Page 64 of Scorpio Season

Lifting the mic to her mouth, she comes in a second behind her cue. Her singing voice is sweet; it’s higher than Florence expected, warm and shaky with nerves. Florence can’t tear her eyes away from her as she joins in with Gabriella’s part, giggling when Luca dutifully ad-libs Troy’s overlapping Oooh. By the time they reach the chorus, Luca looks a little less like she actively wants to die. She even bobs her head, still looking immensely focused, while Florence dances closer to her. During the bridge, her lips finally twitch into a smile, and Florence feels so light, she could be floating. They’ve been on tour for two weeks now, but she swears that this—wine-drunk and weightless, singing a song from bloody High School Musical with a pink-cheeked Luca while their friends hold up their lit-up phones in her periphery—is the happiest she has ever been.

The song ends, and Florence gives their audience an exaggerated curtsy before pointing at Luca. “Luca Walsh, everybody!”

Luca hands off her microphone like it’s going to bite her, hiding her face against Florence’s shoulder as the room explodes into cheers. Izzy wolf-whistles. Florence can feel Luca’s high-pitched giggle more than she hears it.

She reaches up blindly to squeeze the back of her neck. “Well done, you.”

“Yeah, you too,” Luca says, muffled into Florence’s shoulder. “Have you ever thought about joining a band?”

Laughing breathlessly, Florence tugs at her hand to get her to move as the next song is queued up.

Their friends are waiting for them as they stumble offstage. “That was incredible,” Miray tells them.

“I shed a little tear,” says Izzy. She has graduated from sipping a glass of red wine to drinking straight from the bottle, her dark hair disheveled and eyeliner smudged.

Florence cranes her neck. “Where’s the birthday girl?”

“On the phone with Esther,” Miray says. “I took a video of you two. Is it all right if I post it?”

“Sure,” Florence says.

“If you want our followers’ ears to bleed,” Luca says, but she’s smiling, loose-limbed now that their performance is over and she’s back to cradling her rum and coke.

“Hey, Iz,” Florence says. “Do you have your lighter?”

Izzy pats the pockets of her black trousers. “I’m coming with,” she says.

Florence makes a quick detour to their table to grab her cigarettes from her purse—Izzy always rolls hers herself, and Florence currently possesses neither the fine motor skills nor the patience—before following Izzy outside. They find Toni pacing the narrow hallway that leads to the restrooms, her phone pressed to her ear. Izzy lifts her bottle of wine in silent question. Toni nods and tilts her head back as Izzy holds the bottle to her mouth. Florence presses a kiss to Toni’s cheek before they leave her and step out into the fresh air.

It’s two in the morning on a Thursday, so the street outside the bar is nearly deserted. The red neon light of the sign casts Izzy’s face in a crimson glow as they lean against the wall next to the door.

Florence puts a cigarette between her lips and waits patiently while Izzy cups her hand around it and lights it for her. “Very gentlemanly,” she says approvingly.

Because she’s a menace, Izzy lets her have all of two drags before plucking the cigarette from her fingers.

“Never mind.”

Laughing, Izzy tips her head back as she exhales smoke through her nose. She’s still holding the wine bottle in a lazy grip and doesn’t protest when Florence steals it from her and takes a sip.

“I love being on tour,” she says after a moment.

Closing her eyes, Florence leans her head against the wall of the bar. The world spins gently in the darkness. “Yeah,” she says. “Me too.”

“I want to do this all the time.”

“Mm-hm.”

“It’s not just the music,” Izzy says. “It’s all of this. All of you.”

Florence pries open her eyes. Izzy’s expression is surprisingly earnest as she gazes down at the cigarette burning away between her long fingers. It’s not often that she lets her guard down enough for Florence to catch a glimpse of sincerity. Now that it’s there, open and tender in the warm night air, Florence feels like she’s looking at a rare prey animal she doesn’t want to spook.

“I really think this could work,” she offers.

Izzy looks thoughtful as she says, “Yeah. I think so too.”

She takes another drag. When Florence reaches for the cigarette, Izzy bats her hand away. “You’re not supposed to smoke,” she says mildly. “Gotta take care of that angel voice.”

Florence makes a face at her and tips back the last of the wine instead.