The Lunacy Fringe

Eighty-Five

I was sitting on the living room couch watching TV when my dad called to me from his office.

"Ruby, can you come here a minute, please?" I winced because that was never a good start to a conversation. I got up anyway and poked my head in. The office was small. More of a glorified closet, really. But he wanted a place to stash all his important documents and band stuff. He didn't want to use the guest room just in case Quinn ever needed a place to crash.

"Yeah, Dad?" I asked.

"Did you guys play at the beach a few weeks ago?"

"Kind of. We were just jamming. Nothing special. Why?"

"Apparently, you made a lasting impression."

"Yeah, some people were hanging around."

"Does the name Paul D'Angelo ring a bell?"

"Not a single one."

"He said he had a chat with you guys. Asked for a copy of the band's demo."

"Right. I think I remember him."

"His father is the CEO of Pacific Records." I immediately found a chair to fall into like a dramatic woman in a historical novel.

"You're shitting me," is all I could get out. He was sitting at his tiny metal desk, leaning on his hand. He had the look of a cat who'd caught a mouse. Smug. Impressed maybe. Holding out on information he knew would get a reaction. He nodded.

"Nope. He was really impressed. With you in particular."

"He said I was a mountain of untapped talent." He smiled.

"I'm glad I'm not the only one who sees it."

"Aw."

"Regardless. He likes the band's stuff, and not only did he ask for a copy of the demo, but he also wants to see them play live."

"Wow. Are you serious?"

"One hundred percent."

"You don't think he'll like—tell his dad about them, do you?"

"I think he already has."

"Oh my god."

"Right?"

"When is he going to come see them play?" My dad looked at his watch.

"They have a gig tonight at six. I invited him. He said he'll try to make it and pick up a copy then."

"Have you told the boys yet?"

"Oh, I'm definitely not doing that." He immediately sat up and began to go through the stack of records he had on a shelf. They were all unsold Shoot the Gems samples.

"Why not?"

"They'd piss themselves and screw up the gig."

"I don't think Felix would. Quinn maybe. Aaron and Jack, possibly. Freddy definitely."

"You can tell Felix but only on the condition that he keeps his mouth shut. I don't want them to get their hopes up just in case it turns out to be a false alarm."

"Good plan." I jumped out of the chair, intending to run right over to Felix's house.

"Wait, one more thing," my dad said to stop me. I spun back around.

"What's that?"

"He requested a meeting with you. Just you."

"Me? What for?"

"He wanted to discuss your plans for your future. Specifically, your music career."

"I don't have a music career. I'm not in a band." He cocked an eyebrow at me.

"Mountain of untapped talent, remember? He doesn't want to see it go to waste. He may be able to hook you up with a scholarship into a good music program. You should definitely hear him out."

"You'll talk to him with me, though, right? I don't know anything about this business."

"Of course, Ruby. I consider myself your manager as much as the band's."

"Good."

"I'll keep you updated."

"Good plan. I'm going to talk to Felix now."

"Make sure he keeps his mouth shut!" he called after me.

"Yeah, yeah!"

As soon as I was out the front door, I took off for Felix's house as fast as I could. His mom answered the door.

"He's in his room," she said before I could say anything. She could obviously tell I was excited about something.

"Thank you!"

I burst into Felix's room just as he set his guitar aside.

"Hey, I heard you come in," he said. I didn't answer with words. I tackled him to the bed and covered his face with kisses. "Not that I'm not enjoying this," he said as I squished his cheeks. "But what is this for?" I pulled back but kept my grip on his cheeks. He looked so cute, with his face all squished up.

"You're just—amazing, you know that?"

"Well—I try not to brag or anything." I laughed and let him go.

"You're a dork. But I'm here for a reason." He brought his arms behind his head, staring up at me. The bedroom door was wide open, but he didn't seem to care that we were both lying on his bed.

"I figured," he said.

"You remember that guy at the beach a few weeks ago? The one who was really interested in our music?"

"Yeah, Mr. Mountain of Untapped Talent?" I rolled my eyes and pinched his ribs.

"He called my dad today."

"Oh, so he was serious about wanting our demo?"

"Very serious, apparently. And he also gave my dad his name."

"Good thing to give someone when you request records."

"His name is D'Angelo, something or other."

"Good strong name."

"His dad is the CEO of Pacific Records."

His brain shut down. He was staring at me, and his eyes had gone completely blank. There was no smile, and for a moment, I don't think there were even thoughts. Maybe some upbeat elevator music as the gears rebooted. Then he sat up very sharply and turned toward me.

"You're serious," he stated.

"I thought that would catch your attention."

"What did he say?"

"That he wants to hear the demo and wants to see you guys play a gig. My dad invited him tonight."

"Shit. Fuck." He stood up and looked around like he was panicked and didn't know what to do. I leaned on my elbows to watch this journey. "Pacific is huge."

"I know this."

"Why did you tell me this?"

"Because me and my dad thought you were the least likely to have a complete panic attack. I guess I was wrong." He ran his fingers through his hair.

"Very wrong."

"He doesn't want you to tell the other guys. He made it very clear that you have to keep your mouth shut. He's afraid you guys will blow the gig." He stopped moving, hands on his face. He looked flustered and freaked out, and I'd never seen him like this for as long as I'd known him. I'd seen him get into fights. I'd seen him upset and hurt. But never genuinely, honestly, terrifyingly scared.

"If anyone's going to blow the gig, it's going to be me. Shit. Fuck."

"Felix—it's okay. It's not a big deal. My dad said not to get your hopes up. And we don't even know if he will show up tonight anyway. He might not be able to make it. Just tune them out like you taught me. It'll be fine."

"Easy for you to say. You don't have to play." I winced.

"Ouch." The nervousness melted away.

"Oh shit, Ruby. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

"It's okay. I know you didn't." He sat down beside me and sighed heavily. "I've never seen you like this before."

"I know. I try very hard to act cool and tough, but...." He shook his head. "I'm petrified that I'll never go anywhere with my life." I sat up and ran my hand down his back. He was chewing his nails now, staring off at the other side of his bedroom.

"Felix—why?" He shrugged.

"Music is the only thing I've ever been good at. And I've worked—really fucking hard to get where I am. I'm proud of it, but I'm afraid it'll never be enough. It's hard getting into the music industry, even with talent and money, and help. I'm just a dumb kid from California. I'm graduating soon and haven't been accepted to a single college. Not one. What the hell am I supposed to do with my life if the one thing I'm good at just isn't enough?"

I'd never seen this side of him before. He was right. He did act like he was calm and collected most of the time. I'd seen him act like a goofball and make jokes. And sometimes I saw him when he was shy and nervous. But I'd never seen him show this kind of fear before. Not about anything. And now I realized it wasn't because he had no fear; it was because he'd bottled it all up and hidden it from me.

I ran my hand up and down his back and rested my chin on his shoulder.

"You have so much to offer the world, Felix," I assured him. "You're thinking about it the wrong way. You're not some dumb kid from California trying to break into the music industry. You're an eighteen-year-old high school student who caught the attention of the music industry without even trying. Regardless of how this pans out—you should be proud of yourself for what you've accomplished."

"Music doesn't come as naturally to me as it does to you."

"It doesn't come naturally to anyone. You work hard for it. And you have. Anyone who hears your music knows that. You deserve this. And I'll be right beside you every step of the way." He turned to me and dropped his head on my shoulder. He was opening up to me more than I'd ever seen him before. Showing me insecurities and vulnerabilities I didn't even know he had.

"You promise?" he asked.

"Cross my heart," I assured him.

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Pacific Records is not a real company. It is 100% a rip off of Atlantic Records. Just with that West Coast twist.