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“No, but there was a video of you walking out of that professor’s office,” she answers with a smirk. “I heard that Athena made him grovel.”
“That’s not exactly how it happened,” I mutter.
“He’s so fucking hot, I would suck his banana.”
I choke on my tea.
“Ingrid,” Axel hisses from the other side of the table.
She turns to her brother. “Fuck off.”
“Well, Phee thinks he's gross.” She shoots Veer a hopeful glance. “Don’t you?”
I shake my head, neither confirming nor denying her statement. Part of the reason I went out with the band was to forget Professor Segul. The last thing I need right now is a reminder.
We sit in the cafe for over ninety minutes, with the boys ordering more and more crap just so the owner won’t kick us out. Ingrid fills the silence, explaining that she learned the drums when she was younger and the only way to hang out with the boys was to play an instrument.
Veer rises from his seat. “The Whirligig’s manager just texted to say he’s arrived.”
Axel drives back to the venue, where we meet a long-haired man dressed in a flower power shirt with John Lennon glasses. He directs us to a street around the back toward a parking lot for over fifty cars.
There’s already a few white vans around the space, which I guess were probably parked there overnight. Before I can wonder why they all have identical license plates, my stomach rumbles.
Now I wish I’d eaten the greasy breakfast.
“Do they serve food at the Whirligig?” I ask.
“The brunch menu is on their website,” Axel says.
I drop my shoulder bag to my lap, ready to fire up the phone, when the manager opens the venue’s back door and beckons at us to come in.
Axel, Erik, and Ingrid open the back and start carrying their instruments into the venue, while Charlotte picks up a pair of garment carriers, which I guess contains their matching costumes.
I reach for a guitar, but Veer places a hand on my shoulder. “Phoenix, can I have a word?”
“What’s up?” I turn to meet his concerned eyes.
“That thing I said the other day.” He sucks in a deep breath, looking like he’s about to launch into a rehearsed apology.
“I didn’t take offense,” I blurt before he can complete his sentence. “I was just having a shitty day and what I said came out overly harsh.”
One of the vans behind us opens its doors. I glance over my shoulder to find a guy in stained white overalls stepping out of the vehicle, looking like he’s a painter and decorator.
Turning back to Veer, I offer him a tight smile.
“Seriously, don’t worry about—”
The painter and decorator guy rushes between us and grabs Veer.
I whirl around. “What are you doing?”
He ignores me and continues toward his van.
My pulse erupts into action, sending a surge of blood that shoots into my limbs. I pick up the guitar case and swing it at the man’s head with a satisfying crack.
“Fuck,” he snarls.
Strong arms wrap around my waist and yank me off the ground.
