“Oh, so I can wear pink nail polish only when I’m not doing anything for Encore? That doesn't feel very inclusive, Missy,” I tease.
She groans skywards, muttering something. “You know what I mean. We have an image to think about. Not so much an image, but it’s more that those screaming girls every night look at you a certain way and–”
“Stop, stop,” I interrupt her rambling with a grin. “I'm messing with you. I know you’re not a bigot. Everything is just about Encore with you.”
“It is. It always is. Especially now. I really feel that we're heading somewhere with this, and I don't want to mess it up.” She pokes me in the chest at that. “And I don't want you to mess this up either.”
“What did I do?”
“Eh, I dunno? Anger the captain of the most popular team on this campus? And his girlfriend, the cheerleader captain? Who are like our biggest supporters? Who both have an immensely big following here? With people who actuallydo what they do and like what they like?”
I cringe at that. “Wow, you really care more about the band than you care about me, right?”
She glares. “I really, really am going to punch you in the mouth if you keep saying crap.”
“You wooon't,” I sing-song, grinning like a madman, because, well, Ty's single...
“Try me.”
“If you do, I won’t be able to sing. And youneedme to sing, right?”
If looks could kill, I'd die right then and there. “Just cut the crap, Jace. Talk to him, for crying out loud. I'll kick you out of my band if you won't.”
We both know that she’d never, but that’s not the point here, so I sigh, nodding and giving her my agreement, grabbing my phone out of my pocket. He called a couple of times last week, but I’ve been too chicken-shit to answer. It’s been silent now for a few days. Guess I can only hold his attention for so long, which is depressing to think about, so I just try not to.
I don't blame him, really. I'm being a brat, and I know it. It's time to man the heck up and talk.
But before I can search his name and hit call, Missy plucks it out of my hand.
“Not now. I need you to focus now.”
“Because why?”
“Because it’s Friday afternoon, and we have a gig tonight.”
I cringe. “Oh, please don't let me go to Yetties before I've talked to him. If I'm on that stage and he walks in, he's about to throw me a hissy fit about ignoring him for so long.”
Missy gets up and puts her hands on her sides. “Ty is not one to throw a hissy fit, and you know it. He's cool as a cucumber on a bad day. If there's one person on this entire damn campus who can handle your whining ass, then it's Tyler King. He's such a damn good quarterback for a reason, you know? He keeps his cool. And he probably figured you out ages ago and is just waiting for you to get your head out of your ass.”
“I actually want to get my head near his ass,” I mutter, making Missy throw her hands over her ears, my phone still in one of them.
“TMI, fuckface. TMI. Don't go there, please? Now get up, get showered–you stink–and get out in the living room; the band is waiting for you. We need to rehearse for tonight.”
I do as she says and get up, but not before throwing her a questioning look. “Why do we need to rehearse? We have enough songs. Can't we just wing it?”
“No, we can't. Because we're not playing at Yetties tonight. I have a different gig lined up.”
“What kind of gig?” I ask suspiciously while grabbing a towel and some fresh clothes out of my closet. She's right; I reek.
“One where you would feel right at home. And one where you're gonna need your pink nail polish.”
I smile at that, having an inkling of where we're going to play, and it's actually kind of perfect for tonight to get my mind in the right headspace. Performing always helps to clear my head.
“There’s just one problem…”
“And that is?” she asks, one foot already out of my door.
“I don’t have any pink nail polish anymore.”
