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“I . . . they said . . . Juno wants us. For her tour.”

At once, Izzy’s and Toni’s heads snap around to look at Florence.

“Why does Juno Wilde have your phone number?” Toni asks disbelievingly.

Florence is asking herself the same thing before she remembers. Half a year ago, there was an open call for applications to join Juno Wilde on the European leg of her upcoming tour—in an effort to give up-and-coming artists a chance, even unsigned acts were considered. Florence had sent in a recording of one of their performances without giving it much thought and promptly forgot about it when she didn’t hear back.

“The opener contest,” she explains, clinging to the edge of the bar to steady herself. “I didn’t think . . . I was sure she’d picked someone else by now.”

Izzy’s calloused hands, still smelling like the cigarette she’d just gone outside to smoke, grab Florence’s face to turn it toward her. “You’re joking,” she says, dark eyebrows drawn together. “You’re joking. You’re not?”

“No,” Florence says numbly. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think anything would come of it. There were thousands of entries. It was all over social media. How did we . . .”

“Her tour starts in three weeks,” Toni says, frowning. “This feels incredibly spontaneous.”

Miray shakes her head. “There was another band. They pulled out two days ago due to personal reasons. We were Juno’s second choice.”

“Oh my God,” Florence says. She has to put her head into her hands for a second as the idea that this might actually be happening sinks in. “Oh my God.”

“Are we even good enough for this?” Miray asks anxiously.

“Juno seems to think so,” Toni returns.

“Oh my God,” Florence says a third time, abruptly looking up. “We need a drummer.”

For the shows they’ve played so far, they’ve been asking one of their friends from uni to jump in. They’ve been meaning to find a permanent drummer, but so far there has never been a reason to actively search for one. Somehow, they’re going to have to convince someone to drop everything and join their band.

In three weeks. Jesus Christ.

“Not just that,” Toni says. “We’ll need to rent a van to get from place to place and—”

“Hotel rooms,” Izzy continues, fidgeting with her septum piercing. “Cheap ones.”

“Outfits,” Florence adds, “and—”

“What even is our setlist?” Miray asks.

“We’ll figure it out.” Florence looks from one of them to another, heart thumping in her chest. “If you’re in?”

Please say yes. Please say yes. I don’t know how I’ll go on if you don’t say yes.

“What kind of question is that?” Izzy asks. “Of course we’re in. Holy fuck.”

“What about you?” Florence turns to Miray and Toni.

“Obviously,” Toni says.

Miray nods fervently. “Of course. Yes. A million times yes.”

“Then it’s decided.” Florence looks between each of them, lightheaded with the sense of possibility that crackles in the air. She has imagined this moment so many times that living it feels like déjà vu. “Oh my God. This is happening.”

“What is happening?”

Florence whirls around to find Earl towering right behind her, tattooed arms folded over his chest.

Izzy replies before she can. Her grin is all teeth as she tells him, “We’re gonna be famous, old man. Juno Wilde wants us as her opening band.”

The expression on Earl’s face is perhaps the most surprised Florence has ever seen on him. His eyes dart to her, then to the phone lying on the counter between them. She can tell he’s trying to sound unruffled as he says, “Does that mean you lot are finally getting out of my basement?”