“That’s never not true,” Cash said from a few seats over, his nose buried in a book about whales.
“I’m not bored when we’re playing, or practicing, or recording, or…”
“This is what I get for chiming in,” Cash muttered, widening his eyes at me for a moment before turning back to his book.
“You’re like Dana’s eight-year-old nephew,” Violet said. “He’s totally incapable of being alone in his thoughts. He always has to be doing an activity with someone.”
“That’s not a bad thing!” Milo insisted. “I like people! Those who don’t have pink hair, at least.”
“Making fun of my iconic pixie cut isn’t going to convince me to play with you.”
“I’ll play,” I cut in.
“You don’t have to jump on this grenade,” Violet told me.
“I’m bored, too,” I said, taking the seat across the table from Milo. “What’re we playing?”
“You,” Milo gestured at me with the deck of cards, “are officially my favorite woman on the entire Cherry Midnight tour bus.”
Violet laughed and flipped him off on her way to the back of the bus.
“We’re playing Doubles Solitaire,” Milo explained.
“I think I remember how to play,” I said, “but walk me through anything I get wrong.”
Milo was a lanky man overall, but he was wearing a tank top that showed off his arms, which were taut with corded muscle as he dealt the cards. He gave me a refresher on the basic rules of the game, and then we started playing.
“I fucking love the posters you’ve been making for the tour,” Milo said. “The Nashville one is sick.”
“Thanks! It’s probably my favorite so far. I’m excited to design some for the big East Coast cities.”
“When did you figure you wanted to be an artist?”
“When my parents took me to Italy when I was eight,” I replied. “I fell in love with the artwork in Florence.”
He gave me an enthusiastic smile. “No shit?”
“Oh yeah.” I paused to play a card. “Before that, I didn’t realize that art could make youfeelthings. The museums there change the way I looked at the world. Like, it legitimately rewired my brain. I spent the rest of the trip copying all the big art pieces we had seen. I bought a postcard of Botticelli’sBirth of Venusand traced over it in my journaling notebook. I was supposed to be writing a page per day about our trip, but my parents didn’t mind that I was drawing instead. As soon as we got home, my mom signed me up for art classes.”
Milo seemed genuinely overjoyed by my story. “That’s great they supported your creativity. Doesn’t happen often. Just as Riot or Cash.”
Cash grunted over in his seat, but didn’t engage.
“What about you?” I asked Milo. “You told me the story about drumming in class and getting detention, but did you listen to a lot of music before that?”
“Not really,” he said while frowning at his cards.
“What kind of music did you listen to?”
“I didn’t have a way to play music.”
“I don’t mean instruments or a fancy record player or anything,” I clarified. “Just like, playing music on your phone. On Spotify. What channels did you jam out to?”
“I didn’t have a cell phone until I was nineteen,” he replied.
I whistled through my teeth. “Dang. I had a friend whose parents wouldn’t let her have a phone, either. Your parents were that strict? What if you got into a car accident or something? How would you call for help?”
He laughed, but it was more nervous than usual. “I, uh, didn’t have a car until a few years ago. I took the bus.”
