6. There Are Two of You?
6
THERE ARE TWO OF YOU?
MAGGIE
Worst In Me By Julia Michaels
T he bus comes to a lurching halt, the door creaking open with a sound akin to the gates of Hell opening. Around me, everyone starts shuffling for their gear, boots thudding on the metal floor, caps shoved onto messy hair. I catch Dusty’s eye as he adjusts his back brace, grimacing slightly as he throws a flannel shirt over his t-shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
The day’s drive was long, the footage on my camera testament to it—snippets of crew members sprawled in various states of sleep, socked feet sticking out of bunks, and a Grammy Award-worthy soundtrack of snoring. Dusty’s voice rumbles through the confines of the bus as he calls out to those still cocooned in their bunks.
“Ever put that thing down?” one of the roadies teases as he walks by, flashing a broad grin, sunlight catching on strands of his unruly hair as he secures a backward cap onto his head.
“Just doing my job,” I reply, not missing a beat.
His eyes linger, an easy smile playing on his lips. “You should let people see that pretty face of yours.”
I tilt my camera down, and despite my sharp glare, he smirks. “Name’s Abel,” he offers. “In case you want to put me in your film.”
“Great, thanks.” I roll my eyes.
Dusty’s voice booms again, prompting Abel to move, and I follow the crew out of the bus into the lot behind the venue. The mountains rise in stark silhouette against the horizon, backlit by the burgeoning sunrise.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, pulling my attention away from the rugged beauty of the scene. Joey’s face brightens the screen as I answer her call, immediately warming me like a ray of sunshine crossing the miles between us.
“Maggs!” she greets with a wave, her backdrop a tranquil scene of trees and the familiar horses of our ranch.
“Just got into Salt Lake.” I turn the camera so she can capture a glimpse of the mountains looming majestically behind me.
“How’s it going?”
“Well.” I sigh heavily, dramatics seasoning my voice. “My only friend on the crew so far is Dusty, our ample-sized roadie, and I’m not even sure he likes me.”
She chuckles softly, “Lots of people like you. How could they not?”
“Yeah,” I smile, but concern nibbles at the edges of my mind. Get a grip, Maggie. It’s only been a couple of days. “I’m fine,” I insist aloud, convincing myself as much as Joey.
“Come on, spill. What’s really bothering you?”
“I wanted to do the induction film, not be on some over-glorified road trip,” I whine.
“This again?”
“Yes, this again. I’m still grieving my artistic ambition.” I shift the phone to showcase my black vintage band tee paired with equally dark shorts and scuffed high-tops—a sartorial choice of mourning.
Joey laughs. “Remember when Johnny Finch dumped me for slimy Taylor Johnson?”
The memory draws a reluctant smile across my lips. “You mean when he inexplicably chose to eat lunch with her instead? Yeah.”
She nods, face scrunching in humorous distaste. Little did she know, it was me who orchestrated Taylor’s slimy fate—thus cementing her nickname that stuck for the entirety of sixth grade.
“I was feeling really sorry for myself and you cranked up a pop song and made me dance it out.”
I groan.
“I think you need to dance it out.”
“No.”
“Maggs,” she says sternly.
“I’m living in the rockstar version of summer camp.” I make a disgruntled face. “With bunk beds,” I add. “I am not dancing it out. Plus, I’m fine. It can only get better from here.” Optimism wavers in my voice.
“Are you talking to yourself?” Felix’s head pops into view, and he points at Joey, sucker stick hanging jauntily from his full lips.
“That’s my twin sister, genius,” I retort.
Joey waves cheerfully at him through the screen—the traitor.
“Oh my God, there are two of you?”
I push his face away with my hand.
Felix grumbles, the sucker shifting sides in his mouth as he rolls his eyes with theatrical exasperation. “God help us all.”
Joey’s voice snaps me back to attention. “What?” I ask, trying to ignore Felix’s sarcastic mutterings.
“He’s friendly,” she quips with a playful tone.
“More like annoying,” I retort, ensuring Felix hears me, punctuating with an eye roll that feels entirely necessary.
“I can hear you, you know,” he counters, his swagger annoyingly intact. “You know you’re going to have my babies someday,” he says as he saunters into the venue, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.
Joey giggles. “He doesn’t seem to hate you… much.”” Her voice is dripping with implication.
I sigh, feeling a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “I gotta go.” With that, I tuck my phone away in my back pocket and push open the heavy door leading into the venue, which is humming with activity.
The place is a labyrinth of cables and bustling crew members, the air thick with anticipation and the distant thrum of soundchecks. I maneuver through the chaos, camera in hand, capturing the scene. Dusty, ever watchful, glances my way. “Best to stay out of the way, sweetheart,” he warns, though there’s a hint of a smile in his gruff demeanor. “Wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
I flash him a thumbs up, sidestepping his warning as I make my way toward the stage. My eyes catch Felix, hunched over his guitar, his dark hair hanging like a curtain around his face, a sucker lazily perched between his lips. I lift my camera, zooming in on him as his fingers deftly adjust the instrument, coaxing familiar tunes into the air. He’s focused, that casual intensity drawing me in despite myself.
As if sensing my gaze, Felix glances up, his eyes meeting the camera lens with a mix of challenge and curiosity. His jaw is strong, his expression teasing as he shifts the sucker to the other side of his mouth. “Getting my good side?”
Every side is good.
“Yeah,” I manage to reply, feigning nonchalance. “I mean, bend over so I can compare.”
His eyebrow arches, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“You know what I mean!” Heat climbs my cheeks. Jesus, I’m an idiot.
Felix bursts into laughter, the sound warm and infectious as he reaches for the camera. “Let’s see what your good side is.”
“Absolutely not,” I insist, clutching the camera possessively. “I’m supposed to be invisible, so I can capture all the candid footage.”
He examines me. “Sass, you couldn’t be invisible even if you tried.”
Oddly enough, I’m beginning to not hate the nickname.
“So, you have a twin?” he asks, his earlier mockery absent as curiosity takes its place.
“Yeah, my sister Joey.”
“Is she a filmmaker, like you?”
I snort laugh. “She runs a horse sanctuary and a rehab program,” I explain, leaning over to adjust the focus.
“Like with cowboys and shit?” Felix dips his head closer.
“No,” I giggle. “It’s a few acres of property in Pacific Palisades.”
“So it’s just not your scene?”
“Not exactly. I love it, but I’m not a lifer like Joey.” I shrug. “I’m after something more.”
“Sounds like me and my brother,” Felix muses, his voice carrying a hint of something unspoken.
“You have siblings?” I ask, mentally kicking myself for not knowing. “It’s just you I see in the press.”
Felix snorts. “Gus likes to stay out of it.”
“How old is he?” I’m genuinely intrigued.
“A year younger,” Felix responds. “And Nina, my baby sister, she’s still in high school. My parents try to keep her off the radar while she figures herself out.”
“Felix!” Bash interrupts, calling from below the stage. “We have press.”
Felix locks eyes with me, a fleeting softness replaced by his usual bravado. “Duty calls,” he says, pushing away from his guitar with a purposeful stride.
I follow his movements with my camera, capturing the ease with which he navigates the chaos of backstage life. As he disappears into the throng of journalists and photographers, I’m left to ponder the brief, unexpected connection we shared. Beneath that swagger and smirk lies something more, something real.
And just as quickly as the thought takes shape, I shake it off.