Page 105 of Scorpio Season

As the others keep brainstorming, Florence curls her fingers around her mug and swallows against the bittersweet taste in her mouth. On paper, this is her worst-case scenario: They’re unsigned, without a manager, and the subject of unwanted internet drama. Still, somehow it doesn’t feel that way at all. As she looks from Luca talking excitedly with her hands to Toni taking notes on her phone, the feeling in her chest isn’t worry; it’s that same blinding, reckless hope that hummed between them the day they got the call about Juno’s tour.

The Wheel of Fortune, her brain echoes fiercely. Trust the Universe.

They talk until it gets dark, until the thunderstorm has rolled in and then past, until the candles have burned down and Florence can’t even remember what she was so afraid of when she hid from her friends for days.

At ten in the evening, they eat pasta with pesto and drink the cheap wine left over from Miray’s birthday out of mismatched coffee mugs. Slightly tipsy, Florence sits on the windowsill and sings them the song she wrote. When she’s finished, the room is quieter than it has been all night.

“I know it’s a bit different from everything we’ve done so far,” she says when she can’t stand the silence anymore. “We don’t have to do it if you guys don’t like it.”

Izzy looks at her, her dark gaze intent from where she’s sprawled on Florence’s bedroom floor. “Sing it again.”

Florence sings it again, shaky and fragile like it’s her very first show. It feels like being caught in a state of undress; like peeling away layers until she’s stripped down to her bones. She thinks she understands now what makes Juno’s songs so special.

Just like last night, Luca’s eyes cling to Florence’s lips like she has never heard anyone sing before. Just like last night, Florence doesn’t look away from her until the last note has faded.

“Florence,” Miray says when she’s done, and then she’s on her feet, crossing the room to pull Florence into a breath-snatching hug. “I love it. I love it so much.”

“Tell us how you want to play it,” says Izzy. There’s a new kind of urgency to her voice that has Florence’s heart beating quicker.

She hesitates for only a second before grabbing her acoustic guitar from the wall and handing it to Toni.

By the time they’ve figured out an arrangement, it’s well past midnight. They’re too tired and tipsy to go home, so Florence and Miray gather every blanket in their flat and build a nest of them on Florence’s bedroom floor.

The window is still open, letting in the smell of rain and a gentle, beckoning breeze. Miray’s hair is tickling Florence’s cheek. Luca is a warm outline curved around her, one arm slung around Florence’s waist, the soft hair on her legs tickling Florence’s bare calves where their limbs are tangled together. She didn’t know how much she missed this until she’s lying in a dark room again, listening to the breathing of her band getting slower.

Tomorrow, they’re going to have breakfast and then head to the practice room to spend the day relearning their set. In three days, they’re going to play Hyde Park. In two weeks, tour will be over, and they will keep going—whatever that looks like.

Florence lets out a breath and allows her body to sink deeper into the blankets. She falls asleep with Luca’s fingertips on the inside of her arm, tracing the lines of her scorpion tattoo.

VERSE

I hear your voice and I’m five

Sitting on the living room floor

You fill up the screen, larger than life

You’re singing in the downpour