by Emma Mills
I couldn’t help but smile back.
“You were right, it was funny,” I said. “I would’ve done the same thing.”
“I know. That’s why I love you too.”
“You do?”
“For lots of reasons, not just that one.”
“For real?”
“Why is that shocking?”
“Because you’re you.”
“And you’re you.” He shook his head. “I always … I’ve always…”
I kissed him.
It was hit the ground running kind of kissing. I want every part of me to be touching every part of you kind of kissing. The singular, fleeting sweetness of the kiss in front of Acton, the intensity of that night in my room, this was all that and now a third thing, a new thing, it was enthusiastic, and happy, and relieved, it was joyful as fuck. I broke away just to kiss Jamie’s cheeks, and his forehead, and the spot under his ear, and he tightened his grip on me like holding on to each other was the only way to keep us from floating off the ground, the only thing tethering us to the earth.
* * *
After that, we discovered the true purpose of the couch in the studio. It was for this—precisely this—it was placed here for the sole purpose of making out with each other, for this exact circumstance when we needed to kiss exponentially more and also recline at the same time. It was good work on the part of the universe, and I commended the universe for it, and then thought of nothing but Jamie and how incredibly awesome this felt, until the moment the door opened and Sasha stepped in.
“Agh!” she yelped, and then, face brightening, pointing a finger at us, “Ahh!”
Neither of us moved, but Jamie gave a high-pitched, “Hi! Sorry!”
“I forgot my phone.” Sasha looked gleeful. “And I just won the bet.”
“What was it?”
“Which one of us would walk in on the two of you”—she waved a hand—“just like this.” She stepped in, quickly crossed over to her usual spot, picked up the phone lying to one side of the monitor, and then crossed back. “Have lots of fun!” she called. “Joydeep is gonna flip his shit.”
She pulled the door shut behind her.
Jamie just looked at me, eyes wide, and then we both burst out laughing.
68.
Colby: Well, I think they’re both being ridiculous. Like the whole thing is stupid. I’m not, like, an expert or whatever, but I do know that communication is important. One of them just needs to go to the other one and say, Hey. I like you. If you like me too, let’s, you know. Take it to the bone zone.
Sammy: Colby!
Colby: What? It’s true! I mean, everyone should take it to the bone zone at their own pace, if that’s something they’re into. Maybe it’s not. The bone zone isn’t for everyone. But I’m just saying, they need to tell each other how they feel.
Sammy: Oh my god, you’re so embarrassing.
Colby: You like me, though.
Sammy: Questionable.
Colby: Don’t act like you’ve never wanted to take me to the bone zone.
Sammy: COLBY!
Colby: How about another message? Dear Cat Chat …
69.
IT WAS LATE IN THE evening a few days later when my phone buzzed with a message from Jamie:
Would you rather eat ten whole lemons in one go or give up everything related to lemons forever?
Hmm, I replied. I’d rather tell you in person
Meet downstairs? He sent back almost instantly. The crystal room?
I smiled.
Mom was in her room already. Next to me, Sidney was tucked up under the covers. Only Rose was still up, sitting in bed with her computer in her lap.
“Hey, I’m gonna go … run and borrow a book from Jamie,” I said quietly, climbing out of bed.
“Uh-huh,” Rose said, infused with a heavy dose of skepticism.
“If Mom comes in, just say I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve got my phone.”
“What about your pictograms?” Rose looked up. “Are they handy, just in case?”
“We’re just gonna talk.”
“Uh-huh,” she said again, just as skeptical, but her gaze shifted back to her computer. “Be safe.”
I pulled on my shoes and then paused in the doorway. “What are you working on?”
“Just looking at some classes. I might register for the summer.”
“Psychology stuff?”
“Maybe,” she replied.
I nodded. “Good.”
One of the doors to the Crystal Room—the Mama Bear ballroom’s formal name—was open when I got downstairs, and I slipped inside. The streetlamps and the building’s exterior lights cast rectangles of orange light across the room. Jamie was already there, standing at one of the windows, and he turned as I approached, looking soft in sleep pants and a hoodie.
“Give up lemons entirely,” I said, and then kissed him.
It was the beginning of a long series of kisses that didn’t pause until Jamie rested his forehead against mine and murmured, “You could never use anything lemon-scented though. No lemon candy. Lemon meringue pie. You couldn’t drink lemonade.” His eyes widened. “Or listen to Lemonade!”
“You’re saying you’d eat the lemons?”
“I would absolutely eat the lemons.”
“Hmm,” I said, and kissed his ear.
“I just feel like the ramifications of no lemons…” His breath hitched. “Could be a lot more … widespread … than you think…”
Nothing was said for a while after that.
But eventually we settled down on the floor, sitting with our backs resting against the wall, and we just talked. Jamie played with my hand absently, running his fingers over mine, as he told me about Gram and Papa, their trip to the doctor’s office earlier that day, how Papa was doing really well, all things considered. I told him about the plans for Mom and Dan’s ceremony a couple weeks from now; the officiant had been booked. We all had our outfits picked out. I didn’t know it then, sitting there in the Mama Bear ballroom with Jamie, but Mom would invite the Russells too, and Gram, Papa, and Jamie would join us on that bright May day, the sky endlessly blue. I’d surprise myself by how emotional I’d get at the ceremony. How happy I’d feel.
Right now I threaded my fingers through Jamie’s, squeezed his palm. “We’ll be moving,” I said. “Over the summer.”
Mom and Dan were looking for a house somewhere a little north of the Eastman. They hadn’t found anything yet, but Dan was eagerly anticipating some upcoming open houses. This one right here looks pretty great, he had said, showing us a real estate listing during our dinner on Sunday. Room for everyone!
Jamie’s voice was soft: “I didn’t know that.”
I nodded.
“It’ll be weird to not live in the same place anymore,” he said.
“You’ll still see me all the time.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You’re gonna be sick of me.”
He shook his head and smiled. “Impossible.”
It was quiet for a bit after that, until I looked over at Jamie. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
I felt silly but I couldn’t help it: “How did Prince Hapless die?”
“Ah.” Jamie considered for a moment. “Well, I guess the short answer is that he didn’t.”
“What?”
“Funny thing. Remember the tomb? In the wildflower meadow?”
“Where they have the super dope music festival.”
“Exactly. Eventually his people discovered that the tomb was empty. Prince Hapless had faked his death and gone into hiding.”
“Why?”
“He was … vulnerable, without Aurelie and Iliana and Quad. They were gone, and he didn’t know … where to look for them, I guess. He didn’t know if … they needed his help. If they even wanted it. And he knew he would be lost without them, owing to him being just … completely hapless, so … it se
emed like the only way.”
“But he’s out there somewhere.”
“Oh yeah. For sure. He probably … got a part-time job someplace. Maybe his wheelhouse was never in being royalty, but he’s like really good at customer service or something.”
“He’s a banquet server at magical ceremonies.”
“I like that.”
“Maybe Aurelie will find him one day. When she drops off some baked goods to the magical catering service.”
“I like that too.”
I looked over at Jamie. He lifted my hand, rested my fingers over his lips, Kingdom style, and kissed them.
We said good night, eventually, and I fell asleep with that same warmth running through me.
70.
OUR FINAL SHOW ARRIVED THE following Thursday. We were calling it a “nineties freestyle”—hits from the whole decade.
We were sitting around between links when Jamie said, “What do you think actually happened to Tyler Bright though? Like, where is he now?”
There were plenty of theories among the Existential Dead fandom—the last confirmed Tyler Bright sighting was in 2001.
We threw our own theories around for a bit. Joydeep leaned back in his chair eventually and said, “Honestly, he’s so off the grid he could be back on it again and we wouldn’t even know.”
Sasha nodded. “Maybe he went totally underground, changed his name.”
“Burned off his fingerprints,” Jamie suggested. “Got reconstructive surgery.”
Joydeep raised an eyebrow. “Became a mild-mannered dentist?”
“What?” I looked over.
“You heard him play guitar,” Joydeep said. “And it was that guitar. Why would Tyler Bright give his iconic guitar to a random roadie who worked for him for like, three months?”
“It wasn’t an iconic guitar at the time; it was just a guitar.”
Joydeep pivoted: “He wasn’t in any of the pictures, though. There was not one single picture of Dan with Existential Dead.”
“So? He was probably taking them.”
“Unless he was in them already and we just didn’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tyler Bright had a complete beard and super long hair! There could be anyone under all that hair!”
“You sound like a true Deadnought right now,” Sasha said, shaking her head. “Hardcore conspiracy theorist.”
“Admit that there’s a possibility, though,” Joydeep said.
I turned to Jamie. “Are you buying any of this?”
He considered it for a moment. “I could like … ninety-eight percent rule it out.”
“You seriously think there’s a two percent possibility?”
“Yeah, I’d give it two percent.”
Jamie smiled at me when the others weren’t looking. I was one hundred percent going to kiss his face off later. I had asked Rose to pick us up half an hour late for just that purpose. (I didn’t tell Rose that was the purpose, but I think she had her suspicions.)
Joydeep pulled a picture of Existential Dead up on his phone and held it out to me. “Just look. Look at this and tell me you can honestly say it’s not him.”
That’s how it went for our final show. The last Sounds of the Nineties. Soon after, classes would wrap up, then there would be finals, then graduation, then … everything to come. Whatever that would look like.
The four of us—we weren’t built to last, necessarily. Jamie would start at Butler in the fall, and I would be at IUPUI. Sasha would go on to play volleyball for Notre Dame. Joydeep would be at Pomona, Vikrant-adjacent and a comfortable distance from the West Coast Mitras. It didn’t devalue what we had or what it was. It wouldn’t change the moment in time we all shared together.
And it wouldn’t be the last moment we all shared, either. The group chat would still erupt every now and then. Jamie and I would go to Sasha’s volleyball matches against IUPUI. We would all meet up when Sasha and Joydeep were back over the holidays.
Jamie and I would spend as much time together as we could amid classes and family stuff. We were an ongoing moment—one I hoped I would never see the end of.
Right now the members of Existential Dead stared up at me from Joydeep’s phone, and I focused in on Tyler Bright’s bearded face. “He’s got sunglasses on,” I said. “You can only see, like, one-sixteenth of his facial geography.”
“Look at that nose and tell me you can definitively state it’s not the nose of our friend and benefactor Dr. Dan Hubler.”
“I can’t say it’s not his nose, but I can’t say it is his nose either.”
“Schrödinger’s nose,” Sasha said, and we debated it until I checked my monitor and caught sight of the time.
“Hey, we got a link coming up.”
“Excellent.” Joydeep reached for his headphones. “Ready on your cue, Madame Producer.”
I watched the counter on the current song, and when the time came, pushed up the volume slider, pressed the button, and we were on-air once more.
Acknowledgments
I feel amazingly fortunate to have worked alongside an incredible group of people to bring this book into the world. Thank you to Kate Farrell and Bridget Smith, the editor and agent duo of my dreams, for all that you do. Thank you to the folks at Macmillan/Henry Holt, in particular the Fierce Reads team, Brittany Pearlman, and Rachel Murray for all of the hard work and enthusiasm you’ve brought to every title. Additional thanks to Mallory Grigg for the beautiful cover design, and to Jane Newland for such gorgeous artwork. Thank you as well to Aarthi Dee for the thoughtful commentary and critique.
This book was written during the last year of my PhD, and I absolutely would not have been able to make it happen without the support of my incredible family and friends. Thank you to Mama and Papa, Hannah and Cappy, for all of the love and guidance. To Jiyoon, Pei-Ciao, Rachel and Shawn, Lakshmi, Eshaani, Rochelle, Becky and Doug, thank you for being amazing friends. Thanks too to Lauren James, for first-rate correspondence and for sending me fic recs just when I need them the most!
Thank you to the all the readers, bloggers, booktubers, and bookstagrammers out there for loving books, and for taking the time to share that love with the world.
Thank you librarians, booksellers, and teachers—you are amazing!
Finally, I want to acknowledge my home during the course of my graduate career, Indianapolis, and the local radio stations that have kept me company in transit every day. In particular, thank you to the deejays of the North Central High School student radio station for all of the inspiration, and for adding joy to many a commute.
About the Author
Emma Mills is the author of First & Then, This Adventure Ends, Foolish Hearts, and Famous in a Small Town. She lives in St. Louis, and has recently completed a PhD in cell biology. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
<
br /> Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 2020 by Emma Mills
Henry Holt and Company, Publishers since 1866
Henry Holt® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC
120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271
fiercereads.com
All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019941037
Our eBooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at (800) 221-7945 ext. 5442 or by email at [email protected].
First hardcover edition 2020
eBook edition January 2020
eISBN 9781250179661
