Page 99 of If This Gets Out

“You okay?” asks Jon.

I press my lips together. I don’t want to lie.

“Zach, wait,” says Erin.

What now,I think.

“You’re up,” she says, handing me a phone. “You and Jon look great together. We’d like a selfie of you throwing up a peace sign with Jon in the background. Think you can manage that?”

“Sure.”

I take the phone. Erin holds up a portable ring light, giving me perfect lighting, and I take a few shots, then give her the phone back.

A few minutes’ walk later, we reach the café. There are guards positioned out front. We go inside, and a reporter stands up. He’s a bigger guy, dressed in a button-down and a bow tie. He’s really cute.

A few of the other tables are occupied. I sense someone looking at us, and I turn to see a girl with long brown hair and faultless makeup, sitting with a guy with messy black hair in an oversized jacket that hangs off his muscular frame. They could both be models, honestly. I’ve gotten pretty used to what it looks like when fans look at us, and I get a completely different, colder vibe from the two of them.

We all shake the interviewer’s hand, and then sit down. A waitress comes by.

“One Bloody Mary, please,” says Angel.

The reporter writes a note down.

“Scratch that,” says Erin. “He’ll have a Pepsi Max.”

The waitress clearly has no idea who to listen to, and she turns from Angel to Erin.

“Unless you brought your passport, of course,” says Erin, to Angel. “The law here is you need to provide identification if you look underage, I believe.”

“Er, yeah…”

Erin nods, as if it’s settled. “Then a Pepsi Max it is. I’ll have a latte, please.”

Angel crosses his arms, only speaking to say he’s not hungry when asked if he’d like to order food.

The interviewer is clearly thrilled by this display. The poor, poor man. He obviously has no idea that he won’t be allowed to write about any of this. Chorus would never have agreed to the interview if they didn’t have that kind of power in writing. He thinks he’s going to do a big splashy piece right now about how we’re treated like children, but that’s not how this story is going to go.

“So, boys,” he says, barely able to hide his grin. “Are you enjoying Copenhagen?”

“So much,” says Ruben. “It’s such a wonderful city, and we’re so happy to have the opportunity to see it for ourselves.”

Outside, through the glass doors, I see a small crowd of fans has assembled. Holy shit, already? That was fast. I know they’re all connected on Twitter, but damn. A few of them press their faces to the glass, and I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this much like a zoo animal.

The interviewer hits all the familiar beats, asking about our clothes, how we’re handling our schedule, and how we’re hoping fans feel when they see us live. He doesn’t seem to be aware that the questions they come up with are always the same. Or maybe because our team has so many topics that are off-limits, he’s only asking what he can.

As Jon is reciting his response to “So what’s next for Saturday?” I see the guy with dark hair stand up. He crosses the café, and goes into the bathroom. I look across, and see the girl with him. She’s drumming her perfectly done fingernails against her white leather handbag. She catches me looking, and her stare is dark, like it won’t end well for me if I keep looking.

I return my focus to the interview.

“Zach, I’ve heard you have a songwriting credit on the new album? That’s so exciting! Can you tell me a little about that process?”

I spout out the line Geoff told me to say when asked this question.

“Um, well, I wrote a song, and I showed it to our team, and they were into it. The rest is history. It’s called “End of Everything” and I’m really proud of it.”

We started recording the song last week, without any of my tweaks put in. I’m trying not to think about it.

“That’s so exciting! I know fans are dying to hear it.”

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