Violetta (Violet) Jackson has big dreams. None of which happen to include sitting in detention for a week straight for a lab disaster that wasn't even her fault. That's all thanks to Will Hawthorne, his friends (one of whom she unfortunately used to...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
When I retrieved my bike from the rack for the first time in days, I almost thought I'd forgotten how to ride it.
It took me three tries to mount it without losing my balance, and when I finally managed to get myself on the seat and my feet on the pedals and push forward, I almost skidded and tumbled to the pavement.
That's what I get for not biking for a week.
Still, as I grit my teeth and pump harder on the pedals, leaving the parking lot and heading out onto the street. I know the way by heart, as I always have. Down the street, across the bridge, through several dirt paths that cut across the neighborhoods. I let my feet do the work in taking me where I need to go, and within twenty minutes, I pulled up at a small house at the end of a street, the front yard looking overgrown and a bit forlorn. I passed by a familiar 2005 Honda Accord as I walked up the driveway, I leaned my bike by the side of the house as I knocked on the front door, not letting myself hesitate.
Danny seemed to take a moment to realize who I was, moving his long, curly brown hair out of his eyes so he could see me more clearly, his eyes widening as he took me in. I speak before he has a chance to first.
"Can we talk?"
I know my words are too little, too late. If this had been several days earlier, I know he would have immediately agreed. Now, though, enough time has passed for the conversation to feel expired; overdue; and too late to fix much of anything.
But Danny just nodded, opening the door wider for me to step in, and I follow him into the living room. It's a bare space save for the white couch, brown armchair, wooden table, a fake plant in the corner, and a TV on the wall in front. Danny's roommate is nowhere to be seen, and I felt a small sense of relief in that; I didn't want our conversation to be overheard by virtually a stranger.
We both settled on the couch, the silence punctuating the air before I spoke again.
"I know that I owe you — and Olivia and Ryder — an explanation. I know that I owe you guys an apology." I took in another shaky breath. "And the truth is-"
"Don't talk to me like a band member," Danny interrupted, and I gave him a quizzical look. "Violet, you've been MIA for a week now. Whatever happens with ECHO happens. But that aside, don't talk to me as another band member. Talk to me as a friend." His eyes gaze into mine. "A friend who was so worried about what happened to you that they called you sister every day just to make sure you were alive."
His words still me, and I'm left staring at him. Understanding flooded through me. Talk to me as a friend. Of course. I had been so worried about what Danny would say to me when he opened that door, about the questions he would ask about the battle of the bands withdrawal, about how I completely ditched our rehearsals and disappeared from the band group chat altogether that I hadn't even stopped to consider the other side of things.
Not only that, I had been so caught up in losing Jackie and — as much as I hated to admit it, feeling like I had lost Will — that I felt I had no one left to turn to.
