She could hear the applause roaring in her ears, the appreciation for her music. It was a sound she wanted to bottle and keep with her always, something she could open up and drink in when she needed it.

—

Before the sound guys came over to unhook her mic, Emily pulled her cell phone out of the bag she’d left backstage, wanting to text Ari, to let her know how fantastic it was to be on stage. But when she looked at her screen, she was met with a missed call from Ezra and two texts: one from Ari saying that Ezra had called looking for her, since she hadn’t picked up her phone, and Ari had told him that she was in Mexico. The second was from Ezra confirming that she actually was in Mexico. All it said was: Are you really in Cancun?

I am, she typed back. Just for a couple of days.

She held on to the phone for a while, while her mic was unhooked, but he didn’t write back. She thought about adding on to her previous message. Telling him how great it felt to play music on stage, how much it meant to her, try to make him understand, but she didn’t have the words.

Then Diana came over. “That was fabulous,” she said to Emily.

“Thanks,” Emily answered.

“So, I haven’t spoken to Rob yet, but his PR team would love this story. Would you be up for some media interviews in Miami? And how long are you staying on tour with us? The more advance notice, the better.”

Emily swallowed. This seemed like too many decisions at once. She looked down at her phone to see if Ezra had written her back. Her words got stuck in her throat.

“Are you bothering Emily?” Rob asked, coming over and wrapping his arm around her shoulders, as if he were protecting her from Diana. “I told you she was off-limits. No questions.”

“We need to talk then,” Diana said.

“Tomorrow,” Rob answered. “I’m hungry.”

Emily smiled at him. “Me too,” she said.

57

Back in the villa, Emily was in her room alone, changing into a T-shirt that Rob had loaned her. The flannel pajama pants and thermal top she’d packed for her sister’s house in Connecticut were sweltering. Rob’s T-shirt was threadbare—the kind that had been through the wash so many times that the logo on it had nearly disappeared. Emily couldn’t quite figure out what it had once been. The T-shirt reached her midthigh. She contemplated putting on her flannel pajama pants, but it was just so hot and he’d already seen her in her swimsuit. So she walked out in the T-shirt.