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“Definitely not!” He cringes again, though I can’t tell if it’s because of the cheesy but sweet line my favorite member belts out, or because of the fandom name. “I’m just playing them because you have your presentation today. I figured they’d pump you up.”

“Sure,” I say with a drawl. I believe him, but it’s too fun teasing him. “You’ll be an IM URs eventually. You can’t resist the biggest American boy band ever.”

Jase snorts and squeezes my knee.

Riding through San Francisco is like immersing myself in a painting—so many colors, so many details, I just want to stay. The trolleys are so crowded people grip onto the poles. Rows of buildings, the color palette white and grey and green and orange, tower to the sky. Buses park by the curbs, people spilling out and splitting into different directions. I gaze at a few food marts and bookshops, zeroing in to catch a glimpse of the inside. We may be listening to another upbeat UR Mine tune, but I can still hear the bustle of the San Francisco folks outside, talking and laughing and playing their own music in their cars. No wonder Gavin wants to move to the city. In the suburbs, everything is quiet, every building similar if not the same. But in the city, there’s noise everywhere, and everything looks so different I want to explore every inch.

Jase listens as I practice my presentation. We drive through Golden Gate Bridge, which pops with its orange theme. Cables bar along each side, and in the middle, the main cable loops down like a smile, low enough that I can see the ocean. Farther down the bridge, there’s a towering part that looks like a three-barred ladder. Passing through it, I change the playlist to Jase’s songs. At first, he grimaces as “suspension song” blasts through the speakers. But as I tell him what I like, his face eases into a smile.

After we listen to all his compositions, we switch to his road trip playlist.

“Do you have any songs from this generation?” I tease as a Bon Jovi song booms from his speakers.

“Not my fault the best music was made years ago,” Jase says.

Apparently, Jase is a pro at driving long road trips. Whenever he and his family go somewhere in NorCal or SoCal, he drives to and from without a problem. Combine that with him being a night owl—he napped before driving to San Francisco—and he’s a road trip machine.

For the rest of the drive, we share the Polvorón and quiz each other on the newest SAT vocabulary using our newest mnemonic devices. I usually sleep on rides back home. But with Jase, I’m awake the whole time, and when we finally reach Sunlight, passing through stretches of dirt where oil machines move up and down like a hammer, I wish the drive were longer.

With five minutes to spare, we reach Blossoms, and after check-in, I practice presenting. The final presentations begin, and for once, instead of feeling nervous or comparing myself, I take in and enjoy every photographer’s presentation. When it’s my turn, I stride across the stage, lifting my shoulders high.

I explain my process, like how I used a fast shutter speed. After describing the moment I’ve captured, I project my voice.

“Passion isn’t only something you love to do, it’s something you work hard to do. You’ll show it off to others, even if you’re afraid to know what they’ll think.” I sweep a hand over my photograph. “If you recognize the band, you’ll know they perform here every week. They show their passion through every note and every lyric. You can feel their emotions, their feelings, their energy. That’s what passion feels like. It should make you excited to show to the world, and it’ll probably make you nervous because you’re hoping the entire audience will love what you do. It expresses who you are, delivering the messages you want to convey, showing the world through your vision. You get to show everyone your world, your thoughts, your emotions. All through doing something you love. Something that makes you happy. Something you want to do for the rest of your life.”

Once I finish, I realize this is more than just a presentation. It’s the truth. My truth.

There’s an immediate applause. Claps thunder through the café, along with whoohoos and yeahs! Sandra and Aaliyah give me a standing ovation and exchange impressed looks. Sandra mouths, Wow! while Aaliyah nods in agreement. They turn back to me and cheer, “Whoo! Go Emilyn!” I beam and shout “Thank you!” I stride off the stage with a smile perfect for the camera.

Eventually, the presentations end, and everyone stands up and applauds. We all tell each other, “Awesome job!” and everyone spills out of Blossoms. I nearly skip back to the parking lot. Jase, looking up from his SC brochure, gives me a grin that says I’m happy to see you happy!

He unlocks his car, and as soon as I grab the door handle, a familiar Mercedes Benz parks in front of us. I get a good glimpse of who’s behind the front window and my stomach plummets, all color draining from my face.

The Mercedes Benz door pushes open, and a pair of black-jeaned legs stomp out, revealing the last person I ever want to say my whole name.

“Emilyn!” Aprilette snaps, cutting each syllable. “What the hell are you doing here?”

She whips her head from me to Jase, who looks at me with concern, and, realizing what Aprilette’s thinking, my mouth feels completely dry. She thinks I left San Francisco to be with Jase. I want to tell her that’s not why, but what other explanation could I give? From the corner of my eye, I see Jase giving me a look I can’t quite decipher.

“In the car now, siggi?”

My throat is dry, and no words rise up.

“Siggi!” she repeats, sharper.

“Siggi, Atè,” I mumble.

Chapter Forty-One

I know to stay far, far away from my Atè whenever she listens to “Not Today” by BTS. But since I’m stuck in her car, the song erupting from her speakers at max volume, that option is nonexistent. My eyes dart to the window, the trees and sky blurring in hues of green and blue. If I were bold enough, I’d pull a Lady Bird and fall out of the car door.

My eyes betray me and chance a glimpse at Aprilette. She’s gripping the steering wheel, her knuckles whitening and bulging, her jaw so clenched I fear it’ll crack.

The traffic light shoots to red. Aprilette stomps her foot against the brake and jabs the pause button on her phone. Dread dives down my stomach. Now I’m the one who wants to say, “Not today.”

“Emilyn,” Aprilette says, her voice chopping the syllables, “explain.”

Instead of following my Atè’s orders, my mouth releases silence.