In Real Life by Jessica Love

back.
    After that, just like Barstow, it was like it had never happened.
    And just like that, I started living a lie.

 
    CHAPTER
    10
    It takes about twenty more minutes, two more drinks for Grace, and three panic attacks for me before it’s time for Automatic Friday to take the stage. I wrap my hair up into a bun and then shake it back out about seventy-five times, and I practically chew off my thumbnail. Lo and Grace, in an attempt to distract me, make up dirty stories about almost everyone in the place, and I try with every ounce of self-control I have not to look at the stage, run out the door, or cry about all the ways my most treasured friendship is now ruined.
    It’s damn near impossible.
    My main focus is getting myself out of this situation. I’ll watch the band play one song, then I’ll tell Grace and Lo I drank too much or ate too much or whatever, and I’ll cab it back to our hotel. I don’t need to have this girlfriend conversation with Nick in person. And certainly not with her standing right next to us, big boobs all in my face.
    Nick and I do everything else online or on our phones. This can happen there, too.
    I’m trying to craft the perfect exit strategy when the lights dim and the cheesy pop-punk music shuts off mid-song. The crowd whoops halfheartedly and my phone vibrates in my back pocket.
    I look at my text as the band takes the stage. It’s from Nick.
    I AM SO SORRY GHOST.
    Sorry for what? For the weirdness? For Frankie? For keeping her a secret? I shove my phone back into my pocket in disgust, annoyed with the sight of his name on the screen for the first time ever.
    My fingers drum my thigh as the lights go up onstage, and I feel a rush of excitement despite myself. Yes, I’m mad at Nick, but this music has been the soundtrack of my life for the past few years, and a thrill rushes through me at the thought of seeing the band perform live. Jordy the Player at the front; I recognize him right away from his tagged pictures on Nick’s profile and the band’s YouTube videos. He’s wearing a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off to showcase the tattoos all over his arms, and a grin spreads over his face as he licks his lips and scans the crowd. He’s loving this. There’s Oscar with his bass draped over his shoulders, toe tapping the pedal at the end of the stage, ’80s hair pointing everywhere. Nick was so right about that. On drums is their new guy, Drew: short, chubby, and not in with the rest of the guys quite yet. Then, on guitar—
    â€œThat’s Alex.” Grace grips down on my arm so tightly, I think she touches bone. “You didn’t tell me Alex was in this band.”
    Sure enough, the guy plucking on the guitar isn’t Nick. It’s Alex, his older brother.
    If I hadn’t seen Nick already, if I had walked into House of Blues right as the band took the stage, I probably would’ve thought Alex was Nick. Same build, same height, same brown hair, and he’s wearing a trucker hat pulled down low over his forehead, hiding the details of his face in the semi-dark, and a leather motorcycle-style jacket, similar to the one Nick is wearing, hiding the tattoos on his right arm.
    But it isn’t Nick playing the guitar. It’s his brother.
    The band launches into one of their faster-paced songs. Despite all the tats and ripped T-shirts onstage, their music is surprisingly mellow. They sound great live, and Jordy’s gravelly voice totally pops in this small club. They’ve slightly changed the arrangement of the song “In My Head,” one of my favorites, just enough to make it different from the recorded version I play in my room on repeat when I’m alone.
    But what happened to Nick? Why is Alex onstage in his place?
    â€œThey sound killer, don’t they?”
    Somehow Frankie sidles up next to me. She holds a small tablet in her hand and a huge camera dangles from her neck. She’s not