“This is brain food, Lilith,” Luis insisted. “Get some.”
Jean walked by and grabbed a fistful on his way to set up Lilith’s microphone. “He’s right,” he said with his mouth full.
Lilith succumbed and took a chip. She was surprised by how delicious it tasted. She took a second chip, and a third.
“Now you’re ready to rock,” Luis said after she’d polished off a couple of handfuls, and it was true. She wasn’t so hungry, so edgy anymore.
She smiled at Luis. “Thanks.”
“No sweat,” he said, then nodded at Lilith’s outfit. “Nice duds today, by the way.”
Lilith glanced down at her dress. That morning, for the first time she could remember, she hadn’t felt like wearing black. She’d raided her mother’s closet before school and found a tight white dress with big green polka dots, cinched with a wide purple patent-leather belt. She’d paused in front of her mother’s full-length mirror, surprised at how cool the ensemble looked with her broken-in combat boots, how the green in the dress brightened her red hair.
When she’d come into the kitchen wearing it, Bruce had looked up from his Pop-Tart and whistled.
Lilith still didn’t know exactly what had happened, but Bruce had been discharged early, and when her family returned from the hospital yesterday, he said he felt better than he had in years. The doctor couldn’t explain why her brother’s breathing had suddenly returned to normal; he could say only that Bruce was better than he’d been in a long, long time.
“How many times do I have to tell you that my closet is not your personal playground?” her mom had asked, even though Lilith had never before raided her closet. She put down her coffee and pushed up the sleeves of her yellow cardigan—the one she’d accused Lilith of stealing but had since found at the bottom of her dresser.
“I’ve always loved this dress on you,” Lilith said, and meant it. “Is it okay if I borrow it? Just for today. I’ll be careful.”
Her mother’s mouth twitched, and Lilith knew an insult was brewing, but maybe Lilith’s compliment had thrown her off. Because instead of lashing out, her mother scrutinized Lilith’s look, then reached across the counter for her purse.
“It’ll look better with a little color on your lips,” she said, handing Lilith a tube of matte pink lipstick.
Now, in the band room, being careful not to get lipstick on the microphone, Lilith waited for Jean’s cue, then leaned in and started singing her new song. She was nervous, so she closed her eyes and let Luis’s backbeat and Jean’s psychedelic chords come at her sideways in the dark.
It had been so easy to imagine how the song might sound when she was alone in her room, writing lyrics and inventing melodies. But now that she was singing it in front of other people, she felt exposed. What if they hated it? What if it sucked?
Her voice trembled. She considered stopping, running out of the room.
She opened her eyes and looked over at Luis, who was nodding at her with a smile plastered across his face, his drumsticks alternating between the snare and the cymbals. Jean picked up the slack on the guitar, plucking notes on the strings as though each one told a story.
Lilith felt a burst of energy rush through her. A band that hadn’t existed two days ago had found a sound that was rich and nimble. Suddenly, she was singing her song like it was worthy of an audience. She had never sung so loudly or so freely.
Luis was feeling it, too. He ended the song with a slamming, cataclysmic racket on the drums.
When it was over, all three of them wore the same expression: smiling, a little dazed.
“Magic Doritos,” Luis said, gazing reverently at the bag. “I’ll have to stock up on these before prom.”
Lilith laughed, but she knew it was more than the Doritos. It was the three of them relaxing into their sound together, not just as bandmates but as friends. And it was Lilith, and the change that had come over her the day before, knowing Bruce was feeling better.
After the hospital, Lilith’s mom had suggested they all go out for pizza, a treat that happened only once or twice a year. They’d shared a large pepperoni-and-olive and made each other laugh playing pinball on the old Scared Stiff machine.
When Lilith had tucked Bruce into bed, he’d lain back on his pillow and said, “Cam’s pretty cool.”
“What are you talking about?” Lilith asked.
Bruce shrugged. “He visited me at the hospital. He cheered me up.”
Her instinct had been to get mad at Cam for visiting Bruce without telling her. But she sat on her brother’s bed a moment longer, watching him fade into sleep, and he seemed so peaceful, so unlike the sick boy she was used to, that Lilith found she could muster nothing but gratitude for whatever Cam had done.
“What song do you want to do next, Lilith?” Jean asked now. “We need to ride this wave.”