“He was concerned. I’m concerned.”

“

Cricket

told you?”

“He called the restaurant and gave my parents his number, and then told them to tell me to call him. He said it was an emergency.”

I grip my phone harder. “So you didn’t see her, then? Or hear her? Or hear about it from anyone else?”

Lindsey realizes what the issue is. Her voice softens. “No. I haven’t heard anything, neighborhood-wise. I don’t think anyone noticed her.”

And I’m relieved enough to let the sadness and frustration flood back in. After nearly a minute of silence, Lindsey asks again if I’d like to stay with her. “No,” I say. “But I might take you up on it tomorrow.”

“She wasn’t . . . was she?”

It’s easy enough to fill in her blank. “Not wasted, not high. Just Norah.”

“Well,” she says. “At least there’s that.”

But it’s humiliating that she had to ask. There’s a beep on the other line. Max. “I have to go.” I switch calls with dread. A vision of my boyfriend at brunch with Norah flashes through my head. This is bound to put an even bigger strain on his relationship with my family. What will he think of her? Will it change his opinion about me? And what if . . . what if he finds something of myself in Norah?

“I missed you,” he says. “You coming to the show tonight?”

I’d forgotten about it. I’ve been so fixated on last night’s show that I didn’t remember he’d be back here for another one tonight. “Um, I don’t think so.” The tears are already building.

No, no, no. Don’t cry. I’m sick of crying today.

I practically hear him sitting up. “What’s going on?”

“Norah is here. She’s staying with us.”

Silence. And then, “Fuuuuck.” He says it like an exhale. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. Me, too,” I add.

He gives a small, understanding snort of laughter, and then I’m surprised by how angry he gets when I tell him the full story. “So she expects you guys to bail her out of this?”

I roll onto my side, still on my bed. “Like we always do.”

“It’s messed up your dads are letting her take advantage of them again.”

The thought has occurred to me many times over the years, but I still don’t know if it’s true. Are they—Nathan, especially—enabling her? Or would she be even more lost without them? “I don’t know,” I say. “She doesn’t have anyone else to turn to.”

“Listen to yourself. You’re defending them. If I were you, I’d be pissed. I’m not you, and I’m

still

pissed.”

His anger refuels my own. It’s getting easier to talk about it, to talk about everything. We go for another hour until he needs to pack the van for his show. “Do you want me to pick you up?” he asks.

I tell him yes.

I get dressed with a fury I haven’t felt in years. I find a gauzy black dress that I’ve never liked in the back of my closet, and I rip the hem shorter. Orange-and-yellow makeup. Red wig. Boots that lace to my knees.

Tonight, I’m fire.

I storm downstairs. My parents are talking quietly in the kitchen. I have no idea where Norah is, and I don’t care. I throw open the front door, and there’s a loud, “HEY!” but I’m already blazing down to the sidewalk. Where’s Max? Where

is

he?

“Dolores Nolan, get your ass back in here,” Nathan says from the doorway.

Andy is behind him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going to Max’s show!” I yell back.

“You aren’t going anywhere in that mood OR dressed like that,” Nathan says. A familiar white van turns the corner and speeds up our hill. Andy swears, and my parents push out the door but block each other in the process. The van jerks to a halt. Johnny Ocampo slides the door open.

“Do

not

get in that van,” Nathan shouts.

I give Johnny my hand. He pulls me inside and slams the door. I crash into a folded cymbal stand as the van lurches forward, and I shriek in pain. Max lets out a rapid string of profanity at the sight of blood running down my arm. The van jerks to another stop as he leans back to make sure I’m okay.

“I’m fine, I’m fine! Go!”

I look out the window to see my parents on the sidewalk, frozen in disbelief. And behind them, sitting on the steps of the lavender Victorian—as if they’ve been there for a long, long time—are Cricket and Calliope Bell.

The van roars away.

chapter fifteen

I shouldn’t have come here.

It takes the band forever to set up, and I’m left alone the entire time. I didn’t bring my phone, so I can’t call Lindsey. The club is cold and unfriendly. I cleaned the blood off my arm in the bathroom, but it was only a scratch. I’m restless. And I feel stupid. My parents will be enraged, Norah will still be in my house, and the twins were witness to another foolish act. The memory of their expressions is almost too much to bear: the scorn of Calliope, the hurt of Cricket, the shock of my parents.

I’m in so much trouble.

As always, my mind returns again and again to Cricket Bell. Muir Woods seems like a lifetime ago. I remember

what

I felt, but I can no longer remember

how.

“Lola?”

WHAT’S THAT? WHO’S HERE? Who did my parents send? I’m almost surprised they haven’t showed up themselves—

“We thought it was you.” It’s Anna.

“Hard to tell sometimes.” And St. Clair.

They’re holding hands and smiling, and I’m so relieved that I fall back against the club’s brick wall. “Ohthankgod, it’s you.”

“Are you

drunk

?” she asks.

I straighten and hold up my chin. “NO. What are you doing here?”

“We’re here to see Max’s band,” St. Clair says slowly.

“Since you invited us? Last week? Remember?” Anna adds at my confusion.

I don’t remember. I was so worried about Max touring and the day trip with Cricket that I could have invited the editor of

TeenVogue

and forgotten about it. “Of course. Thanks for coming,” I say distractedly.

They don’t buy it. And I end up spilling another private story to them: the story of my birth parents. Anna grasps the banana on her necklace as if the tiny bead is a talisman. “I’m sorry, Lola. I had no idea.”

“Not many people do.”

“So Cricket was with you when you found her on your porch?” St. Clair asks.

His question snags my full attention. I’d purposefully left Cricket out of the story. I narrow my eyes. “How did you know that?”

St. Clair shrugs, but he looks self-chastised. Like he said something he shouldn’t have. “He mentioned something about taking a road trip with you. That’s all.”

He knows.

St. Clair knows that Cricket likes me. I wonder if they’ve already talked this evening, if St. Clair already knew what happened with my mother. “I don’t believe it,” I say.

“Pardon?” he says.

“Cricket told you. He told you about all of this, about my mother.” Anger rises inside of me again. “Is that why you’re here? Did he send you to check up on me?”

St. Clair’s countenance hardens. “I haven’t spoken with him in two days. You invited Anna and myself here, so we came. You’re welcome.”

He’s telling the truth, but my temper is already boiling. Anna grabs my arm and walks me forward. “Fresh air,” she says. “Fresh air would be good.”

I throw her off and feel terrible at the sight of her wounded expression. “I’m sorry.” I can’t look at either of them. “You’re right. I’ll go alone.”