Chapter Seven. Main Character Energy #2
As he unlocks the last door at the end of a long hallway, I brace myself to be smacked in the face by grandeur.
And I am. Sort of.
The apartment is massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a bird’s-eye view of LA.
Sleek modern furniture fills the space, but any illusion of luxury is disrupted by sheer chaos.
There are crumbs scattered across the floor, random socks and underwear abandoned in corners, and several half-built LEGO sets on the kitchen island.
It makes sense, though. Give five teen boys free rein and this is probably the result.
The place is also alive with movement. Staff members bustle around, carrying garment bags, checking lists, and taking phone calls. It’s like a command center for the impending tour.
My eyes land on a velvety L-shaped sectional couch bigger than my entire living room, where the other members of DAYDREAM are sprawled out.
The boys zone out as a short, stocky white person in a navy blue dress shirt and black necktie paces. Necktie reads from a piece of paper, brows furrowed.
One of the members spots us standing in the entryway.
“Will, focus,” Necktie snaps at the Black guy with light blue locs.
“Mornin’! How ya goin’?” Felix interrupts, stepping into the living room. He flashes Necktie a sarcastic smile. “Wow, he looks great, doesn’t he!” he says to his bandmates before turning back to Necktie. “Did ya get a haircut?”
They hold a collective laugh as Necktie touches his brown quiff styled with so much gel it could double as a skating ramp.
Felix motions me into the room. I take a small step toward him and wave nervously, feeling like a piece of meat hurled into a cage of hungry lions.
“Nat, this is Andrew— —charming manager,” he enunciates, gesturing toward Necktie, then to his suddenly alert bandmates. “And Mateo Vazquez García, Lachlan McCarthy, Calum Evans, and Will.”
“Just ‘Will’?” I eye the blue-haired boy.
He nods. “Just Will.”
“Who exactly is this?” Necktie demands, looking me up and down before turning to Felix.
“My ASL tutor.”
“Your ASL tutor,” Necktie parrots, “is supposed to— — forty-year-old man named Leonard.” He sucks on his teeth. “A word.” He drags him out of the room.
I teeter awkwardly in the living room. The teenage celebrities study me before Mateo—a boy with fluffy brown curls, green eyes, and smooth, tan skin—waves.
“Hi, I’m Mateo,” he greets shyly.
“I know,” I reply. The ghostly pale, dirty blond mystery boy is the only one who’s hardly shown on DAYDREAM’s accounts … oh crap.
I’ve already forgotten what Felix called him. Logan? Lincoln? The most memorable thing about him is the spiky eyebrow piercing he’s wearing now but didn’t have in any of his Instagram photos.
He takes my staring as an invitation to approach. “Nice to meet you,” he says.
“You too…” I trail off, hoping he’ll fill in the blanks.
“Lachlan,” he supplies with a chuckle.
His ocean-blue eyes carefully scan me, but not suspiciously—unlike Will, who’s staring me down like he’s trying to identify a robbery suspect.
“Wait … you’re Ava’s— —aren’t you?” Lachlan’s question blurs slightly.
The room is loud, chatter bouncing off the walls, and it’s taking a herculean effort to follow conversation. It’s like trying to put together a puzzle with half the pieces missing. I don’t have the opportunity to ask him to repeat himself before he continues: “You seem young for a teacher.”
Ah. He must’ve asked if I’m Ava’s teacher.
“I mean, I don’t have a degree, but my dad did,” I explain. “He taught me, well, how to teach. My family and I are Deaf, so teaching ASL just … fits.”
Understanding flashes across his face. “I took it throughout high school. But I’m … rusty.” His signing is clunky but better than Felix’s. I stare at him in shock. The last thing I expected was for one of his bandmates to know more sign than him.
“Can— —pet— —your— —” Will interrupts. I turn to face him, eyes trained on his lips, but I’m still lost. “Or is— — working?” His eyes land on Ginger, and the context clues suddenly combine in my head. He’s asking to pet her.
It’s obvious she’s working, with her vest covered in I’M WORKING! patches. But I’ve been known to make exceptions for petting. Mostly cute little kids, not teenage superstars, but I appreciate Will asking for permission. Most people don’t.
I say her release word, and Ginger trots over to him. His face lights up as he scratches her head.
“That’s a bad idea, bro,” Calum warns from where he’s melted into the couch, munching on a family-size bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of Ninja Turtle boxers; his shaggy dark brown hair is tied into a ponytail that resembles a unicorn horn in the middle of his scalp.
Will ignores Calum, but forty seconds later he’s sneezing, and Calum shakes his head in disapproval. He pats the couch, inviting me to sit.
“Nice— —meet you, Nat.”
I sigh. Of course Felix has only called me Nat. God forbid that boy use my government name. “Ignore whatever Felix told you. My name is Natalie.”
Lachlan smiles amusedly. “I take it— —not Lix’s biggest fan?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t categorize myself as a fan at all, but it’s not like I poke needles into a Felix voodoo doll every day, either. I took this job for Ava. He’s a client.”
“That’s refreshing.” Lachlan chuckles.
From my seat on the couch, I have a view of the outdoor patio, where Felix is getting chewed out by an angry Necktie.
“So you’re deaf.” Calum changes the subject and studies me closely, licking Cheeto dust off his fingers. “But— —can hear us? Or are you really good— —lipreading? Do you have— — brain-implant thingies?”
Everyone’s attention snaps to him. Lachlan face-palms, Mateo cringes, and Will’s watery eyes bug out of his head.
“Cal, shut the hell up!” Will scolds.
“It’s fine,” I jump in. “I would probably recommend posing questions more … elegantly … in the future, but I don’t mind answering.”
I engage Teacher Mode and explain, “Deaf identities are a spectrum, but typically, ‘big D’ Deaf refers to someone who identifies with the Deaf community and culture. ‘Little d’ deaf is essentially just a medical diagnosis. In my case, I’m medically Hard of Hearing, but culturally, or ‘big D,’ Deaf.
While not all deaf or Hard of Hearing people lipread, I do.
But it’s exhausting and not always accurate.
And no, I don’t use cochlear implants or hearing aids. ”
I leave it at that. He doesn’t need the long-winded backstory about how I wore hearing aids until I was six but hated them.
Dad always found his hearing aids incredibly helpful, but I would get horrible tinnitus and feedback that sounded like a tiny, angry banshee wailing in my ears—no matter what adjustments the audiologist made.
Calum takes a beat to process the information, then after ten seconds, he gives a thumbs-up. “Cool. Thanks for explaining.”
“Is there anything— —do to help?” Mateo chimes in, looking at me thoughtfully.
I smile. “Actually, yeah. Thanks. Can you all slow down a bit and face me when you speak? It’s hard to keep up in all this…” I gesture vaguely toward the chaos.
“You’re not from Mercer Island, right?” Calum abruptly changes the subject, though, thankfully, he talks slower. He seems like a goldfish. But a cute goldfish.
“No,” I breathe. “Do I give off broke vibes or something?”
He laughs. “I didn’t mean it like that. You seem down-to-earth, that’s all. Mercer Island vibes— —different. Privileged.”
Will looks up from his snuggle session with my dog and quirks a brow. “You say, as a privileged Mercer Island kid.”
“Dude, did I insinuate I’m not? We’re all in— —same boat. Except for you.” Calum glances at Mateo.
Suddenly, Necktie and Felix re-enter, and Necktie pushes Felix toward the couch. He lands on the cushion next to me, his muscular thigh pressing against mine.
He looks down at me, a soft smile gracing his features. I look away as his manager starts walking the length of the room.
After pacing for a few seconds, he says, “This tour is extremely important. Depending on how successful— —North American tour is— —DAYDREAM might— —world tour next year, and I— —promoted— —full-time manager. Nobody is going to get in the way of that.” He gives me a pointed look.
“Why would we ever want you— —our full-time manager?” Lachlan mumbles just loud enough for me to hear. The boys laugh.
“Lachlan, so help me god, if you don’t—” Necktie’s interrupted by his phone loudly ringing. His voice drops to a low grumble as he answers the phone with his back to us, so I can’t lipread. However, his body language is tense, muscles locked up.
He ends the call. “Change of plans. We’re flying— —Miami tomorrow, not today. ROLLING STONE wants an interview in the morning.”
Calum leans forward, suddenly alert. “Holy shit. We’ve made it, boys!” He laughs raucously and high-fives his bandmates.
“Don’t feel too special. Taylor Swift had— —last-minute schedule conflict. You guys are— —backup,” Necktie explains.
They don’t seem to care. Rapid, unintelligible speech fills the room as the boys all talk over one another, their enthusiasm overthrowing the bored atmosphere I walked into.
Over the excitement, Mateo timidly raises his hand. “Does this— —we get today off?” He’s soft-spoken and it’s hard for me to pick up everything he says, so my mind has to fill in the blanks.
“No. But it does mean you have time— —film some LA shots for— —tour music video.” The sounds of excitement morph into groans, but their manager silences them with another scowl. He’s good at those. “And marketing wants— —TikToks using ‘Lovely Girl’ and ‘Daydreamin’ of You’— —film those, too.”
He motions over a tall staff member, who is one of the most stunning people I’ve ever seen. Which is saying a lot since I’m surrounded by a bunch of Professional Pretty Boys right now.
I catch sight of a THEY/THEM badge pinned to their black sleeveless turtleneck, which is tucked into high-waisted forest-green pants. Their waist-length, thick black hair is in a very Katniss Everdeen–like braid.
“Help them film,” Necktie commands.
The staffer laughs in his face. “I’m— —hair and makeup artist, not— —videographer.”
“The videos must seem like different days. Their hairstyles— — outfits should be different. Surely— —can handle that,” he bites. “Oh, and Lachlan? Try to be interesting. Pretend you have— — personality, would you?”
Lachlan tries to appear unfazed by the comment, but his jaw locks up and lines crease his forehead in a subtle frown. Mateo comfortingly pats his shoulder, but Lachlan pushes his hand away.
As Necktie leaves, I look around at the carefully curated chaos and wonder how long anyone could survive this pressure without breaking.