It didn’t take long for the likes to appear. Many parents followed my account, which was also why I avoided posting much of the personal variety nowadays. Only a few here and there, and almost all of them were music-related.

I furrowed my brow when I noticed a string of likes popping up from a certain NSFW account.

Every time I updated the notifications, there were new likes. The person was literally going through my album and liking every picture.

A comment appeared from a proud parent to a student.

I’d recognize that sparkly scrunchie anywhere! Can’t wait to attend the recital.

They must’ve referred to one of the girls in the violin class. I avoided taking photos where faces showed, unless I knew it was okay.

Another comment popped up.

How is it legal to be that hot?

What the fuck?

The picture he’d commented on was nothing extraordinary. Someone was messing with me. I was just sitting there tuning a damn guitar. Nicky had taken the photo last summer. We’d been up on my rooftop terrace.

A bit flustered, I merely left the app and pocketed my phone. I had a rehearsal to get to.

I was completely useless that Thursday. Micaela would cover my last two classes, so I went home a little past five to get ready for an evening on the road.

In between packing one last time, showering, and filling the back of my truck with three guitars, two amps, and some other equipment I needed, I spoke to Nonna and Pop on the phone, and by the time I’d ended both calls, Nicky showed up with pizza.

“Oh, you already packed the truck? Whatta shame I missed that.”

I snorted and accepted the pie. “Yeah, you sound remorseful as fuck.”

He chuckled.

We ended up on either side of the kitchen bar, and he asked if I had everything.

What a question.

I certainly hoped I had everything.

“I think so,” I replied, frowning. I’d gone over my list a dozen times. “It feels weird leaving some of the gear behind.”

We were chartering a bus to fit everyone and everything, which Nicky was in charge of since I wouldn’t be here. So he was bringing the five hundred demos we’d ordered and were hoping to sell at the festival. He was also bringing my Hammond organ, an electrical organ we used in several songs. It was a bitch to transport.

While I fetched us some beers, Nicky snatched up my notepad from the counter and went through my list.

“Where’s Gideon tonight?” I asked.

“In his own world,” Nicky huffed through a laugh. “I had to call his name four times before he looked up from the laptop.”

I quirked a brow.

He grinned and waved it off. “He’s at home. Shopping online.”