Chapter 2
two
The other people in the group chat didn’t clue in quite as fast as I expected. I thought I would be kicked out by the morning, but instead, my phone was going off throughout the day without any sign of them realizing who I was.
“Who’s texting you so much?” Sloane whispered to me during our English class the next morning. My phone was sitting face up on the desk we shared, and though I’d silenced it, the screen lit up with every notification, which was about every other second.
“It’s just some stupid group chat,” I whispered back without stopping my writing or looking away from the bored. Mrs. Kavinsky moved fast, and if I stopped listening for even a second, I would be lost for the whole period. English used to be my favorite subject, but she had managed to suck almost all the joy out of it.
“A group chat?” Sloane asked. I could hear the frown in the voice. “Since when are you in any? ”
I tried not to feel hurt by the insinuation of what she was saying: that I had so few friends that there was no way I could possibly be in any sort of group chat. I couldn’t deny it, but I still didn’t like to think about it too much. I loved Sloane and was happy to have her as my best friend, but sometimes, I did wish that I had more friends than just her. I wished I could have a perfect friend group like people always did in books and movies. Instead, those books and movies were basically my friends—after all, they were the ones I spent time with while Sloane went out every Friday night.
“I was added to one last night,” I said. I left out the part where I was probably added by mistake because everyone seemed to think I was a person named Z . I didn’t like to keep secrets from Sloane, but I also didn’t want to have to admit that she was right in thinking that me being in a group chat was ridiculous. For once in my life, I wanted to be as cool as her. “I just didn’t realize they would be talking this much. My phone’s going to die before I get home at this rate.”
Even as I complained about it, I wasn’t upset. Having to bring your phone charger to school felt like one of those weird measures of popularity—like people were contacting you enough throughout the day that your phone battery couldn’t possibly last eight hours. It was a random metric and not one that most people probably ever thought about, but ever since I noticed it, I couldn’t stop. It was nice to be on the other side of it for once .
“You can borrow my charger if you want,” Sloane said. Because, of course, she had a charger—she couldn’t go ten minutes without someone texting her. “I’ll give it to you during lunch.”
“Thanks,” I murmured.
Sometimes, I wondered how Sloane and I were so close. I think it was just because we’d known each other for so long, because if we’d met now, I doubt she would even spare me a glance. Whenever I said to her that, she always disagreed, but I knew it was true. In kindergarten, it was easier to become friends. You would just get sat next to each other at a table and have to share crayons, and, boom , you love each other. In high school, the social ladder forbade that. I was a dorky, awkward bookworm who could barely hold up a conversation, and Sloane was a suave, cool cheerleader who everyone gravitated towards. If we hadn’t come into high school attached at the hip, there was no way we ever would have become friends.
“Okay, class,” Mrs. Kavinsky said. She glanced at the time. There were still fifteen minutes of the class left, and while I was hopeful she would just let us go to lunch early, I wasn’t holding my breath. She seemed to be strangely against letting us out early. “That’s the end of this lesson. We still have some time, so discuss the last book you read with your desk partner.”
“Why does she talk so fast just to finish the lesson early?” Sloane muttered as she put her note pages in her binder. I just hummed in agreement as I unlocked my phone. I wanted to see what was going on in this group chat. Why were they texting so much during class?
“Mrs. Kavinsky will confiscate that if she sees you,” Sloane said.
“I’ll just tell her I’m looking at my Goodreads to remember the last book I read,” I said absentmindedly. Mrs. Kavinsky wasn’t that strict on cell phone use as long as you had a somewhat convincing excuse.
I opened the messaging app, which told me I had 20+ new notifications.
Group name: I promise this isn’t a group chat, Dad
Members: Ni-Ni, Bay, Sharky, Tis Moi Luca, Zesty
9:02 A.M.
Tis Moi, Luca
Guys
9:17 A.M.
Tis Moi, Luca
Guys
9:45 A.M.
Tis Moi, Luca
Guys
10:06 A.M.
Tis Moi, Luca
Guys
10:31 A.M.
Tis Moi, Luca
Guys
Bay
WHAT
Tis Moi, Luca
Hi :)
Bay
You woke me up for this?
Tis Moi, Luca
If you’re still sleeping after 10 that’s your problem
That was strange. As far as I knew, today wasn’t a P.A. Day or holiday anywhere, so why would Bay still be sleeping so late in the morning? Was he not in school? But if he wasn’t, then why were they talking about Summerfield last night?
Bay
I hate you
Tis Moi, Luca
Don’t be rude :(
Bay
Don’t wake me up with useless texts, and I won’t have to be
Sharky
I’m going for coffee. Need anything?
Bay
Starbucks?
Sharky
Sunset Cafe
Actually maybe Costco first
Tis Moi, Luca
Why?
Sharky
Idk I just like it there
Tis Moi, Luca
Can I come?
Sharky
Sure
Meet me in 5
If I wasn’t certain about them living nearby—which I pretty much was by their phone numbers and them talking about Summerfield last night—the mention of Sunset Cafe solidified it. It was a small, family-owned cafe a couple of blocks away from here that everyone at school was obsessed with. They couldn’t have known about it if they weren’t from the area. I wondered who they were. Even if this wasn’t a prank (and more and more, it was looking like it wasn’t), maybe I knew them.
I glanced around the room like I thought that I might be able to pick them out of a crowd. It was obviously useless, though—I didn’t know their names, genders, or any identifying information about them. Not to mention, it seemed like they weren’t at school today if they were sleeping in and going to Costco, but just because they weren’t here today didn’t mean that they didn’t go here at all… maybe they all took the day off for some reason, and would be back next week. If three of them were actually my age (much to my annoyance, none of them had confirmed that) and they did actually go here, I was bound to have a class with one of them. It didn’t narrow it down by much, but it was something. Suddenly, I felt like this was a mystery I desperately wanted to solve.
“Class, can we please focus here?” Mr. Barton called over the low din of everyone talking to their friends. It had been thirty minutes since Principal Roman’s announcement—that one of the most famous boy bands in the world was going to be attending our school—and the excitement about it had yet to die.
I did actually feel a little bad for him—nobody had been focused since the announcement last period, and I was sure it was hard to teach when all anybody wanted to talk about was the possibility of sitting next to their favorite member of Take Five at school next week, but he also gave me detention the other day for being on my phone during class, so I wasn’t feeling overly sympathetic towards him. Not to mention, the blackboard was covered in a lot of math equations that I didn’t want to have to learn right now. I didn’t care much about the announcement, but it sure helped me out this period.
“There’s no way it can be true,” Sloane said in a hushed voice. Since we sat in the back corner of the classroom, and everyone else was talking too, I wasn’t worried about him calling us out in particular for not paying attention, but I also didn’t think it was a good idea to talk too loudly.
“She wouldn’t have announced it if it wasn’t,” I said. I gestured around the room. “Look how excited everyone is.”
As if on cue, in the other corner of the room, Donna Myers jumped to her feet and squealed.
“Finn Parker and Jude Turner spotted at Sunset Cafe today!” She yelled, staring at her phone held squarely in her hand. “Oh my gosh, we have to go!”
“Miss Myers,” Mr. Barton said. Donna’s face dropped as she turned to look at our teacher. He looked at her with raised eyebrows and held out one hand. She slowly dropped her phone into his palm and slowly sat back down in her spot. Mr. Barton put the phone down on his desk and looked over the class, making eye contact with each of us. “Thank you. Would anybody else like to join Miss Myers in detention this afternoon?”
The class immediately fell silent at his words. Mr. Barton looked pleased as he nodded and turned back toward the blackboard.
“Good. Now, onto—” The final bell rang and cut him off. Mr. Barton sighed deeply and dropped his chalk back into the holder, then wiped his hands off. “We’ll continue this on Monday—where you will be more focused. Do you all understand?”
There was a fat chance of that happening. If he thought everyone was distracted today, he would be horrified to see how they acted when they knew their favorite celebrities were in the same building as them. Possibly even the same class—I wasn’t sure how old any of the members of Take Five were, but it seemed likely that they were either juniors or seniors, which meant any of our classes were fair game.
“Yes, sir,” we all chorused. He nodded and waved a hand as permission to pack up and leave. Sloane and I grinned at each other as we stuffed our math textbooks back into our bags—as if we used them at all today—and headed for the door.
“Do you have to go straight home?” I asked Sloane. We walked the few steps to our lockers and stopped. We’d gotten lucky this year by getting lockers right next to each other, which made life so much easier. I took my bag off and started pulling my books out to put away, but paused when I grabbed my math textbook. I hadn’t been paying close attention at the beginning of class, so I couldn’t remember if he’d said there would be any homework today or not. “Did Mr. Barton mention any math homework?”
“Yes to the going home, no to the homework,” Sloane said. She grabbed my lip gloss from the little organizer attached to the inside side of my locker. “ Mind if I borrow?”
“Go for it,” I said. She applied some, then smacked her lips before handing it over to me. I shook my head. “No thanks, I’m good.”
“No,” Sloane said. She grabbed my chin and turned it towards her again, then applied the lip gloss to me herself. Then, she pulled at my hair elastic and slipped it out of my hair, letting my light blonde hair fall around my shoulders. “There you go. Much better.”
“Thanks,” I said drily. I tilted my head and put on a beauty pageant smile. “Now I look so pretty to go home, do nothing, and see nobody.”
“Well, maybe that’s your sign that you should go out more,” she said. She pursed her lips and studied me. “You know, seeing as how you don’t have a curfew, and your parents are okay with you not coming home right after school, and?—”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” We had this conversation at least once a week. Sloane had way stricter parents than me, so she thought I should take advantage of being able to do whatever I wanted, but I didn’t like going out much. “Tell you what: I’ll go wild and stop at Starbucks on the way home.”
I grabbed the lip gloss back from her and stuck it in my locker before shutting the door and following her down the hallway.
“Just don’t stop at Sunset Cafe,” she said. “All the fangirls are going to be there.”
“Oh, good point.” I laughed. “Who was it that they said was there?”
“Finn and Jude,” Sloane supplied. Neither of us were fans of Take Five or their music, but her sister, Grace, was obsessed with them, so Sloane knew a lot by association, unlike me. “I would personally argue Jude is the cutest in the band, but that’s just me.”
“Whatever you say,” I said. My phone buzzed a couple of times and I pulled it out of my pocket to glance at it.
Group name: I promise this isn’t a group chat, Dad
Members: Ni-Ni, Bay, Sharky, Tis Moi Luca, Zesty
Bay
I’m going to do some errands
Text if you need anything
Sharky
Want to meet us at Sunset?
It’s a little crazy, could use back-up
I chuckled to myself as I read the text. They were probably either swept up in the mass of Take Five fans or they were there for the same reason as them.
“What is it?” Sloane asked.
“Nothing, just more of the group chat,” I said. I slipped the phone back into my pocket. “Anyway, do you have your car today, or do we have to walk?”
My mom usually drove me to school, but I was on my own to get my way home. Sloane and her older brother traded off who got to use the car every day, so I was never sure if we had to walk or not. It seemed like it was always the days that I wanted a ride home the most that she didn’t have it.
“Walk,” Sloane sighed. “Tom insisted that he needed the car today.”
“What for?”
“Dunno. As a rule, I don’t take an interest in his life.” She paused as we stepped outside the front gates and put her hand on my arm. “Hang on, I want to change my shoes.”
“I’ve never understood how you find your flimsy sandals more comfortable than sneakers,” I said. This was a daily occurrence; even though our shoes weren’t part of our uniform, we had some rules about what we were allowed to wear, and the major one was that they had to be closed-toe, which Sloane hated on principle.
“I just hate sneakers,” Sloane said, disgust clear in her voice. She did sometimes wear boots to school instead, but she claimed that she couldn’t do that before it was officially fall. She was very conscious about her fashion choices, even if they didn’t follow any known fashion rules—she just made them up as she went and insisted on following them for some reason.
She pulled a pair of sandals out of her backpack and dropped them on the ground, then tightened her grip on me while she pulled off her white sneakers and slipped her feet into the new shoes. I thought that after months of doing this, she would have gotten better balance, but if anything, it seemed like it was getting consistently worse .
“Thank you,” she said, releasing her talon grip on my arm. I gently rubbed at the now-red spot while she stuffed her sneakers in her bag. It seemed like too much extra work to me, but if it made her happy, I wasn’t going to say anything. She glanced at her watch. “Come on. If I hurry, I might be able to stop at Starbucks with you.”
She linked her arm through mine, which would have been a kind gesture if she hadn’t immediately started pulling me along, basically ripping my shoulder out of my socket.
“Hi, uh, just a little reminder,” I said as I stumbled along and tried to match her pace. “You’re half a foot taller than me, so I can’t walk as fast as you.”
“Maybe you should learn to walk faster.”
“Maybe you should get a shorter stride.” I pulled my arm out of hers but continued trying to match her pace. Her parents were really strict about the fact that they expected her to be home within thirty minutes of her classes or extracurriculars ending, which could be difficult considering how far away she lived.
“I still can’t believe that Take Five is coming to school with us.” Sloane shook her head. “It’s insane, isn’t it?”
“I guess so,” I muttered. I seemed to be the only person in the whole school who didn’t think this was all that cool. They were just regular people, right? And they were probably total snobs too—celebrities always were. “But I bet they’re not even going to, like, talk to anybody but each other. They’re probably just going to a regular high school for good PR or whatever.”
“What good would that do?” Sloane asked. We paused at the edge of a street with no stop sign and waited for the cars to slow down. Sloane groaned and tapped her foot impatiently. “Why is this street always so busy?”
“It makes them seem like regular people.”
“What?”
“The PR,” I clarified. “They seem more down to earth if they’re going to school. And isn’t one of them from here originally? So, it’s not even that cool.”
There was a brief break in traffic, so we ran across the street quickly, only slowing down once we were fully on the opposite sidewalk.
“I don’t think he’s from here specifically,” Sloane said. “It’s Jude Turner you’re thinking of, right? I think he’s from Ontario, but not Bibridge. Anyway, I heard that they all live in a mansion with his older brother acting as their legal guardian right now, since they all need to live here and none of their families are here.”
“Well, he’s from this general area,” I clarified. I didn’t realize Sloane actually remembered everything her sister ranted about the band, or I would have been more careful about what I was saying. What I did know was that while the boys were from various areas, spanning from Canada to Ireland, Jude came from a city somewhat near ours. “I wonder why they’re coming here, anyway. Wouldn’t they be better off in Toronto or somewhere in the U.S.?”
Our city wasn’t tiny, but it wasn’t exactly known for housing celebrities either, especially not musicians. There were a few movie studios here but that was it as far as I knew. But then again, I wasn’t tapped into the music world at all.
“You really need to talk to Grace,” Sloane said, shaking her head. “She’s up to date on all of this and it’s all she talks about at dinner, but I’ve stopped listening.”
We walked into the Starbucks and headed straight for the counter. I was surprised at the lack of noise inside; where there was normally a quiet din of chatter, it was silent today, save for the jazz music playing over the speakers and the two baristas gossiping behind the counter. All the tables were empty; the only other customer in the whole place was a boy my age standing by the end of the counter, waiting for his drink. I’d never seen the place so empty.
“Do you mind ordering me a mocha?” Sloane asked. She tilted her head toward the other end of the shop and held up her left palm, which was covered in pen marks. It was pretty smudged now, but it had very obviously been scribbled on. “I just need to use the bathroom and try to wash all this ink off me before my mom sees it and goes on one of her rants about how drawing on myself is a gateway drug to getting tattoos.”
“Yeah, of course,” I said. She smiled and dropped a five-dollar bill in my hand, then skipped off.
“How can I help you?” One of the baristas asked, coming to stand behind the cash register.
“Could I get two venti mochas please?” While she typed it in, I looked around again. It felt wrong to see so few people here. “It’s dead today, huh?”
“I know, right? I think everyone saw that tweet about Finn and Jude being at Sunset Cafe, and went there.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Little did they know that they would be just as lucky coming here.”
I forced out a laugh as I handed her my money, even though I had no idea what she was talking about. Sometimes—usually—it was easier just to pretend than to ask for clarification, especially when it came to something that I knew nothing about and a person I would never see again.
She turned to make the drinks, and I shifted down the counter, coming to a stop a couple of feet away from the boy who was still standing there. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, but looked away when I thought he might be turning toward me because I definitely didn’t want him to catch me staring. That would be awkward. From what I saw in my quick glance, he wasn’t wearing a Summerfield uniform, which meant he was either a very quick changer or he went to school somewhere else, which would be a little strange since there weren’t any other schools within easy walking distance. It was possible he drove, of course, but it was a little surprising he would be here this early if he was from anywhere else.
“Here are your coffees,” the barista said, sliding them both over the counter toward me.
“Thanks,” I said. I picked mine up and took off the lid to blow on it and cool it down. I turned to go to the counter along the other wall that had the extra jars of milk and cream, but I didn’t make very far. The boy who had been standing still until that moment was handed his drink by the barista, then while I turned, he turned too, and crashed straight into me. My cup flipped over in my hand, spilling my drink all over my chest and down my torso.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” he exclaimed.
My eyes widened in surprise at the British accent, and I stumbled out the words, “That’s okay,” even though it totally wasn’t okay because the hot liquid was burning my chest.
“Are you all right?” He grabbed some napkins and started patting away the coffee from my skin, which would have been all well and good if it had been anywhere but my chest. As it was, his hand was dangerously close to my boob, which was the last thing I wanted, so I jerked away as if he had shocked me.
“I’m fine!” I said a little more sharply than I meant to. “Um, I mean, it doesn’t even hurt. Thanks though.”
I was lying through my teeth, but I was sure I could keep in my yells of pain before I got home and could scream into my pillow.
“Oh… Okay.”
I finally looked up at his face, which I had to crane my neck a little to do. He was a bit taller than me, but what else was new? His loose brown curls fell in his face slightly, and his eyes seemed to be some strange cross between green and brown, without quite being hazel. He was possibly the cutest boy I had ever seen in my life.
“Hi,” I breathed out. He looked insanely familiar to me, but I couldn’t quite place where I knew him from.
He grinned at me, and a dimple appeared on his right cheek. “Hi.”
“I’m Megan,” I blurted. I internally facepalmed. This was why I didn’t have any friends—because every time I met someone new, I acted so weird that I scared them away. I awkwardly held a hand out to shake as if that would help anything, but the boy just continued to smile at me, and he shook my hand as if I was acting completely normally.
“I’m…” he trailed off and blinked a couple of times.
“Did you forget your name?” I asked, biting back a smile. Honestly, that was something I would do.
“No, I just…” He narrowed his eyes and frowned. “Do you not recognize me?”
“Oh,” I said. One of my worst nightmares was coming across someone I was supposed to know and not recognizing them—it was supremely awkward, and I had no idea how to deal with it. I felt like his name was on the tip of my tongue, but I still couldn’t place him. I tried to channel my inner Sloane—AKA trying to act as cool as possible—as I said, “I mean, of course I do, silly.”
His frown only deepened at my response. I cleared my throat and looked around, hoping that somebody would come interrupt this conversation for some reason, but there was nobody to do so. My only hope was that one of the barista would call out a drink, but they weren’t even working on anything. They were pressed up against the wall, whispering and giggling while looking in our direction. I didn’t really appreciate them laughing at my misfortune, but I tried to ignore it as I looked back at the boy again.
“You’re not freaking out,” he said. Now it was my turn to frown. Surely, if I knew this boy well enough that I would freak at the sight of him, I would remember his name, wouldn’t I? Maybe he had me confused with someone else. Sure, he looked familiar, but maybe he went to my school, or I had just seen him around town. Maybe he lived on my street? I couldn’t be positive. One of the major pitfalls of never interacting with anyone was that I could never remember anyone’s names, even when I saw them all the time.
“Um…”
“Okay, I’m ready.” The boy and I both turned toward the source of the voice: Sloane, walking back from the washrooms, staring at her phone. “Hey, did you see that…”
She trailed off as she finally looked up and saw that I was no longer the only person standing in front of her. Her head recoiled a little in surprise, which I thought was a bit of an overreaction until I remembered that the boy was still holding his hand out with the napkins and was dangerously close to my chest even now that I had stepped back.
“Sloane! Hi!” I stared at her with wide eyes, silently begging her to get me out of this awful situation.
“Megan,” she said calmly, even though her eyes were trained on the boy. Without looking away from him, she grabbed her drink from the counter and reached for me. She missed and grabbed at the air a couple of times before finally actually catching my hand. “Um, sorry to interrupt, but I’ve got to get home, and she needs to come with me.”
“Wait,” the boy said. He put his coffee down on the counter and pulled out his wallet. “Let me pay for your coffee. I’m the one who spilled it.”
“That’s okay,” I said. Sloane started slowly inching us toward the door. “I don’t mind.”
“No, really, I?—”
“You can repay her some other time,” Sloane interrupted.
The boy looked hopelessly confused. “But I don’t know you.”
“Oh, don’t worry, you’re going to be seeing a lot more of us very soon!” Sloane ripped the door open and basically shoved me outside. I stumbled and just barely managed to stop myself from face-planting on the patio.
“Sloane!” I complained. “What was that for?”
Sloane looked over her shoulder at the large window of the Starbucks, then pulled me down the street until it was out of sight. Once we reached the corner of the sidewalk, she spun around and put both her hands on my shoulders.
“How did you meet that guy?” she asked breathlessly.
“What? ”
“How did you start talking to him?” she asked. “What did he say?”
“What?” I laughed awkwardly. “I mean, I know he’s cute, Sloane, but?—”
“No, forget that,” she interrupted, shaking her head.
“Okay?” I didn’t understand why she was acting like this.
“Do you realize who that guy was?” She tightened her grip on my shoulders as I shook my head. “Megan, that was Hudson Shaw.”
“Hudson…”
“Hudson Shaw,” Sloane repeated slowly. “The lead singer of Take Five.”