I Have Lost My Way(34)

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There have been thousands of comments. But Freya remembers that one. She remembers writing back to that boy. She remembers reading his note and thinking of the night she realized her father wasn’t coming back, thinking she wouldn’t survive. She had, and so would he.

She looks at Harun, at Nathaniel. Unlike her mother, or Hayden, she does not believe in anything resembling destiny. But at that moment, it’s hard not to believe that the three of them were meant to meet.





THE ORDER OF LOSS


PART VII





FREYA



Hayden hadn’t called us back for six months.

Mom tried to remain positive. Because she now read everything about him, she knew he was in the studio with Mélange and after that on tour with Lulia. “When he’s working with an artist, he’s completely immersed,” Mom declared. “When it’s your turn to be in the studio with him, you’ll be glad about that.”

“Not gonna happen,” Sabrina said with her usual certainty.

I nodded and pretended to agree. But though my sister was usually right, I could sense unfinished business. I kept hearing his question. Are you hungry enough? he’d asked me this question. I hadn’t answered. But at some point, whether it was to Hayden or someone else, I knew I’d have to.

We went back to doing what we’d been doing: weekly video drops of new songs, daily photo posts. Mom storyboarded things out weeks in advance. Our numbers continued to climb. If Mom’s optimism wavered, she didn’t let it show.

“He’ll call,” she said.

When, finally, his office did call, requesting a second meeting for the very next day, Mom was triumphant, as if Hayden had been on the verge of discarding us but she’d mentally dreamed us back into contention.

“He asked for much more this time,” she said, reading through the notes she’d taken. “He wants analytics across platforms. Accounting of all endorsement offers, licensing. Oh, and he wants to hear something new from you. An original song, not yet posted.”

“We don’t have anything ready,” Sabrina said. “We can’t just pull a brand-new song out of our asses.”

“What about ‘The Space Between’?” Mom asked. That was a song we’d been working on. Mom went back to her notes. “Let’s see. His assistant says he wants to hear something unique and . . .” Mom shuffled through her notes to get the words exactly right. “All his own.”

All his own. A warning right there.

“I guess we’ll have to do ‘The Space Between,’” Sabrina said, sounding defeated. “He might’ve given us more time.”

“Actually,” I began, “I have something else.”

“No you don’t,” Sabrina snapped. That was Sabrina through and through. If she didn’t see it, it didn’t exist.

Mom looked at me. When I didn’t say anything, she said, “If you’ve got something in the works, let’s hear it.”

“Yes,” Sabrina said scathingly. “Let’s hear it.”

“Actually, you already have,” I told Sabrina.

“What?”

“‘Little White Dress’? The one you called ‘a pathetic piece of sentimental crap.’” I pulled out my phone and opened the audio file.

Sabrina’s normally impassive face flashed with so many emotions at once: anger and disgust and hurt. “You recorded that? Without me?”

“Not the whole thing . . .” I stammered. “Just some vocal and percussion of the chorus and the bridge. Because I thought if you heard—”

She cut me off with a flick of her hand. “There’s nothing that will make me change my mind about that song.”

I was used to Sabrina’s strong opinions and her veto power, but something about her high-handedness pissed me off. And that was before she said: “Look. I’m the only one who’ll be honest with you. And the truth is, you’re a weak songwriter. Your stuff is so sentimental, so young. It makes you sound like an amateur.”

“I’m seventeen! And last time I checked, we were both amateurs.”

“Isn’t the idea for us to take it to the next level? Well, not with that song we won’t.”

“Why are you acting so—”

“Jealous?” she interrupted. She barked out a laugh. “Jealous of you?”

Controlling was what I was going to say. But jealous worked too.

“Let’s just take a beat.” Mom turned to Sabrina. “Can we at least hear it?” Even when it was my song, it was still the two of them. It would always be the two of them.

Sabrina slumped back without raising any more objections. She glared as if daring me to touch my finger to the play button.

I hit play.

All that I said I wanted

Was a little white, little white dress

All that I said I needed

Was a little white, little white dress—Oh,

Do you remember? We used to sing:

Eshururururu, eshururururu

Eshururururu, hushabye, hushabye, hushabye

There were two more verses, but with Sabrina glowering, I couldn’t bear to play them. I turned off the recording. “You get the idea,” I told Mom.