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Tommy: If you could say anything to those younger artists who might be listening, what piece of advice would you give them?

Juno: Focus on the music. I know the noise can get so loud, but remember that the music is what you’re doing it for. You can’t control how you are perceived. You can’t control how people feel or what they say about you. But the music you can control. Find your people and make the best art you can. And please, for the love of God, stay off the internet.

15

It’s incredible how quickly they fall into a routine. Like they did in Paris, they spend the morning in Brussels sleeping in. Luca gets up before everyone else and goes for a quick run. When she gets back, she showers while the others do their makeup and then they go out to find someplace cheap to have breakfast. The part of the city they’re staying in is surprisingly quiet; there’s a park near the hostel where they spend half an hour sitting in the shade of a tree. Miray dozes with her head in Toni’s lap while Izzy talks to someone on the phone and Florence scribbles in the little notebook she carries everywhere with her. Luca alternates between watching the ducks in the little pond and trying to braid a crown out of daisies. When she’s finished, she leans over to set it down on Florence’s head. In turn, she receives a bewildered look that morphs into a tentative smile.

It’s nice, sitting there in companionable silence. Luca thought they would get sick of each other after the first two nights, but aside from some light bickering over whose turn it is to use the bathroom or who has to share a bed, band life has been surprisingly harmonious so far.

At three p.m. they walk through the doors of tonight’s venue. It’s even bigger than the one in Paris; Amy tells them it holds eight thousand people.

Sound check, then some snacks from the vending machine, then back to the dressing room. It’s smaller than the last one, with beat-up beanbag chairs and walls plastered with posters of bands who’ve played here over the years. They’re getting ready to the sound of Florence’s preshow playlist when Izzy says, “Luca. How do you feel about makeup?”

“In general, or on me?” she asks.

“On you.”

“I’ve never really tried it.” Her only experiences with makeup were makeovers during sleepovers. Since she grew up shopping in the same section as her brothers and never bothered with more styling than a little hair wax, it was always an event when her girl friends got to put lip gloss on her. Luca didn’t mind it; she liked the careful touches and the close attention and being told she was pretty.

So when Izzy asks, “Can I try something on you?” she nods without hesitation.

“C’mere,” Izzy says.

Luca shuffles across the room and plops down on the beanbag closest to Izzy. Florence glances up from her phone as she passes her.

Sitting on the floor, Izzy considers the makeup scattered around. She’s wearing eyeliner and a dark-red eye shadow under her eyes that makes them appear sunken-in. She looks like a really hot, sleep-deprived vampire.

“Is there anything you don’t want?” Izzy asks.

Luca hesitates. “I don’t really like how mascara looks on me.” Her eyelashes are so light, you can barely see them; it always looks strange when they’re pronounced.

Izzy nods, once, before getting up and unceremoniously straddling Luca’s lap. “All right?” she asks.

Overwhelmed by the sudden proximity, Luca manages a winded, “Yeah.”

Izzy gives her a considering look. “Start with the eyes, I think,” she says, more to herself than to Luca, and picks up an eye shadow palette.

For the next few minutes, Luca shuts off her brain and simply lets herself be handled, closing her eyes when Izzy tells her to and obediently turning her face this way and that at the touch of her hands. It’s as nice as she remembers. Izzy is a grounding weight in her lap, the touch of her calloused fingertips soft and businesslike. At some point, Luca becomes aware of Florence watching them. She hopes Izzy can’t feel the way her face heats up as she quickly looks away.

“There,” Izzy says eventually. “Done.”

Luca blinks her eyes open and takes the little hand mirror that Izzy holds out for her. The first glance at her reflection makes her breath catch. She looks . . . cool. Really cool. Izzy used a dark eyeliner pencil on her waterline and some kind of glittery dark green stuff on her eyelids that goes nicely with her ginger hair. The overall impression makes her think of the male rock stars from the 2000s whose music videos she watched obsessively growing up.

“Luca!” Miray exclaims from where she’s sitting on the floor with her Nintendo. “You’re so handsome.”

Toni looks up from her phone to nod approvingly.

Florence is the last person Luca looks at. Her gaze is heavy in a way it wasn’t before, dark and unreadable as her eyes slowly rake over the planes of Luca’s face. Luca’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, and Florence abruptly looks away. “Good job, Iz.”

Luca tries not to feel disappointed. Because her brain hates her, it chooses this exact moment to replay the memory of Florence kneeling between her thighs, leaning over her to lick a hot stripe up her neck. You’re so pretty.

“Thanks, Izzy,” she says as she gets to her feet. Her legs feel unsteady. Water. She needs water.

“I took some photos of you two,” Miray says, holding up her screen. “Is it okay if I post them on the band account?”

Luca only gives them a fleeting glance before nodding her approval.

“Are you our new social media manager?” Izzy asks while Luca walks over to the console to grab a bottle.