Well, that would be a categorically shitty thing for Imani to read if she was with Jon. Which I’m damn sure she isn’t, given Jon’s brought her up exactly zero times in the last few months.
Next are a few photos of Angel and various girls. One is Rosie, a girl he dated for a month or two when he was sixteen—they’ve stolen a nauseatingly cute couple photo from her Instagram, which isn’t creepy at all—one is a girl I don’t recognize, and one is a blurry shot of Angel and Lina on the street during our confrontation in Berlin.
Sources tell us that Angel and Lina Weber have been inseparable for the last month, and that he’s flying across Europe for the second half of Saturday’s Months by Years tour! Could this be an endgame couple? Time will tell. But we sure haven’t seen Angel give heart eyes this obvious to anyone before! Sorry, ladies. He’s taken!
Those weren’t heart eyes, they were the over-dilated eyes of someone high, panicky, and paranoid. An easy mistake to make by all measures.
Next is a photo of Zach, out to lunch with—
“That’s my cousin,” he cries, aghast. “What the fuck?”
“Cousin, ‘mystery girl,’ potato, potahto, I guess,” I say, curling my lip.
“Which ‘sources’ say they saw us on a whirlwind date on a horse-drawn carriage?” Zach demands. “We caught up for lunch so she could show me her ultrasound photos. Because she’s pregnant. With her boyfriend’s baby.”
I’m too busy scrolling down to my section to reply, a brick sitting in the pit of my stomach. Yup, I’d thought as much—me and all my “girlfriends.” There’s a photo of Amaya, the girl who played Mimi alongside me as Roger in Rent a year before Saturday was formed. Me and Molly, a girl I’d been friends with at Camp Hollow Rock, who I’ve more or less fallen out of touch with. Me getting my hair “lovingly pushed back” by goddamn Penny, Penny, because apparently whoever wrote this article either didn’t bother to research who our hair and makeup artist is, or they simply didn’t care.
Angel rejoins us, buzzing with renewed energy. He has a bounce to his step and he’s running his tongue over his teeth. His eyeliner is already smudged. “Whatcha doin’ over here?” he asks, sitting on the back of my seat and reaching for Jon’s phone.
“Just reading an article about every girl we’ve ever been in the same room with and why that means we’re dating them,” I say.
Angel flicks through the article. “Oh man. Oh man. I—well, you know what, at least they’re fucking acknowledging I’m fuckable,” he says loudly. Then he throws his arms back to address the room. “Breaking news! Chorus realizes it’s actually possible for someone to find Angel attractive! Call the press, this changes everything!”
A few of our team members, including Erin, glance our way, but no one replies or approaches us.
Zach hums. “So, you think the source is David, too, huh? I wondered if it was just me.”
Angel laughs at top-volume, and for several beats too long. It sounds more like a villain’s cackle. “No, Zachy, not just you. If this isn’t David’s doing I’ll jump off the stage and surf the fucking crowd tonight. This is real obvious. Zach and Ruben are super super no-homo, just super straight, everyone.”
“And I’m probably available, with just enough of a question in there to make me seem more appealing,” Jon says dully.
“And I’m also definitely straight, but not the one the fans should be dreaming of,” Angel adds, a vicious edge to his tone.
“So, there’s no reason to even think about shipping anyone with anyone,” I finish, and Angel claps me on the shoulder in approval.
“David sent in a photo of me with my pregnant cousin,” Zach says, indignant, and Angel howls with laughter until he falls right off the chair.
Jon helps Angel to his feet, and I stand to meet him. “Hey, you okay?” I ask.
Angel claps his hands. “Absotively fantastic. I am so, so ready. Let’s fucking go, let’s get onstage, I’m pumped!”
He’s jumping on the spot now.
Not one member of our team seems to mind. They’ve got to have noticed; it’s impossible for them to have missed it. But if they don’t mind, what can be done? It’s not like Angel listens to us.
I hand Angel a bottle of water and force a smile. “Okay. Well. As long as you’re okay, I guess.”
His face clouds and he rips the lid off the bottle with his teeth. “I’m fine, Ruben. Don’t ruin it.”