“Paige,” Henrietta adds, her tone gentle but firm. “This is your decision. Talk to Liam about it if you have any doubts and let us know later today.” She grins. “Or tomorrow, or the day after that, or whenever.”
I shoot off to find him, looping through the barrels of another backstage area. Liam’s in a neon vest (which is distractingly hot) helping hang giant drapes behind the stage. When he sees my feverish look, he makes an excuse and pulls me aside.
“What is it?” he asks.
I fill him in on the Etta Girls’ proposal, including the risks.
“You’re positive you want these songs to betheirsongs?”
I nod. “My melodies, their lyrics. There’s so much of their style in them. It makes perfect sense they’d go on an Etta Girls album. And the songs that Penny and Misha were more interested in took on the ‘Penelope Parker’ sound, so it ended up being a fairly even split.”
Liam’s thumb goes down a lock of my hair. “And none of these songs are the ones you wrote on tour about me?”
When I shake my head, a very intense relief seems to de-wrinkle his features. “No, those songs are just ours,” I whisper.
“You want to say yes,” he guesses.
Shakily, I say, “Yeah, I think I do. Little pushes, right?”
“Right,” he repeats, voice low, lips curving. “Fuck, I’m proud of you for this.”
I beam. “I’m gonna go tell them yes.”
“Okay.” He’s grinning now. “I’m gonna make sure these drapes look fantastic.”
I kiss him quickly before bouncing away, helium under my feet.
The twins rehearse the new songs during sound check. They sound terrific, a new enthusiasm infusing every performance, even while their sound is decidedly jazzy, bedroom folk.
“I’d do the same thing if my music wasn’t so damnproduced,” Penny grumbles, looking on with jealousy, her arms crossed. “This is so badass of them.”
“I love your music,” I promise her. “It answers the very important question: what if a Disney Princess sung in alto and loved swear words?”
“What if synth-pop was invented by Elle Woods?” Misha adds.
Penny says, “I’m so excited to record our new stuff. Even if the finished track sounds totally different than it does now.”
“That’s kind of beautiful, though,” I say absently, glancing back at the twins onstage.
Penelope hooks her elbows through mine and Misha’s, sighing long. “You two are far more selfless than I am. I could never cowrite something that I wasn’t at least featured on. I’m way too narcissistic.”
Misha shakes her head. “I’m not that selfless, and neither is my paycheck.” Penny barks a laugh, and Misha grins. “You can keep the fame and all the rest of it, too, Pen.”
“Do you regret it?” I ask Penelope.
She immediately shakes her head. “I have my bad days, like everyone. But this lifestyle is something you have towant. Not casually want, either. You’ve got to want it more than anything else.” She settles her heavy gaze on me. “Like I said: selfish. But at least I own it.”
Onstage, the girls take a water break. The quiet makes us introspective.
“That one song you wrote about Liam your freshman year,” Misha probes. “The one you played us last week?”
“‘I prefer shadows.’”
“How would you feel if that was on someone else’s album?”
“Or any others you wrote about him this summer?” Penelope adds.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “How I’d feel about it, or how he would.”
