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Jeffrey: No. I think there’s always more.
11
They’re expected at the venue at two p.m. for sound check. Luca feels faintly nauseous as they pull into the parking garage. Her breakfast consisted of her ADHD medication, a croissant, and an ill-advised coffee that seems to have gone straight into her bloodstream. She spent the whole thirty minutes it took them to get through the crawling Paris traffic bouncing her legs. Florence, who is sitting next to her again, hasn’t said a word about it.
Once they’ve gotten out of the van and unpacked their instruments from the back, they head for the entrance of the venue. Luca feels naked: While the others are carrying guitars or keyboards, she has nothing to hold on to as they step through the doors. Juno Wilde’s drummer was kind enough to let her use his drum set for the duration of the tour, seeing as they don’t have the budget or car space to bring their own.
They pass through a heavy entrance door before stepping onto a lift. Luca rocks back and forth on her feet as it creaks its way up to the ground floor.
A very short woman wearing a very bright yellow blouse is waiting for them when the doors open. At the sight of them, her face breaks into a warm smile. “Hi! It’s so great to see you. I’m Amy, Juno’s tour manager.”
Florence looks remarkably self-assured as she steps forward to shake Amy’s hand and introduces them. “I’m Florence Gibson. This is Izzy Dabrowska, Toni Paredes, Miray Tezel, and Luca Walsh.”
“Wonderful.” Amy shakes each of their hands in turn. Luca desperately hopes her fingers aren’t as clammy as they feel. “Juno and her band are just about finished with sound check. Follow me!”
She turns around, leaving them to trail after her.
Luca has never been in a venue right before a concert. Even without any fans there yet, there’s already a steady buzz of activity: On their way, they pass by the merch stand being set up and the bar being prepared. Their steps echo loudly from the high ceiling. As they near the doors, the music grows louder. From the corner of her eye, Luca catches Florence’s hand reaching for Miray’s arm, fingers curling into the fabric of her denim jacket.
Then they’re stepping through the doors and into the empty concert hall, and there she is: Juno Wilde, walking across the stage in a black turtleneck and jeans, her gray-streaked dark hair held back by a claw clip. One hand is in her pocket, absolutely effortless as she belts out a song that made Luca cry the first time she listened to it. Her voice is so familiar. Luca’s brain can’t compute that it’s coming from a real-life woman who is only a short walk away from her.
“Breathe,” Amy laughs next to her, and Luca instinctively sucks in an inhale.
Toni has come to a halt next to her, mouth agape; Florence is very quietly murmuring “Oh my God, oh my God” over and over while still holding Miray’s arm in a death grip. Somehow, Izzy is the calmest of them all: Her head is tilted back, her face breaking into a slow smile as she takes in the venue.
Juno Wilde finishes the chorus and nods, satisfied. She exchanges a few words with a serious-looking man in a flannel shirt—a sound engineer, probably—before looking their way and waving. “Well,” she says into the microphone, and even her speaking voice sends a shiver down Luca’s spine, “if it isn’t my favorite Scorpios.”
“She knows our band name,” Miray whispers.
Toni gives Florence a little push. She immediately catches herself and walks toward the stage, shoulders back, spine straight, every inch a front woman.
Luca tries not to drag her feet as she and the others follow her down the aisle between the seats.
Juno studies each of them in turn from behind a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. There’s so much quiet confidence in her posture that Luca feels, for a moment, incredibly unworthy to be standing in front of her. “Hello,” she says. Her Irish accent is stronger when she’s not singing. “Welcome to the tour. I’m so thrilled you’re here!”
Florence looks like a deer in the headlights as Juno steps forward and pulls her into a hug. “Thank you for having us.”
Juno turns to Luca next. “I haven’t seen you in any of the videos,” she says, “so I’m guessing you’re the new drummer?”
It takes Luca two tries to get her tongue to cooperate. “Y-yeah. I joined a few weeks ago.”
“Exciting stuff.” Juno’s smile is unexpectedly warm. Her hug is, maybe, the best one Luca has ever received. Juno doesn’t seem to be wearing any perfume, but she still leaves behind a pleasant smell of fabric softener.
One after another, she moves down the line. She has to get on her tiptoes to hug Izzy in her platform boots, and then again when it’s Toni’s turn. It’s incredible how someone no taller than five three can feel larger than life.
“How are you guys feeling?” Juno asks once introductions are over. “Nervous? Excited?”
“All of the above,” Toni says.
“I’d be concerned if the answer was any different.” A woman steps out on stage, pointing at her phone, and Juno shoots her a thumbs-up. “Sorry,” she says, “it’s my daughter. You guys do your sound check—you’re in great hands with Dave. I’ll see you before the show.”
They’re left to stare after her in disbelief.
“She is so cool,” Miray breathes, watching Juno disappear behind the stage.
“I think my life just peaked,” says Florence. “It’s all downhill from here.”
Before anyone can say anything else, Dave, the sound engineer, waves them closer. “Come on, ladies,” he says. “This is your first time, so this might take a minute. Let’s make sure we stay on schedule. You got all your instruments with you?”
