Free Collaboration by Michelle Lynn, Nevaeh Lee Page B

resting in numerous ornate pots. The hostess leads me across a makeshift bridge which traverses a pond filled with colorful koi fish, and as requested, seats me in a partitioned-off corner. Gina and I couldn’t be more opposite when it comes to fame. I run from it, whereas she relishes the constant attention, always ready and willing to put on a show.
    But even though I tend to prefer locations that are off the beaten path, I’ll admit I’ve wanted to try this place—the dishes are supposed to be to die for. While I wait for Gina, who has never been on time a day in her life, I order my drink and thumb through my phone. Announcements about Trace’s tour are posted on every site and I contemplate whether or not I should wish him luck. Would he think it’s stupid if I text him? It’s not like we’re friends. But we are recording together and he had no issue texting me when he felt like it. Not that he’s texted me since then, so even if I do, I doubt he will even know it’s from me.
    Figuring what the hell, my fingers type the message, and before I can second-guess myself, I quickly press send.
    Hey, I just wanted to say good luck tomorrow night.
    That was casual, right? I tap my foot and reread what I wrote him, again and again. When my phone vibrates, I practically jump out of my seat in surprise before quickly scanning what he wrote.
    Thanks, Peaches, we’re waiting to take off. The concert I can deal with, but planes suck, ya know?
    The smile on my face must resemble a teenage girl who was just asked out by her secret crush. The fact that Trace knew it was me immediately means he must have programmed my number into his phone. I’m about to respond when I suddenly feel someone breathing down the back of my neck. I whirl around to find Gina smirking down at me.
    “What the hell are you smiling about?” she asks. I hop up, give Regina a hug, and then drop my phone in my purse, hoping she didn’t see who messaged me—she’d have a field day with that.
    “Um, nothing. Just checking some emails.” I’ve never been a good liar and the look on Gina’s face suggests that I haven’t improved much.
    “Okay, you just stick to that story then,” she smirks at me, but thankfully drops it, opening her menu instead.
    After we order our food, Gina informs me that she found out today her tour has been postponed and she’s going to use the time to concentrate on writing songs for a new album. I envy her for having the time to do what I love most. As she begins to tell me about some NFL player she’s dating, I hear the unmistakable sound of my phone on vibrate, alerting me to a text. Crap, I forgot to respond to Trace!
    Not wanting to answer with Gina sitting there, I plan on ignoring it but she pulls her own phone out and her fingers are already flying across the screen when she says, “You take care of that. I have some e-mails I need to address too.” Disregarding the implication behind her emphasis of the word ‘e-mails,’ I open up my messages to find another one from Trace.
    I see how it is…too busy for me now? ;)
    I know he’s joking but I don’t want him to think I’m ignoring him so I answer without hesitation.
    Sorry about that. Out with someone and didn’t want to be rude. In answer to your question, I don’t mind planes but feel the same way before concerts…
    There’s a pause and the waiter is dropping off our food when the next text comes in.
    At the honky-tonk with guitar boy?
    I don’t know whether to be offended by his assumption that I would even be at a honky-tonk, or flattered that he is somehow threatened by Ryder, of all people. Which reminds me, what was with that pissing contest earlier between the two of them anyway?
    Before I can fire off a Regina-style retort—who, by the way, is still feverishly texting someone while impressively managing a set of chopsticks—another text appears.
    Kidding, girl. You enjoy yourself…we’re headed out. And when we perform together, I’ll