I storm downstairs. My parents are talking quietly in the kitchen. I have no idea where Norah is, and I don’t care. I throw open the front door, and there’s a loud, “HEY!” but I’m already blazing down to the sidewalk. Where’s Max? Where is he?
“Dolores Nolan, get your ass back in here,” Nathan says from the doorway.
Andy is behind him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m going to Max’s show!” I yell back.
“You aren’t going anywhere in that mood OR dressed like that,” Nathan says. A familiar white van turns the corner and speeds up our hill. Andy swears, and my parents push out the door but block each other in the process. The van jerks to a halt. Johnny Ocampo slides the door open.
“Do not get in that van,” Nathan shouts.
I give Johnny my hand. He pulls me inside and slams the door. I crash into a folded cymbal stand as the van lurches forward, and I shriek in pain. Max lets out a rapid string of profanity at the sight of blood running down my arm. The van jerks to another stop as he leans back to make sure I’m okay.
“I’m fine, I’m fine! Go!”
I look out the window to see my parents on the sidewalk, frozen in disbelief. And behind them, sitting on the steps of the lavender Victorian—as if they’ve been there for a long, long time—are Cricket and Calliope Bell.
The van roars away.
Chapter fifteen
I shouldn’t have come here.
It takes the band forever to set up, and I’m left alone the entire time. I didn’t bring my phone, so I can’t call Lindsey. The club is cold and unfriendly. I cleaned the blood off my arm in the bathroom, but it was only a scratch. I’m restless. And I feel stupid. My parents will be enraged, Norah will still be in my house, and the twins were witness to another foolish act. The memory of their expressions is almost too much to bear: the scorn of Calliope, the hurt of Cricket, the shock of my parents.
I’m in so much trouble.
As always, my mind returns again and again to Cricket Bell. Muir Woods seems like a lifetime ago. I remember what I felt, but I can no longer remember how.
“Lola?”
WHAT’S THAT? WHO’S HERE? Who did my parents send? I’m almost surprised they haven’t showed up themselves—
“We thought it was you.” It’s Anna.
“Hard to tell sometimes .” And St. Clair.
They’re holding hands and smiling, and I’m so relieved that I fall back against the club’s brick wall. “Ohthankgod, it’s you.”
“Are you drunk?” she asks.
I straighten and hold up my chin. “NO. What are you doing here?”
“We’re here to see Max’s band,” St. Clair says slowly.
“Since you invited us? Last week? Remember?” Anna adds at my confusion.
I don’t remember. I was so worried about Max touring and the day trip with Cricket that I could have invited the editor of TeenVogue and forgotten about it. “Of course. Thanks for coming,” I say distractedly.
They don’t buy it. And I end up spilling another private story to them: the story of my birth parents. Anna grasps the banana on her necklace as if the tiny bead is a talisman. “I’m sorry, Lola. I had no idea.”
“Not many people do.”
“So Cricket was with you when you found her on your porch?” St. Clair asks.
His question snags my full attention. I’d purposefully left Cricket out of the story. I narrow my eyes. “How did you know that?”
St. Clair shrugs, but he looks self-chastised. Like he said something he shouldn’t have. “He mentioned something about taking a road trip with you. That’s all.”