They have barely enough time. Barely.
Ally gets car keys from her father and they hustle out into the parking lot. On the way, they briefly strategize what order they are going to swing by their respective homes. She checks the time and informs him his "five more minutes" likely cost them both showers. Her place is closer and, therefore, she will be changing her clothes first then taking him to his house. They'll just barely make it, so long as everything goes according to plan.
Austin does have plenty of time to realize how much shorter Ally (and Trish) are than him when he is trying to fold himself into the passenger seat.
He's scrambling to make a phone call to Jimmy and figure out where any lever might be to adjust the seat. The engine starts and she lets it idle in place while he struggles. He feels like a fully compressed accordion. Knees to the dash, practically in the glove compartment, back of the seat more vertical than the ones in the movie theater. "Why aren't you going?"
"Hey, Moon-"
"You haven't put on your seatbelt," she states. And then shoots him that same unimpressed look she gave him when she asked if he ever follows any rules.
"Fucking- man! Alright."
"Good morning to you too-"
"Sorry Jimmy," he glares at Ally while he buckles himself in. She smirks and puts the car in reverse. Her hand on the back of his seat, twisting to look over her shoulder as she does so. As if anyone is driving around at the ass-crack of dawn. "We're on our way but we gotta change clothes first."
"I have clothes for you here," Jimmy says, "Since you and Dez are roughly-"
"It's not Dez. Although, hey Ally, we'll just go to your house then. Skip mine, Jimmy says-"
"Woah! Who is this Ally?" The man sounds infuriated, "Austin Moon you have a lot of explaining to do. How old is she-"
"Ew, what do you take me for," Austin recoils. At the next light they make a left. Ally mouths, "what?" He shakes his head. Hoping he is conveying, "you don't wanna know" well enough. "I hired her to help me. We wrote another song for The Helen Show but it literally took all night."
"Austin. This better be good."
"It is," the teen assures. He knows it is, feels it. Ally gives him another questioning look at the next light and he gives her a thumbs up. She does not look any more assured than she had, but she offers him a hesitant thumbs up in return.
"I mean it."
"Okay," she keeps her voice low- almost speaking to herself- and nods, "guess we're going to mine, skipping yours. You are going to have to direct me to the studio. I have no idea where that would even be."
"Look, Jimmy, everything is going to be fine. I needed a new song and there was no way I could write, well, anything in less than twenty-four hours." Austin realizes they are coming up on some apartments he has passed a thousand times going from the mattress store to tutoring. Palmettos. Ally puts her blinker on and gets into the turn lane, slowing down to pull into the driveway. "You'll like who I hired. Real rule-follower."
"Tell him we wrote a decent song," the brunette whispers. He rolls his eyes good-naturedly.
"I swear to God." Jimmy mutters, "next time, let me vet new employees. Got it? You both better be here on time."
"Yes sir," the boy replies. He is promptly hung up on.
"Sounds like it went well," Ally notes and he has no time to determine if she is being sarcastic or not before she parks in one of the numbered spaces. She leaves the car idling and gives him one final look before running off to her apartment. "You better have Maps pulled up or know exactly where the studio is when I get back."
He scoffs but does as he's told when she isn't looking.
Dez is pretty sure this is his first time in his almost-adult life that he has been carried on someone's shoulder.
The security man at the door does not care that he is the talent's personal videographer and director. He also doesn't seem phased by the fact he let Dez in the day before and that the teen still has the visitor sticker he peeled off his shirt the night before. So they get into a discussion. A debate of sorts.
And now he is on the guy's shoulder. Slung up there like a sack of flour while the guy radios his coworkers about a "deranged redhead" trying to gain access to The Helen Show. Another security guard shows up, and Dez is sure he is going to studio jail, when he hears Austin shout. "Woah, woah, woah! He's with me!"
Not that he can see anything but Security Guy's back. The sound of his best buddy's voice is like music to his ears, though. Ally's is unexpected but not unwelcome, especially when she is arguing on his behalf. "Well then who are you," the other security guy- the smaller one- asks. Presumably the question is directed to Ally.
"She's also with me. They're, like, my team. You know? 'My people call your people,' people." Austin answers.
"Yeah, we're kinda half the reason he's even here in the first place." The brunette interjects. Presumably gesturing to the show's guest. "He has a pass and everything."
"Well if he only has one guest pass-"
The door flies open and strikes Security Guy- the big one- in the shoulder that isn't currently supporting a gangly redhead. Dez takes it as a small karmic victory. This time he can see the speaker. It's Jimmy in yet another of his dozens or hundreds of semi-casual suits with no tie that he never runs out of. He scowls disapprovingly at the display. "You three, get in here! This instant!"
And for whatever reason, by whatever power vested in the Starr name, Dez is dropped back to his feet and allowed to stagger into the building behind Austin and Ally. Jimmy is hauling the blond off by the back of his shirt and muttering. Which just leaves the remaining two to linger listlessly in the hallway. "Good seeing you again, Dez."
"Same to you, Ally. Even if it has only been... a few hours. How'd the songwriting go?"
"We'll find out," she mumbles then casts her eyes about their surroundings. "Wow. This is terrifying."
"What is?" He does the same. It's a narrow hallway and painted black, but the lights overhead are so scorchingly bright he would never call this place "dark" by any stretch of the imagination. Though it is somewhat like a cattle chute, he supposes. Not much space to hang around and dawdle.
Ally keeps looking around. "Just, this place. Everything about it is so- much. Like, claustrophobic and then at the end, what, you get shoved out on stage? Like a people chute?"
"You read my mind," Dez says, "but actually there is a little atrium thing before the stage. And there's dressing rooms and bathrooms along the way. If, uh, you needed the information."
"Good to know."
Then he shifts his focus back to her. "You changed clothes. Why?"
"Austin said to," she shrugs. Then adds, "and I figured it was best to not meet my boss's boss wearing the same clothes I put on for my other job a full day prior. Never had a job interview, but that felt like a no-brainer."
"So nepotism got you in at Sonic Boom," Dez teases.
"Oh big time," she laughs. "That and keeping my room clean was like a working interview, I guess."
"Ally! Ally," Austin comes hustling down the hall. The girl herself lets out an exhausted-sounding groan. Already his long-suffering companion and she only got hired on yesterday. "Ally! We need your help."
"We," she repeats as she and his friend exchange a glance then both look back at the soon-to-be popstar. "Who is 'we'?"
"I went to turn in the sheet music and the band-leader-guy said that the piano player was sick."
"The pianist," Ally corrects and Dez giggles despite himself. She rolls her eyes. "Come on, dude."
"Yeah, whatever." Austin waves it off, "but you-"
"No-"
"Ally," Austin insists, "you know this song better than anyone else. I can't play and perform. I've got moves!"
Dez nods, "he does. I don't think people are gonna tune in for piano choreography."
Suddenly she goes very quiet and still. Visibly conflicted as she looks between the blond and then over his shoulder. Dez thinks it is a good thing they changed and that Ally is dressed presentably for camera. The salmon-colored dress really works for her figure. Even if she minimizes that with the airy, crochet cardigan. He wonders if she had the presence of mind to accessorize the boots and belt or they just happened to match that way. Whatever the case, he reckons she looks entirely presentable for national syndication or job interview.
But she worries the callouses on her fingertips all the same.
"I have stage fright. Like, severely," Ally finally admits. "There's no way I could hold it together out there and play the song."
Austin is struck silent. Dez intervenes on his behalf. "What if they turn the cameras around and everyone goes like this," he makes a show of covering his eyes with his hands. When he lowers them, she is still staring down the people chute with palpable fear. Brown eyes wide enough to reflect the gleam of every fluorescent tube in the ceiling.
"I got an idea." Austin sprints off the way he came.
"Hey, does he- does he always have energy like that?"
"Not always. But yeah, kind of."
She nods. "I'm gonna go throw up. I think."
"Third door on your right," he calls after her. Then pauses to consider what he said. "Or fourth. One is men's one is women's."
"I bet I can guess. Thanks, Dez!"
Trish gets an emergency text from Ally.
SOS: I don't think I can work with Austin.
And she thinks, not for the first time, that she needs to teach her friend that it is okay to not use proper grammar and spelling in text messages. Then she wonders why Ally feels that way. Suddenly.Y
Because, Trish, this is way too much for me. Like, what?! Now I have to meet The Jimmy Starr of Starr Records- father of Kira Starr, might I add- and work for both of them. Austin and Jimmy, I mean.Then she follows it up with the sweating emoji.
It can't be that bad. Isn't the saying something like, "if you do something you love for a living, you'll never work a day in your life?" Still, Trish knows her bestfriend like the back of her hand. If there is one thing that white girl can do, it's catastrophize.Ally. Ur gonna b great don't freak out.
Austin is asking me to perform. He says he has an idea but he keeps running off and I don't know what he thinks is going to happen.Then, she immediately double-texts.FUCK. He AND Jimmy are calling me to go out there. How long do you think I can hide in the women's room until they send some unfortunate PA in here? Never mind. Don't answer that. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.
A minute passes. Then another. Then five.
Luckily, Trish is home and basically has the house to herself besides JJ. Though it sounds like he is in his room and beating someone in a game. He whoops and hollers like he is anyway. So the teen hustles to her living room and turns on the tv. It's been a while since she has engaged with cable and a remote- as most things worth watching are online anyway- but she scrambles to figure out how to get to the channel guide and finds The Helen Show.
Austin is on the couch. Fine as hell, again, this time in a leather jacket and checkerboard tie. She kind of hoped Ally would have some slightly more scandalous reason as to not being able to work with the guy. Just for once. Like they got up to something in the wee hours of the morning and now the "feels are too reals" or whatever. Unfortunately, that isn't true. Not the least bit.
But that would have been interesting. Way more interesting than Ally's pining over the cellphone guy throughout their freshman year.
A band has been assembled in a separate, semi-connected raised area to the side of the stage. In the center hangs some kind of purple curtain. Perhaps for a reveal or a stunt, Trish supposes. Helen is famous for luring celebrity guests into games and traps to pull benevolent little pranks on them. Great for everyone's PR. It makes the host look fun and interesting, especially in comparison to the daytime competition. The guests also appear amiable and good-natured and not at all like a pompous ass they may have been accused of being.
Even if looks are deceiving, at least be good at it. Deception is an art.
"Honestly," Austin answers, "I have to hand it to my friends for making the song happen in the first place. Desmond Wade was a genius with the direction but my songwriter, Ally Dawson, really nailed it. Couldn't do this without them."
Okay, so Pretty Boy is as bad as he initially seemed. The crowd doesn't seem too taken aback and Helen barely acknowledges the contradicting story Austin gave about writing Double Take. They simply breeze past it. He gets up and catches a wireless mic tossed to him by someone off-screen. "We promised a song and well, here it is. Break Down The Walls."
And in less than a beat, the band begins to play. At every shot of them, Trish scans the scene for Ally. She should stand out, a teenage girl in a group of adult men in suits, but she is nowhere to be seen. Then she wonders if her bestfriend managed to ditch a famous record producer until Trish realizes she is hearing a piano but not seeing one. The curtain. "Nice thinking, guys."
It's all going well. The audience cheers for an encore and the boy is absolutely eating up the attention and spotlight. With a couple bounding strides, he signals for the band to keep playing and breathlessly mashes both of his songs together on the fly. Exchanging their lyrics back and forth while he makes his way over to the curtain and clenches a fistful of the fabric in his hand. He's practically beaming.
And Trish's face falls. "Uh-oh."
Ally's look of utter shock and terror when she is revealed as "the woman behind the curtain" is second only to the face she makes when she staggers backwards into the drum set. All hell breaks loose in a hurry.
Break Down The Walls is a very aptly named song for this to be its debut.
Helen was quick to send the show to commercial but not so much to not get hit in the ankle by a rolling snare drum. Austin loses track of his songwriter just as soon as pieces of the set started flying. In Ally's defense (since he owes it to her) if it were that precarious and light, it all probably should have been bolted down. Like what one might do with a bookcase in their house. It could have happened to anyone in any number of ridiculous games on the show.
Ryan Gosling, Shawn Mendez, Kira Starr, any of them could have had the misfortune of finding out just how hollow the pillars are. Were.
Austin's perspective blurs from there. He does know that Jimmy hauls him and Ally back to the guest dressing rooms like a pair of stray kittens and leaves them there. "I'll handle it," he says. Then casts a concerned glance at the songwriter. "You... you stay with your friend."
She doesn't speak and he has no idea what to say. Besides sorry a thousand times over. "Ally?"
She shakes her head and sits on the metal folding chair in the corner. He hasn't seen her face, but he hears sniffling and is devastated. Her breathing is deep and rhythmic and moves her whole chest and shoulders. When she slumps forward, face in her hands and elbows on her knees, he's convicted. Certified Dick, harassing her into giving him two songs for the price of one and then embarrassing her like that on television for the world (via the internet in perpetuity) to see. Austin frowns. "I'm so sorry."
But again Ally shakes her head and stays seated as she is until Jimmy comes back to dismiss them. Austin shuffles behind her with her purse in his hands. Unsure if he should remind her he has it or just keep his stupid mouth shut. He intends to cross over to the driver's side when she clears her throat. "Can I have my keys?"
"Of course," he's quick to comply but adds, "I- if you aren't feeling up to it, I can drive. If you want, of course."
Her eyes glisten and her eyelashes gleam, but he doesn't see any evidence of shed tears. Red cheeks, lips slightly parting with another deep breath. "No, I got it."
"You sure?"
"Yeah." He relinquishes his hold. "I'm used to driving anyway. Especially with Trish, I'm kind of in my driver era."
Her joke is as weak as his smile in response is. Though, he does like the term she used. Not that he will bring that up. Not for a while at best. He slides into the passenger seat without as much trouble this time around and decides to be on his best behavior by immediately putting on his seatbelt. Ally leans forward and turns the AC on full. "You okay if I get some cold air?"
"Whatever you need," Austin replies earnestly. "I- I think I've fucked up enough for one day."
"Same," she nods and does the hand thing again when she backs out of the spot.
"That wasn't your fault, Ally."
The brunette shrugs dispassionately. "I could have handled that better."
"Same."
She hums pensively all the way onto the street. They don't make a turn for the direction they came from even though they have clearance from both sides of traffic. Austin is hesitant to argue or make the situation worse, but he isn't sure why she did that. If she remembers where they came from.
"Are you hungry," Ally asks, "I am, so I bet you are."
"I could always eat."
"You good with a drive-thru? I don't think I can handle looking at people-"
He agrees with a nod. "Sounds good. I'm not picky, anything works for me."
She huffs the smallest of laughs. Mostly a heavy exhale through barely upturned lips. "You're not picky all of a sudden?"
"Not the pickles and hummus conversation again." But she smiles and he relaxes with her.
"What about Cuban food?"
"Is there a drive-thru for Cuban food," Austin asks. "I'm not really familiar with it."
"It's good. Just get rice and beans or tostones or a medianoche," her stomach growls, "man I'm starving. Post-terror adrenaline dump does that to a person, huh?"
The blond frowns again. Despite her second attempt at a joke, he is having trouble "yes, and-ing" with her. He gets the sense she is trying to move past it all as quickly as possible, but Austin is on the internet. No one will let her forget for a long time. They'll still remember by the start of the school year. "Ally."
But she pulls into a parking lot he has never been to and to a very colorful little building he has never seen. "Most of the menu is in Spanish."
Austin winces. Again regretting how bad he is in the subject. "Uh..."
"I'll order for us." She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "But you need to get on that. Trish speaks it at interesting intervals and you should learn enough to at least know if you're in trouble."
"I'll keep that in mind." He shifts in his seat to get his wallet. "If you fly, I buy."
"Aren't we both-" a voice crackles over the speaker and redirects Ally's attention. She doesn't fight him when he passes his card by her to the person at the first window. It isn't until they are waiting at the second she asks, "why did you do that?"
"Seemed like the right thing to do, after fucking up. Food is always a good peace offering."
Silence descends between them. Thick and pervasive as the aroma coming from the bags they are given before driving off. Austin decides to hold off on eating while they drive to... wherever they are going. His stomach growls to match hers. "To be fair, I didn't say how bad my stage fright was. A part of me forgot it was that bad. Like, diagnosable-level."
"I shouldn't have pushed." He realizes they are just about at Palmettos again. "You 'three chords and the truth-ed'" me and I didn't listen."
She sighs. "Let's say we eat, wash this day off us, and move on."
Now he attempts a joke. "Miss Dawson, I think you have this backwards because you are supposed to buy me dinner first before-"
"Separately, Moon." She swats his arm and he laughs.
"Oh, sure."
"Austin!"
Ally is nervous to have a guest over.
There are many reasons. Her mind reels at all of them, sorting them into a neatly numbered list in order of significance. First and foremost being that this guy is a stranger. Yes, Austin Moon is a (relatively) famous local, but she knows that means next to nothing. You never truly know a person until you know them. That goes double on social media where people are encouraged to project the best versions of themselves to an audience. Even outright lies, if necessary.
For all she knows, he's hiding a butcher knife in his jacket.
On another note, she isn't used to having company. Besides Trish and a very limited number of classmates, she doesn't invite anyone over. Trish is the only guest who comes over just to hang out while the others were all to work on projects at the kitchen table. Ally isn't stupid. She saw Austin's living situation and can't help but be immediately aware of hers in contrast. Not insecure- because it is what it is- but aware.
And anxious.
The fact that he's a boy ranks relatively low on her concerns. Perhaps if they went to his house instead, she would feel differently, but her concern is more in the fact he is a stranger. However going to his house with Trish wasn't quite so nerve-wracking. Even if they were breaking the law. She almost feels guilty for not feeling scandalized by leading a guy down the walkway to her apartment where the door is under a shadowy stairwell. Ally attempts to make casual conversation to try and mask her trepidation. Before she lets him in. "So, how come I've never seen you around? Didn't you go to Marino at some point?"
"Well," he gives it some thought. He is carrying both bags of food. "I don't know. Maybe we weren't in the same social circles or whatever, but I always thought I knew everyone when I went to public school."
The front door opens with a cracking sound of the seal disengaging from the doorjamb. "What about your homeschool-thing?"
"The opposite. I meet some new kid there all the time that has been in my same program as long or longer than me."
She nods her head in a gesture for him to enter first so she can lock the door behind them and set the keys down.
The entryway into the apartment is narrow. Almost more tight than the hallway with barely enough room to allow anyone to slide past another person. Even less if one is carrying precious cargo such as plantains. Austin has the good sense to fully step into the living room and out of her way. He toes his shoes off and leaves them against the wall near Dad's nice shoes and her own running ones.
It isn't a lot, but it isn't bad. Ally thinks it is perfectly adequate for two people to live and function in. The living room is the first room beyond the entry wall. Small and boxy with white walls and white-ish carpet flooring. Both of which continue down the hall to the right. To the left is a small, open kitchen with dark cabinets and faux quartz countertops. The smell of coffee lingers. She wonders if Dad left some and if she ought to offer it to her guest.
She follows suit and tries not to stress too much about the way his head keeps swiveling around to take in the space. "Kitchen's this way."
It's dim and a little dark around the edges. Directly across from the front door are sliding glass doors that lead out into a shared patio and lawn space. The long column blinds over it and the window next to it are drawn shut leaving the room in relative darkness. The kitchen window is much the same. Ally contemplates turning on lights as they go but decides against it. She has had enough of bright lights for one day, she thinks.
The digital display on the stove indicates the time. Not yet noon.
"I'm beat," Austin says while unwrapping his Cuban sandwich. They'll split the rice and bean bowl and tostones. "That's the thing about performing, you lose an entire day."
She got the medianoche. Just in case they ended up eating in the parking lot or something on the way back. She isn't even sure why she didn't drop him off at his house other than pure fatigue. "Well, you could take a nap and then have the rest of your day be productive."
"Now you sound like my parents. And Dez, sometimes," he teases.
"Sounds like you need the good influences, Moon."
"Maybe you need a bad one, Dawson."
She chuckles and scoops some more rice onto her wax paper. "That's what Trish is for. So, I take it you prefer night shows?"
"It's all the same. Say I have to be ready and on stage by six, I have to be at the venue at, like, two in the afternoon. And I eat lightly- or not at all- the whole day because I'm all wired." He gestures to the sandwich he is wolfing down, "this is really good. Great post-show food."
"For real. Nothing on the de la Rosa's though. If you ever get invited to Trish's place for anything food-related, go. Her dad is a killer cook." Ally skewers some more plantains on her fork. "Are you okay with waiting whileI take a nap. There's no way I can drive-"
He frowns around a mouthful of rice then swallows heavily such that she is reminded of the corndog incident. "I don't want to impose. Dez is probably able to pick me up."
She shrugs, "no trouble at all. I just super want to wash this day off me and change into some comfy clothes now that I'm off."
"That sounds good." Austin agrees and then chews slowly- for the first time since they started eating, Ally notes. Quietly examining her face from across the table. She raises an eyebrow at him. "I don't think my parents know where I am."
"Huh? You've been gone since yesterday!"
He tugs his phone out of his pocket. "They know I'm doing stuff for Jimmy and they probably got the alert about The Helen Show. It's like, the law or something about minors."
Ally winces. Maybe he should go home as soon as possible. She would be one dead girl if she vanished on her father for even half the time this boy has on his parents.
"They might think I'm at Dez's. Or the beach. Certainly not following a stranger into her apartment because she offered me food." Austin tosses his phone onto the tabletop and rubs his tired eyes.
"Well, that's good. At least they trust you wouldn't be that easy to abduct," she scoffs and grabs a loose plantain slice to throw at him, "also, don't say it like that."
"Hey! Like what?"
"Like I'm some creep who snatched you off the street like a child," she says.
But he picks the slice off his jacket and popping it in his mouth with self-satisfied grin. "That's what you get for calling me a flasher."
"Well, you did stalk me at my place of work."
"And you showed up to my house."
"Touché."
When they finish up their brunch- of sorts- Austin is slumped forward on his chair. Arms crossed on the tabletop, chin resting on them and eyes closed. "A nap is such a good idea, but so is a shower. What's your address so I can send it to Dez?"
Ally gives it and watches him for a minute to see that he neither moves nor opens his eyes. "Austin."
"Allison."
"Don't full name me," she yawns and walks to the couch. "stalker. Text Dez."
He groans. "I don't wanna, creep."
"If you go home, you could probably lay on the floor of your shower and kill to birds with one stone." She throws herself across the cushions, stretching out so her legs are on one armrest but her head isn't on the other. She discovered that sleeping with her head and neck elevated to that degree was a good way to wake up sore and stiff. "Assuming you don't drown."
"Ha," he grumbles, "joke's on you, I don't have a tub it's like a- a flat thing. A pan or something."
"Perfect." Ally yawns and closes her eyes. "Then you'll survive."
She is half dozing when she hears him again. "Ally?"
"Oh my God, dude," through one opened eye she sees him standing at her feet. "What? Bathroom's the first door on the left. It's the only one, can't miss it."
"Ally, Dez won't be here for like a half hour. What am I going to do to pass the time?"
The brunette rolls her eyes before closing them again. For good measure, she throws her arm over them to extra block the blond out. "I'm sure you can figure that out."
"I'm sure you can figure that out," he repeats, petulantly, then sighs. "Fine."
"Oh, and Austin."
He hums in acknowledgement.
"Thanks for at least trying to share the spotlight with me. Even if it went badly."
"Thanks for helping me get it in the first place."
Again Ally is almost asleep when he speaks back up. "Are we friends now?"
"Dude, I'll be your bestest friend if you would just please, please go to sleep."
He giggles. "Alright. Good night, Ally."
"Good night, Moon."
"That was a low blow."
She smiles.