Backstage Girl

04 | staccato heart

Ella spent most of the plane ride embarrassing Louise.

She couldn't help it, though; she was fascinated by everything inside of a private jet. She made a fuss over the sleek leather seats, and then over all the tiny soaps and hand cloths in the washroom. She was just praising the secret stash of Belgian chocolate bars when Louise sat up straighter.

"Oh, good," she said, sounding relieved. "We're here."

Ella craned her neck, looking out the window. Los Angeles was a patchwork of glittering glass towers and long sweeps of beaches, curling around the blue water like Rapunzel's golden locks. She could see a smattering of palm trees and her heart soared.

"It's so pretty," she murmured.

Louise cracked a smile. "How much do you want to party on the beach tonight?"

"We're not legal here, remember?"

Louise put on a terrible American accent, pumping her fist. "That's what fakes are for, be-otch!"

"You know what, Lou?" Ella shook her head. "I'm happy you were born English."

They disembarked the plane. Ella picked out four people waiting for them: Rory, Max, their bandmate Theo, and their long-suffering manager, Margaux. Her eyes caught Max's, and she felt her heart do a stupid swoop.

No, Ella told herself.

Bad.

"Ella!"

A moment later, Rory had rocketed across the tarmac, lifting her up into a crushing hug. She could hear Margaux protesting as he started on Louise next, squeezing her so hard that he knocked her sunglasses off.

"Rory!" Louise squealed, batting at his shoulder. "Those were expensive!"

"I'll buy you new ones."

"Vintage Chanel?" Louise scoffed. "Doubtful."

Theo reached them next. Ella hadn't seen him in years, but he had somehow become even more handsome; his broad shoulders had filled out, and his acne cleared up, leaving his dark skin smooth. Plus, Theo had finally ditched those terrible red glasses that he once thought were trendy.

Thank God.

"Well, well." Theo grinned at Louise. "Here comes trouble."

"Oh, shut-up, Theo." Louise smacked his shoulder, but she looked pleased. "You've gotten taller."

"And you've gotten shorter," Theo said.

"Don't start with me."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Theo held up his hands. "Hey, Ells." And then, cheekily, "You're looking tall. Did you grow?"

Ella grinned. "You have a death wish, Theo Johnson."

And then Max joined them, and Ella forgot how to breathe.

He was dressed in a forest green jacket — the same color as his eyes — and his cheeks were bright red with cold. His dark curls were being tossed around in a way that should make him look like an idiot, but rather unfairly made him look like a hero straight out of one of those romantic novels that Ophelia was always reading.

Ella's stupid, staccato heart skipped three beats.

"Hi, Angel." Max kissed her cheek. "Good flight, then?"

"The best." By some miracle, Ella managed a normal smile. "Do you know private jets have chocolate bars?"

"I'm sure you sampled one."