The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys #1)(77)

I ran a hand through my hair. Is this real? This can’t be real. “What…uh, what happened then?”

“I hung up.”

“You did what?” The blood drained from my face.

“I know, I panicked, which is so unlike me. But it felt so surreal. Like I was making a crank call. But it’s okay. I knew without a doubt that Villegas was legit, so I wrote an email back as your assistant. I mean, he’s seen the blog; he knows I basically rep you. An hour later, he replied. He wants a meeting. With you. In Los Angeles. On June 4th.”

More squealing and this time, I did drop the phone. It clattered to the ground, and I sat with my hands in my lap, every muscle in my body going slack.

Evelyn’s voice was tinny, shouting for me. “Miller? Miller, hello?”

I picked up the phone again. “I don’t…I don’t know what to say.”

A meeting in Los Angeles. With a major record label. This couldn’t be real. The universe was fucking with me, and I wasn’t going to fall for it.

“I can’t fly to LA,” I said. “I can’t afford a flight or even a ride from the airport. And where would I stay? I don’t know anyone there—”

“Honey, relax,” Evelyn said in a quieter tone than I’d ever heard her use. “I know this is a lot. Believe me. But it’s real. They are paying for the flight. They are going to send a car from the airport. They are going to set you up in a hotel.”

I clenched my jaw to keep from either laughing or bursting into tears. “It’s real,” I croaked.

“It’s real,” Evelyn said, then brightened. “Now, you need to come over for a strategy session. And do you have a suit? Something nice to wear to the meeting? Never mind, I’ll put something together.”

She prattled on and on, and I just stared ahead at the road that had opened to me. A possible future away from the grind and anxiety of endless poverty.

“Evelyn,” I said, cutting through her talk. “Thank you.”

“Thank me later, babe. Oh my God, this is so exciting! Not that I’m surprised. I gotta go. Call me as soon as you’re done with school or work or whatever. Shit, Miller, put in your notice at that fucking arcade. This is it!”

I hung up with her and stared at the phone in my hand. I wasn’t about to quit my job. It was only a meeting in LA. That didn’t mean anything. It was probably an audition. Maybe I’d suck in front of this Jack Villegas guy. Or he’d see right through me. That I was just another poor bastard with a sob story, trying to make it.

“Jesus, stop,” I told the runaway train of shit talk as I pocketed my phone. “Can I have a little hope for one fucking minute?”

“Talking to yourself again, Stratton?”

I looked up to see Frankie Dowd standing a few feet away,

“What do you want, Dowd?”

“Who me? I got nothing to say to Evelyn’s bitch.”

I snorted a laugh. If only he knew. I started to push past him, but he stepped in front of me.

“Where you going?”

“None of your fucking business.” I balled my hands into fists. “You going to move, or I do I have to move you?”

“How? You gonna sic your rabid dog on me?” He grinned like a loon. “Oh, that’s right. Wentz isn’t around, is he?”

Something in his knowing tone dripped down my spine like ice. I gripped Frankie by the collar and yanked him to me. “What do you know about it?”

He tore out of my grip and walked backward, hands outstretched. I wanted to punch the shit-eating grin off his face. “Don’t know a thing. See you around, bitch.”

When he was gone, I pulled out my phone again and shot a text to Ronan as I walked out of the school. Fuck going to gym.

Where U at?

I’d walked halfway home when the reply came.

City Hall picking up my citizenship award.

I gave a short laugh. Ronan was so much fucking smarter than anyone knew. Street smart and a smartass. But I recognized his deflections.

For real. U OK?

It was risky, prodding him even that much. He might go radio silent on me as a signal to mind my own business.

Stay out of my shit, Stratton.

Case in point.

But Ronan was being Ronan. I sighed with relief that he was okay, but I needed more assurances, and Evelyn’s news was like an electric current, zipping around my nerves and balling in my stomach. I needed to talk it out before I puked. I wanted to sit around a fire at the Shack with my friends. Ronan would give me no end of shit, while Holden would want to throw a party. And both reactions would mean everything to me.

And Violet…Violet would cry and tell me she’d known it all along. Because she’d believed in me since the beginning. I blinked hard until the phone came back into focus.

Shack 2nite? I texted.

I walked another block before the reply came.

Busy. Can you tell Lord P to put the fucking weights back when he’s done?

Another deflection. Ronan would never ask for a favor. Ever. Even one disguised as a gripe. I tried another tack.

Haven’t heard from H. U?

But I already knew Ronan was done talking.

“Fuck.” My concern for him ratcheted back up. I texted Holden, but there was no answer with him either. There wasn’t anything to do. My friends would talk when they wanted to talk. I had to respect that; I demanded the same from them.