I’m just asking a question,” he says, looking at me like he genuinely wants to know my opinion.
“It is a little loud,” I say honestly, laughing. Beside me, Milo makes a noise of protest. “But I think that’s just the nature of these shows.”
Just as I say that, of course, the next band walks onto the stage and the crowd starts shouting again. Milo’s mom actually jumps.
“I think we’d better go,” she says, kissing Milo on the cheek. “You did good tonight, and I know you don’t want to hear it, but take a look at the CUNY schedule I sent you, okay? Humor your mother.”
“I will, Mom, I promise,” he says, hugging her. His dad gives him a hearty pat on the back, and then they gingerly maneuver their way to the door.
“They’re going to pray for me at church tomorrow,” Milo says.
I watch as his mom clutches her purse to her chest and his dad holds the door open for her. I think about my own parents and their sullen expressions during our last breakfast together. “You’re lucky to have them.”
He stares at me for a moment, once again trying to look deeper into what it is that I’m not saying. “Yeah, you’re right.”
We walk toward the back of the bar and sit down at an empty table. Now that we’re alone, I say to Milo, “I’m pretty sure I saw Gigi at Bryant Park today.”
His eyes go wide. “Really?”
Quickly, I explain James Jenkins’s random visit and how we ended up at Bryant Park.
“I can’t believe the one time I wasn’t there, James Jenkins decided to show up,” he says. “So what are you going to do now?”
“I’m going to go back home and hope that she’s there,” I say.
I can’t think of the alternative, that she’ll never show up and miss the ceremony entirely. That she won’t sit in for a meeting with James and I’ll lose out on my role in his movie, the only chance I have to make a comeback. That I’ll have to explain all this to Kerri and to my parents.
Then we’re interrupted when the rest of the boys appear.
“Adam wants us to come to the office tomorrow and play for the rest of the Vivid team,” Raf says, practically bouncing up and down on his toes. “He likes us so much he wants us to come in on a Sunday! Can you believe that?”
I nod. “Yeah, I can. You guys were great.”
They all beam at me. Milo softly taps my arm. “I saw what you did,” he whispers in my ear. “You stalled him. Thank you.”
“It was nothing,” I whisper back. And really, it wasn’t. After how he’s helped me try to look for Gigi, it’s really the least I could have done.
“Party at our apartment right now,” Raf says. “We’re going to invite everyone. Let’s tell the masses.”
“The masses,” Ben repeats, rolling his eyes, but doesn’t argue, following Raf into the crowd. Vinny goes off to find Michelle.
“Are you coming with us?” Milo asks. Did he scoot closer to me? His face is, like, right here.
“No,” I say, gulping. “I should get back to Gigi’s.”
Raf pops up at the table again, flushed and excited. Ben, Vinny, and Michelle flank him.
“It’s official,” he says to Milo and me. “Everyone’s coming back to the apartment.”
Milo raises an eyebrow. “Everyone?”
“Well, a few people, if you want to be technical, but whatever. It’s going to be a party. Let’s go.”
“You sure you’re not coming?” Milo asks, looking at me.
“Yeah.” But I’m really not sure.
“Aww, come on,” Raf says. “Adam wouldn’t have stayed if it weren’t for you, Evie. You have to come. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”
“For the first time, I actually agree with Raf,” Vinny says, smiling at me.
Ben says, “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t want to party either, but I’m still going. Well, I guess I have to because I live there, but you know what I mean.”
“Join us! Join us! Join us!” Raf begins to chant, and they all follow suit.
Milo leans over and whispers, “You ca
n pretend to be our friend. Just for one night?”
I look around at their smiling faces, and I hear myself say, “All right, I’ll come.”
“Yes!” Raf says. “Let’s move out, troops.”
“It’ll be fun,” Milo assures me. “And when you’re ready to go, I’ll take you back home. Our friends are chill. No one will take pictures of you or be weird.”
I nod, suddenly feeling so strongly that I don’t want to go back to Gigi’s and be alone all night. I want to be around the boys, to be accepted into their fold. I do want to pretend that we’re all friends and that everything is okay.
Chapter Eighteen
Raf really did invite everyone. Within a matter of twenty minutes, their tiny apartment is brimming with people. Even Adrian is here, hanging out by the door with a scowl, like he’s still working. Raf directs everyone to the kitchen, promising food and drinks. Really, they just have three bags of family-size potato chips and two six-packs of beer. But no one seems to mind. Music is playing, and everyone is in a good mood since the boys performed so well.
I’m sitting next to Milo on the couch, and I’m sweating. That’s what happens when lots of people are in small places and there’s no AC. I lift up my baseball cap and scratch my scalp, and it feels so good I close my eyes and sigh.
“It’ll be cooler if you sit by the window,” Milo suggests.
I almost get up, but I feel a little silly moving from where I’m comfortable just because I don’t want to take off my stupid hat.
Slowly, I remove it and smooth back my hair, feeling my short curls spring through my fingers.
“What?” I say when I look over at Milo and see he’s watching me.
“Nothing,” he says, not breaking eye contact.
Then Vinny calls his name.
“Milo,” he says, standing in a group of three other boys, “come settle this argument, please. Dante here seems to think he knows everything there is to know about songwriting.”
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