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“To you, yeah.” Tom combs a hand through his golden-brown hair. “She auditioned for the Carraways to be the drummer—”
“Daniel is on drums.”
“Daniel quit.”
“Good riddance,” Eliot says, setting down the steaming coffee pot.
Donnelly is half-listening. He’s glancing back at security. He must be tuning in more to comms.
“Harriet was good,” Tom says. “I admit that, but she’s seventeen, and the label doesn’t want minors in the band. So she sends me an email and asks if the spot is still available when she’s eighteen can she be considered. I say, we’re not interested in pursuing you in the future. It was very professional, was it not?” He’s asking Eliot.
“It sounded professional to me,” Eliot says, “but a little angry with the way you recited it.”
Tom lets out a long groan again. “Then she sends this ranty email to Warner about how I’m going to sink the band—my band! She’s trying to…usurp my authority, and I barely know her.”
“How’d she get your personal emails?”
“She was sending them to the band’s email but addressing Warner personally, so I could see everything she wrote.” Warner is the bassist in the Carraways. Still the same there.
“But you still have no drummer?” I ask.
Tom buries his face in his hands, groaning for the umpteenth time.
“That’s a painful yes,” Eliot says.
Tom seems over the subject. He even says, “Let’s talk about something else.”
“So I have to go to school sooner than I thought,” I realize. I planned to enroll full-time next semester after Christmas, but now I need to finish what Original Luna started with this biology class.
“You could drop the class,” Tom suggests. “No one would blame you.”
I want to do more than OG Luna, and adding a failure on my long list of failures is not the move. “Then everyone will think it’s because I can’t hack it, and I want to hack it.” I shrug. “I’m going.”
Eliot passes me a Hulk-shaped coffee mug. “You need reinforcements, we’re there.”
I still have them in my corner. I take a deep breath and warm my hands on the mean green mug.
“Donnelly!” a bodyguard waves him to the entrance.
“I’ll be back,” he whispers, his eyes lingering on me for an intimate second. His fingers even glide over my arm, and the touch zips a shockwave through me. Quickly, I rotate to my friends. “Okay, so when did Original Luna fall in love with him?”
“Original Luna?” Tom asks.
“It’s the Luna you knew for the last three years. She’s gone. You have me now.”
They look semi-freaked—Tom, more so—but if anyone will roll with the oddities of my mind, it’s them.
“Who are we speaking to now?” Eliot questions, flipping a lighter open and closed.
“Variant Luna, I guess.”
“I love it,” Eliot decrees, making me grin.
Tom rubs his eyes harshly. “You know…I’m getting kinda hungry.” He hops off the stool, mood changing in a snap of a finger. “Does Aunt Lily keep any peanut butter scones in the back?” He’s rounding the bar counter where Eliot has been serving us coffees.
Eliot catches his brother’s shoulder, not letting him disappear in the storage closet.
Tom glares at Eliot, then under his breath pleads, “Just let me go.” Darkness flashes in Tom’s eyes, battling a deeper emotion from surfacing fully.
“It’s fine, brother.”
I go cold.
Tom shakes his head, his gaze storming. “It’s not fine, dude. I told you she’d be looking to us for answers, and we’re shitty fucking friends—”
“We’re not,” Eliot refutes. “We’re her best friends.” He turns to me. “We’re your best friends.” His conviction feels genuine, but I also know he was the lead in almost every school play. “We’re friends that don’t slice each other open like every time we meet it’s another therapy session. We let each other talk about things on our own time. That’s how it’s always been.”
He’s right, but am I the most closed off of the three of us? I hold my breath, tossing his words over and over in my head. “I’m guessing…I didn’t tell you about Donnelly.”
Tom crosses his arms over his chest. “You didn’t tell us anything about how you two got together or what he means to you. And we didn’t care that you hadn’t yet, Luna. But it matters now because…” He looks away in excruciating regret.
Because they can’t help me.
Because they don’t know everything about me.
“That’s okay,” I say in a small voice. “It’s okay.” I know they still love me. I still have the memories of every single time they stood up for me against my bullies.
“It’s okay,” Eliot repeats my words for Tom because Tom looks about ready to cry. He lets out a long, frustrated growl, then grabs Stormbreaker, Thor’s axe, off the wall beside the espresso machine.
He twirls the plastic toy in his hand like he’s ready to just swing.
I know the feeling. “I guess we’re all on the same footing,” I tell them. “You guys don’t know some things about me. I don’t know many things about you.”
