Rosa sidles in, curls bouncing, eyeliner sharp and I’m sure on-trend. “He’s not wrong,” she says, stealing one of the finished ones and darting back out before Mamá can swat her.
I laugh, ducking as Mamá flicks water at me. This is us: teasing, loud, a little messy but stitched tight.
When Papá comes in from working on the truck, wiping his hands on a rag, he grins like the house is finally full. “Smells good in here,” he says, pressing a kiss to Mamá’s temple. Then he looks at me, and there’s pride in it, heavy enough that my chest goes tight. “Mijo, come sit a minute. I got something for you.”
I follow him into the living room, where the tree is crooked but shining, ornaments from years of school projects still hanging alongside the glass ones Mamá babies. Rosa’s sprawled on the rug, texting God knows who, earbuds in one ear only so she doesn’t miss a thing.
Papá sits in his recliner and leans forward, elbows on his knees. “So, you know your second cousin Hector, right?”
I snort. “The one who tried to skateboard off the garage roof? Yeah, I remember Hector.”
“Bueno, his boss’s brother owns a bar in LA. Small place, but it’s got a name. Called The Lantern.”
My head snaps up. “Wait. The Lantern in Silver Lake?”
Papá nods, proud of himself. “That’s the one.”
“Holy shit.” I run a hand over my face. Several bands the guys and I look up to cut their teeth there. This could be a chance, a real one, to get noticed.
“Language,” Mamá calls from the kitchen, but Papá ignores her. He’s grinning too hard.
“The owner told Hector he’s always looking for new acts. Said if you can get him a demo beforeAño Nuevo, he’ll take a listen. Might even give you a slot.”
For a second, everything in me stalls out. The TV hums low with some Christmas movie, Rosa’s laughing at whatever she’s reading, Mamá’s pots are clanging—but none of it registers. All I hear isdemo before New Year’s.
That’s seven days. Seven days to pull together and clean up something good enough that we’ve already recorded to get through the door of a place that could change everything.
“Papá,” I manage, my voice caught somewhere between awe and panic, “are you serious?”
He spreads his hands. “I wouldn’t lie about this,mijo. You’ve been working hard. I see it. We see it. Maybe this is the next step.”
My chest feels too small for the way my heart’s pounding. The Lantern.Not some dingy frat basement or a half-empty coffee shop. The fucking Lantern.
Rosa finally pulls her earbud out, frowning. “Wait. Did you say The Lantern? The place Violet Static played before they got signed?”
“Sí,” Papá says, clearly loving that he knows the answer.
“Holy sh—ugar” she echoes me, then grins. “Bro, if you get in there, you better not forget who hyped your first garage show.”
“You mean the one you bailed on halfway through because you said it was too loud for yoursensitivehearing?” I shoot back, though my voice is distracted, my brain already spiraling ahead.
Songs—we’ve got songs. We’ve got raw energy. What we don’t have? A demo polished enough to hold up under real scrutiny.
But Miles… Miles has the software, the ear, the patience to stitch our rough takes into something that sounds like it belongs.
I hug my papá, then yank my phone from my pocket, thumbs flying in our group text as I head to my room.
Me: Guys. Emergency meeting. Lantern open mic. Demo due before New Year’s. We need a fucking killer demo ASAP.
Bubbles pop up instantly.
Drew: Bro, wtf. Lantern?? As in THE Lantern??
Miles: No way. Are you screwing with us?
Me: Dead serious. Hector’s boss’s brother. Long story. Doesn’t matter. What matters: This is our shot.
Eli: Then let’s not waste it. Miles, please tell me you’ve got your laptop.
