Page 40 of Rescue

“I think it sounds fun,” Haylee says. When Paige turns to her, wide-eyed, she shrugs. “We’re here, right? Let’s give it a try.”

“You, Haylee,” Paige says, slipping her arm around the singer’s shoulders, “are clearly a woman of great taste and intelligence.”

“Good job,” I whisper in Haylee’s ear. “She’s recruited you for her madness now.”

But Haylee’s smile in response is enough to make me thankful for Paige Brennen and all of her silly event planning. “I’m in.”

Everyone else follows us into the building, though Daltrey and Cash do plenty of grumbling about it. Their sour moods don’t last long. As is so often the case with the random sites Paige picks for us, World of Illusions is actually really cool. The museum is a series of optical illusions spread across different rooms. There are light displays that immediately transfix Reed and Daltrey, holograms, trippy mirrors, and several places to take pictures, one of which uses forced perspective to make people in the same room appear to be vastly different heights, providing an excellent opportunity for us to rip on Cash for being short.

“You sure you don’t want another picture, buddy?” Reed asks. “This is your last chance to even come close to being as tall as me.”

“Fuck off, Reed,” Cash growls. “I might be shorter but I’m stronger. And I’m feeling the strangest urge to use that strength to punch that smug look off your face.”

“You guys always like this?” Haylee asks me.

“Mostly. Don’t ever tell him I admitted it, but Cash has a point.” I make a face at her. “I’ve been on the receiving end of both of their punches. Cash is definitely stronger.”

“You hit each other?” She sounds vaguely shocked.

“Well… yeah. We’re brothers.”

“Idiots, actually,” Daisy says, joining us to watch Daltrey and Reed, who have teamed up to get Cash into a headlock.

“You might start throwing punches if you had to live with all three of them your whole life,” I tell her.

“I lived close enough,” she says drily. She looks at Haylee. “I grew up next door. You should have seen how messy they kept that kitchen.” She shudders. “On second thought,idiotwas too kind. What’s a word that means immature and animal-like?”

“What’s that, Cash? You want a noogie?” Daltrey asks, ignoring his older brother’s curses to the contrary. “Are you sure? I might ruin the hair you spent twenty minutes carefully messing up this morning. I guess if you insist…”

“See what I mean?” Daisy asks, shaking her head. “And I’m having a baby with that man-child.”

Haylee laughs as Daisy heads over to break up the scuffle, hissing something about them getting us kicked out.

“I didn’t realize you guys have known Daisy for so long,” Haylee says as we wander away from the commotion of my brothers.

“Oh, yeah, she’s practically family. I was seven when we moved in next door to her and her dad.”

“Where did you live before that?”

It’s a simple query, totally the natural question to ask next. But it still has my spine straightening before I can stop myself. “California. We lived there, uh, before my parents split.”

“I’m sorry,” she says simply. I look over at her, relieved more than I can say to realize that there’s no pity in her eyes. “My dad was never around, so I’m totally used to the single parent thing.”

This is new information. “Your mom raised you?”

“Raised me, sponged off me, however you want to look at it.” She grimaces. “Sorry. That sounded bitter, huh?”

“You’re allowed to sound however you want when you talk about your parents.” We pause in front of one of those plasma globes, watching the beams of light that appear when we touch the glass.

“She was really into the idea of me making it,” Haylee says, staring at the globe. We broached this topic a little bit on the plane when we commiserated on having stage parents, but Haylee sounds a lot more dismal about it now. “She had me out busking and playing in cafés and stuff by the time I was twelve—”

“You were busking when you were twelve?” I ask, unable to imagine a little-girl Haylee sitting on a street corner somewhere with her guitar. “And your mom was okay with that?”

“My mom facilitated that. It was all her doing.” She pushes her hair behind her ears, taking a deep breath. When she looks back at me, she’s smiling again, even if it looks a little wistful. “Like I said, she wanted me to make it.”

“Sounds like your mom could give my dad a run for his money.”

She laughs. “The difference is my mom didn’t really know anything about the music business. So her stage mothering days dropped off when things actually started happening.” For a second it seems like she’s going to go on, but then she shuts her mouth with an audible snap of her teeth.