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“We asked, what do you think of Sphere of Irony for the name of our band?” Adam repeats, bending down to see my face.
“Great, it’s great,” I answer without thinking, my brain on full autopilot. A minute later, I realize it makes no sense. “Wait! What does it mean?”
Hawke laughs from behind his drum set. “These idiots just took something I said and warped it,” he says, smiling.
“Yeah,” Dax laughs. “Hawke said that when we play, we’re in our own little world, like being in a bubble. Then we made fun of him for saying ‘bubble’. He got shitty and asked if ‘sphere’ sounded snobby enough for our ‘uppity British arses’.” He makes dramatic air quotes around the last three words.
“Idiot.” Hawke rolls his eyes and taps out a riff on his drums. “Then I told them that they should leave the irony to me because they suck at it, and that was that.”
I smile at the four boys, no they’re men now, Dax, Adam and myself having turned eighteen years old in the past few months, and Hawke and Gavin turned eighteen last year. “It’s brilliant, really. I love it,” I tell them, and I mean it. I still don’t get it, but it’s good.
I’m rewarded with four giant grins and they get ready to play their next song.
Once they’re done with practice, they pack up their gear and I grab my handbag to leave. One by one, the guys say their good-byes and take off but Adam lingers, spending way too long to get his guitar packed up.
“Are we going home at some point?” I ask, watching him anxiously wander around the stage area.
“Yeah, I just wanted to talk to you for a second,” he says. Grabbing my hand he tugs me over to a booth in the corner, letting me sit and then shoving in next to me on the same side so I have to scoot over to make room.
I swallow nervously. Adam’s not real big on talking, so this has got me thinking the worst. My hand unconsciously goes to my mouth and I worry at my poor, ragged thumbnail.
Adam turns to face me, our thighs pressing
together in the tiny booth, takes both of my hands in his, and gently pulls my thumb out of my mouth. He stares at me with those deep, hazel eyes, the flecks of golden brown even more pronounced today than usual.
“Ellie, Hawke has an uncle who’s a big deal in the club and music scene. Hawke sent him some of our stuff and his uncle says he can book us for some gigs.”
“That’s great, Adam. God, you had me all freaked out thinking you were going to tell me something awful!”
Adam looks at me strangely, then swallows nervously. “Ellie, Hawke’s uncle lives in L.A., where he’s from. The clubs are there, he can get us into some of the best places where music producers and important people can hear us play.”
As Adam speaks I can feel my heart physically breaking in two. The pain is so strong, that I can’t breathe, or blink, or move. Los Angeles! That’s practically the other side of the world. I want to clutch at my aching chest, but Adam keeps my hands wrapped in a tight grip.
“Sweetheart,” he continues, “I want you to come with me. You can go to university there, in California. Gavin says there’s loads of schools and you could probably get into any one of them with your grades.”
It takes my brain a second to catch up, but I finally piece together what Adam’s trying to say. “You want me to move to Los Angeles… with you?” I ask, still reeling from the thought of us being separated.
He clutches my hands firmly and brings them to his mouth for a kiss. “Yes. I want you to come with me,” he says, his gaze unwavering.
He’s serious. Dead serious. Move to the U.S. With Adam.
My mind scrambles to process what he’s offering. A chance to get out of the East End, to go to school, to stay together while Adam pursues his dream with his mates. It sounds too good to be true.
“But, my parents,” I tell him as a lump forms in my stomach. How can I leave them alone? With my dad working all of the time and my mum so ill?
“You said they want you to go to university. So you wouldn’t be around next year either way? You could come back during breaks and visit.” Adam’s eyes light up with hope. “It’ll work, Ellie. I know it will.”
“Kate did mention that one of her scholarships was to a school in Los Angeles,” I think out loud.
“Brilliant!” Adam says, a wide grin spreading across his handsome face. “You’re so smart, I’m sure you can get a scholarship there too.”
He makes it sound too easy. Maybe it is that easy. The deciding factor is my parents. I can’t leave without their blessing. I won’t, and that breaks my heart all over again.
* * *
With only a few weeks left in the term, I have to talk to my parents about Los Angeles. I’ve applied to so many schools, I don’t even remember which ones until the letters begin to arrive. I was accepted into almost all of them, with large scholarships to several. I’m scared to death to hear my parents’ answer. If they say yes, I won’t be around to help my mum go through the last cycle of her chemo. If they say no, I’ll lose Adam and be heartbroken. Either way I can’t win.
Gathering up as much courage as I can, I sit on a small armchair in our lounge and wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt, the sounds of the television squawking in the background.
