I have some pride. Like, an appropriate amount I think. Not so much to make me one of those guys who’ll throw himself on a sword or whatever, but I’m proud of License to Game, I like to think I’ve got standards, ethics, all that good stuff.

But no fucking way am I too proud to grovel a bit. I’m not embarrassed to make this call, but I’m not looking forward to it. Now I’ve got a taste of what it must’ve been like for Jordan to call me, because I’m the one who needs her. Let’s hope she’s more generous than I am.

Good thing I didn’t delete her number form my cell. Had actually saved it as a contact on the off-chance she called me again. I could call her at AHI of course, but this is better. Maybe.

There aren’t so many things that make me twitchy like waiting for someone to pick up the phone. Like when I asked girls out before LtG was a success. Now I don’t really need to, they come to me. And if there’s someone I’m interested enough to seek out, chances are damn good they’ll at least give me a shot. But Jordan? I suck air through my teeth.

“Hello?” Her tone says she knows damn well who I am but doesn’t know why I’m calling. Goddamn do I wish it was to ask her out on a date.

“Hey, Jordan. This is Benji Park. We talked a few weeks ago.”

“I remember. How’s it going, Mr. I’m-Too-Busy?”

Well that’s a kick to the balls but deserved.

“That’s actually what I was calling about.”

Beat, beat, and the song comes back. A minor chord that makes my skin crawl. Maybe rework that part when the time comes to write this thing down. Right now, it’s just a cauldron bubbling at the back of my brain, and it needs to simmer for a while before I dare to let anyone know I’ve even been cooking. I admire Zane for bringing us his half-baked ideas. I can’t do it.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

The back of my neck prickles, and I want to rub my hand over it so bad. Instead, I tuck my hand under my armpit. I seriously hope I remembered to put on deodorant this morning because I’m going to be sweating during this conversation. Might be already.

“Nope. I, uh, have called to make you an offer.”

There’s a pause and my heart takes the opportunity to skip a beat, the silence deafening before Jordan bubbles over.

“Oh my god, Benji. That is amazing. I mean, we have a couple of other bands lined up already, but License to Game is so much bigger than them and this is going to be the greatest. I can’t wait to—”

“Uh, it’s actually not the whole band.”

The silence is back and I kinda hate it, because I know what’s coming.

“What do you mean, not the whole band? Is Christian going to be on tour with his new side project? Don’t tell me Zane’s going on tour by himself and can’t do it.”

“Oh, uh, no. I…” It is so much worse than that! No, man, don’t say it that way. She should be happy to have you. Besides, I didn’t want to ask the guys when they’ve all got so much on their plates already. I don’t need to involve them in my pet project. “It’s actually just me. You can have me. I’ll play a few numbers.”

She doesn’t seem all that excited about the prospect of having me. I get it. Like if you’re going to have one person from LtG, you probably want Zane. Me? I’m just some guy with a keyboard.

“Yeah, that’s…nice.”

Nice is not a word you ever want a woman to describe you with. And I can pretty much guarantee that this is going to be followed by a “but.” Because she’s trying to be nice but she doesn’t want me.

“But that doesn’t do me a whole lot of good. License to Game is a household name. If I put Benji Park or Teague Martell or Christian Vogel or Nick…I don’t even know what Nick’s last name is. If I put any of you on a program, it’s not going to do me much good. My point is that the guy with the keytar from LtG is not going to sell me so many tickets whereas I’m betting that License to Game would sell out the entire park. I don’t need the logistical headache of trying to add another act who isn’t going to make us some serious bank. So, thanks but no thanks.”

If this is Jordan trying to be nice, she really needs to work on her people skills. And I can’t—absolutely cannot—go back to my mom and tell her Jordan didn’t want me. A) Embarrassing, B) I really hate disappointing my mom, and C) I find myself really wanting to help with this. Not just because of some friends of my mom’s and not just because if Kevin had been born a few years earlier, that could’ve been my brother. Yeah, it’s personal to me, but it should be fucking personal to everyone. Like, have a heart. We’re all human, and don’t they understand what they’re doing to people and families? Or maybe they do and they just don’t fucking care.

Not to mention—and this is kinda selfish and self-centered, but there you have it—I feel like this could be a turning point for me, personally. I’m not a bad guy, but I haven’t ever taken much responsibility for myself. I’ve never had to. Going like I did from being a kid to being in a world-famous band—yeah. I have people to handle that shit. And have lived in my own bubble for an embarrassingly long time. I don’t want to run for office or anything but I don’t think it would kill me to take interest in some more grown-up stuff, especially when it’s so important.

I have to keep Jordan on the phone. I have to get her to say yes.

“Hey, what if I do an original song? Like one no one’s ever heard before?”

She sucks air through her teeth. “Again, nice, but not going to sell a ton of tickets.”

The woman is brutal. Doesn’t give a rat’s ass about my ego. Which, fine, her helping people is way more important than me feeling like the man, but damn. This is harsh. Maybe if I explain why though. Jordan’s got to have a heart. I mean, you don’t go into immigration law—especially not working for a non-profit—because it’s going to make you a ton of cash. That’s something you have to have a passion for, and where did hers come from? And how the hell did this turn into her taking pity on me? But whatever. I am not going to let my mom down. So here’s plan C: begging.

“Hey, Jordan. Please. I’m asking you to let me play this show as a favor. From you to me. Please.”

There’s a pause and I wonder if she’s turning this over and over in her head. I don’t really understand how we got here either, and yet here we are.

“How exactly is this a favor? Are you planning to start a solo career too and you want to use my show as a stepping stone? You want to be one of those asshats who claims to have sold out their first show when in reality it was all the acts around you who actually sold the tickets? Not on my watch you don’t.”

“No! No, that’s not it at all. I mean, I don’t know what exactly I’m going to do when LtG splits for good and it might include me going solo, but I have no plan yet so that’s not what this is, at all. I just…” Man, I am not super excited about sharing this. Makes me feel vulnerable somehow even though Kevin isn’t. He was one of the lucky ones and there isn’t a damn thing anyone can do about that. But it’s a serious thing and I spend so much of my life being…not. LtG is super important to some people and I totally respect that because it’s been my whole life too, but…no one’s life depends on us. We’re a bunch of overgrown kids doing what we’ve done since we were too young to drive. Zane and Teague and Christian have moved on, or at least are on the path to going off on their own and I don’t want to get left behind.

And maybe I feel some guilt for having been such a fuck up when I was a kid. Like what if that legislation hadn’t gotten passed when it did? What if it were my brother on the line now? My parents are on top of stuff like whoa, but I know things slipped through the cracks because I was such a mess. They missed the window to sign Kev up for space camp because I tried to jump my bike off the roof of the garage into our pool and that didn’t work out. And my mom missed him placing first in a science fair because I got a concussion from having the bright idea to play street hockey with rocks after we lost our last ball. So, yeah, I owe them. Big time. This isn’t the most direct way to make up for it, but in some ways it feels more important than other things I could do. They’re the kind of people who actually like it when you give to charities in their names instead of buying them gifts. Once I bought a whole herd of goats for some farmers and I think my mom was prouder of me for that than she was when LtG’s first studio album went platinum.

Okay. I can do this. I can explain to Jordan why this is important to me. And hopefully she’ll be gentle.

“You know my brother Kevin, right? The one who’s getting the PhD? We’re like twins. Really fucking weird twins, because we don’t look anything alike, and we don’t have the same birthday, and we have totally different personalities, but—”

“This makes you twins how? Are you one of those sets of twins where one was born at like 11:59pm and the other was born at 12:01am?”

“No. My birthday’s in February, Kevin’s is in April, but we were in the same class at school. He’s adopted.”

There’s no response, and I pace my kitchen a few times, my bare feet slapping against the cold tile.

“He’s adopted, and he’s got citizenship through the Child Citizenship Act. But he wasn’t too far off from being too old for that. Those people? The ones you were telling me about? Who’ve grown up here but get deported because someone forgot to dot the Is and cross the Ts on some fucking piece of paper? That could’ve been my brother.”

“You’re very fortunate it wasn’t. Isn’t.”

“Yeah, I know. And I want to do something about it, which is why I want to play the concert.”

There’s a definite chill in her voice when she replies. “That’s nice, but like I said, I’m not interested in you. It’s all of LtG or no dice. I don’t care how guilty you feel or that you’ve all of a sudden grown a conscience. Not my problem. My problem is filling a stadium and helping as many people as possible stay here when they’re as American as you or I or your brother are.”

I get it, I do. She’s pissed and I don’t blame her, but I don’t feel like this is the time for guilt trips and possible blackmail.

“You’re really fucking mercenary—did you know that?” It is totally not cool that alongside my anger and my worry that I’m actually kinda turned on by that.

“You bet your ass I am.”

Yes, this is better. Better than the begging the last time we’d talked. Maybe worse for me, but I like this Jordan way better than the desperate girl who’d almost started crying on the phone with me. It presses all my buttons when women cry. It’s a problem.

“Okay, but if I get LtG, then we can play? You’ll take us?”

“You keep up your end of the bargain and I’ll keep mine. I’ll even make you the headliners if I can get all five of you.”

“Cool, right, okay then. I’ll talk to the guys and get back to you. Shouldn’t be a problem though.”

There’s noise in the background. Am I on speakerphone? Is there a roomful of people celebrating the fact that Jordan just landed a whale? Let them do what the fuck ever as long as I don’t disappoint my mom and actually grow up into the kind of man I’d like to be.

“Great. Let me know when it’s done. I hope the rest of the band is as amenable as you seem to think they’ll be.”

“Like I said, it shouldn’t be a problem.”