Page 55 of Two Hit Wonder

Silence. Cam's drumstick tapped against her thigh in an agitated rhythm. Ellie was very carefully not looking at anyone.

"Okay," Cam said brightly. "So we're doing whatever this is today. Cool. Love that for us."

Maeve's jaw clenched. "Whatever what is?"

"This." Cam gestured vaguely at Maeve's entire person. "The whole 'I'm going to bite everyone's head off for no reason' vibe. Very nostalgic. Really takes me back to 2008."

"Cam," Ellie said quietly.

"What? I'm just saying, if we're going to have drama, I'd at least like to know what the drama is about. Did someone kick your sheep? Insult your hair? Use the wrong kind of milk in your—"

"Can we just play the music?" Maeve's voice came out sharper than she'd intended. "Is that too much to ask? Or do we all need to have a group therapy session first?"

Another silence. This one had teeth.

"Fine," Cam said. "Music. Great. Let's do music."

They did music. It was awful. And Maeve knew it was her fault.

MAEVE'S PHONE VIBRATED during the break. She pulled it out expecting Glinna, or probably a notification from the stupid meditation app she'd downloaded and never used, but instead there was a text from an unknown number.

hi this is mo. mum gave me your number. hope thats okay. thought you might like this song

Attached was a link to something by an artist Maeve had never heard of. She stared at it for a moment, feeling something twist in her chest. Mo had been thinking about her. Had wanted to share something with her. Had bothered to track down her number and send a message that was, by teenage standards, practically a declaration of friendship.

And Maeve's immediate instinct was to be angry about it, because being angry was easier than being touched.

Being angry was always easiest. It was the one emotion she knew how to do, how to name, and, god help her, it was the one that overtook her when she was scared. Terrified.

She looked up to find Iona watching her nervously from across the room.

"You gave her my number," Maeve said.

Iona didn’t ask who, but had the grace to look slightly guilty. "She asked for it."

"And you just handed out my personal information to a fourteen-year-old?"

"She's my daughter. And she wanted to talk to you about music. I didn't think you'd mind."

"No, you didn't."

"Maeve—"

"I'm not a resource," Maeve said, and even as the words left her mouth, she knew she was being unreasonable. Mo wasn't some random teenager. Mo was Iona's daughter, named after her, apparently interested in songwriting, and completely innocent in whatever mess Maeve had made of her own life. But the anger felt safer than everything else. "You can't just give people access to me whenever you feel like it."

Iona's expression shifted from guilty to something harder. "I was trying to help."

"By deciding what I want without asking me?"

"By letting my daughter connect with someone she admires. But clearly that was a terrible mistake."

They stared at each other. Cam was making a visible effort to pretend she wasn't listening while simultaneously texting furiously. Ellie had developed a sudden intense interest in her bass strings.

Maeve broke first. "I'm calling it. Rehearsal's done."

"We've only been here an hour," Ellie said.

"And it's been a tremendously productive hour, hasn't it?" Maeve grabbed her jacket from the back of a chair. "I'll see you all tomorrow. Try not to give out my address while I'm gone."