Young love.
There’s a song there. I know it. I just need to get my notebook and write it. It all starts clicking into place, the melody coming out of nowhere. I think this is what I’ve been waiting for this whole time. It’ll actually be from me, the perfect blend of what I want to write about and what our audience will like. I pull out my phone and start writing.
Ruben appears from down the hall. Looking at him, it’s easy to know why this song came to me easily.
“You’re not going to believe this,” he says.
“What?”
“Geoff requested a call with us,” he says, and the excitement in his voice is unmissable. “He wants to, quote unquote, ‘work things out.’”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. But there’s more. Monarch Management wants to meet with us. Apparently they know about our situation, but were so moved by our story they are interested in a meeting.”
Right. Spending time with Ruben must be rubbing off on me; I don’t buy that for a second. From his raised eyebrow, I get the impression he doesn’t, either. This isn’t for charity—they’ll take the loss now to make more money in the future. And apparently, with us charting like we’ve never done before, this is an attractive enough deal for them that they think it’ll pay off in the long run.
Even for us, with all our success … never in a million years did I expect a management team to take us on for free. For two albums.
But here is one, offering us a meeting.
If this works out … it could get us away from Chorus. For good.
And this time, we wouldn’t be naive sixteen year olds, signing a long-term contract with no grasp of what we were agreeing to.
We’d have our own lawyers. And we’d know exactly what we were signing. “Holy shit,” I say. “When do they want to meet us?”
“Geoff wants to talk this afternoon, Monarch want to meet the second we’re available.”
“That’s fast,” says Mom, who leans back on the sofa. “I say you tell Geoff where he can stick it and just meet Monarch. You guys decide what you do now, not him.”
I laugh. “What do you think?”
Ruben scratches his chin. “I think we should hear everyone out. Worst-case scenario and we don’t like what they suggest, we walk.”
“Agreed.”
“This calls for a celebration,” says Mom. “How do you two feel about waffles?”
Ruben and I smile at each other.
* * *
“I’m sorry,” says Geoff.
Ruben and I are seated side by side, on a Zoom call with Geoff and the rest of Saturday. Angel is wearing a black tank with SAVE SATURDAY on it in neon pink, and Jon is wearing a crisp navy-blue button-down. He’s got light stubble for the first time that I’ve seen. It accentuates his jawline and makes it clear just how handsome he is.
“I acted rashly,” continues Geoff. “Emotions were high, and I said things I don’t mean. Truly, boys, I’m sorry.”
I want to laugh in his face.
I do believe that he is sorry, but not because he has realized he’s out of line. He’s sorry because he underestimated just how powerful our fan base is.
He also underestimated us.
“Now that you’re done fake-apologizing,” says Angel. “What do you want?”
Geoff grimaces. “Fine, let’s cut to it. We at Chorus would like to start working with Saturday again. Galactic has plans to launch ‘End of Everything’ as an official single, and we could set up a marketing blitz, along with a big-budget music video. We believe, with the right push, focusing on the angle of Ruben and Zach’s relationship, we could get it to number one. That would make Saturday the American boy band with the most number ones in history. But timing is critical, and we’d need to move fast. If we reach an agreement, we’d like to start filming at the start of next week.”
Nobody says anything.
Mentally, I start putting the pieces together. This seems like a great thing, and could be enormous for young queer kids out there, like that boy in the crowd I saw when we came out. But I’ve worked with Geoff long enough to know that he doesn’t do anything out of sheer goodwill. This is to restore his public image, that’s all. He’s being ripped apart online, and if they take us back, it’ll quiet down, and make them look less like villains than they currently seem.
This isn’t to be nice. It’s to save himself.
“So, boys?” he says. “What do you say?”
Angel clears his throat. “We’ll need to get back to you.”
“What?”
I’m not sure he’s ever heard that before.
“We will consider your offer,” says Ruben, his voice clear. “However, you did effectively sever your relationship with us.”
“I—”
“So,” I say, cutting him off. “We will be exploring our options. When we’re ready, our lawyers will be in touch.”
“Jon…”
“I’m sorry, Dad, it’s just business. Goodbye.”
Jon’s window goes black. Ruben takes that as our signal, and he ends our call as well.
Everything has gone according to plan.
Ruben is flushed, and is smiling really big.
“That felt good,” he says.
And it’s only going to get better from here.
* * *
Our driver is a fan of Saturday.
She’s been talking nonstop this entire drive, asking us questions about what’s been happening with the band and our management. Given we’re in the middle of contract negotiations, we haven’t been able to answer a lot of her questions, but the fact that she’s so curious is incredibly sweet.
She’s driving us to the main office of Monarch Management, so I think she knows what we’re going to do.
I’m hoping, sometime very soon, we’ll be able to tell our listeners everything. Going forward, that’s what I want. No more secrets, no more pretending to be people we aren’t.