Page 99 of Lovers Like Us

Charlie nods, both of us avoiding each other’seye.

Sulli sighs and digs in a sweets basket. “They’re gonna notice this fucking…fuck whatever you call it.” She waves a hand between us, then dumps chocolate snowcaps in herpalm.

“Tension,” Beckett defines, squatting down and rising. He tries to stretch his arms, muscles shot from lifting girls for fivehours.

“You okay?” I ask him. “You can take abreak.”

Charlie watches his brother keenly, concernevident.

Beckett cricks his neck. “I’m not ditching. I’ll be fine.” Sulli gives him a side-hug.

Jane has been scribbling math equations in a notebook. Something that helps clear her mind. But she shuts the notebook. And then scans our uneven huddle. “Look atus.”

My eyes drift to each of my cousins. We look like we’re five colossally different people who come from the same unconventionalplace.

Beckett is dressed in The Carraways merch, supporting Tom’s band, and colorful tattoos sprawl down hisarm.

Sulli wears cut-off jean shorts in the winter, a dolphin pendant roped around her neck, and her dark hair cascades down herchest.

I’m in jeans and a green Halway Comics shirt. Arms crossed, shoulders squared but thankfully not soreanymore.

Janie is decked out in pastels and sequins, pants snug on her waist. Wavy brunette hairuncombed.

And Charlie always looks like he just got fucked in a bathroom. Four buttons undone on his white, wrinkled dressshirt.

Beckett gives his sister awhat-the-fuckface. “We look like a hot mess, sis. This isn’t arevelation.”

“We look like we’re close. The five of us together. But somehow we’ve all come apart.” Jane doesn’t say the cause, and it’s not therumor.

If anything the rumor brought us together with this tour—but what pulled us apart was me. AndCharlie.

“Moffy and I won’t sit next to each other,” Charlie suddenly says. “Easyenough.”

We allnod.

“We shouldn’t sit next to each other either,” Jane tellsme.

I spin on my best friend, my face sharpened and brows cinched. I get that this is the first time we’ve opened ourselves to questions since the secret affair rumor. But there’s a hitch. “It’s going to seem fucking weird if we don’t sit next to each other,Janie.”

She thinks for a moment, then nods. Pink bedazzled cat sunglasses shield her eyes, but her freckled cheeks pull in a smile that saysI’m ready forbattle.

The FanCon coordinator pops her head in and tells us it’stime.

And I assure Beckett, “It won’t be threehours.”

Charlie grabs a water bottle. As he passes me, he whispers, “Don’t make promises you can’tkeep.”

* * *

Fans pack the ballroom,every chair filled. An aisle splits down the middle and leads to a microphone where fans can askquestions.

A giant banner—FanCon presented by H.M.C. Philanthropies—backdrops a decent sized stage. Five chairs are already lined up in a row, and the tour’s moderator touches the microphone at thepodium.

As soon as the moderator introduces us, we step on stage. The crowdroars. Cheering and whistling. Cameras flash, and I smile,wave.

I grab a microphone off my chair and take the second seat. Because at the very last second, we decided to sit oldest to youngest: Jane, me, Charlie, Beckett, and Sullivan. It’ll cause the least amount of gossip, but it also means I’m wedged besideCharlie.

Be nice, I try to tellmyself.