Page 38 of Ambiguous
“But if I look too closely at my follower count or streaming statistics, I can get really depressed. Because why did those people unfollow me? Was I not enough for them?” I open my mouth, but he holds up his hand and continues. “When I see them live, I can see the looks on their faces. I can tell that this is working. And it gets me away from some of the fears.”
“Julian, with a huge following like yours, there are always going to be people coming and going. You have to recognize that.”
He nods. “I do, but I get scared that they’re all going to leave if I give them the smallest reason.”
I tilt my head. “I don’t think that could happen.”
“It’s just how I feel.”
Tapping his hand, I say, “Hey. Your feelings are valid. But they aren’t based in fact. You have tons of rabid fans who will stay with you as long as you keep being yourself and keep giving them something to listen to. What are you working on now?”
He grins and starts talking about an idea for a song, and I listen, loving how passionate he is when he talks about creating art. I’m not artistic myself, but hearing him? It’s the coolest.
I lose track of time as we talk. When there’s a knock on the door, the frustration on Julian’s face is palpable, and frankly, I feel it, too.
Loren walks in. “Have you satisfied the lawyer and all he needs?”
“Not even close,” Jules mutters, and I stifle a laugh as we get up.
* * *
We meet up with Emily, and Jules takes time to talk with her before we go. I can tell she’s filling up her tank of stories by the way she watches every move he makes. Loren hands him a Sharpie, and he signs our backstage passes and presents Em with a bunch of merch.
“Best day ever,” Em whispers, after Jules gives her a hug.
He hugs me, too—a bit longer than her, I think, but I could be mistaken.
We say goodbye, and Emily and I head back to our hotel in Palm Springs to pass out for the night.
After showering off the stale beer, sunscreen, and sweat, I feel more like myself again. I lounge on my bed in pajamas while Em gets cleaned up. She emerges from the bathroom clad in the oversized T-shirt she just got, her hair wrapped up in a towel.
“You’re going to sleep in that, eh?” I gesture at Julian’s larger-than-life face on her chest.
“For the rest of my life. I can’t believe youknowhim. I can’t believe Imethim. I’m just thrilled he’s even more awesome than I hoped. You can fan worship someone and then meet them and it’s a disappointment. But this wasn’t.”
“He’s pretty cool,” I say.
“You need to spill. What did you guys talk about? Did he put the moves on you? Did you kiss him?”
I laugh. “No to those last two questions.” And I tell her what I can remember of our conversation. Except the parts that feel too personal. I can keep secrets, even from my best friend.
At the end, she sighs happily. “Emily Stevenson, Jules Hill aficionado extraordinaire, gets to not only meet the man himself but have her best friend get closer to doing the horizontal cha-cha with him.”
“Uh, no. We did the box step—not today—and it was while standing.”
“Whatever. I’m taking credit for you having more time alone with him.” She yawns and crawls under the covers of her bed. “I am going to dream about this day for the rest of my life. And you have a chance with him!”
“Hardly, E.”
“Pfft. You do.”
I smile into my pillow. “I love you.”
“Love you, too. But if you don’t kiss him sometime soon, I may kick your ass.”
“Ha.”
I curl up in my bed and fall asleep fast, dreaming of a towel-clad singer crooning only to me.
