Page 17 of The Music of Us
Somehow, that made it even worse than a mirage. On second thought, maybe it didn’t—I wasn’t sure what it’d say about me if my brain conjured up Jake Moody all on its own.
“Go on,” Isabelle said, shaking the bag temptingly and rattling the boy band’s faces like maracas. “Have another one. You can even have the rest of the bag if you want.”
Her offer snapped me out of my daze.
“That’s really nice of you,” I said. “But I can’t take your snacks.”
“It’s okay.” Isabelle shrugged, the quick movement of her shoulders sending her curls bouncing. “I’m really not that intoMunchin’. Besides, I have a whole box of these bags I bought anyway.”
I cocked my head at her, just like I did when one of the café cats did something I couldn’t wrap my head around, like chew on the baseboards.
“Why did you buy so much, then?” I asked.
Her face lit up, delighted I asked.
“Because of this,” she gushed, holding up the pretzel package and tapping on the small print by the Usual Suspects photo.
Scan the codes inside each bag to unlock prizes—one lucky winner will receive concert tickets to their upcoming Sweet Torture Tour!
“Even if I don’t win the tickets, they’re giving away other prizes too. Like downloads,” Isabelle explained excitedly. “There’s digital posters and clips of Phillip, Jake, Aspen, and Leon each singing and giving us fan messages. I’m trying to collect all of them.”
Huh. I hadn’t realized someone would do all that just for a video of US.
A door creaked, and Isabelle’s mother stepped outside.
“Time for dinner, Isa— Oh!” Her eyes landed on me. “Hello, Lucy,” she greeted as I gave her a friendly smile. “I was just talking to your mom earlier. She’ssoproud of you for getting that college scholarship. I am too. I know how hard you’ve worked for years. Whenever you’re not at the café, you’ve always been out on the porch, studying. You were always such a smart girl.”
But was going off now and abandoning my injured mom and our failing café a smart decision? Or a selfish one?
What if it was both?
“You’ll be leaving soon. You must be excited.”
I forced a smile. “So excited.”
Could Isabelle and her mom tell I was lying? My stomach twisted in nervousness.
How could I tell her that I didn’t even want to take the scholarship anymore? Or, better yet, how could I change the subject entirely?
Thankfully, Isabelle did it for me.
“Here,” she said, shoving the Munchin’ bag into my hand. “Take this. You look like you need it.”
I let out a startled laugh. “Thanks.”
I waved goodbye, then unlocked my door and stepped inside.
“Oh, good.” Mom greeted me from her chair when I entered our living room. “You’re just in time for dinner.”
I stared pointedly at her crutch. Since Mom got hurt, I’d needed to make dinner, a chore I didn’t want to complain about but hated. Mom disliked being in the kitchen too, so, apparently, I inherited that from her. “You cooked?”
Tilting her head, Mom feigned thoughtfulness. “If bycooked, you mean I ordered pizza, then yes.”
“Oh, great.” I grinned. “I love your home cooking.”
“I know you do. I put a lot of effort into it.”
She leaned to the side toward the table to set down a paper in her hand, crinkling it as she stretched so she wouldn’t have to get up.
