Everett spoke then. “Keen Records. We’ve been offered a recording deal.”
Silence permeated the room, thicker than the heat invading the opened windows.
Hendrix opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “H-How?”
Everett shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is Jack Keen wants us in the studio within the next thirty days. So”—he glanced around—“are we in?”
Everyone spoke at once, yelling, cheering, shouting, cussing, and then finally, Hendrix’s voice broke over the commotion. “Wait, wait, wait.” He leveled Everett with a look colder than ice. “How do we know you’re not bullshitting?”
I opened my purse, dug for Everett’s phone, and handed it to him.
Dale tutted. “You finally got a phone and didn’t even call? Harsh, man.”
“It was only recent, and shut up, I don’t know your number.” Everett found Jack’s name, then set the phone on speaker on the rug below us as it rang.
It reached voicemail, and Jack’s voice echoed, “It’s Jack, leave a message that won’t waste my time.”
Hendrix scoffed, collapsing into the beanbag. “Of course.”
Everyone seemed to deflate, even Mom, who was pursing her lips with her hand tight in Dad’s.
Everett didn’t seem bothered and just twiddled his thumbs, waiting.
The phone rang, and he answered after the third ring. “Yeah.”
“Sorry, man. Was racing to get back into the office in time. They all there?”
Everett’s eyes lifted to the stunned faces of his friends, his family, and he grinned. “They’re all here.”
Jack’s sharp laughter filled the room. “Okay, so what’s the verdict, boys?”
“Then the old bastard had the nerve to say it looked like a pancake.”
Sabrina choked on her laughter, coughing and sputtering as she wiped beneath her eyes. “Pancake ass. Oh, my dear lord.”
I set the tape down, drumming my fingers over the countertop. “How old are you two again?”
Gloria ran her hand over my hair as she flitted by the counter. “Never too old to joke about the shape of one’s ass, my darling.”
“Damn right,” Sabrina agreed, still snickering as she bent down to sort through the cellophane. “He was right, though.”
“You love it,” Gloria shouted.
A text came through, and I nabbed my phone from beside the register.
Ever: If I have to listen to Dale and Jack fight one more time…
I smirked, then read the one he’d sent straight after.
Ever: Oh yeah. Have I told you I love you today?
The band had started rehearsing at a converted warehouse studio Jack owned. They were there from dawn until dusk, six days a week. Some nights, Everett didn’t get home until almost midnight, judging by the texts he’d send. We weren’t living together, but I stayed at his place Friday through Monday. I’d hoped to spend more time with him now that school was out, but it seemed pointless to hang around in his room without him there.
The past month had been a whirlwind of band meetings, practices, and argument after argument. Mom and Adela had a good point, though, when they’d told me to steer clear and let them sort it out. They needed to clear the air in order to create and focus on what they all wanted. Left with little time, they only had enough material for half an album and failed to agree on anything new.
I began tapping out a response when another message came through, this time from Adela. I accidentally opened it but figured I’d respond quickly.
Adela: I’m fresh out of supplies. Can I steal some until I can get to the shop later?
Me: Knock yourself out.
Clicking back to Everett’s message, I got halfway through typing a reply when it hit me.
I usually had my period at least a week before Adela got hers.
The phone slipped from my hand, clattering to the wooden surface.
Gloria glanced over her shoulder. “You okay?”
Then Sabrina’s hand was in my face, waving. “Shit. What the hell is wrong?”
“I think she might faint. Quick, get the spray bottle.”
“You get the spray bottle. You’re closer.”
Their hands started slapping at my face, and I pushed them off. “I’m fine. I’m fine. I just… I have to go.”
There was no point in worrying until I knew for sure. These things happened. There’d been a few times when my period had been so light, I’d wondered what the point of it even was.
I raced into the back room for my purse. “I’m sorry. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Not if you’re still as pale as a sheet of paper,” Sabrina said. “Oh, hey, your phone.”
I backtracked, mumbling my thanks as they watched me with mirroring looks of concern. “I’m okay,” I repeated, hoping