Page 57

The days blurtogether in the rhythm of the tour. Sound checks, performances, late nights on the bus. But now there are new patterns emerging. Justine seeking me out during downtime. Me saving the seat next to me when we go out to dinner. Small moments that seem insignificant but somehow add up to something neither of us can ignore.
Five days after Charleston, we stop for a rare full day off. The hotel has a small movie theater for guests, and Justine convinces me to watch some indie film that’s “supposedly brilliant but probably pretentious.”
We grab snacks from the vending machine and claim a row in the back. The movie is everything Justine predicted—artsy, slow-paced, occasionally beautiful. Halfway through, when I look over, her head is resting on her hand, her eyes are closed and her lips are slightly parted. There’s one thing I’ve learned in the past couple of days with Justine, she can fall asleep anywhere. Instead of letting her head do the whole bob thing where she’s either going to jolt herself awake or she’s going to fall over, I pull her toward my shoulder and let her use it as a pillow. The other night when she did this, I didn’t mind.
And I don’t mind now.
I don’t move until the credits roll, even though my arm has long since gone numb.
When she wakes, she blinks up at me in confusion before realization dawns on her face.
“Did I miss the ending?”
“Only the part where everyone died and it was all a dream,” I deadpan.
Her eyes widen before she catches the teasing in my expression. She swats my arm lightly. “Jerk!”
“You didn’t miss much,” I admit. “Just more artful staring and meaningful silences. I swear, every Robert Pattinson movie I’ve seen is weird.”
“Twilight wasn’t weird.”
My eyes widen. “You’re joking, right? He sparkled! In the sunlight!”
“You forgot about the music that played when the sun hit his skin.” Justine covers her mouth in a giggle.
I shake my head. “Even you agree.”
“Fine, yes. But honestly that’s how it is on the bus every night, artful staring and meaningful silences.”
“Accurate.” I laugh.
Back in the hotel lobby, we find Ajay and Dana playing a heated game of chess. Ajay looks up when we approach, his eyebrows lifting at our proximity. He’s refreshed after spending time with his family.
“Movie date?” he asks innocently.
“Just killing time,” I respond, ignoring the heat rising in my neck.
Dana studies us over the chessboard. “Uh-huh. And how was this not-date?”
“Boring,” Justine answers. “Quinn was the only thing keeping me awake.”
“I wasn’t doing a very good job of it,” I say. “You were out cold within thirty minutes.”
“You let me sleep on you for an hour?” Justine looks mortified.
“More like two,” I admit.
Dana and Ajay exchange knowing looks that I pretend not to see.
“I’m hitting the sack,” I tell them and head toward my room. Ajay falls into step beside me.
“So, you and Justine seem close.”
“We’re friends,” I say automatically.
“Right,” Ajay says, unconvinced. “I mean, Dana and I are friends too, but she doesn’t fall asleep on my shoulder.”
“She was tired. We’re all tired. Hendrix fell asleep taking a shit last week. Are him and the toilet in a relationship? If so, can I come up with their name? Something like LetDix or HenToi but said with a French accent.”