“Wait,” I say.
“Waverly—” Hiramys starts as Scott Two grunts.
I recognize that grunt.
It means Kiva’s cleared me for the dash to the green room and I need to move now.
“It’s five more minutes,” I say.
“Aiden’s dad couldn’t find parking,” someone wails. “Construction! Detours! Giant turtles eating the street signs and causing potholes!”
“C’mon, Hiramys,” I whisper with a smile at the creativity involved in the panicked voice. “We’re already late. What’s five more minutes?”
She gives my stomach a pointed look.
On cue, it gurgles a noise that real butterflies would probably never make.
Scott Two clears his throat and gestures pointedly at my escape route.
I shake my hair back—not easy with this much hairspray in it—narrow my eyes—which makes it almost impossible to see since I’m wearing six layers of fake lashes—and plant a fist on my hip. My fist slips, though, because I’m wearing the glitter dress that’s slicker than olive oil on a polished porcelain floor.
But I stand my ground.
Let’s be real.
I wouldn’t do this if Aunt Zinnia were standing over me, but she’s not here. “Five. More. Minutes.”
Everyone in the room freezes.
Except my stomach, which is like,Oh, Waverly, you are going to regret this when we don’t have time for our last emergency dash to a toilet before you go on…
I growl softly back at it.Fuck you, stomach.
It cackles in utter glee at my momentary bravado.
“But Percy’s mom will never let him out to go to another concert again. This is his only chance,” a different panicked, cracking voice says on the other side of the entry door.
The first week of this tour, four kids from my fan group got lost in the tunnels of the arena before the show and missed their meet-and-greet window by three minutes.
Last week, I didn’t realize I’d run long during the meet-and-greet, and a half-dozen small groups were turned away.
I’m not supposed to know, but Hiramys let it slip, and I’ve been wallowing in guilt ever since.
“Let them in.” I gesture for Gus to set his camera back up. “One more.” Then I point to the team at the printer table. “One more.”
“Zinnia—” Hiramys starts.
“Is not the boss,” I finish.
My Aunt Zinnia is absolutely the boss. She’s been making the hard calls on my behalf for almost a decade. I rarely argue. Why would I? She made me and she’s certainly never steered me wrong when it comes to career decisions, as my bank account and theBillboardcharts can attest.
But I can’t go on stage tonight aware that I’ve already disappointed my fans.
I hand Scott Two my water bottle as Kiva pops her head in the door. She has red hair and bright green eyes and went into security after being fired from her preschool job for being too much like a drill sergeant.
I personally adore her.
“What’s the hold up?” she asks.
