“Well, that’s understandable….”
“You told me yourself that he always wants to be the star. What if he didn’t like the idea that you were going to get your big break—and not him? And maybe he decided he wasn’t going to let that happen?”
“No!” Freddie said, and I could hear the frustration in his voice. “Niall wouldn’t do that.”
“But he does! And I’ve seen it. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
Freddie stared down at the ground, his brows knitted together. I felt my heart squeeze as I looked at him—I could only imagine how I would feel if someone told me Bryony was going to betray me. But then a second later, it hit me—was this how Bryony felt when she found out I hadn’t applied to the Mermaid Café and was planning on leaving? Like I’d betrayedher?
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I’ve just seen you guys crash and burn four times now. And I know this is important to you. I’m trying to help.”
Freddie looked up at me, and I could see the hurt in his eyes. “Right,” he said, shaking his head. “I know you are. It’s just…hard to hear.”
“Yeah,” I said, crossing my arms, then putting my hands in my pockets. We were in uncharted territory here, and I wasn’t sure what came next.
“Well,” Freddie finally said, breaking the silence. “I should probably get ready for the show.” The lightness, the buoyancy that he always seemed to have was gone, replaced with a weariness I hadn’t seen before.
“Oh,” I said, taken aback but trying not to show it. A second later, it hit me that ofcoursethings would be different this time. He wasn’t going to smile at me and tuck my hair behind my ear and tell me that he hoped we could hang out after. I’d just told him his best friend was about to betray him. “Right, of course.”
“Okay,” he said, giving me a sad smile as he turned back to the ?greenroom.
“Good luck,” I called after him, and Freddie gave me a half wave before heading inside, leaving me alone in the hall.
I didn’t want to see Bryony, or Bruce, or any of the Emmas. I didn’t want to see anyone I knew—I just wanted a place to watch the show. I needed to see if I was right, of course, but mostly, I wanted justonceto see the band’s set go off without a problem. It didn’t seem right that this was Freddie’s big chance, and not only did it go badly, but I was forced to watch it, over and over again.
I found a spot outside the bulk of the crowd, by the water. I pulled my jean jacket on for warmth, and then looked around?, hoping that nobody would notice me. I had a feeling I would be okay—most everyone was turned the opposite way, facing the stage, but even so, I needed to be vigilant.
The speakers crackled and, as always, the announcer’s voice sounded. “Disney Grad Nite seniors and chaperones! Please welcome—all the way from jolly olde England—Eton Mess!”
I watched, heart in my throat, as the band members took the stage, all of them looking disconcerted, like there had just been an argument before they’d walked out. This was not the smiling, confident group I was used to seeing take the stage. I glanced over at the music manager—I had a perfect view of her from where I was sitting. She pocketed her phone and focused on the stage, and I crossed my fingers on both hands.
I let out a sigh of relief when I saw that Alfie wasn’t with the band. There was a spotlight on his microphone, but no Alfie appeared. Freddie had the bottle of water with him, but he put it down by his feet as he pulled his guitar over his head, and I was relieved to see that it didn’t look like he’d opened it.
“Uh, hello, seniors! Congratulations!” Niall called. He kept glancing over at Freddie and at the bottle at his feet, his expression disgruntled. He definitely seemed more scattered this time, less smoothly composed. “Are you having fun tonight?”
The crowd yelled enthusiastically, but I just sat still, my eyes fixed on Freddie, willing this to turn out well.
“We’re down a guitar player,” Freddie said, speaking into the mic. And even though I knew it wasn’t possible, it felt like he looked right at me as he said it, like his eyes had found mine in the crowd. “So I hope we’ll still be able to put on a good show for you.”
“’Course we will,” Niall snapped, losing his posh accent for just a moment. Then he pushed back his hair and smiled at the crowd. “Here we go!”
Tristram/Doug counted outone, two, threeon his sticks, and then the band started to play.
And it…wasn’t good.
It wasfine—certainly better than the versions of this show where people got sick onstage and erupted into hives. But there was obviously something missing. Clearly, I had been wrong, and it reallydidmatter when you were down an instrument.
All the songs sounded just a little bit off, and Niall was distracted, messing up words, glancing over at Freddie throughout, clearly wondering why he was still absolutely fine. But it was like without Alfie on guitar, everything was unbalanced, the timing wrong, the music never finding its groove. The crowd was picking up on it—people were looking at their friends and whispering, and there was just a sense in the crowd ofsomething is wrongthat you could palpably feel. When the whispers turned into murmurs, I saw Freddie looking out to the crowd, his expression worried even as his fingers flew over the neck of his bass. It was the first time I was seeing him play, and even though it clearly wasn’t the best showcase for the band, I could tell thathewas great, playing with a skill I wouldn’t have thought was possible in someone around my age.
But even Freddie’s bass abilities weren’t enough to salvage this slow-motion car wreck. And when Niall messed up three lyrics in a row, he stopped singing, stepped back from his microphone, and shook his head. “This isbollocks,” he said, then stormed off the stage, petulantly pushing the mic stand as he went. He clearly meant for it to topple over, but instead it just wobbled back and forth a little before righting itself. Freddie stopped playing, and so did Tristram/Doug,? who looked around for a moment, then got out from behind his drum kit and walked offstage, leaving Freddie there alone.
Freddie looked out into the crowd, and for a moment, I wondered if he was going to take the stage, the way Niall was so eager to in the rest of the loops when his band became otherwise indisposed. But if I knew anything about Freddie by now, it was that he thought about other people much more than himself. So I wasn’t surprised when he just leaned close to his mic and said, “I’m so sorry. Apologies.”
Then he set his bass down and turned and walked off the stage as well—leaving it empty, the spotlights still swirling around nothing.
“Um, that was Eton Mess!” The announcer was back, his voice crackling through the loudspeakers, and even though he was a professional, he couldn’t quite disguise the confusion in his voice. “You have more than an hour left of Grad Nite—so be sure to visit any attractions that are still on your list! Be safe and have fun!”
As soon as he stopped talking, the music came back on, and the stage lights snapped off. The crowd started to break up and wander off—and I looked over to see the manager gathering up her things, an annoyed expression on her face. “No,” I heard her say into her phone as she strode past. “It was a complete waste of time.”
