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And if it was the issue, it made me want to wrap my arms around him. But even if it was him feeling strange about attending the fundraiser and meeting my parents, why hadn’t he called me since? That swirl of unease expanded into a wave, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I missed something.
The Stella wig looked like silk in my lap, the color so rich and soft. I ghosted my fingers through the strands. For the first time, I found myself wondering if I should put it on. I contemplated the idea of going out just like this. Black sweater, maroon leggings, sneakers. Black choker, fake nose ring. No wig.
I’d be taking everything that wasStellaand just leaving out one thing…the wig.
“Need help?” Margot asked, gesturing to the hair in my lap. I let her pick it up, let her move to place the wig on my head.
I watched her actions in the mirror, watched her fasten the clips into place. She positioned it perfectly, bangs falling just right on my forehead, locks draping delicately down my back. “Thanks,” I told her, summoning a smile. My reflection looked like me, but not. Stella, not Destelle. “It looks perfect.”
* * *
While the crowd cleared out that night, I sat at a different booth than my usual one with Addy, watching Harry sign autograph after autograph for each fan. His red hair stuck to the skin of his temples, his white shirt clinging ever so slightly to his chest.
They’d performed their heart out tonight, probably with the excitement of tomorrow. Their first gig that wasn’t at Crushed Beanz. When I got my initial drink of the night, Jonathan said that Vincent’s dad thought that after the Downtown gig, they’d be pulling in numbers too big to fit Crushed Beanz.
Which meant the future of Untapped Potential was a bit unknown for now.
A large crowd had stuck around this time and chatted Untapped Potential’s ears off. Vincent looked a little out of his element as he talked, introverted at heart, but Natasha and Harry seemed to thrive on mingling with everyone.
At one point, a girl even asked Harry to sign the skin of her throat. They were garneringthosekinds of fans.
It was probably well over a half hour after the show ended before Harry finally walked up to the booth. His steps were slow and hesitant, his expression even more so. I’d never seen him so guarded. “Hey.”
I fixed him with a stare way steadier than my insides felt. “Hey.”
After spending all week thinking about him, and finally seeing him now, I was torn between feeling relieved and a little angry.
Harry slid into the seat across from me, his electric blue eyes trained on mine. “You’re here.”
Isowasn’t having any of this back-and-forth nonsense, not after going nearly a week with no contact. “I told my parents I was babysitting the kid down the street tonight.” An easy lie, one they quickly bought. “You should’ve told me.”
Harry drew in a sharp breath as if I’d punched him, shifting uneasily. “I know—”
“How do you get a gig at Downtown andnottell me? I mean, I don’t know if you think we’re fighting, but who cares? I would’ve been excited with you.”
“W-What?”
“That’s huge,” I said, folding my arms over my chest. “That’s huge for the band, and I would’ve celebrated with you. But I had to find out through social media?”
I kept my voice lowered in case Vincent or Jonathan could overhear, but all the emotions from the past week were filtering out.
“I—” Harry stopped, shook his head a bit. “I found out Sunday. Vincent, he—well, I would’ve told you, I just—” His gaze dropped to the tabletop where my fingers still traced the surface. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.”
“Because of Saturday? I’m still more confused than anything else.”
Gosh, I wished he’d say what ran through that brain of his instead of looking at me as if he’d just seen a ghost. “Your dad didn’t say anything?”
“My dad?” I frowned. “He was worried about you randomly leaving the fundraiser. In fact, right after you went home, he found Mr. Preston. He said he’d try to show at a gig and listen to your sound. If you’d told me about Downtown, maybe he could’ve shown up there.”
I expected Harry to smile at that, for excitement to flood his expression and reanimate him, but whatever was going on had dulled all those emotions. His chest rose and fell slowly. “Tell your dad thanks for me.”
“Harry.” I wanted so badly to reach out and grab his hand, to shake his shoulder,something. Make some sort of physical contact, but he remained out of reach. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Terry went to prison.”
“Again?”
A little huff came from him, torn between a laugh and a sigh. “No, before.”
