Page 47

I want to argue, but I can’t.
She walks past me, pausing just past my bunk.
“I told you, you’re not writing for her anymore, Quinn,” she says quietly over her shoulder. “You’re writing for you. You just don’t want to admit it yet.”
She descends the stairs, leaving me with not only my thoughts but hers as well. I sit there a while longer, erasing one more line. Then writing it back in.
Just in case.
The next morning,we roll into Asheville with just enough fog hanging over the hills to make the town feel like a movie set.Elle’s voice cuts through the bus like a teacher on the last day of school.
“We have no press today. No soundcheck. No obligations until six p.m. Don’t screw this up.”
The cheer that erupts from all of us sounds like a group of teenagers getting out for summer break.
Ajay claps his hands. “First stop, coffee strong enough to raise the dead.” He rubs his chest and then his stomach. He misses Jamie and the kids but will get to see them soon.
“I’m already up, so mission accomplished,” I say enthusiastically. I should be dead tired being as I only slept for a few hours, but I’m energized and ready to have some fun.
Dana throws a hoodie at my face. “Don’t let your brooding fade to fast. I’ll miss it.”
“Har, har.” I toss the hoodie back at her. “Don’t get used to it. I’m still debating which depressing songs to add to the list.
“Let’s just see if you survive walking more than two blocks without someone asking for a selfie,” Keane says as he points to me. He’s right, so I reach for the hoodie and slip it over me, leaving the hood up.
One by one, we get off the bus and go our separate ways. Most of us have plans. Well, my band mates do. I don’t. I’m about to go up to my sister and brother-in-law when someone tugs at my hand.
“Wanna hang?” Justine asks. I’m nodding before I can say no. Saying no is the right thing to do. My head is messed up when it comes to her because I like her when I shouldn’t. The thousand watts smile she gives me makes my knees wobble and my heart race slightly. I motion toward a building, the street, anywhere but in the parking lot with my sister throwing daggers at my back.
Asheville is quiet and colorful. Murals on brick buildings, vinyl stores next to crystal shops, bookstores with crooked spines in the windows. It’s the kind of place Nola would’ve loved.
But today, I don’t want to think of her.
I’ll think about the new song.
And think about the half-finished lyrics in my pocket that sound more likemethan this emo side of Quinn I’ve been writing for months.
We stop at a café with porch seating and actual ceramic mugs. The kind of place that makes you feel like you’ve stumbled into someone’s backyard. We stand at the outside window and place our orders for coffee. Justine takes hers black, no sugar, no cream. The idea makes my stomach somersault at the harshness.
“Are you trying to destroy the lining of your stomach?” I ask after adding cream and sugar to mine.
She shrugs. “I like things bitter and honest.”
I raise a brow. “Coffee can be honest?”
She holds my gaze, a sly smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “It is. I know what it’s going to taste like and how it’s going to make me feel.”
“Alrighty then.”
We wander for hours, through indie bookstores, a street art alley, and some music shop that still smells like dust and wood polish where we find Hendrix haggling over a vintage pedal he insists is haunted.
We meet up with our bands, eat lunch, and manage to avoid being stopped for photos. We have fun, and laugh hard at corny jokes, we complement one another, and all relax.
It feels like . . . normal.
Like before Nola left.
Like when this band was just about the music and not about what I was trying to hold onto.