Page 108 of How to Be Remy Cameron

She marches over to us the moment we’re through the door. “You’re late.”

“Exactly!” I say.

Her attention is directed at Lucy and Brook. “I’m not getting paid to talk anyone off a ledge. I had to cut off his latte consumption after three.”

“Wait,” I say, confused. “You’re not talking about the dance?”

Trixie sizes us up. “You look great, but no.”

“Where is he?” Brook asks before I can interrogate Trixie.

“Bathroom.”

“I’ll go talk him down.”

“I’ll handle our other problem,” says Lucy. Brook kisses her cheek, then punches me in the shoulder. He walks off, humming.

“What in the actual fu—”

“There are chairs already set up,” interrupts Trixie. She nods to a corner of the café usually inhabited by hipsters and stoners needing caffeine to come back to Earth. I hadn’t noticed the two stools, an amp, someone’s used guitar, and a microphone.

“Um.”

“Sit. Cold Body’s on the way,” Trixie says to me. “Go.”

“Come on, Romeo,” Rio says, hooking her arm in mine.

I’m dizzy and extremely confused. Nothing’s adding up except that my best friends are really good at keeping secrets.

We’re seated in this semi-circle in front of the stools. The house lights are dim. A string of orange fairy lights hangs on the wall behind the stools. Obviously, this secret comes with ambiance.

Trixie drops off the Cold Body and iced lattes for Lucy and Rio. They’re whispering to each other. I keep checking my phone. It’s after eight-thirty. We’re missing Alex’s EDM music and bad dancing. I’m not mad about that. But I kind of want to hang with Chloe and Jayden. Sara’s probably already plotted a fail-safe plan to murder us without anyone finding the bodies.

Brook slides in next to Lucy. “Mission accomplished. That dude has zero chill.”

“Duh.” Lucy smirks. “Look at his romantic choices.”

“True that.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask. Rio’s mouth pops open to answer—or to snark—but then Trixie’s tapping the microphone.

“Okay. This is a new feature at Zombie. Or a one-time thing. It depends,” she says.

“On what?” some girl shouts from across the café.

“On whether I earn more tips from this or y’all walk out,” replies Trixie.

Rio snorts.

“Anyway.” Trixie winks at someone behind us. A guy with arms stained in tattoos and a ridiculously groomed beard sits at one of the stools. He grabs the guitar, tunes it. Then someone else sits down, playing with his glasses, one knee bouncing nervously.

Ian.

“Welcome to Saturday’s first open mic night-ish at Zombie,” Trixie announces. “Pending.” She gives Ian one quick, concerned look. “Welcome Ian Park to the stage!”

Brook whoops. Lucy claps loudly.

Everything’s blurry, then perfectly in focus, perfectly centered on Ian.

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