“Having morals sucks. The upside is that I’ll probably outlive the asshats who are blacklisting me. But at least now I might have time to pursue my passion project of making a boyband documentary.”
I can tell she means it as a joke, yet I still have the urge to ask, “Why don’t you?”
“Money, for one. I’m barely making rent payments, and the equipment I’d need is thousands of dollars not to mention the software and time commitment.”
“I have the money.” The idea rapidly forms in my head.
I’ve spent a decade being told who to be, minimizing myself, when I owe my career to the reckless fearless girl I used to be. I don’t know who I am now, but maybe the best way to figure that out is remembering who I was, claiming that version of myself without feeling ashamed.
And there’s the fact I just imploded everything else in my life, so I have plenty of free time.
“If it seemed like I was asking you to help, I wasn’t. Please don’t feel obligated to do this just because—”
I cut her off. “Let me be perfectly clear. You’re one of the few people who has been genuinely kind to me over the last month. I’ve seen your work. You’re good,” I explain. I duck my head to catch her eyes. “I’m fucking tired of everyone else telling my story for me or trying to decide what’s in my best interest. I want someone like you in my corner. I want to be a part of this. You said that the version of this you want to make includes my story, right? Let me produce this.”
The magnitude of what I’m offering hits Kendal as her eyes turn misty with tears. “Oh my God. Yes.” She glances at her friends and then back to me.
“Go celebrate.” I cock my head in their direction. “I should probably get going. Expect paperwork in your inbox within the week.”
Kendal joins her friends. Her people. Their squeals of excitement warm my chest.
I can’t go back and rewrite the past, but maybe my past can create a future for her.
The next morning when I walk by the newsstand on the corner outside of my apartment, for the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t see my face, even if my name is plastered over the front page.
Wesley Hart shows love for co-headliner with recent fashion choice.
There he is walking out of a bar, shades on, wearing a heathered gray hoodie layered under a thick puffer that proudly displaysAvery Sloane’s #1 Fan.
“How many do you want this time?” the stand operator asks, the smoke from his cigarette curling to catch overhead in the scalloped awning.
“Just one this time.”
And with the single magazine tucked under my arm, I let myself text him, promising myself it won’t happen again.
Me
Thank you.
Track Four
Evelyn:From the start, the guys were close. They went to St. George’s together and were always at our house after school for band practice. It was a boarding school, but Luca and Jared were day students, going home instead of staying in the dorms.
A class photo of the boys’ junior year at St. George’s Academy in Nashville, Tennessee.
The faces of each band member are circled. Jared Petrov, a freckled redhead; Luca Mariano, tall and lanky with short brown curls and a hesitant smile; Garrett Larson, stiff with finely groomed blond hair, his gaze piercing into the camera from behind his glasses; Wesley Gaflin, unruly brown hair and a crooked grin. (Photo courtesy of St. George’s Academy).
Evelyn:But Wesley was different with Avery. You know how redwoods grow together? They have these roots that stay prettyshallow but tangle together for stability. Even when they were teenagers, they were like that. Not just inseparable. Dependent.
Evelyn:Avery and Wes needed each other. Wes needed the band. Avery and the band? Well, you could say there was a bit of a learning curve.
Wesley
Fall 2005 to Late Winter 2005
St. George’s was always the plan as long as I got the grades for it. Before Mom’s diagnosis, I was eagerly awaiting the time I’d get to spend in the city. When I told her I’d be fine with sticking around in Caper, she insisted I still went.
“Cancer’s already changed so many other plans, don’t let it take this adventure from you,” she told me, and that was the end of the discussion. Even though it was out of her control, she felt guilty for all the changes in our lives. So I agreed to go, knowing how much she wanted this for me.
