Chapter Eleven. Sam
chapter eleven
SAM
“Pizza muffins,” Ben declares, all toothy-grinned and wet-haired from the pool.
“I dunno, small fry.” I nudge open the door to Sugar Harmony. “That might just throw the city’s pizza industry into chaos.”
Ben laughs as he zips into the bakery, just barely dodging Rocket, who is walking back from the counter balancing his laptop and a cold brew.
“I thought I heard a tiny dessert anarchist outside,” he says.
I catch up to Ben, lifting his backpack off his shoulders and opening it on the table behind the register. Inside it are his homework packet and some loose drawings of what appears to be a pizza croissant, complete with stick figure people reacting to it in horror.
“Music day or capitalism day?” I ask Rocket.
Rocket winces, running a hand through his neon-blond curls. “Capitalism all the way down, man,” he says, flashing his laptop screen at me.
Poor Rocket. He got tangled in music industry drama before he could even get his foot in the door.
Before we met, he was one of the first breakout artists on Tick Tune, anonymously playing offbeat, earworm songs that blew up on the app.
It all happened fast, and the wrong people noticed first and offered him a record deal.
I didn’t know him at the time, but I got my lawyer on the scam of a contract he signed when we did.
Too little, too late—the kid’s locked into it, and so are a bunch of his friends.
They still can’t release any music until the terms run out at the end of the year.
In the meantime, Rocket’s been working on new music in the open mic night and surviving off freelance gigs, which is how he ended up in Sugar Harmony.
The way Lizzie and Kara tell it, he showed up in one of his comically oversized all-black outfits the day of the bakery’s soft launch, asked if there was Wi-Fi, said, Cool , and planted himself there.
By the time I showed up he was working for the bakery part-time and doing freelance work on his laptop from a corner for the rest of it.
If anyone tries to mess with him again, they’ll have us and a whole army of Sugar Harmony customers to fight first.
Ben spreads his homework on the table next to Rocket. “Mom says if I’m going to do pizza muffins, I can only pick three toppings to stuff it with or it’ll explode .”
“Oh snap,” says Rocket. “What are you thinking, little dude?”
Ben’s lips press into an impish smile. “Anchovies.”
I love this kid to death, but god only knows where he came from. “Homework first, then abominations,” I remind him.
Ben nods. “I’m gonna get the fun pen from the office,” he says.
He dips into the back just as the front door jingles, and Rocket blurts out, “No freaking way .”
It’s Mackenzie, her yellow hair a wild curtain from the humidity like it was during our outdoor shows. She’s wearing an old pair of overall shorts over a tight tank top and a beaten-up pair of combat boots, her eyes bright and her face flushed from the heat.
Damn. I’ve been telling myself it’s a good thing, the two of us being friends. But the more I have to look at her the harder it gets to look away. The only reason I don’t get caught this time is because something else catches Mackenzie’s eye.
“Rocket?”
Rocket nearly trips on his own gangly limbs getting up. I just barely catch his cold brew before it makes friends with his laptop.
“Mack Attack!” he exclaims, hugging her with enough force to pull her boots up from the floor.
You’d think I’d be used to plot twists by now, but I can’t wrap my head around this one.
“You two know each other?” I ask.
As Rocket sets her down, Mackenzie nods, then puts her hands on his shoulders and rattles him. “Congrats,” she says. “Serena’s a tough act to open for, but if anyone’s up for it, it’s you.”
Apparently, the whiplash today knows no end.
“You’re opening for Serena?” I ask Rocket.
His cheeks go wildly pink against his pale skin. “I found out right before the tour got delayed,” he says, apologetic. “It’s just a week. And I can only sing covers.”
Shit. I didn’t mean to make him feel bad. I clap a hand on his shoulder and rattle him, too. “You gotta tell us stuff like this, kid. You know we love an excuse to celebrate.”
But Rocket shakes his head. “It’s not announced yet. I don’t wanna jinx it.”
Mackenzie’s smile dims. “Rocket was going to do a remix of a Thunder Hearts song a few years back,” she explains. “He was even set to open for us. That’s how we met. But then that contract screwed him over.”
Rocket nods, head bobbing like a goth Labrador retriever.
“It was fun to chill with you guys. Snack game was nuts.” He deflates. “I’m psyched about Serena, but I gotta be careful. She could swap me out in a snap. That Seven chick is eating us all for breakfast and she’s only got like, three songs.”
“Six songs,” I say.
Then Mackenzie’s eyes finally land on me, crackling blue. Maybe she’s right about my ego. There’s no place I like her eyes better than when they’re right on mine.
She turns back to Rocket. “You’re phenomenal onstage,” she says. “People are gonna go nuts. Nobody’s even seen Seven.”
Rocket grins bashfully. “Low-key, though, Serena brings her up all the time. I think she thinks I know her, like there’s some secret underground Tick Tune club.”
Mackenzie ducks her head. “Serena listens to her?”
Rocket’s computer pings. “Ah, sorry. My overlords are summoning me,” he says, saluting us both.
I lean on one of the empty tables next to Mackenzie, looking her up and down as she lifts her head to take in the bakery. “Damn,” I say. “You must have missed me real bad if you couldn’t wait a few hours.”
Twyla and Isla are still pulling strings, but at least telling us about them. We both got calendar invites to the third “haunt” where we’re writing a song from tonight—of all places, my old high school’s pool.
Mackenzie rolls her eyes. “I was in the neighborhood. Figured I’d pop in so we can finish ‘Sweet Spot’ before you drove me up the wall with a fifteenth voice note.”
I grin. I needed to send those, sure. But it wasn’t strictly necessary to send them while she was on her little date with Grayson.
“Better pick a wall then, Sparkles,” I say. “I’ve got more ideas where those came from.”
The truth is that the issue isn’t my melodies. The issue is that Mackenzie still hasn’t sung any of them. It’s impossible to know if I’ve got the right sound for her if I can’t hear it in her voice, so she picks and chooses from them herself.
I’m about to bring it up when she tilts her head toward my neck. “You already smell chlorine-y.”
I turn to face her, close enough that I can smell the flowery shampoo in her curls. “Ben heard we were going to the pool later and wanted me to take him, too.”
We’re interrupted by the telltale squeak of his light-up sneakers from the back office, and then nothing. When I check behind me, I have to stifle a laugh.
A few months ago, we took Ben to one of those wax museums. He spent half the time trying to prank us by pretending to be a wax statue, too, but he couldn’t stop laughing. He’s got the look down pat now—wide-eyed and so perfectly still that it looks like someone cast a spell on him.
I walk over and put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him against me. “Ben,” I say, “this is my friend Mackenzie.”
Mackenzie looks as stunned as Ben, looking at him and then back at me. Her eyes mist up just before she blinks, hard, and smiles.
“Well, look at that,” she marvels. “We’ve got ourselves a tiny Sam.”
Ben shakes his head, indignant. “No,” he says, pointing up at me. “ He’s a big Ben.”
Mackenzie and I both laugh and Ben reddens, embarrassed and pleased with himself. He’s still clinging to me like a koala. Mackenzie sits on a chair so she’s level with him, her eyes conspiratorial. Next thing I know her pinky is hooking under the braided bracelet around my wrist.
“You’re the one who made this, right?” she asks Ben.
Ben nods, his eyes like moons.
She leans in closer. “Well, it’s my favorite thing I’ve ever seen him wear,” she says. “Pretty cool that you used Candy Shard’s colors.”
“Thunder Hearts’ colors are cooler,” Ben blurts.
Mackenzie’s eyebrows rise in surprise and delight. “You think so?” she says, the question for Ben but aimed in my direction.
“I know all your songs,” Ben says excitedly. His hand shoots up at me, all traces of temporary shyness gone. “Dad, give me your phone.”
I pull it out of my pocket. “Only if you leave me one shred of my dignity.”
“No thanks,” says Ben, pulling up Spotify and thrusting the phone into Mackenzie’s eyeline. “Look.”
Under the playlist “Ben’s Jams” is all of Thunder Hearts’ discography, remixes and live versions included.
“He’s your biggest fan,” I tell her.
Mackenzie’s face is Christmas levels of gleeful. “Funny how that’s never come up.”
“My favorite is ‘Heart Crash,’” says Ben. “I get it stuck in my moms’ heads all the time.”
“I bet your dad loves that,” says Mackenzie.
Damn. This is as humbling as when Rocket and I first met and he had no idea who I was, even with all the news blowing up about me having a secret kid.
“No comment,” I say wryly.
“Dad’s stuff is cool, too,” Ben says. “Just really loud and sad.”
“You’ll appreciate that when you’re a teenager,” I tell him.
Ben sticks out his tongue like the thought tastes bad.
Mackenzie leans down and says, “Can I tell you a secret?”
Ben nods. Mackenzie grins and cups her hand close to Ben’s ear, saying something in a low tone. Ben looks at her incredulously.
“Really?” He turns from her to look directly at me. “My dad?”
“Your dad,” Mackenzie confirms.
“His dad what?” I ask.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Mackenzie singsongs.
Ben jolts with excitement, eyes wide on Mackenzie’s. “What would you say if I told you we had salt and vinegar chip blondies?”
“I’d say bring it on,” says Mackenzie, without missing a beat.
I point toward the pastry display. “I’d stop you, but after whatever that was, I think you might deserve it.”