94
Lillian
I accelerate to beat a light. Christensen’s in the back seat on a call with some contract lawyer buddy at the Channel. Quinn and Cyprus are trying to unlock Sasha’s phone. Emelia’s beside me figuring out which flight Sasha and Heather Erin might be getting on.
“If it’s this one, we’ve got …”
Emelia checks the time again.
“We could make it in before it boards.”
If things happen quickly at the airport, but I can’t think of another way.
“We need tickets to get to departures,”
I say.
“Just any cheap flights.”
Cyprus is on it.
Too many minutes later, I slam on the brakes, bringing us to a hard stop in the airport loading zone. Emelia says she’ll take care of the van. That she hopes we get Sasha. I want to thank her, but we’re already rushing out into the wind biting across the concrete.
Inside the airport, our ragtag group stands out against the sterile blandness. We’re spikes and concert clothes in the midst of white floors and automated ticket stands.
It’s a quiet night, short security line. Christensen’s trying to wrap up his phone call before we reach the checkpoint. He’s got this smooth-powerful-businessperson mode he’s switched on from his past life. I can only hope it’s as effective as it is slick.
Quinn holds up Sasha’s phone.
“Two guesses left.”
“It was a new phone,”
I say.
“So maybe it’s a Sasha password, not from their Admirer life. Day they left? Month and day?”
“We tried it,”
says Quinn.
I lean over the screen. What would matter to Sasha? Sasha who wasn’t tied down by the Channel anymore, who was done being who anyone had told them to be.
“Try 5-2-7-5,” I say.
The screen opens up.
“What?”
asks Quinn.
“You’ve been psychic this whole time?”
“It’s the numbers for L-A-R-K,” I say.
The line creeps forward a step. I’m willing it to go faster. I’ve got everything that needs to go in the bin ready.
Christensen says.
“You’re one of the good ones, Doug, seriously. I owe you twice.”
He hangs up and looks at us.
“It’s set to go. We just need Sasha and Augustus to agree to sign it.”
“So, problem.”
Quinn’s scrolling through Sasha’s contacts.
“Sasha has great nicknames for all of us, but they don’t have Augustus’s number.”
“Isabelle’s?”
I suggest.
“She could get us to Augustus.”
Quinn hits the button to call a global celebrity. Someone with red carpet looks who wins popularity TV awards and gets voted on to lists of the sexiest hundred. A person whose fame we’ve grown up with who gets gossiped about and modeled after.
“Can I?”
asks Cyprus.
“If she answers?”
Quinn rolls his eyes and hands her the phone.
“Urgency, remember urgency.”
Cyprus mouths holy shit at us when Isabelle answers the call.
“Hey, is this Isabelle? Wow, alright. My name’s Cyprus. Yeah, I am in Wavelength. You saw our video? Thank you. Aww, thank you.”
I make a speed-it-up gesture at Cyprus.
“We’re in the airport trying to get Sasha back from that manager. Yes, same person. We’ve found a way to get Sasha out of their contract. Really. It’s there, but Heather Erin never told them. They/them, yeah. We need Augustus on the phone, but Sasha doesn’t have his number. You would do that? You’re my hero. I mean, you were before too —”
The security guard waves Cyprus in, and she has to hang up.
“Isabelle liked my earrings!”
she says, but then she’s being processed, so I don’t know how the rest went until the other side.
I get through pretty quickly, though of course the guards “randomly”
check Quinn. Christensen’s keeping an eye on that situation.
“Isabelle sent me the number,”
says Cyprus on the other side of security.
“She’s texting Augustus to tell him the call he’s about to get is an emergency. And she said I had style!”
We’re the call he’s about to get.
We’re an emergency for Augustus Ash.
There’s a holdup in Christensen’s line, but by some miracle, Quinn’s through already. I put the call on speakerphone between the three of us.
There’s music playing in the background when Augustus answers. It’s loud for a moment, then fading away. I can hear him excusing himself from a room full of people.
“What’s up?”
Augustus asks.
“Isabelle said you’re in trouble? Please say you’re not going on trial for anything. The Channel will not love that.”
There’s a breeziness about his voice and manner even though he hasn’t talked to Sasha in half a year. He doesn’t sound remotely concerned. Like not caring is the correct position. Like I should feel guilty for hating him and Sasha should feel guilty for being in trouble.
“I need your he —” I start.
“Yeah yeah, tell her I’ll be right back,”
Augustus says to someone else before switching back to me.
“No big deal, just a tour question.”
I resist hanging up. I have to have this bastard on my side for a minute.
“I need your help,”
I say again.
“Sasha’s in trouble.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“My name’s Lillian. I’m a friend of Sasha’s.”
“Who now?”
Cyprus cuts in.
“Your sibling, the pop star, the good half of Admirer.”
Augustus laughs, assuming it’s a joke rather than be insulted.
“My brother doesn’t really do friends. Are you his first groupies? Has this whole vanishing bit been a fling? Isabelle will be pissed.”
I definitely hear a hint of pride.
Cyprus can see me losing my temper. She knows she should stop me but doesn’t bother. Someone has to stop pandering to people like Augustus.
“Is there anything,”
I say.
“that you’re not entirely ignorant about? Let me straighten some shit out for you.”
I’m surprised to find Quinn fired up with me.
“First, it’s Sasha, they/them,”
Quinn says.
“They said they came out to you quite a while ago, and I want to hear you getting it right.”
“Who are —”
starts Augustus.
“Second,”
I say.
“Sasha left the Channel because the trial about your crimes forced them into a bad spot. They don’t want to come back. That life has always worked better for you than for them.”
Christensen’s through. He looks up at the baffling diagram in front of us.
“Our gate is … left. Are you scolding Augustus Ash?”
he asks as we start moving through the airport toward the gate.
“We are,”
says Cyprus.
“It’s awesome.”
Thankfully, Augustus doesn’t hang up.
“Lillian, you don’t seem like Sasha’s type.”
He puts emphasis into the name like getting it correct is some act of unnecessary political correctness.
“And why’s that, Augustus?”
“You’re deeply bitchy.”
“You don’t seem like Sasha’s brother,”
says Quinn.
“You’re an insolent prick,” I add.
“Date me instead?”
says Augustus.
“I’m recently single.”
If he was closer, I’d either knock in his perfect teeth or throw up. I’m ready to rip into him again, but I don’t bother, because we’re at the gate.
It’s mostly empty, and boarding hasn’t started yet. We’ve made it. But when I look around for Sasha’s hair, their posture, the straps of their dress and their earrings dangling, I can’t find them.
They could be at the other end of the airport, a different flight, already gone.
Quinn’s giving the space the same once-over.
“Sasha!” he calls.
They’re sitting facing away from us, head down. When they hear Quinn, they lift it and turn and I see their face. They’ve been crying, and they’ve taken all their makeup off. Their earrings are nowhere to be seen. A hundred emotions cross their face as we rush toward them. On the last one, they lock eyes with me.
I think it’s fear. It’s a look that means run.
Beside them, Heather Erin follows Sasha’s gaze. If she’s surprised to see us, she doesn’t show it. Her makeup is very much intact, and her entire manner is composed even as we gather around her and Sasha, taking the seats across from them and beside them, surrounding them.
A voice comes on, announcing that first class boarding is about to begin.
Heather Erin stands, her hand tight around Sasha’s elbow, pulling them to their feet.
“Presuming you’re the band,”
she says.
“this is when you should turn around and leave. Like we talked about, right, Sasha?”
Any semblance of warmth or care in her voice sounds rehearsed.
Sasha’s still looking at me.
“It’s for the best,”
they say blankly.
Cyprus stands up in front of Heather Erin, several inches taller than her.
“Sit your ass down,”
Cyprus says.
“We know about the contract. We’ve got Augustus on the phone. We’ve got everything Admirer needs to terminate it. Sasha has the right to know. The actual, legal right.”
Heather Erin sits back down.
“What’s going on?”
asks Augustus on the phone.
“This makes no sense.”
“Be patient for once in your life,”
I say, but I switch to video so we can all see each other.
“We can get out?”
asks Sasha quietly. I can see their fear flickering toward hope. Maybe Augustus sees it too.
Christensen explains, looking back and forth between Sasha and Augustus.
“When your dad negotiated your contract, he made sure you weren’t trapped. It costs you Admirer’s songs and name, but if you both agree to leave, you can get out anytime.”
For the first time, I understand the weight of what Sasha’s been carrying. When the inevitability lifts off their shoulders. They realize they may not always have the Channel at their heels. Their joy may not always be hunted down.
“Does the Channel want another crisis?”
Christensen asks Heather Erin.
“If this comes to light, that you willfully misled Admirer about their contract for years, it will be a catastrophe, Heather. The Channel will need someone to take the fall. Don’t pretend they’ll defend you like they defended Augustus. People like you and I have always been replaceable.”
Heather Erin doesn’t look as unsettled as I want her to.
“It’s irrelevant,”
she says.
“The boys aren’t going to give up the band.”
Sasha takes Heather Erin’s hovering hand off their elbow and turns to her.
“I’m going to make this as clear as possible. I want to terminate my contract and leave the Channel. I want to be left alone, and I’m willing to give up Admirer to do that. The only reason I was going with you was because you threatened my friends. Where do I sign?”
In my hand, Augustus’s voice jumps.
“Hold up. We’ve both got to sign this, right? Alex, are you an actual idiot? You’re killing me here. This is Admirer.”
Sasha’s having a hard time holding their voice steady.
“I never realized we could leave. If I’d realized we had a choice … who knows? But we don’t have to stay, Augustus.”
“Very heartfelt,”
says Heather Erin.
“but Augustus won’t sign.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
Heather Erin is holding back a smirk.
“Because Augustus found out about the contract years ago.”
Overhead, the boarding call repeats.