Over the weekend, I work two shifts at Pilar’s and practice for the audition. I have to sing a section from “My Soft Place to Land,” which is this song from Bronxtown Brooms. The song is sung by Valeria, one of the leads. She’s the second oldest in a family with five daughters, and her mom is obsessed with marrying off her daughters to rich men so they won’t have financial problems like she does. The family owns a struggling store called Bronxtown Brooms in a neighborhood that lots of people are leaving because the rent is going up. The song is about how much she loves the neighborhood, and how devastated she is that all these rich white people are replacing the people who used to live there.

Because Lex is loyal as hell, she’s been trying all weekend to coach me into not sucking even though she doesn’t think I should audition. But after we finish working the Sunday shift at Pilar’s, she puts her foot down.

“No more practicing,” she says as she walks across the parking lot. “Your audition will be fine. You can sing. All you have to do is not look like you want to die while you’re doing it.”

“But that’s so hard,” I whine, trailing after her. “Because I do want to die.”

She laughs. “You keep, like, staring sadly at the ground. Just stand still and look forward.”

I sigh. Easier said than done.

Once we’re both in the car, she sticks her thumb into a hole beside the steering wheel. Her car has one of those fancy magical thumbprint ignitions. “Do you want to go to the gym?” she asks as she starts the car.

I almost say no—I have some homework left to finish—but playing a game of terraball with Lex would be stress relieving. And I really need that right now. “Yeah, sure,” I say.

“Yeeeeees!” Lex shouts, pounding her hands on the steering wheel. “Oh my god, we haven’t played in forever. I’m going to kick your ass.”

“No you’re not,” I say, giving her a withering look.

“Heh. Keep telling yourself that.”

Forty minutes later, I’m panting on the foam floor of the terraball court, clutching the rubber ball to my chest. Lex is, of course, kicking my ass.

“Suck on that!” she yells. “Don’t just lie there—gimme the ball!”

“Fuck you,” I say, slinging the ball her way. She’s so damn fast, it’s impossible to catch her. When we were on the T. K. Anderson terraball team together, she was always one of the faster players.

She snatches the ball out of the air, flashing me a cheeky grin. “I love you too.” Then she jumps on a foam cube, magically enlarges it, and uses it as a launch pad to get away from me.