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“Yes, because of a mess you, and you alone, put us all in.” A grin in his voice, thank god. The guys are still pissed at me, but since they heard my plan and have seen me stick to it, I think they’re beginning to forgive me. “Anyway, it’s a whole market, betting against you. You’re the most exciting thing that’s happened to us since the band died. That’s so bleak.”

“And you? Where do you stand?”

“I’ve now got twenty on you passing for real,” he says. “Don’t make me lose twenty bucks, man, I cannot afford to lose twenty bucks. I’m working the counter at one of my family’s coffee shops now. Do you know what it does to a man’s dignity to have to beg his father for a barista job?”

“I’m guessing a lot.”

“A helluva lot, brother.”

A knot forms in my stomach. Eli, one of the most badass musicians I know, pulling espresso shots under his own family’s logo, because he agreed to wait for me.

“How is the coffee gig, anyway? Any cute regulars?” I steer us toward one of Eli’s preferred subjects: women. He isn’t quite the menace Luca is, but he’s never struggled to find willing company.

“It’s fine. They’ve got me on opening shifts, which means not many people are awake enough to recognize me, but the downside of that is I miss the afternoon Pilates bunnies grabbing a matcha after class.” He sighs. “Also I watched a man put four pumps of caramel in a single-origin Ethiopian blend yesterday.” he tuts. “Absolutely offensive. Harrison’s working a guitar shop—the owner’s alright, at least, lets him play the expensive stuff after close. And Luca is, I promise I am not embellishing this, Luca is modeling cardigans. And there is a huge fucking billboard.”

“A what?”

“There’s a Luca knitwear billboard, Cal. It’s the single funniest thing that has ever happened to anyone in human history, and he is furious about how much we love it.” The grin fades out of his voice. “We sent you the new track. The one me and Harrison have been kicking around. Did you⁠—”

“I listened. It’s good. The bridge needs⁠—”

“The bridge needs work, yeah, we know. But we need you in the room, that’s the thing. You can hear it down a phone, the bridge, but you fixing it on a voice memo at one in the morning isn’t the same. We’re writing with a hole in the middle of the band.”

“I know. I’ll be there soon, man.”

He huffs. I know it isn’t ideal working together from a distance, but we’re making it work. “So how’s it going? Really. The school thing. You passing and shit?”

I look at the blank Word doc. Lecture 1 Review. Below it, the nothing.

“I’ve got it handled,” I say.

“Cal.”

“I’m taking it all very seriously. I show up early. I do all the reading.”

“That’s not what I asked. I asked if you’re passing.”

“I’m passing,” I lie. “It’s freshman classes, man, give me some credit.”

Technically, it’s more of a prediction than a lie. I will be passing once the tutor I’ve been assigned drags me through fucking A&P. I passed everything else last semester, and my other classes are manageable.

A&P, for the record, is a problem entirely of my own making. UMS requires every student to take one lab science, and by the time my golf-negotiated enrollment cleared in August, almost everything was full.

My options were an eight a.m. geology class or Anatomy & Physiology I. I chose anatomy partly because some pathetic corner of my brain thought it might impress my father.

It turns out the human body contains an unreasonable number of parts—all with complicated names.

I should’ve chosen the rocks.

“The point is, I’ve got it.”

Quiet on his end. The horn again, further off now.

“Okay,” Eli says. “I believe you. Mostly. But the guys are getting restless, Cal. Harrison’s frustrated. And Luca got offered a serious gig last week—two years touring with an Australian band.”

My stomach drops.

“He turned it down. He didn’t tell you because he didn’t want to add more pressure. I’m telling you because, personally, I think you need more pressure.”