Mom must not be satisfied with the short phone calls we have a couple times a month because she’s increased the email volume. Or maybe she’s freaking out now that Shay isn’t on the “right” career track and turning more of her energy on me. I get at least one e-mail from her daily, if not more. Usually, it’s a link to an article, with no other message beside it, no greeting or explanation as to why she sent it. Occasionally the subject of the email will say something like: “You should read this” or “Check this out.” The articles are things like “Why are so many college grads failing to get jobs?” or “The value of internships” or “Secrets of the most successful college students.” I shouldn’t be surprised, then, when we stay at our parents’ house for a night on the way up to StageFest that it’s me Mom latches on to and hounds with advice, questions, and examples of success stories meant to tell me that I too can make something of myself.

I wish I could tell Mom I have a plan after college, but I don’t. Sure, I’ve got a few ideas, but Mom would hate all of them. Most of my ideas are jobs I made up and will involve working for myself, with no income certainty whatsoever.

“Honey, have you thought about advertising or marketing? That industry is less interested in academic success than other options. They might even find value in the internet pictures you take.” I’m so used to her little digs by now, they hardly register.

“Yep. That is something I’ve considered,” I say, deciding to humor her. We’re leaving after breakfast, in less than an hour. I can make it until then.

Mom’s eyes light up and she sits straighter in her chair. “Oh really? Do you want to talk to my friend Lucinda Beaumont? She’s the CMO of Ventina.” Right, Ventina, the fashion line.

“Nah. If I decide to go the fashion route, Coco has connections anyway.” I know that will rub Mom, which is why I say it. For someone who didn’t take the tried and true path to success, Coco’s doing pretty damn well for herself.

“Yes, well, you can’t count on luck, sweetie. It wouldn’t hurt to have coffee with Lucinda. She can share her suggestions, help you get connected in the marketing world. And I have a couple friends at the big ad agencies in New York. That’s where you’ll need to go if you want to take the advertising route,” she continues, and I’m already wishing I hadn’t mentioned I’d considered the option.

“Mom, I was thinking more about freelancing, not going to a big company or firm or whatever.”

I might as well have smacked her in the face based on that suggestion. But despite Mom’s alarmed look, I continue, “I’ve had dozens of people asking me to advertise their stuff on my Instagram page, even sending me things in hopes I’ll do it voluntarily. Meal delivery services, athletic clothes, concert tickets, stuff like that. I’m trying to build on that with a new website and blog I started, make it into a legit business.” I’m also mulling over the food truck idea that’s been brewing, travel the world with it, getting free hotels and stuff along the way if I keep building my following.

Mom looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Oh sweetie,” she says on a sigh with a twinge of pity. “You can’t actually make a living posting pictures on that little app. You need a real business plan. If you’re interested in business, you need experience with a successful company, maybe an MBA. You can’t build a career based on a social buzz that will die out eventually.” Her tone is patronizing, as if I’m a fifteen-year-old trying to save up for a car with a neighborhood lemonade stand. “When Instagram is replaced by a new social medium, what will you do? Start over? Honey, you can do that on the side, but you can’t rely on it. It’s just not realistic.”

My throat feels dry as I try to swallow toast, and I have to wash it down with juice.

Shay and Jett walk in then, back from the gym. I might be trying to keep up with Shay in the pool, but waking at five AM when even Coach Mandy suggested a few days off is just beyond my capabilities. At least I’m up on time to hit the road by nine, like we planned. I didn’t catch up with friends and party last night, instead resting in preparation for the weekend. If this is the only music festival I’m going to this summer, I better make it count.

The three of us pile into Jett’s pickup, and the tension in my chest releases slowly as we drive away from the house, windows down, music blaring. Mom knows exactly how to take me down a notch, put me in my place. But I’m trying, really trying, not to let her get to me. The instinct to find a guy to fill the hole, make me feel wanted, it’s still there, but I’m not going to act on it. Because at the end of the day, I’m the one who has to live with myself, and Mom’s opinion of my life and choices isn’t the one that matters most.

As we wait in a line of cars leading to the festival’s entrance, the buzzing anticipation has me grinning. While falling in love with live music, letting it take over your body and soul for the night, is a different experience than being with a guy, it’s a similar addiction. The rush, the sense of floating away from reality, even if just for a moment, the high that comes when it hits just right. Yeah. Good live music is replacing the casual hook-ups just fine. I don’t have power over it, or even the illusion of power, like I can get from a hook-up, but lately, I’ve been finding a different kind of peace in giving that up.

I roll down my window, trying not to think about Jack Kingston. He’ll be here, but with a hundred thousand people on the grounds, we won’t run into each other unless I make it happen.

As if Shay can read my mind, she asks, “You think you’ll see Jack Kingston here? Kings of Sound are on tomorrow.”

She turns around from the passenger seat, looking at me with a little hesitancy. I know she wonders what happened with Jack. She was there the night of the concert, saw me approach him in the alley after the show, watched me get all weird when I ran into him at Alpha Chi the next night. But she was falling for Jett, and too wrapped up in him to get on me about Jack. She didn’t forget though, and I know she’s wanted to ask me about it for weeks, as soon as it was announced that Kings of Sounds would be at StageFest.

“I’ll definitely watch the show, but nah, I’m not planning on stalking him in an alley afterward.” I try to keep it light, make fun of myself by acknowledging my actions in the past weren’t always normal.

She turns back around, but not before I notice the slight frown of disappointment. Which is weird. Shay doesn’t know that I’ve had no hook-ups whatsoever in eight months. She knows I’m not partying as much, I’m more focused on swimming, but given she spends half her time at Jett’s place, she’s not exactly keeping tabs on my sleeping habits. Beatrice asked me about it once, but I shrugged it off, said I wasn’t as into it lately, and she hasn’t brought it up since. I think she has her theories and suspicions, Shay probably does too, but they haven’t pressed it.

“You called it with them,” Shay says. “You said they were about to be huge, and you were right.”

“Yeah, the video I took of them that night at the Happy Hollow got a ton of buzz. I think it had a lot to do with my Instagram taking off actually.” I knew it wasn’t the only factor, I had a pretty good following before they came along, but predicting a band was going to be huge right before they got huge, it gave me some credibility. I wasn’t the only one to see it, of course, but along with other accurate predictions about bands going somewhere, or not, over the years, my call on Kings of Sound drew attention.

Stopped in traffic, I have Jett and Shay put their heads together and take a shot, announcing our arrival at the festival on Instagram, and tagging them. Shay’s new Instagram account will catch up and surpass mine in popularity soon enough. “Should I give you guys a celebrity couple name? Like Shett? No, wait. Darker? No, that doesn’t work. Specker? Hmmm. Your names are so good on their own. Jett Decker and Shay Spark. They sound dumb together. No offense.”

Jett laughs. “I want a celebrity couple name with Shay Spark. How about Sparker?”

“Oh, I like it! I’ll start a hashtag.” Before I can begin editing the post, Shay groans in protest.

“Guys, I’m not a celebrity. That’s just embarrassing.”

Jett grabs her hand. “Come on baby, you’re totally a celebrity. Both of you are. When I showed up on campus last fall for the first time, people were talking all about the Spark sisters. You definitely have status at Cal U.”

“Yeah, at Cal U. Not in cyberspace.” Shay crosses her arms. She’s so cute.

“Cyberspace?” I giggle. “Oh, Shay, your dorkiness is so loveable. Hashtag Sparker it is,” I announce, earning a fist bump from Jett and an eye roll from Shay.

I hit send, tagging the venue too, and wanting to tag Kings of Sound, shout out that I’m excited to see them again at a huge venue after seeing them at the Happy Hollow near campus nine months ago. But I don’t. I don’t want Jack to think I still think about him. I don’t want him to think I’m trying to make a connection. Jack probably doesn’t even look at the Kings of Sound Instagram account anyway, but still, I can’t risk him knowing he shook loose a piece of me and he’s still got it. I don’t even think I want it back. I think I like knowing he’s got a little piece of my soul with him, whether he wants it or not.