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“If you knew her at all, you’d already know that,” Jake says.

“But Emerson just said they’re usually for people who have given up on their dreams.” I’m not looking at the guys. I’m looking at Bea, and she’s staring down ather feet, the hand holding the martini a little loose. In fact, the edge of the glass is a little slanted, with the liquid approaching the edge. “That’s not you, right? You haven’t given up?”

“Hey.” Jake steps closer, his chest puffed out. “You need to watch your mouth.”

“Why?” I’m still watching Bea. “Am I right? It seems to me that the woman up there might know more than I do about music, and maybe she saw something in Bea or her song that made her feel like she needed a push.”

“Giving the win to someone who doesn’t deserve it isn’t a magnanimous act,” Emerson says. “It’s an assault, and Bea doesn’t like singing in front of people, unless she’s in a group. She would never want to perform her own music, and that’s how the industry works.”

“I’m just saying that sometimes the people who know us the best don’t realize what we really need.” Bea’s still looking at the ground, but I think I might be right. Maybe the reason she’s so upset is the woman was right. “Is there another contest you could enter?” I ask. “Or maybe—” I spin around to face Jake, who looks ready to clock me on the jaw. “You must have contacts. You could help her find someone?—”

“You think I haven’t offered?” Jake shakes his head. “Hornet doesn’t want any of that. It’s not who she is, so back off before Iback youoff.”

I throw my hands up in the air. “I’m not trying to pick a fight here, but. . .it looks like all of you have already decided what she needs. Sometimes we don’t know what we can do until we try.”

“Thanks so much for the pep talk,” Jake says. “As foster kids, we really needed your silver-spoon brand of cheerleading so we could aim high and really fulfill our potential.”

“Alright,” Emerson says. “That’s enough insults. Easton just met Bea—and me too, for that matter—and he means well.”

“I do,” I say. “And I think that lady did, too. Just something to think about.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Bea says softly, finally lifting her face. “But Jake’s right.” She grimaces a little. “I’m—my voice—I’m good at jingles, and it’s a good fit for me. I’m happy writing them, and I’d love to have a job doing it.” She shrugs. “She was wrong.” She downs the second martini.

And then two more.

Given that she weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet, I’m guessing she shouldn’t have had four. When she reaches for a fifth, I intervene. “Whoa there, thirsty. Let’s see how those hit you before downing another, huh?”

Jake had one drink and hasn’t had another sip. “I’ve got this, Richie Rich. You can go.”

“Is this a habit for her?” I can’t help wondering.

“I’ve never seen her drink before,” Jake says. “Which is whyI’ve got this.”

“Wait, she never drinks?” So that woman really did upset her.

“Her mom—” Jake shakes his head. “Actually.” He snorts. “It’s not really any of your business.”

“I don’t mind taking her home,” I say. “I have a great hangover?—”

Bea bends in half and throws up, right next to my shoes.

Jake laughs. “Go on. Tell us about how good your egg and molasses milkshake is, Richie.”

I roll my eyes.

“Okay, Hornet. Time to go.” Jake reaches for her, but she shoves him away.

I want to ask why he calls her hornet, but I feel like it’s one of those things I’ll eventually figure out. That’s when it hits me—Bea. Bee. Not very creative, but it has the feel of something that probably started back when they were kids.

She shocks all of us when she reaches for me. “Easton.”

I straighten and let her grab my arm, being sure to flex my forearm just a bit. You know, it can’t hurt to put my best arm forward. “Yes?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“You do?” She nods, and then she straightens, sort of, her head canted to the side. “Over there.” She points at the corner, and then swivels around. “And then you’ll take me home, right Jakey?”

Jake snorts. “Of course.”

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