The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys 1)

My phone buzzed with a text. I fished it out of the back pocket of my jeans. Evelyn.

How much do you love me?

Not touching that one. Before I could reply, she sent another, and the phone nearly tumbled out of my hands.

The correct answer should be A LOT. Becuz it happened!!! A rep from Gold Line Records emailed me!!!!

My fingers trembled as I typed. Don’t fuck w/ me, E

Swear to God!

A string of hearts, then excited and wide-eyed emojis followed. My pulse thrashed in my ears.

Where are you? I typed.

Beach. 2 nice 4 school. But since u went viral, I check email religiously and HOLY SHIT BABY!!

Wasn’t touching “baby” either; I was too busy about to have a heart attack. I sank down on a bench outside the gym and hit call, then held the phone from my ear as Evelyn squealed.

“Slow down,” I said. “You’re freaking me out. Start from the beginning and tell me everything.”

“It was ‘Take What You Want from Me,’ The Post Malone cover you did. It put you over the edge. Three million views. Million.”

“Holy shit is right,” I breathed.

“I knew it. I knew this would happen,” she crowed. “The email came this morning from an executive assistant to some guy named Jack Villegas. I’m not a complete moron, so I googled him to make sure we weren’t being catfished. Sure enough, major player at Gold Line. But I had to be one hundred percent, so I called the phone number and the assistant answered the phone. When I said I was calling for Jack Villegas, she didn’t say Who? Or Wrong number. She said, He’s in a meeting, what is this regarding? I mean…Fuck.”

I ran a hand through my hair. Is this real? This can’t be real. “What…uh, what happened then?”

“I hung up.”

“You did what?” The blood drained from my face.

“I know, I panicked, which is so unlike me. But it felt so surreal. Like I was making a crank call. But it’s okay. I knew without a doubt that Villegas was legit, so I wrote an email back as your assistant. I mean, he’s seen the blog; he knows I basically rep you. An hour later, he replied. He wants a meeting. With you. In Los Angeles. On June 4th.”

More squealing and this time, I did drop the phone. It clattered to the ground, and I sat with my hands in my lap, every muscle in my body going slack.

Evelyn’s voice was tinny, shouting for me. “Miller? Miller, hello?”

I picked up the phone again. “I don’t…I don’t know what to say.”

A meeting in Los Angeles. With a major record label. This couldn’t be real. The universe was fucking with me, and I wasn’t going to fall for it.

“I can’t fly to LA,” I said. “I can’t afford a flight or even a ride from the airport. And where would I stay? I don’t know anyone there—”

“Honey, relax,” Evelyn said in a quieter tone than I’d ever heard her use. “I know this is a lot. Believe me. But it’s real. They are paying for the flight. They are going to send a car from the airport. They are going to set you up in a hotel.”

I clenched my jaw to keep from either laughing or bursting into tears. “It’s real,” I croaked.

“It’s real,” Evelyn said, then brightened. “Now, you need to come over for a strategy session. And do you have a suit? Something nice to wear to the meeting? Never mind, I’ll put something together.”

She prattled on and on, and I just stared ahead at the road that had opened to me. A possible future away from the grind and anxiety of endless poverty.

“Evelyn,” I said, cutting through her talk. “Thank you.”

“Thank me later, babe. Oh my God, this is so exciting! Not that I’m surprised. I gotta go. Call me as soon as you’re done with school or work or whatever. Shit, Miller, put in your notice at that fucking arcade. This is it!”

I hung up with her and stared at the phone in my hand. I wasn’t about to quit my job. It was only a meeting in LA. That didn’t mean anything. It was probably an audition. Maybe I’d suck in front of this Jack Villegas guy. Or he’d see right through me. That I was just another poor bastard with a sob story, trying to make it.