Jules stood as Dia said, “Yeah, once through.”
And before Jules could even get into position, Hanna started.
It took Jules a second to catch up in her head, but as soon as her fingers found their rhythm, she was good. They were a little restrained this time, and Jules didn’t know about the others, but the pressure suddenly got in her head. This was it. They didn’t have another week, another day, even. If they couldn’t pull together a decent recording to submit, they were going to miss their chance.
She stumbled on the chorus, earning a glare from Dia, and shook her head.
Focus.
She made it to the end without any more mistakes, and when Hanna played it back for them, checking that the levels weren’t blown out and everything came through clear, it shocked Jules. “Oh, wow,” she said, softly enough that the others didn’t hear her over the track. “That’s us.”
“It’s good,” Dia said, nodding in Hanna’s direction. “Ready for the real thing? I say we go three times, but that’s it. We’ll get played out after that. And we can do it and be done.”
“I agree,” Hanna said. “Jules? You with us?”
“I’m here,” Jules said, holding three fingers up. “Three takes. I got it.”
So they did it, fast and tight, and Jules managed to keep it together for all three takes, echoing Dia as she sang, her bass line playing off Hanna’s drumming.
When they were done, Jules lifted her strap over her head and set her bass down, rolling her shoulders. Dia did the same, and together they moved to sit on the floor near Hanna.
Hanna grabbed her laptop and played each take back to them, the three of them listening intently. For Jules, it was like listening to forgotten girls. It was them, but in a way she hadn’t heard in so long. And all she could think was: Are we really doing this?
Was this reality, and not some fever dream of hers?
“What do you think?” Jules asked when they got to the end. “Good enough to use?”
“I think they’re decent,” Dia said, always their harshest critic. “Nothing special, but good enough to give them an idea of what we’re doing. Right?”
Hanna raked a hand through her hair. “The last one’s the best one,” she said. “We should use that one.”
Jules glanced at Dia, and Dia nodded. “Can I?” Dia asked, reaching for Hanna’s laptop.
Hanna dipped her chin. “Go ahead.”
Jules watched as Dia pulled up the Sun City page and clicked through to the submission form. Her fingers flew as she filled in the different sections, until she stopped. “Our name,” she said. “I don’t think we should be Fairground this time around. I don’t think that’s us anymore, right?”
Hanna leaned back on her elbows. “I don’t think so, either.”
“So . . .” Jules looked between them. “What are we going to be?”
“Wildfire,” Dia said, her mouth curving around the syllables. “I was thinking about it last night. I think it fits.”
Wildfire, Jules thought. Very California, for sure. Burning, bright. Dangerous.
Was it tempting fate to name themselves after a destructive force of nature? Then again—they’d been Fairground before, and their ride hadn’t been a fun one. So maybe it meant nothing, really.
“I like it,” Jules said.
“Me, too,” Hanna said, yet another surprise. “Do it.”
Dia resumed typing, and then selected their track to add. Jules watched the upload bar speed along until their song was safely in there. And then Dia clicked Submit.
“Shit,” Jules said, glancing at her phone. “With nine hours and fourteen minutes to spare.”
Hanna smiled, the first time Jules had seen her do so today. “Not bad.”
And Dia exhaled. “Now—”
Jules jumped in. “We wait.”
Jules
Jules’s body pulsed with adrenaline the entire rest of the day, all night, into the next day. They had actually pulled it off.
Now all they had to do was hope and pray that whoever was on the receiving end of their submission heard what Jules had heard.
On the bus to work, she put her feet on the back of the empty seat in front and drummed a frenetic pattern on her knees, until the old white man across the aisle gave a very deliberate and noisy cough. Screw you, she said in her head. Don’t you know who you’re looking at? Then she rolled her eyes at herself.
At Callahan’s, she shoved her stuff in her locker and then went out on the floor. She opened up her register and waved to Henry, changing out a display. “Hey!”
“Hey, Jules,” he called back. “You ready for a rematch?”
“If you wanna lose again, sure,” Jules said. Three registers down, Autumn turned around and smiled, raising one hand. Hi, she mouthed, and Jules thought she might throw up.
Hey, she mouthed back.
It was painful in a sweet way, being so close to her and yet so far. Autumn, Autumn. She kept finding herself mouthing her name, tracing the letters on her palm, the inside of her forearm. It was so easy to get lost in those letters.
For three hours Jules counted coupon books and checked out the few people who came through her line, keeping an eye on Autumn’s register. Her line was steady; people liked Autumn—she was new, she was sunny, she let them tell her the stories that Jules had long ago gotten sick of. And Jules got to watch, uninterrupted, getting lost in the swirl of Autumn’s fingers through the air, the shake of her shoulders, the magic color of her hair.
Mrs. Doyle came shuffling up as she did every single Thursday, her cart full and colorful. “Hey there, honey.”
“Hi, Mrs. D.” Mrs. Doyle was Jules’s favorite customer, mostly because she reminded Jules of her grandma, who’d passed away when she was eleven. The same papery, dark-brown skin, the same white hair set in an elegant twist, the same smell of talcum powder and cooking. Jules grabbed the first item and started scanning. “Ready for the birthday party this week?”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Doyle said, in that rich, velvet voice of hers. “Elsie’s going to love it. I’m making her cake today.”
“Don’t forget to bring me a piece,” Jules said. “You promised!”
By the time she’d scanned all Mrs. Doyle’s items and helped her pack them, she was five minutes late for her break. Jules closed up her register and crouched to pick up her bottle of water, and when she stood up, there was Autumn.
“Hi,” Autumn said, and her cheeks were as pink as her hair. “Are you going on break?”
Jules nodded, willing her pulse to control itself. “Want to sit outside?”
They skipped the break room and walked out of the back exit, straight into the baking afternoon sun. There was a tiny, dusty parking lot, crisscrossed with tracks from the delivery truck, and Jules scuffed them away as they walked around the corner to the scrubby grass by the fire exit that no one ever used. The closest to private they would get.
Autumn sat, her legs stretched out into the grass. She had a scar on her left shin, Jules noted, and her sneakers were stained green in places. “Casualty of my little brother,” she heard Autumn say, and Jules looked up to find Autumn smiling. She knew she should be embarrassed at being caught but she didn’t feel that at all. She didn’t care if Autumn caught her looking, trying to commit every minuscule detail of her to memory.
“How old is he?” Jules sat next to Autumn, close enough so if she shifted enough in the right direction their arms would be touching, skin on skin.
“Five,” Autumn said. “He’s a nightmare. But I love him.”
“Big age difference,” Jules said. “I have a brother, too. But he’s fifteen. I love him, but he’s a pain in the ass.”
Autumn laughed, her mouth wide open and red inside. “Yeah. He’s my half brother, but I don’t call him that. He’s my family, you know?”
“I get it,” Jules said.
“I hate when people try to say it. My stepmom, she’s my mom now. My mom died, like, ten years ago. That doesn�
�t mean she’s been replaced, but I’m allowed to love new people.” Autumn shook her head as she looked at Jules. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t be saying all this. I don’t know what it is about you.”
“Me?” Jules shifted a millimeter closer, her breath crackling.
“Yeah, you.” Autumn looked straight ahead but Jules could still see the smile on the corner of her mouth. “Whatever it is that makes me want to tell you everything.”
Jules pulled in a surprised breath, summer-tinged oxygen flooding her lungs. “Oh, that,” she said with a careless smile. “Sure.”
“Sure,” Autumn repeated. She crossed her ankles and leaned back, looking up at the cloudless sky for a moment, until she turned her gaze back to Jules.
Then they watched each other for this interminable moment; seconds, hours, days, who knew? All Jules could think was that it felt so easy, to be sitting here with this girl she barely knew and talking about real things. And the way Autumn was looking at her—the way Jules supposed she must be looking at Autumn—it was like she was lit up inside.
Maybe it was too much, all this, but it didn’t feel that way, not to Jules.
And Autumn felt it too, hadn’t she said as much?
She felt emboldened by this, by the adrenaline of playing again still short-circuiting her system. So Jules reached across and touched her fingertips to the back of Autumn’s hand, and it felt like ocean water rushing over her skin. And she asked another question. “Autumn,” Jules said, and she didn’t think she’d ever get over that name in her mouth, “would you like to go out sometime?”
Autumn turned her hand over so Jules’s fingers were turning circles in her palm. “Jules,” she said, “I would like that very much.”
Dia
On Sunday afternoon Dia was grabbing her stuff from the break room, ready to leave work, and at the same time checking her email on her phone for the millionth time since Wednesday.
She scanned past the sale notices, the junk, and the day care newsletter, sighing as she shoved her phone into her back pocket. Nothing.
Okay, it had only been four days. But patience was not her strong suit.
Stacey came through, tying her checkered scarf around her ponytail. “You’re still here?”
“I’m about to leave,” Dia said, pushing off the wall. “See you tomorrow.”
She did leave, and walked to the stop to wait for the bus. She pulled out her phone again, habit now, and absentmindedly spun it between her fingers as she watched a guy in a Biggie T-shirt run across the street. Elliot had had that shirt, she remembered. He used to wear it all the time, even after a hole formed in the left armpit, even when Dia teased him about it.
She smiled at the stranger. Sometimes the memories hurt, but the pinprick of pain was always better than not remembering him at all, the whirlwind of everything they’d been.
(Still better: not having to lose Elliot at all. And that was why she was not with Jesse, because she could not bear that kind of pain again.)
A ding sounded from her phone and Dia looked down at it.
Saw one new email waiting on the screen.
Subject: Congratulations.
“Holy—” Dia jabbed her finger at the screen. “Open!”
Dear Wildfire,
Congratulations! The judges have selected you to advance to the second round of the Sun City Originals Contest. The Judges’ Performance will take place on Tuesday July 10. Please look out for another email with further details shortly.
Sincerely,
The SCR Team
She read it twice, three times, before it sank in.
They’d done it.
They were in.
The bus was rumbling up the street toward her, but Dia got up and walked away from the stop on shaky legs, pressing her phone to her ear as she called Jules. “Answer,” she said, pacing on the sidewalk, the sun hitting the back of her neck. “Come on—”
“What?” Jules answered. “Why are you calling me?”
Dia held back from yelling. “Don’t be such a wench,” she said. “I’m calling because I got a fucking email from fucking Sun City, okay?”
“Oh,” Jules said, her voice dropping. “So? We didn’t get in?”
“No.” Dia’s heart pounded. “We’re in. We did it!”
“Wait, what?” Jules said, and she laughed, surprised. “Jesus, lead with that! We actually got in?”
“Yes!”
“So, what now? What next?”
“I don’t know,” Dia said, and she lowered her voice as people waiting at the stop turned to look at her. “July tenth. That’s when the next round is. And it said we’ll get another email with more details. But Jules, I mean—can you fucking believe it?”
“Barely,” Jules said. “The tenth? Oh my god! Have you told Hanna yet?”
“No, I literally got it and called you right away,” Dia said.
“Okay,” Jules said. “So call her now and tell her.”
Dia made a face at the sidewalk. “You call her,” she said. “She doesn’t seem to hate you quite as much as me.”
Jules made a noise that was half disbelief, half derision. “Shut up,” she said. “Don’t try and pull that. You’re the one acting all ice queen to her. Call her yourself. I’m not going to be your go-between.”
“I am not an ice queen,” Dia said, indignant. “I have been perfectly civil.”
“As has Hanna,” Jules said. “Now call her. Text me after. Forward me the email!”
“Fine,” Dia said. “Bye.”
She hung up and tapped her phone in the palm of her hand. Call Hanna. Like it was so easy. Like Hanna didn’t want to scratch her eyes out.
Okay, that wasn’t fair. She had let Dia in her house, and said yes to all this, and she was really doing them more of a favor than she knew. Without her, there was no way Dia would be sitting here with an email saying they were in the contest.
It still scared Dia a little, though, being around Hanna. It was a reminder of the things she’d done back then, what she’d lost, who she’d pushed away in the name of self-preservation.
But that wasn’t Hanna’s fault.
Dia took a deep breath and dialed Hanna, standing perfectly still this time as she listened to the ring.
“Hello?”
It took Dia a second to reconcile the soft voice in her ear with the Hanna voice she knew. “Hanna?”
“This is she.”
There it was—that edge, now that she knew it was Dia on the other end. “Hi,” Dia said. “It’s me. Dia.”
“I know,” Hanna said. “What is it?”
“So—I got an email. We’re into the second round of the contest.”
There was a second’s silence and then Hanna said, “Wait, really?” The edge dropped now. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Dia said, letting herself smile a little. “We’re through.”
“Oh my god,” Hanna said. “So—”
“July tenth,” Dia said. “That’s when the next round is. We’ll get details later. But, yeah.”
“Okay,” Hanna said. “We should kick this thing into high gear, then.”
Dia looked down the street, watched the trees absolutely still in the lack of breeze. “Yeah,” she said. “We should. Hanna—” Dia wanted to say something, something actually meaningful, because it was going to be a long month if she couldn’t bring herself to say more than platitudes.
But before she could say anything, Hanna interrupted her. “Let me make it easy for you, Dia,” she said, sounding tired. “So you don’t even have to ask. Ready? Yes, I really am sober. No, whatever it is you’ve heard I did isn’t true. Yes, I’m taking this contest seriously. No, I’m not going to screw up this time. Okay? I think that covers it all.”
Dia pushed a curl behind her ear, unsure where to go now.
Yes, I really am sober.
She didn’t expect the rush of relief she got from hearing those words from Hanna.
“Hanna,” Dia said now.
/>
“What?”
“I wasn’t going to ask,” she said quietly. “I was only going to say—I mean, that’s good, for you. That you’re sober and everything. And I meant what I said the other day. I’m not here to drag up the past. I know you hate me, but you don’t have to worry about that. All this? It’s not a game to me, or whatever you might think I’m doing.” She paused. “I want to make sure you know that.”
Hanna’s sigh crackled down the line. “I don’t hate you, Dia,” she said, and she’d shifted from tired to exhausted. “So don’t sweat it. I’m just here for the music. Okay? Don’t get all twisted up.”
Dia wrapped one arm across her body, a frosting smear decorating her wrist. I don’t hate you, Dia.
She didn’t believe that at all.
Or maybe she should. After all, there was nothing for Hanna to hide behind now.
Dia nodded. “Okay,” she said, trying to sound sincere. “I won’t.”
They were in the middle of dinner when her dad set down his fork and pointed at Dia. “Okay,” he said. “What is it?”
Dia froze with her glass halfway to her mouth. “What?”
“Something’s up,” her dad said, narrowing his eyes at Dia. “I can tell. You’re all . . . jumpy.”
“Maxwell, what are you doing?” Her mom shook her head. “Can’t have one peaceful meal.”
But this was the thing with her dad. They were too alike; he always knew when she had something good going on, somehow could see it in her.
Dia took a sip of her water and put her glass down. “Okay,” she said, and now her mom raised her eyebrows in anticipation. “So, you know the Sun City Originals contest?”
“Of course,” her dad said, while her mom nodded.
“What about it?” Nina said.
Dia took a deep breath. “We kind of entered.” She tried to sound casual, like it had been a whim, no big deal. “The prizes this year are big. Fifteen thousand dollars and the winner gets to open a show for Glory Alabama. Do you know what an amazing opportunity that is?”
Her dad snapped his fingers. “I knew it,” he said. “I knew you were playing again!”
This Is What It Feels Like Page 11