“What are you talking about?” I ask. “You’re the lead guitarist in this crowd’s favorite band.”

“Nobody’s even heard us,” says Jon.

“Not yet.”

“Watch out!”

We all look up to the sound of dull thudding, and see Matt’s bass drum case thundering down the path like a runaway boulder, Matt chasing it. We scatter as it thumps to a stop. A nearby herd of girls sees this and giggles in eerie unison.

“Sorry,” Matt says breathlessly, frowning as he notices the laughter.

“I guess that’s why you should never eat sushi on a trapeze,” I say, and we all laugh. Matt manages to smile, and gives me puppy-dog eyes of gratitude.

“Smooth move, Matty,” says Jon, throwing an arm around him. “Looks like I’ll have you to huddle bitterly with after the show.”

“Now now,” I say, “you boys are getting phone numbers tonight. I guarantee it.” I actually already have an idea for Matt, although I’m not sure how it will go over.

“Are you serious?” The last member of our group to arrive is Randy, Caleb’s uncle and our official roadie for the evening. He has a van for his house-painting business that we could all ride over in. It would be a cooler ride if the back wasn’t a windowless metal cargo space lined with shelves of paint.

“This looks just like it did twenty years ago!” he says with a smile. Randy’s a round guy, barrel-chested, his face overrun by a farm of reddish hair. “Trial by Fire!” he announces to the world. “Same as it ever was.” He holds his hand to his face, dips his sunglasses, and says, “Look where my hand was.”

“Nobody gets your Talking Heads references,” says Caleb.

Val punches Caleb in the shoulder and actually smiles. “Shut up. I do.”

I notice that. The punching.

“Thank you, Valerie,” says Randy, “at least someone has some respect for rock and roll legacy. Man . . .” He gazes at the scene. “I remember back—”

“If you say ‘back in my day,’” says Caleb, “you have to leave.”

Randy pauses, flustered, then continues. “Back . . . when we played this party, which was, in fact, in my day, there was no stage.”

“What was your band called again?” Val asks.

“Savage Halos.”

“That is my favorite band name ever,” she says.

“Get a room,” says Caleb. “Except don’t because that would be super creepy.”

“That would bother you?” Val asks him.

“Um, just a bit.” Caleb kind of smiles.

Something flashes between their gaze. Maybe I’m just making it up. My sensors are clearly on maximum sensitivity, but still, I wish they didn’t have to be so chummy; then again, professional me knows that of course they’re in a band and there needs to be camaraderie. But still . . .

“So you were here, at the first Trial?” Jon asks.

“I was here, and Savage Halos opened for this other band, a bunch of plucky kids who called themselves Allegiance to North. I watched them turn this crowd into a supernova. That night was the beginning of the rest of our lives.” As Randy says this, he looks wistfully toward the ocean.

I glance at Caleb, hoping he’s not reading into it, knowing that, in a way, his life began right here that night, too.

“Can we just go?” Caleb says darkly. I guess he did. Fret Face is in full control.

“To the battlements!” Jon shouts, a knight leading an army.

We trudge through the sand to the side of the stage.

Soundmen are checking the mics. Dangerheart is slated to go second, after Freak Show. We pass Trevor, Cybil, Alejandro, and their new drummer, Lane, in the roped-off area beside the stage. Only Alejandro says hello.

Dangerheart sets up and does a quick sound check. They play a minute of music and it sounds great, but Caleb’s eyes are down, either on his guitar or the stage floor. I find myself urging him to look up, to engage.

After, Caleb and I head to the grass-roofed drink hut. As we weave our way through the crowd, I catch glances at us, and the sense of repetition grows. Summer with another band boy. I stuff my hands in my pockets, just in case Caleb gets any hand holding ideas, but he’s looking dark and distant. And then I kind of hate myself for caring what anyone might think.

The hut is rickety and cockeyed, built by Ari and his friends, who probably learned about woodworking from YouTube videos. There’s a line of kegs and multiple margarita machines on tables inside. On the corner of the warped bar, they’ve built a small mountain out of ice. As we stand there, a line of people step up one by one and a shirtless beefy kid slides electric orange Jell-O shots down into their mouths. My old friends Callie and Jenna are in line, wearing extremely revealing bikini tops and cutoff shorts. I want to give them my sweatshirt. Jenna is even wearing a cowboy hat. Yee haw.

“Hey, Caleb,” says a girl behind the bar. Missy Prescott. We don’t know each other, except of course that she knew Ethan Myers intimately last spring. She’s wearing the world’s smallest bikini. I wonder if it requires adhesive. She’s also smiling at Caleb like I’m not even there. “Are you playin’ tonight?”

Really, a fake Southern accent? I huff and tap the bar, but I don’t say anything, curious to see how Caleb handles it.

“New year, new band,” he says with a smile. “How was your summer?” As he’s making small talk, he reaches beneath the bar top and squeezes my hand. He’s good at being social, and I need to remember that’s a good thing for a lead singer.

“Do you know Summer?” he says.

Missy glances at me, her smile store-bought. “Hi.” Right back to Caleb. “What can I get you guys?”

I wonder what Caleb will order, and I feel my usual hesitation about whether or not to drink. I’m okay with it, and will on occasion, but the thing that will kill it for me is the feeling that there’s pressure. Plus, this is work.

“Just Cokes,” says Caleb. He turns to me. “If that’s cool? I don’t drink when I play. I don’t like to lose control.”

“That’s fine,” I say, relieved to hear this.

We get our drinks and move away from the bar to a spot where we watch the contestants trying to cross the rope over the lava pit. The rope is so wobbly that no one makes it further than halfway, and no one seems to mind.

“I’m wondering if you were too good at that,” I say to him.

“What?”

“Miss Missy back there.”

“Come on, she’s cute, but only in a manufactured kind of way. Not a real bone in her body, I don’t think.”

“Well played.” I have an urge to rub his arm, but I hesitate. The surroundings are still spooking me.

Caleb takes out his copy of the set list and looks it over.

“It’s a good set,” I say.

Fret Face. “I’m not sure about ‘On My Sleeve.’”

“Come on. I can’t believe you’re second-guessing that song again.”

“No, just . . .” He looks around. “Everyone’s here to have fun, not to hear some downer ballad.”

“It’s not a downer. And nobody will have any idea who you’re singing about. People adapt songs to be about themselves.”

“Yeah.”

I rub his arm. “You’re nervous.”

Caleb kinda gulps. “I want it to be good. I always get amped up before shows. It’ll be okay once we’re playing.”

“Is it being here, too?”

Caleb focuses on folding his set. “What do you mean?”

“Randy was talking about Eli being here, now you’re here. I mean, it’s understandable if that’s on your mind. You know, like life repeating itself.”

“That’s not how it’s going to be.” Caleb abruptly steps away. “I should go tune. See you after the set?”

“Right.” I try to offer him a smile. He’s half turned to go, but then he turns back and steps close. He leans in for a kiss.

Except I glance around, wary, and no! Why did I do that? And it immediately breaks the spell. Caleb pulls back. “Okay, sorry.” He walks off.

As he leaves, I swear to myself. We’ve lost our groove. He’s nervous, but it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have mentioned Eli and why do I even care what everyone thinks? But I’ll let him go. Things will be better after the set.

To be sure, though, I send him a quick text. Sorry about the weird. Break a leg! But not really.

I pause for a moment thinking of ending with love you—it would be the first time either of us said it. Almost a month, it’s time, isn’t it? But would that be weird right after having a moment of awkwardness? I end it with xo instead and hope the love is implied.

I distract myself by moving around the party and finding moments to post about.

MoonflowerAM @catherinefornevr 8:45pm


Does Dangerheart sound better when you’re covered in lava? #Dangerheart #trialbyfire

I make a quick movie of a boy trying to cross the lava pit and falling in, and post it to Fanspace.

“SUMMER!” Ari emerges from the crowd, strutting toward me, megaphone to his mouth. “SWEET PARTY HUH—”

I wince and slap the megaphone down. “You were saying?”

“Sweet party, right?” he says breathlessly. His face is beet red. He smells like sugar and booze. “You ready for that Eruption?”

“After the set,” I say, offering him a professional smile. “Thanks for inviting us.”

Ari nods. Sways. His eyes swim down me but then his gaze shoots to our left. He raises the megaphone. “KYLIE!” He careens off.

“Hey, Summer!” I turn to find Maya hurrying over. “So excited to see the new band!”

“Hey, thanks! Me too.” I take her arm. “Stay with me, I have someone for you to meet.” I send a quick text.

“Ooh, so secretive!”

A minute later, Matt shows up, breathless. He literally ran in response to my text. “What’s up?” he asks, eyes hopeful.