THE SECOND I STEP OFF the bus on Monday, Abby’s in my face. “Hey,” she says casually, falling into step beside me. “So, last night was weird.”
“Uh, yeah.” I wince as soon as I say it. I have this problem sometimes where I sound bitchier than I mean to, and it’s a thousand times worse when it comes to Abby. Simon once asked me point-blank why I dislike her so much. But here’s the thing: I don’t even dislike Abby. It’s just that my brain doesn’t work right around her.
It doesn’t help that she looks obnoxiously cute—striped shirt tucked into a red skirt over tights, hair clipped back with bobby pins. She covers her mouth, yawning, and then catches my eye and grins.
“Okay, so I have a proposition for you,” she says.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mmhmm.” She tilts her head sideways and her eyes glint like she’s about to make a joke. She’s an inch or two shorter than me, and probably half my weight. Or not. I don’t know. She’s not actually that thin. Just kind of trim and muscular. Mesomorph. That’s the word I know from the magazines Mom leaves in the bathroom.
“So, this campus tour,” she says when we get to my locker. “I’m not going with my parents. Not doing it.”
“Everyone brings their parents.”
She shakes her head. “Not me.”
“You sound very certain about that.” I feel myself smiling.
“Do you want to come with me?” she asks. “Spring break. Any day. I can borrow my mom’s car and drive us up there, and we can stay with my cousin’s friend. It could be like a whole road trip.”
“Like Simon and Nick?”
“Uh, they wish they were coming on our trip. Because we’ll get to go to parties and do whatever we want. It’ll be amazing. We’ll actually get a real idea of what it’s like there.”
I look at her, speechless. Other than Martin Addison’s bathroom, I don’t think we’ve been alone in a room together for over a year. But suddenly Abby’s talking like we’re the kind of friends who go to parties and take selfies and split French fries at midnight. Am I losing my mind?
“Or not,” she adds quickly. “We don’t have to go to parties. I seriously don’t care. Totally up to you.”
“So, you want me to go with you to Athens,” I say slowly. Then I realize my fingers are tapping out a drumbeat. On my locker. I let my hand fall.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean?”
I shake my head quickly, staring at my shoes. “We’re not . . .” I shut my eyes.
I’m not friends with Abby Suso. I’m not anything with Abby Suso. And to be honest, this whole thing is fucking me up a little.
“Obviously, I know you have to ask your mom and everything.”
“I just . . .”
I glance up in time to see Taylor charging toward me, hands clasped together like she means business. “We’ll talk,” Abby says, the palm of her hand grazing my arm. Then she disappears up the stairs, like she was never here at all.
“So?” Taylor says with a big, expectant smile.
My eyes drift toward the staircase. “What’s up?” I say halfheartedly.
“So, what did you think?”
“What did I think?”
“Of the play!”
“Oh,” I say. “It was great. Congrats.”
“Obviously, a few people could benefit from formal training, but overall, it was good, right? And Nick was just so wonderful.” She smiles. “Hey, speaking of Nick . . .”
God, this girl. I don’t think she knows the meaning of the word subtle. Like, if you’re going to bust in talking about Nick and then segue into talking about Nick, it’s going to be pretty goddamn clear that you want to talk about Nick.
“I just had this really cool thought,” Taylor continues. “So, like, everyone—oh my God, everyone—is telling me they love the way my voice and Nick’s voice blend together. Like, so many people have told me they just got chills listening to us.” She laughs. “Isn’t that funny?”
“So funny.”
“Anyway.” She beams. “I was thinking—what if Nick was in our band?”
I pause, narrowing my eyes. “What?”
“Like, we could add a harmony line to the lead vocals, or maybe even rework our set list to include some duets. And, obviously, he could play guitar.”
“We have Nora.”
“Right, of course! But what if we had two lead guitarists? I just think it would add this extra dimension to the sound, you know? And obviously, having a guy in the band would add so much vocal range.”
“Yeah, but we’re an all-girl band. That’s kind of the point.”
Taylor nods eagerly. “Oh, totally. Like, I totally get that. But I was also thinking maybe it would be sort of cool to have, like, an all-girl band with a guy singer. You never see that. You always see an all-boy band with a girl singer, so this would be like a reversal, you know?”
I mean, holy shit. She’s serious. She wants Nick in our girl band. So, now I’m wondering how hard you can side-eye someone before your eyes stick that way. Permanent side-eye. It’ll look great with my resting bitch face.
“Anyway, maybe we could discuss it at rehearsal? We’re still meeting today, right?”
Fuck. Hadn’t remembered that. And I’m really not up for an afternoon with Morgan. Really, extremely, wholeheartedly not up for it.
But I’m not a total dick. So at the end of the day, when Anna finds me at my locker, I follow without protest.
Everyone’s already in the music room when we get there. There’s Nora, cross-legged on the floor, tuning her guitar. Taylor’s on the floor, too, in a butterfly yoga pose, and Morgan’s planted stiffly in a plastic blue chair. She stares at her knees when I walk into the room.
“Well,” Anna says slowly. “We’re all here.”
I scoot near the piano, scrunching my legs up in front of me. Nora bites her lip, eyes drifting from Morgan to me. No one speaks.
Anna shakes her head. “Okay, y’all want to do the whole awkward silence thing? Fine. Get it out of your system.” She pulls out her phone. “Five minutes. Go.”
“What, you’re timing us?”
“Four minutes and forty-eight seconds.” Anna holds up her phone.
“This is ridiculous,” Morgan mutters.
Anna nods shortly. “I agree. You guys are being ridiculous.”
“Are you serious?”
“Four minutes and nineteen seconds.”
I blink. “Wow. So, Morgan says something blatantly racist, I call her out on it, but somehow we’re both equally ridiculous? Just some silly girl drama?”
“Leah, you’re overreacting, and you know it. It was one stupid comment,” says Anna.
“One racist comment.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Morgan wince.
“Yeah, don’t lecture me about racism,” Anna says.
My whole body clenches. “You know what? I don’t even know if I want to be in the band anymore.”
“Oh, come on.” Anna rolls her eyes. “Because of Morgan?”
I shrug, cheeks burning.
“So, you’re telling me,” Anna says, “that you’re throwing away a year of work and collaboration and everything, because of one comment?”
Anna’s looking at me like I just choked a puppy. Nora and Taylor are silent, and I don’t dare look at Morgan. I stare down at the floor.
“I’m just—”
“Like, you’re mad. I get it. But holy shit. Quitting the band?”
“It’s not like the band’s going to last forever.” I laugh, but it comes out flat. “We graduate in less than three months.”
And in that moment—for a split second—I feel it. How short that is. How soon everything changes. It’s strange, because good-byes are a thing I can understand intellectually, but they almost never feel real. Which makes it hard to brace for impact. I don’t know how to miss people when they’re standing right in front of me.
“Look, we had a good run.” A lump rises in my throat. “But you can’t force this. I’m not okay making music with—”
Anna’s phone alarm rings, making all of us jump.
Then Morgan stands. “You know what? Let’s just do it this way. I’m the fuckup. I’m the one who ruined the band.” Her voice breaks. “So clearly, I’m the one who should leave.”
Anna sighs. “Morgan, come on.”
“No, it’s cool. I know when I’m not wanted. I’m super used to it.” She swipes the corners of her eyes with her fingers. Then she scrunches up her mouth and walks swiftly to the door, slamming it shut behind her.
“Wow. Hope you’re happy,” says Anna.
“Okay, can you stop?” Nora says, whirling to face her. “This isn’t Leah’s fault.”
Anna opens her mouth to reply, but Taylor cuts her off. “Okay, can someone please explain to me what just happened?”
We all look at her.
Taylor looks perplexed. “Morgan just quit the band?”
“Apparently,” Anna says.
“Okay.” Taylor pauses, pressing her lips together. You can almost see her mind whirring. “Wow. So, I guess we need a fifth person.”
Jesus. “Taylor, we’re not letting Nick in the band.”
“Okay, but—”
“Nick isn’t even a keyboardist,” Nora says.
“No, he’s not,” confirms Nick, and my head whips toward the doorway. He’s standing, flanked by Bram and Garrett, all in soccer shorts. And then there’s Abby, in gym clothes. I’m a little caught off guard. I didn’t even hear them come in.
Taylor beams. “What are you guys doing here?”
“Well,” Bram says. “I have a favor to—”
“Wait,” Garrett interjects, smiling almost sheepishly. “Did you just say you need a keyboardist?”
“You’re a keyboardist?” asks Taylor.
“Well. I’m a pianist.”
Nora gapes at him. “Excuse me?”
Garrett laughs. “A pi-a-nist,” he enunciates, sauntering into the music room. He sinks down next to me and grins. “A pianist with a—”
“Yeah, we get it,” I say.
“We do need a pianist,” Taylor says slowly. “Morgan just quit the band.”
“What? Really?” says Garrett.
“Yeah, because Leah was being a dick again,” Anna mutters.
“Oh.” Garrett glances nervously between Anna and me. “This is about the UGA thing?”
“You mean the fact that Morgan thought I got in because I’m black,” Abby says.
“She doesn’t actually think that.” Anna blushes. “No one thinks that.”
Abby snorts. “You’d be surprised.”
And then no one speaks for what feels like an hour.
Finally, Taylor turns to Bram. “What’s your favor?”
“Right.” Bram shoots her a tiny smile, shutting the door gently behind him. “So, I think I’ve got my promposal figured out.”
“What? Oh my God!” Taylor exclaims. “You’re promposing to Simon?”
He nods slightly, and she emits a joyful squeak.
“But I need you guys—Nora, you especially. He’s giving you a ride tomorrow, right?”
“To school?” Nora nods. “Yeah.”
“Do you think it would be possible to get him down here at exactly eight fifteen?”
“You’re promposing to him in the music room?” I ask.
“Yes. Hopefully. And actually, I have a question for you, too.”
“Hit it,” I say, peeking over his shoulder, where Nick’s settled onto the floor beside Taylor. It’s hard to know what to make of that. Maybe it means he hasn’t made up with Abby. Not that I care. It’s just weird.
Bram bites his lip. “Do you think I could borrow that drum kit?”