I held Eamon’s eyes. Did he know how terrifying this was? How truly horrible it felt to have to trust that the world could take something I’d made without tearing it—and therefore me—apart. Each pound of my heart was hard, threatening, but I kept going.
“Will you sing it with me, Eamon?”
HOPE IS FANTASY, OR MAYBE IT’S THE OTHER WAY AROUND
I suppose if you have to record a song in the ruins of a roofless Cistercian monastery at dusk, it’s best to do it with two actors who are used to reshooting. Again and again.
My fingers grew thick and slow on the chords. Teaching Eamon the words felt like having sex with him—at least I think so, having little experience on the subject. It was awkward and wonderful, and our harmonizing was in all the wrong places at all the wrong moments. Until it wasn’t. Until we’d figured out how to sing together without stepping on each other’s voices.
On the last take, the one that reached the very limit of my fretting strength, I ended the last chord hard and had to suck on my fingers.
Eamon took my hand and kissed each of my throbbing, swollen fingertips.
“Cut.” Shoshanna looked over the camera with the widest eyes. “If that doesn’t make you two sweethearts internet sensations, then I’ll never trust the world of prying eyes again.”
“We can’t put that mushy stuff with the song!” I said.
“Why not? You two are a real couple, aren’t you? It’s not propaganda. Don’t make me get Julian on the phone to confirm the media value here.” Shoshanna packed up her stuff. We’d lost the twilight glow some time ago and filmed by the light of iPhone flashlights. How would it look in the old stone abbey? Dumb? Magical?
We hiked to the trailers; Shoshanna was trekking fast. “We’re going to get this online ASAP. Eamon, how many followers do you have on your YouTube channel?”
“Only about thirty thousand,” he said. “I lost a fair few during the boycott.”
She frowned. “That’ll have to do.”
When we got to my trailer, Ryder sat up in bed, looking like he’d cried himself to sleep. He rubbed his eyes. “What’s going on?”
“We’re scheming.” I plunked on the edge of his bed, pulling an arm around him.
“Good schemes?”
“Great ones,” Shoshanna said, pulling out Eamon’s laptop. She wasted no time in plugging the camera into the computer. “What’s the name of this song, Iris?”
“‘The Height of the Fall,’” I said. “Or is that too cheesy?”
Eamon sat on my bed. “It’s a touch fantasy, but that is what we’re going for.”
Ryder was trying to worm his way over to Shoshanna to see what was happening. I let him go and slid next to Eamon. He put an arm around my waist and I buried my face in his neck. I thought Shoshanna was opening the file, but when I looked at the screen, she was already uploading it. “Wait! We have to watch it first.”
“No way. You’ll chicken out,” she said. “And…done.”
I shot up and started pacing. “Oh crap. Take it down. Oh my God, my dad might see it!”
Eamon grabbed my hand and pulled me to him. “It’s grand, Iris. Watch.”
Shoshanna played the video, and I watched it as though I were seeing a movie. It was intriguing. Shoshanna would make a decent director, and the stone walls helped the music sound full. Eamon’s voice was what killed me though, so sweet, and the moment he kissed my fingers…
“Should we write the lyrics in the information box?” Shoshanna asked.
“No, out of context, lyrics always look awkward,” I said. “Like poetry that’s too proud of itself.”
“Look.” Eamon pointed at the screen. “Sixty views already. That’s good.”
I yanked out my phone and dialed. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this huge.” I tapped speakerphone.
“Hey, Ire…” Julian paused. “Iss. Your name doesn’t shorten, does it?”
“Neither does mine!” Shoshanna hollered.
“Julian, we need you to repost something. Maybe send it to your famous friends too.”
• • •
When I woke up, curled against Eamon in the tiny trailer bed, I was smiling. We’d stayed up until we were delirious, cracking jokes and watching the view count on our video crawl up past one thousand and then five thousand.
My face was pressed to Eamon’s shoulder, breathing his warm, unique smell, while I dreamt about staying together. After all, our feelings were too big. Too important. I might be leaving, but we weren’t going to vanish from each other’s lives. “We’re going to make it work,” he’d murmured sleepily into my hair when we were the last to drift off.
I felt good, and I even dared to hope something could change with the movie. Perhaps I’d find our side stuck on the door like usual. I slipped out from under the covers, passing Ryder with his baby snores, and Shoshanna asleep on the couch, her curly hair like a nest for her face. I grabbed my jacket and stepped outside. After I’d closed the door, I counted to three, calling all the good energy to this place, and turned around.
No side.
I glanced at the other trailers. No sides on any of them. No lights either. I slumped on the nearest picnic table, closed my eyes, and sunk my head into my hands.
A door opened and closed, followed by Eamon’s arms wrapping around me. “You’re not regretting what we did last night, are you?” he asked in a quiet, careful voice.
“Doesn’t matter. It didn’t work. The Thornians probably hated the video.”
How could I think they’d like it? Of course they wouldn’t want me standing in for my grandma with my simple melody, asking them to support this movie. I pictured all the thumbs-downs and ugly comments, matching what they wrote on my dad’s Goodreads page. Hack. Amateur. Heartless. Guess the apple fell pretty far from the Thorne tree.
“Whatever you’re thinking right now is abuse.”
My eyes popped open, and I stared at Eamon’s rather serious face.
