I gaped. They came here? Looking for me? What did that mean?
Demi continued. “I told them you were on your way to New York, which I see now wasn’t the case, but that’s where they’re headed. Looking for you.”
“Looking for me?” I repeated, shocked. “I have to go to them. I have to hurry. Thank you, Demi! Oh . . .” I tried to hand her back the boot, but she shook her head, still smiling.
“Keep it,” she said. “Reunite it with its mate, and then come back here and tell me the whole story.”
“I will,” I promised. I took off again, heading back to the Greyhound station. When I was finally tucked safely away on a bus, I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders, and I gave a little sigh of relief as the bus pulled out of the station, taking me closer to New York, the Prince Charmings, and a very uncertain future.
Luckily, I had spent hours poring over the Sinful Sisters’ tour plans before we left, and I had every stop memorized. It didn’t take long to track down the venue where we were booked to play that night and I arrived with minutes to spare, sweaty, breathing hard, still covered in ash and grime. I pushed my way backstage, not stopping until I found the green room.
I took a deep breath before I opened the door, bracing myself for the chilly reception I was sure I was about to receive. After all, these were the girls who had abandoned me in DC to pursue their own rockstar dreams. I pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Susanna and Liz paused mid-conversation as I entered, staring at me. “Ella!” Susanna cried finally. “What happened to you?”
“It’s a long story,” I said. “Where’s Martine? I need to speak to her.”
Susanna and Liz exchanged looks. “She’s gone,” Liz said finally.
“Gone?” I echoed. “What do you mean, gone?”
A dark cloud passed over Susanna’s face. “She means she took off in our van with all our money the second we got to New York,” she said.
“No!” I gasped, but Liz nodded, miserable.
“She said without you, we were worse than useless, and she wasn’t going to stick around to go down with us,” she said.
I shook my head, shocked. “That’s horrible.” Susanna cleared her throat.
“No worse than what we did to you,” she said, her eyes fixed on the floor before my feet. “I wanted to say . . . I’m sorry, Ella. We should never have done that to you.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” I said, remembering the fear that had clenched at my heart—not to mention the betrayal—when I realized that I was alone and penniless, abandoned by my band.
Susanna swallowed hard. “I hope . . . you can forgive me,” she said. “I know I’ve been awful to you. The truth is . . . I was jealous.” She said the last part in a rush, like she was spitting it out, getting it over with, and I nearly laughed. Did she really think I didn’t know she was jealous of me? It practically radiated out of her.
“I’m sorry, too,” Liz piped up. She glanced at Susanna. “We haven’t been very good bandmates to you.”
Susanna shook her head. “She’s right.” She swallowed again. “But we need you. Martine was right. She’s a thieving bitch, but she’s right: the Sinful Sisters are nothing without you.”
I blinked back sudden tears. “Thanks,” I said, surprise and relief mingling in me. “It means a lot to hear you say that.”
Susanna looked suddenly bashful. “So . . . you’ll play with us again?” she asked hopefully. “Tonight?”
“We bombed last night,” Liz supplied. “Susanna couldn’t hit any of the high notes.”
Susanna gave her sister an evil look, but didn’t contradict her.
Briefly, I considered. Susanna and Liz had treated me abysmally, even before they abandoned me in DC. But I knew how much it took for Susanna to apologize, to admit that they needed me. Maybe . . . they could change. Maybe we could be a real band, one who loved and supported each other, like the Prince Charmings.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do it.”
Slowly, a smile crept over Susanna’s face, and Liz cheered. “You mean it?” Susanna asked. “Really?”
I nodded. “Really.”
“Thank God,” Susanna said. Her nose wrinkled a little as she looked me over. “We’d better get you cleaned up and changed, though. You look terrible.”
I looked down at myself. She was right. I was wearing a hoodie and an old, ripped pair of sweatpants that Valentina had lent me that morning, and my clothes and skin were nearly black with soot.
“You’ve got a little time,” Liz said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “The Shouting Goblins are about to go up now.”
My heart froze in my chest. “The what?” I asked.
Susanna rolled her eyes. “I know, isn’t it terrible? That’s the name of the opening band. Ella? Where are you going?”