WE INTERRUPT THIS REGULARLY SCHEDULED
REHEARSAL FOR SOME BREAKING NEWS

Wednesday, 4:56 P.M.

“I thought you were hanging with Molly.” In the loft’s bright, modern kitchen, Zander flicked asymmetrical blobs of cookie dough onto a greased baking sheet. The muffled beat of Nicki Minaj pumped from one of the lofted bedrooms, a change from Zander’s usual old-school favorites.

“Well, now I’m here.” My chest heaving from my sprint from the El, I breathed through my mouth to avoid the acrid aroma of too-strong coffee. The rest of the band hadn’t gotten there yet, which should have made me happy. On any other day, I would have jumped at the chance for some alone time with Zander. But things felt different now. The smells, the sounds… everything had changed when Stevie had waltzed through the loft door.

“Good.” Zander flung the next spoonful of dough extra hard. “It would’ve sucked if you blew us off.” He didn’t add again, but we both knew he was thinking it.

I heard the clang clang clang of heels on metal and looked up to see Stevie, winding her way down the spiral staircase.

“Perfect timing,” I muttered under my breath.

Stevie looked surprised. “So you decided to grace us with your presence. Was the mall closed?”

Before I could respond, she wedged herself between Zander and me and swiped a glob of cookie dough from the bowl with her finger. “Mmm. Coconut chocolate chip. My fave.” She looked up at me and fluttered her lashes. “He used to make these for me all the time in Seattle.”

I stretched my lips over my braces and glared. She’d scrubbed her face free of makeup, and she looked even more amazing than usual. Her dark hair tumbled in perfect waves over her shoulders, and her skin glistened under the kitchen lights. Suddenly the gloss, mascara, and light peach blush I’d stolen from Mom’s makeup drawer on my way out seemed like overkill.

“Hey, you want some coffee before we start? It’s French press.” Zander slid the tray of cookies into the oven. “Stevie brought my favorite kind from back home.”

“Yup. He loves it. Except that one time…” Stevie burst out laughing and leaned close to Zander. Too close for friends. “You remember?”

“Totally.” Zander chuckled. “This one Christmas, she told me she’d bought a bunch of this really expensive coffee, already ground,” he explained. “She said I had to have a super-developed palate, or whatever, to appreciate it. Except when I put it in the press—”

“It was dirt!” Stevie cackled. “And he drank, like, half a cup before he admitted it tasted like—”

“Dirt,” Zander chimed in sheepishly. “Worst prank ever.”

“Hey hey hey!” The Beat burst through the doorway, followed by Nelson and Kevin. The Beat was toting a handheld camcorder, the red light blinking.

I strode out of the kitchen and into the main room. The longer I kept my secret, the longer Stevie got to spend under the mistaken impression that she had the upper hand. “What’s up, guys?”

Beat trained his camera in Stevie’s direction, with his finger jammed on what I could only assume was the ZOOM button. Kevin and Nelson were slumped on the couch. None of them had the decency to pretend to notice me.

“Hey!” I waved my palm windshield-wiper-style in front of The Beat’s lens. “Focus. Someone has a little breaking news she wants to share, unless Stevie just standing there is more interesting.”

“Prob’ly,” Stevie yelled from the kitchen.

“Oh. Uh, sorry. Hey.” Through his platinum buzz cut, I could see The Beat’s scalp flush. He swung the camera toward me.

“Can I get everybody in here, please?” I called, flashing my Simon Smile as Zander and Stevie joined the group. Announcing my big news to The Beat’s camcorder didn’t feel quite the same as doing a broadcast in the Channel M studio, but it was something. Having all eyes on me and knowing my position in Gravity was about to change made me feel like myself again. Like the totally confident, in-charge Kacey Simon I’d always been.

“Somebody’s a tad dramatic,” Stevie said, but I caught the worry in her tone. I wished Molly and the girls were here to witness this.

“I’ve got news.”

“We’llsee,” coughed Stevie.

I turned my back on her and faced the guys. The Beat’s red blinking light cheered me on. “I thought it was time to take Gravity to the next level, so I got us a gig… playing the dance next Friday!”

“NO WAY!” The Beat pitched his camera onto the couch and high-fived me so hard, it brought tears to my eyes.

“Are you for real?” The wrinkle between Zander’s eyes disappeared, and all traces of weirdness between us evaporated. “Is that where you were earlier? Booking us for the dance?” He left Stevie in his wake and pulled me in for a hug. His studded leather cuff bracelet was digging into my arm, and I could smell a hint of something earthy. Patchouli. I hadn’t felt this happy in weeks. “You’re the best.”

“Welcome.” I let myself look into his eyes for a second as I pulled away.

“So, like, a whole set? We’re not just opening for somebody?” Nelson’s light eyes were huge, and he slung his ratty gray sleeve around my shoulder.

“Nope. It’s all us.” I locked eyes with Stevie on the word us. She looked away. “Two straight hours of Gravity.” I turned to find Kevin, who was squinting pensively at the floor.

“Cho?” I prompted him, feeling a flurry of nerves in my stomach. He would be the one to hold out. If he couldn’t get excited about this, he and Stevie deserved each other.

“A middle school dance? I mean, it’s pretty—”

“Mainstream?” I cut him off. “Meaning, a bunch of people will actually see us?”

“Oooh. She totally called you out, dude,” The Beat yelled.

“Do kids actually go to lame school dances in this town?” Stevie crossed her arms over her neon-purple silk tank and lifted her nose in the air, looking like Ella did pre-tantrum. But the boys were too busy loving me to notice her.

“Yeah. Kids who actually go to our school actually go to the dances,” I informed her. “But since that doesn’t include you, you can feel free to stay home.”

“I guess it’d be good exposure.” Kevin managed a small nod, then another. “You did good, Mainstream.” He clapped me on the back, which was the normal-person equivalent of a passionate make-out session.

I let the boys’ pumped chatter flood my brain, the first number on my comeback soundtrack. And Stevie’s slumped shoulders and pinched mouth were the album’s cover art.

After ten more minutes of celebrating the gig—and, to be fair, me—Zander clapped his hands. “So, are we gonna start rehearsing or what?”

“Let’s do it!” The Beat unearthed his drumsticks and rapped a quick rhythm on his thigh as we took our usual places in the breakfast nook. Stevie dragged a chair from the dining room, situating it directly in front of Zander’s mic. I was too high on popularity and patchouli to care. Let her pull out all the stops. Let her look desperate.

“So, where do you want to start?” I asked Zander, wrapping my hands around my mic stand. It felt like I was cradling pure gold.

“Well, we probably need to figure out what songs we’re gonna use for the set. How long did you say we’re supposed to play?”

“Um…” I ran my tongue over my braces. “The dance is two hours, so maybe an hour and a half? And we have to submit our song list to Dr. Phil beforehand.”

“Two hours?” Zander’s face was pale.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, confused.

“We don’t have an hour and a half’s worth of songs.” He scratched the back of his head. “We maybe have an hour, tops.”

“Crap.” Kevin flicked at a string on his bass. “You’re right.”

Stevie crossed her legs smugly.

“Okay. Okay. This isn’t a problem. We can pull together another half hour!” I swallowed to keep my throat from closing. “We’ll just have to rehearse a little more, that’s all. Do some covers.”

“You sure?” Zander raised an eyebrow. “How’re we gonna learn that much new material by next Friday? And didn’t you say we had to submit a song list?”

“Ambitious,” Stevie agreed. I hated the way she said—well, pretty much everything. She always had that tiny smirk like life was a hilarious joke she and Zander shared over fancy coffee.

The Beat backed me up. “We should at least give it a shot. What about some of those Death Cab covers we always talked about doing?”

“I’ve got sheet music in my bag.” Nelson played a doomed-sounding chord on his keyboard.

“Hold up. Depends on whether our lead wants to sing Death Cab.” Zander looked to me. “They sing in a pretty high key most of the time.”

Stevie sucked in a breath. “Yeah, that could be a problem for Kacey.”

“That’s not what I was saying.” Zander shot her a dirty look.

My throat constricted, and my eyes started to burn. How had this gone so wrong so fast?

“Death Cab’s fine.” I stared at the tiny holes in the head of my mic.

“Y’know…” Stevie’s head listed to one side thoughtfully. “There is another way around this. Zander and I could play some of Hard Rock Life’s old stuff.”

Instead of dignifying her offer with a response, I indulged a brief fantasy in which I rushed her with my mic stand as a weapon, gladiator-style. The look of visceral horror on Dream Stevie’s face was enough to keep me sane for the next six seconds or so. Until Zander said…

“That’s actually not a bad idea. We could use the time we have to polish, instead of all of us learning all new stuff. Whadda you guys think?”

“Awesome,” Nelson said.

“Good call.” Kevin nodded.

The Beat rapped his agreement on the drums.

That left me. And as much as I wanted to scream and yell and personally drag Stevie back to Seattle, I had no choice. If I pushed back, I’d look petty, like I cared more about keeping Stevie out of the spotlight than I cared about the band.

“Yeah. Sure,” I managed. “Whatever you want.”

“Cool.” Stevie jumped up and slithered past me to The Beat. “One has a rockin’ drum solo. It’s pretty easy. I could teach it to you, if you want.” She sat on the edge of The Beat’s stool. His face turned bloodred as she snagged his drumsticks and rapped out a beat, bobbing her head to the music. “It’s got killer vocals, too. Wanna hear?”

“Yeahhh!” the guys cheered.

“You mind?” Stevie jumped up and nudged me out of the way, leaving me off to the side and without a mic of my own. I was too shocked to even breathe.

“Can I get a high C?” she purred into the mic.

My. Mic.

I watched helplessly as she turned toward Zander. They gazed at each other as she sang. I didn’t even need my contacts—or my coke-bottle glasses, which were at home, tucked in my desk drawer—to see the connection between them, tight and unbreakable. With no room at all for me.