A tattoo of a butterfly on a flower, identical to the one I saw on Sami in the weight room at the Grove on Monday.
She lands back on the stage, and I press all the way to its edge, ignoring the protests of the people around me. I stare up at her, hard, trying to see if that’s really her under the pink hair and mask. It has to be. That’s a distinctive tattoo, and she’s the right size. But I’m still not sure until her eyes lock on mine, and for the tiniest second, she freezes. Then she’s off again, and I back up from the stage, sure now.
It’s her. And I’ve got questions.
Chapter Eight
Sami
Icomeoffthestage into the waiting arms of my bandmates who hug, noogie, or ruffle my hair, depending on who it is. We crow, whooping and high-fiving, but there’s an extra edge to my adrenaline, a spiky anxiety as I calculate how fast I can get to him and tell him to keep his mouth shut.
“Killed it!” That’s Rodney, the drummer. For him, it’s practically a monologue.
“Man, that felt so good,” I say. There aren’t enough high fives for this feeling. “You guys were so tight.”
“And you, mighty-mite.” The bassist, Luther, shakes his shaggy brown head. “You transcended, man. I watched a bona fide rock goddess up there.”
“Good show, y’all,” a mellow voice says behind us. I turn to find the lead singer of Night View standing there, easily recognizable by his trademark blue bangs. They’re the biggest band on the Austin indie scene right now.
“Thanks, man,” Luther says. “Looking forward to hearing your set tonight.”
The Night View singer shakes his head. “Giving us a tough act to follow.”
A couple more Night View guys are behind him, and they smile as they brush past us to set up. The drummer pauses. “You play with us at Krewe in a few weeks. Looking forward to it.”
“Same, man,” Jules, our guitarist, answers.
When they’re out of sight, I open my mouth in a silent scream. Rodney gives a faint smile, Luther grins, and Jules gives a fist pump.
“Sami?”
I stiffen at the sound of a different male voice calling me. Guess I won’t have to track Josh down because he’s come looking for me.
“That’s you, isn’t it? Sami?” But he doesn’t sound uncertain.
I blink behind my mask, frantically looking for a way to play this off, when our rhythm guitarist emerges from the bathroom at the end of the hall.
“Yo, Sami!” Wingnut calls. “You slayed!”
I wave my hand in acknowledgment even as my last chance to keep my secret identity disappears. I turn to Josh with a weak smile. “Hey, Josh. What are you doing here?”
He’s in office clothes and sweaty, beads of it glistening on his forehead, his hairline damp, his sleeves rolled up. “Clients wanted to check out the live music scene. Didn’t expect to see my neighbor tearing up the stage.”
He’s smiling, and I want to be chill about this, but I’m in an awkward position. I’m not even sure how to approach the situation, so I choose head on and pull him to the side.
“Hey, so only my band knows my real identity,” I tell him. “Even my roommates don’t know, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
His eyebrows go up. “Okay.”
“You won’t tell them?”
“I won’t tell them. But why don’t you want them to know?”
It’s a complicated answer, and one I don’t expect to make sense to anyone else. Even if I wanted to explain, the crowded backstage of a small club isn’t the place to do it. I shake my head. “Tell you later.” I gesture to the guys behind me. “We need to pack up. See you around?”
He nods but doesn’t make a move to leave as we start gathering our amps and instruments. After I finish winding one of the speaker cords, I sense a change, a prickling that disappears from between my shoulder blades. I glance over my shoulder; he’s gone.
The tension seeps out of me, and I join in the chatter with the rest of the band. Well, except Rodney, who just smiles now and then. We relive our set and talk about what we want to tweak. But mostly we talk about the highlights. It’s the first time since we started playing together eight months ago that everything gelled, and that’s a high I can’t explain to other people—or even to other solo musicians. I already want to chase it with the next show.
