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“She has tried to text me a couple of times. She’s pretty mad at you,” Lyndsey adds.
I sigh. “That’s the first stage of a breakup, isn’t it?”
“I did set your curtains on fire when you dumped me,” Priya says, laughing.
“That’s why we’re no longer allowed in a Best Western hotel or any subsidiaries. I always forget,” Henry says.
Lyndsey’s jaw hit the floor. “Wait, that’s why? Do you know how hard that makes booking hotels?”
“I do now! I wasn’t thinking of my future accommodations when I was twenty-three, and I had my first big heartbreak,” Priya says.
Lyndsey did the math. “Yeah, well,Heart-Crossedis a banger of an album.”
“You know what they say, the more bitter the breakup, the better the art!” Priya jokes, punching me in the shoulder. I spin around and lock her in a headlock. We tussle until she trips over a cord.
I still love Priya, just in a different way. Though our romantic relationship lasted just over a year, it gave way to a lifetime of artistic collaboration. To this day, she’s still the first person I send songs. She’s always been the one to tell me if I have a terrible idea. We’ve seen each other at our worst, so we know how to bring out the best in each other.
I always thought it was odd when people didn’t stay friends with their exes. Granted, we broke up right around when we started touring full-time, so our friendship grew out of forced proximity and a genuine desire for the band to succeed even if our romantic relationship failed.
“So does that mean Eve will write her breakup into the werewolf show?” Apollo asked.
“How could you do this to me?” Henry mocked with a fake howl.
I shoot him a look. “You’re the one who binged her show in three days flat! Don’t make fun of it!”
“Well, the talent show was scheduled for the night of the full moon! I had to see what happened!”
“It was a pretty gripping season finale,” Lyndsey adds.
“Wait, you watch'Were Are They Now'?”Lyndsey seemed so chill and detached from any cultural entity that generated a media frenzy. For some reason, I could only picture her watching nature documentaries or movies with subtitles.
“I watch it when I need to turn my brain off. It might not be the most well written show, but it’s still entertaining.”
“See, now you’re making me want to watch it,” Priya grumbles.
We were all back in the green room now, packing our things to prepare for another long night of driving. Lyndsey throws the half-empty containers of hummus and cans of sparkling water in the trash and texts our bus driver, Dave. Priya changes into sweats and a T-shirt, and we all pile onto the bus. Each of us patiently waits for the other to get ready for bed, taking turns brushing our teeth in the tiny bathroom.
Lyndsey wears a tie-dye shirt and track shorts, with her hair gathered in a messy bun on the back of her head. Her face is shiny with moisturizer. She looks pretty, I think, as I study her face in the dim light while Dave pulls out of the parking lot.
Lyndsey stretches before launching herself into the narrow bunk bed above mine. I take my vitamins and try to get comfortable in my new bunk. It feels like sleeping on concrete, but I owe Lyndsey big time.
Chapter 3
Lyndsey
An Hour Outside of Washington, D.C.
The soft orange light of early morning peeks through the tiny window of my bunk, connecting me to the outside world.
We’re barreling down the highway; the whoosh of other cars makes my ears ring. The bus screeches a bit as we graze the median.
I crack my neck before gripping the sides of my bunk and slowly making my way to the ground. I steady myself before going to the black, plush leather couch where Priya’s curled up eating oatmeal from a mug.
Apollo and Henry play cards at the tiny kitchenette booth, each sitting on one side of the Formica table, with a jug of iced coffee between them. I wave, and they wave back.
Moments later, Vince emerges from his bunk. He’s shirtless. Not that I’m staring or anything. I can see the faded tattoos covering his chest, a vine snaking up his neck, a faded skull, and crossbones on his right bicep.
He flops onto the couch next to me and grins.
