“Please,” I scoff. “I don’t look like that.”
“You lookexactlylike that.”
Ripper leans back on the couch. “Not sure why anyone would want to look like a thirteen-year-old Hot Topic employee.”
“Ouch, Rip. My fragile heart.”
He shoots me a look. Until now, he’s been unusually quiet, listening to the volume through the walls. “Theo said tonight’s sold out, right?”
I nod, fighting the urge to bounce my leg again. It’s the first time we’ve ever sold out a show, and it’s at the Bellmore, a dream venue. Two weeks ago we could barely scrape fifty people together at the Hideout, and now we’ve got six hundred. The power of TikTok.
Rip grabs a straw from the mocktail setup in the middle of the coffee table. After LA, Theo isn’t taking any chances. In place of our usual boozy setup, we have a truly pathetic display of virgin cocktail mixes and limp little celery sticks and carrots. Ripper puts the straw in his mouth and chews. “I think you should fall on your ass again. More embarrassment, more clicks, more ticket sales.”
Ginny’s looking at Kenny’s screen over his shoulder. “The internet does seem to find you fun to laugh at.”
“Maybe I’ll push you off the stage instead,” I say to Ripper, kicking his legs so fast he spits out his straw. “Then you can have the spotlight.” Right as Ripper and I are trying to untangle ourselves, Theo bursts through the door.
“Guys, quit messing around. A reporter fromRolling Stoneis here.”
Ginny gasps.
“Are you serious?” Ripper asks.
I straighten in my seat. “Why?”
“He just showed up unannounced.” Theo starts pacing around the mustard-yellow rug meant to make the greenroom homey. “He said he was in town to cover a tech story and saw we were playing, so he pitched his editor a last-minute music feature and the editor said yes.”
I glance suspiciously at Ginny, to whom I attribute all divine intervention. She smiles enigmatically.
Kenny whistles. “A feature is serious. That’s, like, multiple pages.”
Ripper pumps his fist. “We’re going to be famous.”
I mentally flip through all theRolling Stonecovers I’ve idolized: Bowie, the Beatles, Nirvana. A frisson of anticipation makes the hairs rise on my arms.
“Needless to say, this could be big.” Theo scrubs his hands through his hair and blows out a breath. “I asked Bowie to stall him so I could prep you, but we’ve only got a minute. Can I count on you to be on your best behavior?”
“It’sRolling Stone.” Ripper crosses his legs, like he’s had a personality transplant and is now a dignified gentleman. “Of course.”
Theo’s eyes find mine. “I’m begging you. Now is not the time to hash out our issues, okay? We want the story to be about your music, not your antics.”
“Smile bright,” Kenny says. “Act like a happy family. Got it.”
I don’t drop Theo’s gaze. “So I shouldn’t mention our manager’s overreaching?”
He squares his jaw. “Why don’t you just say whatever you have to now?”
“Fine. Fuck you for sending me to mandatory therapy.”
“Fuck you for not sending yourself.”
Kenny tries to cover his laugh with a cough.
Suit and I stare at each other, both unwilling to bend. It might be the most I’ve respected him since he arrived.
“We get it, you’re both stubborn,” says Ripper. “Reporter, remember?”
Theo wrenches his eyes away. “I want you guys at the top of your game onstage. And I wish I didn’t have to say this, but beniceto the guy. No stranding him in a different city—”
