Page 37 of Hot Girl Summer

“You’re not going to use the fact that you have a famous ex-cousin-in-law to your advantage?”

“Not everybody wants to be famous. We earned that gig, Monty had nothing to do with it,” he says, pausing as we approach an incline. “Okay, maybe he had a little bit of input. We had our chance to make it, but it didn’t work out.”

“What happened?”

“I mean, it’s a sob story that will put the saddest X Factor contestant to shame. You sure you want to hear it?”

“Yep. I’m a sucker for a tearjerker.”

He takes a deep breath and adopts a dramatic narrative voice.

“Picture it. 2010. Mumford and Sons, and Biffy Clyro dominated the charts. Muse headlined Glastonbury that year, and The Wandering Dragons were set to be the next big thing. Victory was in our reach. We could smell it, taste it. But fuck this façade,” he continues, in his normal voice. “We were playing a lot of gigs around the UK. Every weekend we were in a different county. It was fun, but my parents hated it. I barely ever saw them.

“One of our gigs was at Newcastle Uni. We heard about scouts coming to see us, and the pressure got too much for Ollie. We were all young, but he was a teenager. To think we could be mainstream was pretty overwhelming, but it really affected him.”

He pauses, his breath hitching as we reach the brow of the hill. “My dad’s best friend, Ray, owns the studios we rehearse at. He’s like a second dad to all of us. He lost his son to mental illness, and he didn’t want that for any of us. After a lot of talking, we came to the conclusion that nothing was worth sacrificing for the price of fame. I’m the closest thing Ollie has to a brother. It was my duty to protect him.”

My mind immediately races to Kiki.

“You know how it is.”

“I’m so sorry, Danny.”

“It’s okay. Life’s too short to have regrets. We still love making music, but there’s less pressure to now.”

“Why music?”

“Why yoga?”

“I asked you first.”

We share a slow, deliberate smile.

“Music is like an anchor. It’s a feeling, a surrender. Music has the ability to capture, bind and free you all at the same time. It’s healing.” He clears his throat. “At least, it is to me.”

“Good answer,” I say, not being able to contain my smile.

Douchebag Danny is actually the furthest thing from the asshole I thought he was, and I’m glad, because I'm about to let him in on a little secret. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

With that, I disappear into an alleyway, leaving him stranded on the dark, deserted street until I emerge holding a takeaway pizza box, a wad of napkins and a small, rectangular deli box.

“I thought I’d been ditched for someone better looking,” he says, eyeing up the boxes. “Do you need a hand?”

“Sure,” I say, handing him the smaller box. “But no peeking.”

“I had no idea there was a pizza place around here.”

“That’s because it’s a well-kept secret amongst us second gen immigrants.”

“Are you sure you didn’t just go round the corner to magic one up?”

“I can only do that on a full moon,” I deadpan.

He looks up, and I follow his gaze to the dark, cloudy sky.

We make our way back to the beach, finding a flat surface to sit by the volleyball courts, and I lay the pizza box down on the pebbles and flip the lid. Danny, in turn, lays the smaller box in front of us.

“So, what’s for breakfast?” he asks.

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