“Is that a freaking banjo?” Rowan asks, and Mike groans and lets his forehead thump against the table. Adam and Joel both break into guy giggles, and Shawn lets out a heavy sigh.
“We’re not looking for a banjo player, Driver,” he says, and Joel leans in to tell me that Driver is one of their roadies and that he drives the bus when the band goes on tour.
“Hear me out, man,” Driver says to Shawn. “This shit is gonna help your sound.”
“What’s wrong with our sound?”
Driver cocks his head to the side like he’s thoroughly confused. “It doesn’t have a banjo . . .”
Adam giggles harder, and Joel buries his face in the back of my shoulder to muffle his own laughter.
Shawn keeps a straight face for a moment before he can’t help releasing a little laugh too. He waves his hand toward the stage. “Whatever, man. Do your thing.”
The frayed bottoms of Driver’s jeans drag over the dance floor as he walks toward the stage. He hops up to sit on the edge and removes the definitely-not-a-cigarette from behind his ear, fishing a lighter from his pocket and lighting up. He takes a long drag, holds it, and releases it in a thick cloud of smoke. He smiles at us, then takes another long drag.
“Driver?” Shawn asks.
“Yeah?”
“You wanna play?”
“Oh, shit,” Driver says with the joint between his lips. He positions the banjo on his lap and says, “Yeah. You ready?”
Another bout of tiny giggles sound against my shoulder and echo from Adam’s direction. Rowan smacks him on the arm and says to Driver, “Come on, Driver. We’re hungry.”
“Shit, me too. I’m starving,” he says, and Adam howls with laughter. Joel rests his arm on my shoulder and buries his eyes in his forearm, his entire body shaking with giggles. I bite my lip to keep from joining him.
Driver laughs too, not minding how badly the boys are behaving.
“Hurry up so we can go eat,” Shawn says with a smile on his face.
With the joint dangling between his lips and his feet hanging above the floor, Driver begins plucking at his banjo. And for a banjo player, he’s pretty damn good. Joel whoops and slaps his knee before yanking me off my feet to do-si-do me around the room. Adam joins in, hooking his arm in mine when Joel passes me along, and Rowan drags Mike and Shawn on the floor to join us. By the time Driver finishes playing, all six of us have square-danced our asses off and are laughing hysterically. I lie down on the floor, laughing too hard to catch my breath, and Joel collapses beside me, grabbing my hand and holding on.
This week, he’s spent most nights at my apartment, and on the nights he hasn’t, Rowan has told me that he’s attached himself to Adam’s couch grumbling about how he wished he was at my place. We haven’t talked about him not wanting me with other guys, and we definitely haven’t talked about me not wanting him with other girls, but as far as I know, neither of us has been with anyone else.
Leti, who made sure to stay out of grabbing-range during our hoedown, moves to stand over me, giving me a smug smile. “Well aren’t you two just totes adorbs.”
I kick his ankle, and his smile widens.
“So do I get to be in the band?” Driver asks, and I lift my head off the floor to see Adam wrap his arm around Driver’s shoulder.
“No fucking way, man. But we’ll buy you dinner.”
Driver seems to consider this for a moment, answering with a shrug. “Sweet.”
At a Chinese buffet, I eat at a table with six hungry men and a bottomless pit of a best friend.
“Are you going to be able to eat all that?” Mike asks Rowan with a skeptical gaze directed at her plate.
I can’t help laughing. Rowan and I are the same size, but I swear she can eat double our weight in food. Eating ice cream out of the carton with her is like competing for digging space with a backhoe. “She’s just getting started.”
She gives me a closed-lipped grin, her mouth already full of lo mein.
“So how are the shirts coming?” Shawn asks me, and I pick at my Chinese donut. My appetite is starting to come back, little by little.
“Almost done. I’m taking pictures this weekend, so you should be able to put them on the website next week.”
“And you’re seriously cool with doing this?”
“Are you kidding?” Joel asks. “You should see her apartment. There are shirts everywhere. All she talks about is knots and slits and bows and shit.”
I chuckle and toss a piece of my donut at him, and he picks it off the table and pops it in his mouth, grinning at me.
Making the shirts has been a lot of work, but none of it has actually felt like work. Since talking to my dad, I’ve been more diligent about completing my overdue homework and studying for tests, since I promised him I would, but I keep catching my mind wondering to clothing designs. My college-bound notebooks are just as filled with shirt designs as they are with notes for class.
“You should see them,” Rowan says, finally having swallowed down her food. “They’re really good.”