Page 75 of For One Night Only

Me:HEY now, I’m not that boring.

Carrie:TELL RIKER HI

I roll my eyes. “My baby sister says hi.”

“God, I miss that kid. Tell her hi back, and that she should come down for the concert,” he says.

My stomach twists. Of course I want my sisters here, and I setaside tickets for them, but I’m not sure I can trust Mom to get Carrie to the airport. I don’t want her to do something rash like try to take a rideshare all on her own.

So I don’t remind her of it in case she gets let down.

Me:He says hi.

Carrie:Does he still live by that candy store he used to post about on IG? And will you be in that neighborhood?

Me:That’s very presumptuous.

Cameron:IDK, if she’s stuck at piano camp all summer, the least you could do is send her sour gummies.

Carrie:I’ll text Riker. I know HE will send me sours.

The thing is, she’s right. Out of all of us, I have the youngest sibling—Jane’s younger sister, Nora, is a year older than Carrie—and the rest of the band always spoiled Carrie rotten whenever they could.

Riker chuckles from next to me, and I know she’s already sent the text.

“Dude, ignore her. She’s being a brat,” I say, but there’s no real force behind the words.

“I actually have to run home tomorrow to grab a couple jackets, so it’s no trouble!”

“Oh, we’re definitely sending her candy,” Keeley calls from Riker’s other side, where a stylist is making the finishing touches on her silky blowout.

I laugh. “I don’t know how many seventeen-year-olds are getting care packages from rock stars.”

“Only the lucky ones,” Valerie says. I glance over her way, expecting to catch her grin, but she’s scrolling her phone obsessively. I wish I could say something to make her feel better about all of this, but I know she’s on edge with the concert coming so soon.

The makeup artist comes over again. “You ready, Caleb?”

“Sorry, one sec.”

Me:It’s my turn for makeup. Be good!

Carrie:No promises!

Cameron:UGH send us another selfie when you’re done. It’s unfair how good you look in eyeliner.

With that, I shove my phone away. Instead of fidgeting with my phone like Valerie or popping in earbuds like Riker, I like to watch in the mirror as I transform from regular Caleb to stage Caleb. The process has always fascinated me. It’s a kind of armor, the makeup, making me feel like I’m ready to take on the crowds, hidden away behind the smudge of the pencil. I close my eyes as the artist layers on eyeshadow, trying not to flinch as she layers the powder on my lids.

“Go ahead and open. What do you think?” she asks.

I blink, barely recognizing myself. The effect is more intense than ever, like the volume dial on my face is turned up all the way. Somehow my eyes look even greener.

“It looks awesome,” I say. “Thank you so much.”

“Knock ’em dead out there,” she says, moving her stool over to Riker. “Can’t wait for the show.”

Nerves flutter in my stomach. The concert is in forty-eight hours, and then my life will go back to normal. We haven’t talked about the future, and I still can’t bring myself to say anything about it. For now, Valerie and I are existing in this sweet, precious bubble, where there’s only us. Only this. No day but today and all that jazz.

It’s a goddamn Broadway tune over here.

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