“Do you miss him?” Mike asks, and I answer without needing to think about it.
“Every day.” My eyes close, and I add, “He’s the main reason I didn’t move away a lot sooner.”
I’ve always loved the idea of going to Mayfield University, since they offer a very hands-on pre-veterinary program and have an extremely well-known veterinary school, but the truth is, I could have gone to a cheaper school—one that federal loans and state grants would have actually covered—and gotten a degree in animal science much earlier. But even the more affordable schools would have been a few hours from home, and applying to them felt like abandoning my little brother, so I never did. Instead, I worked part-time at random jobs, worked part-time around the farm, took part-time general education classes at the local community college, and hung out with my little brother as often as I could. I probably should have been saving my wages to put toward tuition at Mayfield U someday, but instead, I paid off as many student loans as I could and spent the rest on things like making sure Luke got to eat popcorn at the movie theater and always got more Christmas presents than I did growing up.
“What made you move to Mayfield?” Mike asks, and I shy from the answer. I don’t want him to think of me as a charity case, even if that’s exactly what I am. When Danica’s dad offered to pay for my tuition, my books, and all of my living expenses until graduation . . . I knew I couldn’t turn the offer down. It was too good to refuse.
“Luke’s older now,” I answer simply, reopening my eyes. “And Mayfield is my ticket away from the farm.”
“You don’t like living on a farm?”
“It’s complicated.” I stare at a picture of my family on my desk—my dad and his battered relic of a baseball hat, my mom and her mother hen smile, my brother and his farmer tan, and me, looking like I belong there with cornstalks dying in the background.
“I love my family,” I tell Mike. “I love the animals . . . I love most of what growing up there was like. But . . . I don’t know.” Mike waits in patient silence, and I peel my cheek away from my knees, leaning back in my chair. “I’ve always wanted to make a life, not just inherit one.”
Mike is silent for a while, and I wonder, “Does that make sense?”
“A lot of sense,” he answers, and I relax into my chair.
“Sometimes it makes me feel like a traitor.”
“It shouldn’t,” he assures me. “You should never feel bad for going after what makes you happy.”
“What makes you happy?” I ask, even though I know I shouldn’t. Danica doesn’t know about these late-night games or these late-night chats, and something tells me she wouldn’t like me asking her boyfriend what makes him happy.
“Little things,” Mike answers after a while. “Hearing the crowd sing our songs. Writing new beats with the guys. Eating a good pizza. Playing games with you.”
I swallow, and he rushes to add, “And Luke.”
“Right. Luke.”
“Luke is great.”
“Luke is awesome.”
“He’s practically my best friend.”
I chuckle and walk to my bed, crawling under the covers. “Are you touring in Indiana any time soon?”
“No. Why?”
“I bet he’d love to see you play.”
“That would be cool . . . But we’re actually flying overseas soon. We’re doing a six-week international tour.”
“Where?”
“Asia. Australia. We even have a show or two in Europe, I think.”
“Really?” I ask in disbelief as I roll onto my side and nestle the phone against my ear.
“Yeah. It’s crazy. Our record label had another big band signed up for the tour, but the band broke up, and since the dates were already booked, they asked us to headline it instead. It’s pretty last minute, but—”
“That’s amazing,” I interrupt, and Mike lets out a breath.
“It’s nuts. We’re shooting a big music video in two and a half weeks, and then we’re leaving for Singapore the very next day.”
There’s a long moment of silence, and Mike eventually asks, “You still there?”
“I feel like I should get your autograph or something.”
He laughs, and I smile against the phone. “Yeah, you should probably get a picture with me before I leave.”
I like that idea, but I don’t dare say so. “What’s Danica think of all this?” I ask, wondering why she hasn’t mentioned it. It’s not like we talk much, but I figure this is something she’d want to spend an entire year bragging about.
“She’s excited,” Mike says, but I get the feeling he’s leaving something out.
“That’s good . . .”
“Really excited.”
“Yeah. Just imagine all the cool places you’re going to get to see and—”
“She can’t stop talking about how much money we’re going to make.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
I roll onto my back and study the glowing stars on my ceiling. Part of me—the part that laughed with Mike on his tour bus and has spent the past few nights getting familiar with the sound of his voice—wants to tell him that he’s too good for my cousin, that he should find someone who deserves him. But the other part—the logical part that knows he’s a grown man who can make his own choices, and that maybe he sees a side of Danica I don’t—knows better than to get involved.