“You—what?” Bryony asked.
I looked at Bruce and saw that his expression had softened a little. The hurt fury that had been on his face every other time we’d seen each other tonight was starting to fade.
“Okay, I’m going to need this story,” Emma R. ?said.
I took a breath to answer, just as the lights started to swirl and the announcer’s voice crackled over the loudspeaker. “Disney Grad Nite seniors and chaperones! Please welcome—all the way from jolly olde England—Eton Mess!”
I turned to the stage, feeling like my heart was in my throat. “Please,” I muttered under my breath. “Please, please.”
As before, I could glimpse Niall and Freddie backstage. But this time, I saw Niall hand Freddie his bottle of water right before they stepped out onstage, Niall slapping Freddie on the back.
“Hey there, seniors! Congratulations on graduating!” Niall yelled, the way he always did. But I wasn’t looking at him—I was focused on Alfie, who looked a little better than he normally did. “Are you having fun at Grad Nite?” Niall asked as Freddie took a drink of his water.
I glanced behind me and saw the manager, dressed all in black, her eyes fixed on the stage. I turned back to the band, my eyes scanning all the members of Eton Mess—well, except for Tristram/Doug; he never seemed to be part of the problem—looking for indications that things might be going off the rails again, hoping this was the one time they wouldn’t.
“Chuffed to hear it,” Niall said to the crowd in his posh accent that I now knew was totally fake. I remembered the coldness in his eyes and the startled look he’d had when we’d caught him with Freddie’s phone. My eyes drifted to the bottle of water in Freddie’s hand—the bottle that Niall had handed him—and I started to get a bad feeling. “We’re Eton Mess, and we’re—”
As if on cue, Alfie clutched his stomach. “NO!” I said, louder than I’d intended. Many people in the crowd—including Bryony, Bruce, and the Emmas—turned to stare at me.
“You okay?” Bryony asked.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s—” But before I could continue, Alfie tried to run backstage. Like before, though, he didn’t make it, throwing up onstage yet again. The crowd around me reacted with horror, but I looked away from Alfie, my eyes focused on Freddie’s face. I wanted to be wrong about the theory that had started percolating in my head, I wanted him to be fine….
“Uh, sorry,” Niall said from the stage, his expression appalled. “We’re just having a little—Freddie?”
I realized I wasn’t even surprised as I saw the red rash creeping up Freddie’s neck, the way his eyes were getting puffy.
“Is this part of the show?” Emma R. asked, frowning. “Like performance art? I don’t think I like it.”
Freddie ran off the stage, and I turned around, knowing what I was going to see—the music manager leaving.
“Sorry about all this,” Niall ?said smoothly, with a wink to the crowd. “Maybe something a capella from me as my mates get themselves sorted?”
“What was all that?” Bryony asked, sounding horrified.
“It was betrayal,” I said, my heart heavy. Bryony, Bruce, and Emma R. just stared at me, baffled, and I started to back away, heading for the exit. “If you’ll excuse me…”
Prawns!” Freddie yelled.
Alfie jumped, and his plate fell to the floor. “What?” he asked, ?sounding spooked as he glanced around in a panic. “What’s going on?”
“We’re here to help,” I assured him. I’d done the same thing as before—shaken off Bryony, rushed to meet Freddie, given him the rundown of what was happening. We hadn’t taken the time to ?eat, just hurried right into the green?room, past the stagehands who were just starting to deal their cards for poker. But when Freddie paused to take his picture, I didn’t stop him—or remind him to get his phone when he left it? the way he always did. I’d realized that it was important that he leave it behind. “That stir-fry is not your friend,” I told Alfie as I tossed out the paper plate. “And the portion you ate at the strip mall is going to give you food poisoning right as your show starts.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Alfie turned to Freddie, then looked back at me. “Are you having a laugh?”
“Nope,” I said.
“Wait, who are you?” Tristram/Doug asked, then paled. “I mean, erm, who d’ye be, lass?” His accent this time—as far as I could tell—was veering into very bad Irish.
“It’s okay, I know you’re from Chicago,” I assured him, and he visibly relaxed. “And I’m Cass. Just trying to help out the band.”
“It’s for the best,” Freddie assured Alfie.
“So you can’t perform tonight,” I said, and all three bandmembers’ heads whipped over to stare at me.
“Sorry, that’s…naur,” Alfie said, shaking his head. “I’m the guitarist, y’see?”
“Yeah,” Freddie said, turning to me. “He’s a pretty important part of the band. What do you mean, he can’t play?”
