Page 2 of On the Beat

“Sorry about my sister,” Leo says. “What did you come here for?”

“I just came here to give this to Skye,” I say, holding out the envelope. Seeing the expression on his face, I clarify. “Money that I, uh, borrowed from her. When we were dating.”

Leo’s brows furrow as he surveys me. “Wasn’t that four years ago?”

“I may have put off returning it to her.” What can I say? Procrastination is my greatest vice.

“Leo? Who is it?” I hear Skye’s voice echoing down the stairs, accompanied by a flurry of footsteps.

“Ryder Black.”

Skye appears at the foot of the stairs, wearing a green t-shirt and cutoff shorts with some kind of crochet cardigan. She looks the same as ever, except for the shocked expression on her face. “What are you doing here?”

One hand still extended, holding the envelope of cash, I gesture with it. “Consider this a debt being paid.”

“Thanks…” She opens the envelope as if counting the rubber-banded stacks of dollar bills in there. I felt like a robber or a rapper walking out of my house with the cold, solid stacks of cash that felt insubstantial. It’s all that lies between us now after all these years. “I appreciate it. Even if it took you three years to return the money.”

I shrug. “I always repay my debts.”

“And you never keep grudges, I recall,” she says, closing the envelope. “Poppy and you still aren’t talking?”

Part of the reason I came here is that Poppy and I still aren’t talking after everything that’s happened between us. We moved to L.A. together almost a decade ago, from our small Kentucky town, two kids with big dreams thinking we’d become superstars. I got my dream, with no small amount of ups and downs. Poppy? Well, Poppy found other sleazier, darker ways of making her dream happen. Ways that are dragging me down as her notoriety skyrockets, even if under a false name and image.

Still, she’s family. And like my parents tattooed into the inside of my skull: family is everything, no matter what you do to each other. It’s a mentality that I’ll never shake, no matter how unhealthy it may be. Which led me all the way here, to my ex-girlfriend’s house with a peace offering of nearly a thousand dollars. I thought that since Skye and Poppy are best friends, this act of goodwill toward one of them might be interpreted as an act of benevolence by the other. Apparently not.

“Yeah. We’re not speaking, but that’s none of your business.”

“No,” she says. “I guess you’re none of my business anymore. Is this all you came here for?”

I rake a hand through my hair, still absorbing everything that I’ve been through just from stepping into this house: Raina Aguilar’s scathing, unfiltered critiques of my music, straight from my target demographic; Leo Perez’s half-pitying look as we talked; the faint tinge of disdain coating Skye’s words.

“Yeah. Congratulations on your marriage.” I mean the words; all I want is for the past to leave me behind.

With that, I turn around to go. Leo walks me out, as if he wants to make sure I don’t steal anything else.

I thought I came here to leave my past behind; for a fresh start. Now it seems like part of my past will never leave me. I thought I could cut ties so easily, but some strings weren’t meant to be snapped. Like the one between me and my sister, no matter how tangled it might get.

Chapter 2: Isla Romero

LOS ANGELES, SEPTEMBER 2022

I check my phone for the seventeenth time as Eric rambles on about his residency at Cedars-Sinai. It may be unforgivably rude, but despite the fact that this is a date, I’m not here to impress him.

No, instead, I’m waiting for my roommate and resident date-repellent, Kaiden, to emerge with an urgent call about being trapped on the fire escape or needing a ride to the hospital. It’s been forty-five minutes into this date and he still hasn’t come through. I tap my foot, fighting the urge to bite my French-manicured nails. The expensive atmosphere and constantly circulating waiters offering wine refills don’t set me at ease, either. Throw in the tiny, inedible portions of food, plus menus without dollar signs, and I’m a fish out of water.

Eric Machado is just a blind date I shouldn’t have agreed to, even after a girl from my work insisted her cousin wasjust perfectfor me. He’s a doctor, meaning he reminds me far too much of my parents. My father is a world-renowned cardiac surgeon at Cornell Medical Center, while my mother is an anesthesiologist at the same location. They both hoped I’d follow in their medical footsteps, but I’ve declined in favour of, as they put it, “chasing celebrities around L.A. and writing about their sex lives.”

“And that’s how I ended up taking out that guy’s appendix, even though I wasn’t even scheduled to be there,” he says, finishing his story with what’s supposed to be a winning smile, but what he’s winning is a prize for Most Boring Date Ever. “Anyways, enough about me and my work. You’ve been awfully quiet all night, Isla. Tell me about you.”

“Me?” I drum my fingers on the table before picking up my wine glass and giving it what may be a too-aggressive swirl. Dots of red splatter across the white tablecloth and I see Eric wince. “What do you want to know?”

“What do you do?” he suggests, picking at his morsel of sea bass with pickled vegetables that were cooked in dry ice. I’m not kidding, that’s what the menuactuallyreads. “For fun, for money, in your free time?”

“I…” What would absolutely bore this man to tears? “I write a celebrity gossip blog by the name ofI. Hart It. It’s actually blown up a lot in the past months.”

“Really?” He actually puts an elbow on the table and leans forward as if he’s interested. “Tell me more.”

Seriously?

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