“What is happening?” I ask.
Our lead single charting well could be attributed to the scandal. But this, having two songs, one that hasn’t got any radio play and one that’s two years old, in the top ten? It’s something else entirely. I do a keyword search.
Zuben.
Zuben’s song.
Zach’s song for Ruben.
Then I figure it out.
“People must think I wrote ‘End of Everything’ about you,” I say, the realization dawning on me. “They’re buying it to show support.”
“Oh my god. You’re right.”
“But I didn’t even write it.”
“Your name is on the credits, so I guess that’s all they need to hear.” He laughs wryly. “You’re not done, by the way.”
I scroll down.
At number twenty-one is “Unsaid.”
And then coming in at thirty-three is “His, Yours, Ours.”
“Signature” is at number fifty-eight, higher than it’s ever reached.
We have six songs charting right now. Our fans are dedicated and hardworking, but they’ve never done anything like this. This is undeniable. Huge numbers of people are showing up for Ruben and me as a couple.
Ruben’s phone screen changes. It’s a call from his mom.
His expression shifts, dimming just a little. I already know it, and I know this isn’t going to be good enough for her, for some reason, because even when Ruben does something completely extraordinary, like getting six songs to chart, it’s somehow still not good enough. He goes to answer it.
“Don’t,” I say.
We’ve spent a lot of the past week talking about setting up a healthier boundary between him and his mom. I know it’ll be a long process, but we’ve got to start somewhere. Hopefully I can help him with it like he has helped me with my assertiveness.
He glances at me, like: I wish, and he swipes to accept it, putting her on speaker.
“Ruben,” she says. “I take it you’ve seen the Hot One Hundred?”
“Hey, Mom, Zach’s here.”
“Oh hi, Zach. I take it you’ve seen the chart?”
“I have.”
I mouth the words hang up to Ruben.
“‘End of Everything’ is overperforming, which is good. I just wish it were a better song, Ruben, we really should’ve ironed out the flat you hit on the bridge…”
Ruben swipes across, ending the call.
“Oh god,” he says, tossing away the phone as if it burned him. “Oh fuck.”
“Hey,” I say, laughing. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not, she’s going to kill me.”
“She was ruining it. You did great, Ruben. Full stop.”
“You know I’m going to have to call her back, right?”
“Yeah.” I lean closer, and start kissing his neck. “It can wait, though, right?”
His eyelid flutter closed, and he moans softly.
“She’s going to be so mad at me.”
I grin. “Probably.”
He starts blushing, and it drives me wild. I start kissing down his chest, each kiss going lower. He brings a hand up, running it through his hair, and closes his eyes. He’s turned on, and it’s making me want to tear off his boxers.
“And she … oh fuck, who cares. Don’t stop.”
“There we go.”
I kiss back up, until my lips meet his.
A little while later, we’re in the shower. He has his back to me, and I’m using the new loofah he got to wash his back.
“What do you think this means?” I ask.
He looks back at me. “In what way?”
“Well, our numbers must be incredible to chart without much radio support.”
“Yeah. It’s all streaming and pure sales. Our fans are the best.”
“Plus ‘Overdrive’ is still number one. So Geoff’s big worry about us coming out hurting our numbers is certifiable bullshit, and we can prove it. It puts us in a pretty strong position.”
He turns around. “What are you saying?”
“I just think, maybe this could be good, if we ever want to make more music as Saturday.”
We know from the meetings our parents have held that we don’t really have an option of getting rid of Chorus until our contract is done, and no management company will take us on when Chorus still gets paid. But given our earnings at the moment, maybe, if nothing else, it’ll give Chorus an extra incentive to keep pushing us. After all, the more money we make, the more money they make. Even if they despise us right now.