Page 2 of The Music of Us
“It’s okay,” I said. “Just text me as soon as you hear if you got in.”
“Only if you text me as soon as you get your spelling bee results,” he bargained.
“Deal.”
I walked Jake to the door, but he hesitated, his fingers tapping out a sequence against the leg of his jeans, playing invisible piano keys.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, just nervous,” he admitted. “I’m good with songs. Once I start singing, I can’t worry anymore. But I’m always anxious in the audition room when there’s nothing to do.”
“What you need is a distraction.”
I grabbed the café’s tip jar and poured the coins onto the counter, scanning them until I found just the right one.
“Here,” I said. I didn’t give Jake any other warning. I simply tossed the quarter into the air, trusting he’d catch it—then watching as he did. “Maybe you can fiddle with this when you’re nervous.”
“Thanks, Luciana!” He smiled warmly, before his expression shifted into something serious. “And what you said earlier about me forgetting...”
“Yeah?”
His eyes looked right into mine. “Remember, I’ll aways be here for you.”
Then, to my surprise, Jake leaned in, and his lips brushed against my own, soft and swift.
The kiss only lasted for the span of a heartbeat, but a thousand glittering sparks burned within my chest.
Then the car horn blasted and he pulled back.
With one last sweet smile, Jake turned away.
And he was gone.
Chapter One
Four Years Later
Happy four years of the Usual Suspects—or US—the boy band that’s taken the music scene by storm and swept the charts. Which member’s your favorite? The chill and cheerful youngest of the group, Leon Ward? The sophisticated, flirtatious Brit, Phillip Maan? The intelligent and fearless Aspen Ray? Or the bad boy of the group, the mysterious and rebellious Jake Moody? Let us know online with the hashtag #oneofUS!
—What’s POPpin
We need to talk about your thieving.”
Two green eyes met mine, widening in faux innocence.
“Don’t give me that look. You’ve already looted enough from customers to fund a secret online poker addiction, or maybe a vacation to Florida,” I scolded. “What are you planning to do with all of it, Rumpelstiltskin?”
The gigantic Maine coon blinked at me unrepentantly as he clutched his newest score: the café’s TV remote with light-up buttons.
As soon as I realized it’d gone missing, I went into Rumple’s back room, and sure enough, there it was—with him on top of his hoard, sitting between a pilfered steel straw and a key I really hoped someone didn’t need.
Besides becoming our permanent café resident because Mom and I decided we couldn’t bear to part with him, Rumplealsohad become a seasoned kleptomaniac.
“Okay, how about this?” I bargained, taking a cat toy out of my half-apron pocket. “You give me the remote, and I give you a brand-new crinkle ball.”
He seemed to consider this.
“Why do you want the remote, anyway?” I questioned, bouncing the ball in my palm. “You don’t even have thumbs—”
