“Laguna Beach. Why?”
“I’m working on crafting my cover story,” he said, and there was a hint of mischief in his voice. “This is what I have so far: I’m a transfer student named Alex who grew up in San Diego and am royally pissed at my dad for getting a new job and making me move. Also, I play cello and am thinking about joining orchestra, which is how I met you.”
“Okay… Why Alex?”
“Because,” he said, grinning like he’d just told a particularly clever joke, “it’s what my family calls me.”
“Wait.” I stopped walking to gape at him. “Seriously?”
His mouth quirked at the edges, and I got the feeling he was happy this information caught me off guard. “Yeah, my full name is Alexander.”
Wow, how had I not known this? Obviously, we were still getting to know each other, and there was so much about Xander that was a mystery to me, but not knowing his real name? The name the people closest to him called him? It felt wrong somehow.
“When did you start going by Xander?” I asked and started walking again.
“When we signed our first record deal with Mongo,” he replied. “Management thought Alec and Alex sounded too close, so I took one for the team.”
My head spun, almost as if it were trying to recalibrate afterreceiving this new, unexpected detail about Xander. “And that didn’t bother you?”
He shrugged, skirting around a cluster of fake headstones stuck in the grass. “Not really. It was actually harder for Oliver and JJ to get used to since we’ve known each other for so long. For the first year or so, they kept slipping up, and now there’s this hilarious fan theory that there’s an invisible fifth member of the band called Alex.”
“It’s funny, my sister had a similar experience.”
“There’s a fan theory about an invisibleImmortal Nightscast member?”
I made a face at him but otherwise ignored his smart-ass comment. “No, the name thing,” I clarified. “The show’s producers thought our last name was too hard to pronounce, so Violet took James as her stage name.”
At this, Xander jerked his head back. “I didn’t realize that. Whatisyour last name?”
“Mitchell-Jamiolkowski,” I said, happy I’d managed to surprise him as well.
We’d reached the front porch, but instead of heading up, Xander stopped at the base of the steps and looked at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Yeah, that’s definitely a mouthful. Kind of sounds like Mike Wazowski. You know, the green monster from—”
“Hey, Xander?” I said, my tone sickly sweet.
“Yeah?”
“If you plan on living to the ripe old age of ninety-five, youshouldn’t finish that sentence.” I wasn’t actually mad at him, but it was fun pretending to be. He must have realized this though, because he let out a soft laugh. “Also,” I added, not giving him the chance to respond, “I hope you realize that cover story or not, someone is totally going to recognize you.”
“You’re probably right,” he said with another shrug, “but while it lasts, I’m going to enjoy every second of posing as Alex No Last Name, the cello-playing senior.”
“Hey, Indie,” one of the football players called.
Glancing up, I spotted Jacob Hernandez, Sofia’s cousin. He grinned, tipping a gold-trimmed bicorne hat at me, and I broke out into a smile when I realized the tallest guy at our school was dressed as Napoleon Bonaparte.
“Hi, Jake,” I replied as Xander and I scaled the stairs. “My ride or die here yet?”
“Yeah, she came with me and Ronnie. They headed straight for the kitchen as soon as we got here. Said something about drinking their weight in margaritas.”
“Whose brilliant idea was that?” I asked, because Sofia was terrible at holding her liquor. Two beers was more than enough to knock her on her petite ass.
He scowled to himself. “My sister’s. We played rock paper scissors to see who’s DD tonight. I lost, so she’s celebrating.”
“Tough break,” I said with a laugh as I pushed open the front door. “Have fun conquering Europe and such.”
Inside, the house was crammed wall-to-wall with people. I led Xander toward the kitchen, weaving my way through the crowdas we went. We found Sofia and her other cousin, Jake’s sister Veronica, exactly where he said they’d be, sitting at barstools along the massive granite-top peninsula. When Sofia spotted me, her face lit up, and she half jumped, half stumbled down from her seat.
“Indie!” she exclaimed, sloshing drink down the front of her lace-up bodice. “You made it!”
