"I never know what to order here," I say while I drape the napkin across my lap. A glass of apple juice waits for me.
Lucy Cohen brushes her honey blonde hair over her shoulder. The sun catches all the right spots, illuminating her fresh highlights. "I already did. Your girl is starving."
"Tell me about it." A faint breeze cools my skin while I take a sip of my drink. "How are you? You've been busy."
Lucy shrugs. "Not as busy as you've been. How was the show?"
"I think I can safely say I've finally recovered after a week and a half." I flick the charm on my friendship bracelet. "You think I'm getting too old for this?"
"You're twenty-four."
I pause. "Is that a yes?"
The melody of Lucy's laugh is one of the greater joys in life. While we don't hang out as much as we'd like to because of our busy schedules, she's one of the few people I've met in this industry. That she surrounds herself with an army of amazing women is the cherry on top of her sweet personality.
"Zoe said she's sorry she couldn't make it." Lucy's smile falters before returning to her full glory. Being an actress means being able to disguise her feelings when she needs to, but not enough that it's impenetrable because she's still human.
"It's alright." I wave off her comment. "I know she's been staying low lately."
"She's officially converted me." Lucy gestures at the surrounding space. "Save the planet. Play nice with the animals. All that good stuff."
I cock my head to the side. "Weren't you already vegetarian before?"
"Yes, but now I get to feel even more superior," Lucy jokes.
I reach for my glass and lift it in the air. "Cheers to vegans and women."
The server brings our food and we take a brief pause while Lucy prepares our bowls.
After eating for a few minutes, she tosses me an extra napkin and points at the corner of her mouth. "You've got dressing on your face."
I swipe it off. "This break has been the best thing I've done in over a year. Can you believe it's been that long since I did just....absolutely nothing?"
"We were all debating taking a trip to New Zealand soon," Lucy says. "Zoe wants to do all of those Lord of the Rings tours."
"Lord of the Rings?" I scoff. "Since when does she like those?"
"I'd be hard-pressed to think of a movie she doesn't actually like," Lucy responds, waving her fork in the air. A few pieces of quinoa fly off and conveniently land on one of her napkins. Even when Lucy is being a messy eater, she does it with grace. "But if it happens, we were thinking of maybe spending some time in Australia too."
"Never been."
"You should come with us!" Lucy exclaims. "Lauren and Seira, too. We can make it a fun girls' trip."
"Maybe after this next album is done," I laugh. "I'll need a break before we tour again."
Lucy takes a bite of sliced radish. "The last time we saw each other, you said you were aiming to drop it next year."
"That's the idea," I say. I use the back of one of my rings to scratch an itch on my neck, arising from the mere mention of the album. "There's a lot of....pressure."
"Why?" Lucy questions. "Not that there isn't pressure whenever you release something, obviously, but the five of you are riding a high right now. They're gonna eat up whatever you give them."
"The sophomore slump is a curse and we will not let ourselves fall into it."
"Sophomore slump?" Lucy exasperates. "Adele and Taylor Swift both won Album of the Year for their sophomore albums."
Despite Lucy's best efforts to make me feel less stressed, it doesn't ease the pressure. "Not to discredit their hard work and achievements, but it's hard for me to look at the success of two white women and see our band."
Lucy nods. "Fair."
"I guess I just—"
I shake my head, trying to find the right words to convey how all of this feels. One of Maver's comments struck me the other day, more than I let on. It seems silly to have only been in the game for a few years, and, yet, already feel like I'm drowning under the suffocating pressure to do better, to be better than I am, even though all of what my work represents is who I am as a person.
"I want to see more people like me out in the world, achieving the success that so many others have," I say after a few beats. "I know there are people that look up to me and the rest of the band and see themselves for the first time in a long time. It's one of the first things they always point out when they talk about us. Look at this exciting new band from Hawaii! Look at this Native Hawaiian woman! I get it, we embrace it. How could we not? But I don't want the weight of my people on my shoulders. To feel like if I fail, our people will fade into the background once again, destined to watch our culture fade into oblivion. I want to be able to do what I want to do and not feel responsible for anything else." I catch my breath. "I don't know if any of that makes sense."
There's a guilt in expressing myself that I wish didn't exist. I know Lucy can't fully relate to what I'm saying, even if she's capable of empathizing with me.
I almost jump when Lucy places her hand over mine. Her eyes are soft and nurturing. She's always been one of the most beautiful people I've known, inside and out.
"I'm not going to pretend like I know how you feel right now," Lucy reaffirms. "But you're one of the most talented people I know. And while this shitty industry might throw every obstacle imaginable at you, you can withstand the odds and rise to the top. Believe in yourself and the rest of the world, too. I promise."
...
My pen slaps against the hardwood floor.
Sometimes, when everything hits all the right notes and everybody vibes off each other, our group writing sessions go well. But we're down two members since Lauren and Jun are both out, so nothing is flowing the way we want it to. Rami tries his best to keep the morale going, but once Seira hits a low, there's no digging her out of it until she's had a break. I might have been willing to keep going, but I started my period yesterday, so it's safe to say I'm not in the mood to do almost anything.
"I'm grabbing a beer," Seira says before pulling herself up. "Anyone else want something?"
I hold two fingers up in a salute. Rami asks for her to fill up his water bottle. Seira leaves with a scent of cherry blossoms trailing behind her.
Rami stares at his notebook while chewing on the end of his pen. He's been working on a song for a few weeks now but doesn't want to show us until he's got the lyrics figured out. I respect everyone's creative process, so I have no interest in pushing it out of him, but I accidentally look over in his direction and he yanks the notebook out of sight.
"Relax," I roll my eyes, "I know how to mind my own business."
He closes the notebook. "It's just...one of those songs."
"I get it." My head falls against the back of the sofa as I slide the guitar off my lap. "I'm excited to hear it once you're ready to show us."
Rami pushes the notebook to the side. If there's anything I can appreciate from him, it's the comforting nature that comes with every moment of silence. There's never any need to fill it with empty words.
"Did you reconsider?" he asks.
"I haven't committed either way to this Netflix thing."
Rami rolls his eyes. "Not that."
"Oh!" I snap my fingers and point at him. "You mean the whole curl cream debacle. Yeah, I'm gonna have to ask you to stop using mine. I know it smells good, but that shit's not cheap. Buy your own."
"Stevie," he says, firm. "Everybody else wants to go. They're inviting the whole band."
I narrow my eyes at him. "You asked everyone else already?"
"Obviously," he scoffs. "I need their help to convince you."
"Tempting," I say, tapping my chin. "But I'm not really in the mood for a ten-hour flight just to see some people drive cars."
"It's actually fifteen hours from LA," he corrects.
"Even better," I deadpan. "I know your travel bug is on another level, but there's no need to drag me along with you. I'm fine staying here by myself."
Rami purses his lips. Against my better judgment, I glance down at the friendship bracelet. "I don't know why you're so against this. It's weird."
"It's weird you won't drop it," I mock.
He sits up straighter. "Is there something else you're not telling me?"
"Maybe she's scared she'll fall for her little Aussie racer," Seira says, rejoining us with drinks in hand. She passes them off before taking her previous spot on her white and pink floor pillow.
I look between the two of them. "Literally, where would you even get that idea? Bash and I hardly talk."
Seira scoffs. "You're the only reason he got the Windsor team to invite us. He's always sneaking off to see you whenever we're at the same party."
Rami holds his hands up, willing to play mediator. "Okay, nobody said that. Stop messing with her before she says no."
"I already said no."
Seira rolls her eyes, taking a casual sip of beer. "Fine. But when you two finally hook up, I reserve the right to say I told you so."
Rami turns to me. "You'll love it there. I promise."
"Maybe another time," I say, leaning back against the sofa once again. "Can we watch a movie or something? Preferably a romantic comedy so I can cry these period pain tears away."
Seira is quiet for a moment and then, knowing exactly what I really mean, says, "Jurassic Park?"
"Bloody great."
Rami shakes his head.
...
While Rami, Seira, and I watch a movie in the living room, my phone rings. The number appears to be international, so I don't bother answering and send it to voicemail. If it's someone important trying to get into contact with me, they'll either leave a message or Marty will follow up with me.
After a few more minutes, another call comes in. Since my phone is on silent, I let it ring until it goes to voicemail. Almost immediately after the call ends, the screen lights up again with a text.
U N K N O W N [ 9:19 pm ]
Answer. It's Bash.
Rami isn't paying attention when I glance at him, eyes narrowed. He's closest to Brendon, so if there's anyone he got my number from, it's Rami.
I climb over the back of the sofa and watch as my bunny-slipper-covered feet rush toward my bedroom.
"Hello?" I answer as soon as the door closes behind me.
"Hey," he responds cooly. "Busy?"
For a second, I consider the reasons he might call me. Decidedly, there are none. "Did you need something?"
Brendon laughs. "Do I need a reason to want to talk to you?"
"That is how a conversation goes. We're not friends, Bash."
"You wound me, Stevie. Truly. Right to the heart."
"Did Rami give you my number?"
"Of course," he says. "Who else would have? Maver?"
"We all really need to stop bringing him up so much." I shake my head, rotating my thumb against my temple. "Do you think he knows we talk this much shit about him?"
"I don't know who we is because I've never talked shit to you about him. But I imagine someone like Maver knows all about people talking behind his back."
If he were here right now, I'd glare at him. "Don't make me feel bad for not liking Maver Vincent of all people."
"You don't like me. I think a more accurate description of your feelings toward him would be hate."
I sit up on my bed. "Since when did I say I don't like you?"
"Is that not what you mean when you're all too happy to clarify that we are not friends?" he asks playfully.
I may be indifferent toward Brendon, but it's not that I dislike him. We've just never interacted beyond the confines of a party.
"It's not that I don't like you," I point out. "I don't think I'd spend all the time at parties with you if I disliked you."
Brendon jumps at this opening. "So you like me, then?"
"I didn't say that either."
"What's your opinion, then? Because we have about a week until Australia so—"
"So that's what you're calling about? To see if I agreed to go to the Australia race? Either Rami is a traitor or you have our house bugged."
"I wouldn't even know where to start with bugging your house," he says.
"So you agree Rami is a traitor then."
"Stevie," Brendon says.
"Fine," I back off. Slowly, I lower myself back down onto my bed. If this invitation to see the race is serious enough for Brendon to call, then I make the exception to hear him out. Not to mention, the Windsor team extended the invitation themselves as well, no doubt to help with publicity. One of the first times I heard about Formula One outside of Brendon Ellis—and his teammate Idris Johnson, the only other driver whose name I know—is the famed Monaco race that draws the attention and attendance of many celebrities. Having a big name stop by for pictures seems to be a common occurrence for races in the more popular cities. "What exactly does this trip entail?"
"Besides hanging out with me?" Brendon jokes. "Melbourne has a lot of good food. And the race won't be too bad."
"Food and a not-too-bad race? I'm not sure how worth it that sounds."
"How about I make you a deal?" he asks after a brief pause.
Despite my brain telling me to give up on this game, I'm intrigued. "Oh?"
"If you don't have the best time of your life," he says, "I'll owe you a favor."
"Okay, Rumpelstiltskin."
"I'm serious," he insists. "You can ask me to do anything."
I lay down on the bed so I'm resting on my elbows, and switch the call onto speaker. "Tell me the real reason. I won't be offended."
Brendon doesn't answer right away, and it's a telltale sign that there's more to this invitation than Seira or even Rami think there is. If I get past the whole thing, I can admit that a trip to Australia would be fun, and while I have no interest in motorsports of any kind, there are worse things to do.
"There's been some....messy things so far this season and Windsor needs good PR. MARS is trending basically every week for all the right reasons. And the whole Netflix thing—which I'm not saying I know if that's real or not—would look good since we have our own Netflix show, too."
"Of course you do."
I can hear Brendon's smile through the phone. And if I think back to the nights we both stared up at a starless sky together, not making wishes because the only way we get what we want is through hard work, then I can envision what it looks like.
"I appreciate your honesty," I tell him.
He waits. "Does that mean you'll come?"
"Looking forward to you owing me that favor."