Page 3 of Reggie and Delilah's Year of Falling

But also, they’re my friends. This is what friends do. They needed a new lead singer, and in a couple weeks, I molded myself into exactly that for them.

“Of course she’s chill,” Charlie says. “Delilah is a star.Ourstar.”

He walks out of Asher’s garage, where they store all their gear, and stands next to me. I can feel his warmth, and I have to fight the urge to lean in to him, like a plant reaching for the sun. Because that would be ridiculously awkward. We’re not like that. We’re just friends.

Except... Well, I guess I’ll admit it: Charlie’s probably half the reason why I agree to everything. Especially when he asks me in that rumbly low voice that I feel in my chest. Or when he wraps his arms around my shoulders and makes his bright blue eyes all big and purses his lips in the perfect pout.

But, no.

Ourstar, he said. Nothis. Never his.

“Yes, the star, and you better not forget it,” I say, bumping him with my shoulder. Charlie laughs and throws his arm around me, squeezing me tight. As friends do.

“Ah, the ego on this one! Already!” Beau says with a snort, laughing too. “We gotta watch you.”

“I’m just saying. Bubble guts are normal,” Asher continues. “There is no shame in the bubble guts.”

“Asher, I don’t have the bubble guts!” I yell, throwing my hands up. I totally have the bubble guts.

Charlie lets go of me to put his guitar in the van, and I feel the loss of his touch like blankets thrown off in the early morning. But I keep my face blank. Chill.

“Did you practice the lyrics some more?” Charlie says, turning back to me. His strong jaw sparkles with stubble and his wavy dark hair is tucked into a burgundy beanie. “During practice Thursday, I noticed you kept getting tripped up on the bridge of ‘Parallelograms.’ Remember you kept saying ‘bird’ instead of ‘blurred.’ And you’ve gotta make sure you stretch out ‘soon’ into two syllables in the second chorus.”

I messed up the lyrics because they make no sense. I swear sometimes Charlie writes esoteric stuff just for the sake of being esoteric. I would nevertellhim that, though.

“Yeah, I practiced,” I assure him. “I’ve got it down.”

He nods and keeps going. “And did you watch those videos I sent you last night? Of the other girl singers? I had more but I didn’t want to overload you. I really think those two are, like, the masters when it comes to stage presence.”

Yes, I watched Karen O, front woman of this old band the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, screaming and spitting and spinning across the stage, owning these huge audiences with abandon. And Courtney Love,lead singer of Hole, growling in her babydoll dresses and smeared makeup, dripping confidence.

They were badass. My jaw dropped in awe as I watched both of them. But it was quickly replaced with fear. I’m not like that. I couldneverbe like that.

So I went searching on YouTube for other women musicians that were more my speed, and I found even older videos—like before-my-parents-were-bornold. Patti Smith, with her baggy clothes and howly voice that hits you right in the gut. And Poly Styrene from X-Ray Spex, a biracial Black girl like me, whose yelpy crooning commanded attention.

And of course, there’s my real music role model, Taylor Swift, who’s written every single one of my favorite songs. But I would never, ever mention her to the guys. They wouldn’t let me live it down until I was a senior citizen.

So instead I just shrug. “Yeah, I watched. They were cool. But I think I might go for, I don’t know... an X-Ray Spex vibe?”

He nods approvingly.

“Okay, and remember, especially during the last verse of ‘Bronze Statue,’ sing with me. We’ll share the mic. It’ll look so good.”

I need this reminder even less than the other ones. Every cell in my body is still vibrating from when we sang this song together last night at practice. Our breath mingling over the mic, his eyes locked on mine. I know it’s only for show, but it felt so real.

“And one more—” Charlie starts, but Asher cuts him off.

“Lay off her, bro!” Asher slaps his shoulder. “If she wasn’tnervous before, this goddamn third degree is definitely going to change that.”

Charlie winces, and then smiles, throwing his arm around my shoulder again. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just want everything to be perfect tonight. It’s hard for me to... let go.”

“I know. I get it.”

Fun Gi is his baby. He started this band back in seventh grade with Asher, and Beau joined at the beginning of freshman year after their old drummer moved from Long Beach up to northern California. And until now, Charlie’s always been the front man.

But after Fun Gi had been upstaged at yet another show by Ryan Love and the Valentines, this supercool all-girl rock band, they decided they needed to do something different to stand out. And there I was—the girl who’d started hanging around their practices for the past few months, just happy to be included. Charlie’s the one that suggested I step in, only three weeks before this big New Year’s Eve performance at The Mode, a venue downtown. And I went along with it. I’ve been going to every practice, learning every one of their songs—even though I know I’m not cut out for this at all.

And also... it’s not like Fun Gi’s lack of feminine energy is the reason they kept being upstaged by Ryan Love and the Valentines. It’s because the Valentines are better. Ryan’s voice is bubbly and bright. Her lyrics get stuck in your head.

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