CHAPTER 47 (2)
My heart sticks in my throat. A few seconds in, I hear Timothy’s voice, humming over the chords. He’s riveting. From the comments, a lot of people think so—hundreds of thousands of likes, more than one million views. “Shit. Is that him?” Avery drops onto the bed next to me. I didn’t know she was still awake. I turn up the volume. Then Timothy sings, and I recognize the words. Because they’re mine. The words are from our showcase song at first, then another and another. Comments from people saying he’s talented, he’s gorgeous, and I stop reading the comments because they’re meaningless. The only thing that matters is him. “Avery, I’m in love with Timothy.” The words hang between us. The only backdrop is the music continuing to stream from my phone. “Well, obvs.” My chin snaps up as I seek out her gaze in the dark. “What should I…?” I shove a hand through my hair. “I need to tell him.” “That might be a good start,” she says with a half smile. I pause the video and open a text window, typing a message to Jacob with shaking hands. Emily: Your vlog exploded. What’s going on?! Then I pull up a browser window. “I need to look for flights,” I say under my breath. “Maybe I can get on yours.” Finding a Monday flight on Sunday night is hit or miss, but there are a few options since it’s a popular route. But before I can book anything, my phone buzzes with an incoming call. “Jacob,” I say breathlessly. “Hey. Ty had a meeting with Zeke today.” “On the weekend?” “Guess they saw the video and decided they couldn’t wait. They put a contract in front of him and everything.” Emotions wash over me. There’s pride, overwhelm, happiness. “That’s… wow.” Avery shakes her head, eyes wide. What? she mouths. I hold up a finger as Jacob continues. “Yeah. I’m sure he’ll want to tell you himself.” “I can’t wait.” “But… don’t hurry back to New York, all right?” Jacob says, and it sounds like a warning.
What’s going on? Is Timothy doing better without me? Did he say something to Jacob about wanting space, too? I swallow the disappointment that rises up. “Okay. Can you tell him… tell him I’m so happy for him. And if he wants to talk, I’m here.” “Ah. Sure. It’s early here, Manatee. I gotta get ready for class.” I swallow as I hang up, reminding myself to be thrilled. Timothy’s getting everything he ever wanted, and that’s enough. The next day, I take Avery to the airport and hug her for ages. “Text me when you get home, okay?” I say when I pull back. “Thank you for everything.” “No prob. I needed a few days of sunshine and drama after midterms anyway.” When I get back to the hotel, I spend the afternoon swimming and working on some homework, trying not to check my phone to see if Timothy’s called. But there’s nothing. Not before I head to the venue to get ready for the gig. Not after. Not when I get back and order delivery from a restaurant down the street before I take a hot shower and steam the makeup off my face. “Well,” I say in the silent bathroom. “Here we are.” I booked a flight back tomorrow after the final show using my credit card, which I’ll have to pay for—and I will. Skipping the showcase was a setback, but it’s not the end. I’m more determined than ever to succeed. I’ll get a job. I’ll see if there’s anything part-time at Vanier or maybe the library at Columbia. I haven’t waited tables, but I could do that, too. I’ll do anything. I’ll learn to stand on my own feet. I pull on clean underwear, then reach for the sleep T-shirt on the counter and tug it over my head. Staring at my reflection, I suddenly remember wearing the Ramones T-shirt the night after Timothy saved me at the cast party. Now, I’m grown-up enough to save myself. I’m also grown-up enough to know that what I feel for Timothy isn’t some passing thing—I love him. I miss him. I crave his company.
In the silent hotel room, a wave of longing hits me. The knock on the door makes my stomach growl. I switch off the bathroom light and cross the hotel room. When I answer the door, every thought evaporates. A gorgeous guy with a day’s scruff blocks the light from the hallway. In a bomber jacket and faded jeans, his hair falls across his face as if he’s been running his hands through it all night. “Hi, Six.”
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