Chapter 7
I knew we would both be getting hungry soon.
But going back to the Hollywood Lounge would mean running into Bruce.
So I steered us over toward Grizzly Peak, where I hadn’t yet spent a ton of time—and I just hoped I’d be able to avoid running into Reagan or Zach, or Greta and Nora.
I glanced at my phone, seeing the same texts I always got from Bryony—telling me that they were waiting on line for the Incredicoaster.
As we walked toward Smokejumpers Grill, I explained as much as I knew to Freddie—occasionally repeating his own theories back to him, which seemed to delight him to no end. He was rolling with the stuck-in-a-time-loop thing a lot better than I had, that’s for sure.
“And you said it restarts at the door?” He shook his head. “Brilliant. It’s just like Pettigrew’s—”
“Loop,” I finished. “I know.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“No, but you told me all about it.”
“This is mental,” he said, sounding awed. “It’s the kind of thing I always used to dream about, and now it’s happening! And I mean, it’s happening to you. But I’m here as well, aren’t I?”
“You are,” I assured him with a smile.
“So why do you think it started? What’s the purpose of it?”
“When I was leaving Grad Nite the first time, when I walked through the doors, I made a wish—to get the chance to do things over.”
“Why did you want to do things over? Because you were having such a great time?”
I laughed shortly, then shook my head. “Very much not. No, it’s…
” I hesitated, then took a breath and told him the stripped-down version of what had happened, that first time—running into everyone from my past I never thought I’d see again.
Getting into a fight with Bryony. Having to leave tomorrow to go to Oregon.
By the time I’d finished, we’d reached the restaurant.
Right on cue, I felt my stomach growl, which was one more piece of evidence that everything reset when I went through the doors.
Having just had a burger and ice cream not that long ago, I shouldn’t really be starving again—but I was.
We both ordered—chicken fingers for Freddie and a chicken sandwich for me, sodas for both of us—and took our food to the chairs outside.
“So, if this is happening because you made a wish, how do you make it stop? Just un-wish it?” Freddie asked, once we were sitting across from each other.
“I’m not sure I want to stop it just yet,” I said, taking a bite of my chicken sandwich and nodding approvingly. It was even better than the burger had been. “I think it might be happening so I can help you.”
“Me?” His eyebrows flew up, and when he smiled, the dimple appeared, just as cute as it had been before. “What do I need help with?”
“Well.” I wasn’t sure how to put this delicately, so I set my sandwich down and decided to just jump in. “The show tonight—the one the music manager is coming to—”
“You know about that?” he asked, then shook his head the second the words had left his mouth. “I mean, of course you know about that. Never mind. Carry on.”
“The show doesn’t go all that well. The redheaded guitar player…”
“Alfie?”
“Gets sick all over the stage. And then you must have eaten some vegetables accidentally, because you start breaking out in hives, your face gets puffy, and the show ends without anyone playing any music.”
“And the manager?” Freddie’s voice was hoarse, and he looked like he was afraid to hear the answer.
“She leaves.” I winced, remembering her appalled expression as she stormed away.
“Oh my god.” Freddie sat back in his seat, looking shell-shocked. “So, my big break doesn’t actually happen tonight.”
“But maybe that’s why this is all happening. I’m going through the loops so I can make sure that the show goes well and we can avoid these problems!”
Freddie frowned. “I’m not sure time-loop magic is really going to be used to get me a record contract.”
“Why not?” I asked. “Maybe this is a Bill & Ted thing, and you go on to record some really important song and we have to make sure that happens.”
“But then I’d be in the time loop,” he pointed out. “It would be happening to me, and I wouldn’t just be a…I don’t know. What am I here? A supporting character?”
“Or love interest.” The second I said it, I felt my face get hot.
“Oh really?” Freddie raised an eyebrow at me. He was blushing slightly, but also gave me a grin. “So do we…”
“No!” I said quickly, staring down at my chicken sandwich.
“We kind of have, like, a moment? We’re over by the pier looking at the lights on the water.
But we don’t even kiss or anything.” I heard the palpable disappointment in my voice even as I was saying the words, and when Freddie laughed, I did, too.
“Well, it’s still good to know.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, looking away and willing my blush to subside. “So, we need to focus. We have to make sure the performance goes well tonight.”
Freddie nodded, his expression growing more serious. “Yeah. Otherwise, it sounds like it’s going to be an absolute disaster.”
I didn’t want to agree with him too emphatically, but that was the only way to describe what had happened. “Well, not anymore. We’ll fix it, right?”
“Right,” Freddie said. “So let’s figure out what happened—I must eat some raw fruit or veg at some point, right?”
“Yeah. I’m no expert, but you told me your allergy symptoms, and that’s what it looked like.”
He raised his chicken tender to his mouth to take another bite, then paused and looked at it carefully. “This is okay,” he said with a nod, then took a bite.
“How fast after you eat something do you get symptoms?” I asked, taking a bite of my own dinner and giving silent thanks that I didn’t have any food allergies to always be on guard for.
“Pretty fast. Like, within a few seconds, I start to have a reaction. So I guess I must have accidentally had something right before I went out onstage? And I just didn’t realize it.”
“So you’ll be careful on your end,” I said, glad that this was manageable. “But we have to let your bandmate know and see what’s going on with him.”
“I can’t believe two of us get sick,” Freddie said, shaking his head. “And that we both get sick from different things? It’s not like we catch the same bug. It’s kind of a big coincidence.”
“I know,” I said slowly. It actually was. But these things happened, right? I’d seen it with my own eyes. I took the last bite of my chicken and pushed my tray away.
“Ready?” he asked. I nodded, but before I could get my tray, Freddie was picking it up for me. “I’ve got this,” he said, giving me a quick smile.
He walked away, stacking the trays near a trash bin. I picked up my bag and had just started to walk away when I noticed he’d left his phone lying on top of the table, just like he had before. “Freddie?”
He turned and saw me holding up his phone, and his eyes went wide. “Oh bollocks. Thank you. My mum always said I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached to my neck.”
I smiled at him. “I know.” I handed him his phone, and he tucked it into his back pocket.
“Now,” he said, starting to walk toward Pixar Pier. “Let’s find Alfie.”
I’d never been backstage at any kind of music venue, and I could feel my eyes were wide as Freddie led me up around to the back of the stage that had been set up in front of the Little Mermaid ride.
He pushed through the wooden door confidently, not seeming to think it was an issue that it was clearly marked EMPLOYEE ACCESS ONLY.
We walked down an outside path, until he pulled open a door that was unmarked and held it open for me.
Inside, we walked down a narrow hallway, with three people sitting on cases stenciled with ETON MESS, playing cards.
I recognized the purple-haired girl who’d been helping to set up the equipment and was now frowning at her hand as she looked around the circle.
ETON MESS CREW was emblazoned in white onto the back of her black T-shirt.
The other two guys also looked like they might be in the crew—they were both wearing black as well and had walkie-talkies clipped to their belts.
“Call,” one of the guys said, raising an eyebrow.
The girl narrowed her eyes. “I feel like you’re bluffing,” she said. She looked up and smiled at Freddie. “Hi, Freddie. Is Van bluffing?”
“Hey, Violet. I can’t tell you that,” Freddie said with a smile. “Hold on. Let me get a picture.” He took a picture of the poker game with his phone—everyone shielded their cards—then set it down on the case closest to him. “Is everyone else in the greenroom?”
“Not His Majesty,” Violet said with a roll of her eyes. I took a breath to ask a question, just as one of the other guys cleared his throat. “Right. Okay,” she said, focusing on her cards again.
Freddie headed down the hallway, and I heard Violet groan—apparently the hand hadn’t gone her way. “His Majesty?” I echoed as I followed behind Freddie.
“Oh yeah,” he said, giving me a slightly embarrassed smile. “That’s what some of our tech crew call Niall. Not to his face,” he added quickly.
“Why?” Judging from his picture and his demeanor onstage, I was pretty sure I had an idea. But considering this whole band was made up of Brits, I didn’t know if it was because he was actually, like, twentieth in line for the throne or something.
“Well,” Freddie said, taking a deep breath, “he can sometimes be a little…self-important? He doesn’t mean to be—but he is the lead singer. Niall’s always wanted to be the star.”
“It doesn’t bother you?”
“I mean, I’ve known him forever. I think I maybe I understand him better than other people? He means well,” he assured me as he opened up a door marked GREENROOM in the Disney font.
We walked inside, and I looked around, taking it all in.
It was a small room, with a couch, several chairs, and a food station on a table in the corner—a fruit platter, a veggie tray, rows of bottles of water lined up neatly.
Along the side of the wall were rolling clothes racks with the outfits I recognized from the performance.