We arrive at the studio twenty minutes after the rest of our group, having stopped along the way to pick up coffee. As we throw away our trash in the bin near the receptionist desk, Everleigh walks through the door drenched in the golden glow of a warm midday Los Angeles sun and wearing a flight attendant uniform.

        "Everleigh! Hi! Perfect timing." Seira nods to the receptionist to let her know she's with us. "Everleigh, this is Seira. This is Mav's friend I was telling you about."

        "And the Scream fanatic," Seira comments, having endured listening to Jun and I laugh at the campy horror movie. "Nice to meet you. Sorry I missed you in Vegas."

        "Nice to meet you, too!" Everleigh replies with a smile. "There was a lot happening in Vegas, don't sweat it. Sorry if I'm late. We had a delay."

        "The least surprising part of this is that you got here before Mav and he was already in Los Angeles."

        "Seriously?" Everleigh looks down at her uniform—a navy blue pencil skirt and blazer complete with a white embroidered pair of wings on the breast pocket. "You mean I had time to change?"

        Even slightly flustered, she looks beautiful enough to grace the cover of a magazine.

        I point at the door on the left. "Bathroom right there. We can wait for you!"

        "I love you," she sighs. "Thank you."

        Seira and I make small talk while Everleigh is in the bathroom. It's warm in the building so I shrug off my coat as Everleigh reemerges looking ten times more comfortable than she was before.

        "I'm so sorry, I haven't been home since Christmas so—" She pauses mid-sentence, eyes trained down at my chest which is clothed by a sweatshirt Jenny ordered me that says 'there's some ho's in this house' above a cartoon Santa. "Never mind, we're good."

        Seira smacks herself in the forehead at noticing our identical shirts. "Not you too."

        Giggles burst out of me. "Twins!"

        Looking at Seira, Everleigh says, "I'd say this isn't usually how I make first impressions, but it seems to be the only impression I make on members of your band and groupies alike. So sorry."

        I wave her off. "Don't worry, we love it."

        "But do we?" Seira questions.

        "Yes. We do."

I glance down at my phone to check the time. "I'd say we could wait down here for Mav but I'm sure he'll be a while so we can head up."

        Everleigh pulls out her phone. "Five bucks says he shows up in the next twenty seconds claiming he's slept in."

        Betting against Maverick showing up on time is easy money. "Okay, fine."

        She pulls up the timer on her phone and when it reaches nineteen seconds, Maverick rushes through the door dressed in sweatpants and a pajama shirt. Most notabe are his shoes: one is a tennis shoe, the other a Converse.

        "You little bitch." I glare.

        He stares back, blank and confused.

        I pull out my wallet and hand Everleigh a five-dollar bill.

        "Did you bet against me?" he cries.

        "Technically speaking, this time I bet for you." Everleigh pockets the cash.

        I roll my eyes. "Don't act like it's weird to bet against you showing up on time."

        "I slept in," he says as if that clears everything right up. Problem solved, Kingston Maverick is absolved of all fault.

        "That was actually part of the reason I won. Thank you, Kingston."

        Maverick looks ready to walk right out of the door. "Can we go up, please?"

        I turn on my heel and make my way toward the elevator, tossing a casual wave over my shoulder to the receptionist. "I'm getting you back for this."

        When we arrive at the studio, Rami is sitting at the computer next to the soundboard while the other two lounge around—Jun with his Capri Sun pouch and Lauren stretched out along one of the two couches in the room.

        "Hi, besties." I wave.

        Jun peeks over his shoulder. "Oh, hey, Mav is here."

        The guest in question frowns. "...I'm supposed to be here?"

        "Yeah, but we thought you'd show up in, like, thirty minutes," Lauren says, not looking up from her phone.

        Through gritted teeth, Maverick punches out, "I would've been here on time—"

        Everleigh snorts.

        "—but my alarm was set for PM, not AM. This one's not on me."

        The entirety of MARS stares at him in varying degrees of concern.

        "Who set the alarm?" Everleigh questions.

      Maverick claps his hands, determined to move on to the next subject. Unfortunately for him, he's smack dab in the middle of a group of friends who do nothing but push each other's buttons.

        "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the incorrectly set alarm clock."

        "Oh, give him a break," Rami scolds.

        "Thank you, Ra—"

        "Wait until after we've finished this song, please."

        "Should've slept that extra half hour you all thought I'd take."

        Lauren's eyes flick between the matching shirts Everleigh and I are wearing.

        "Are both of you wearing Santa t-shirts?"

        Maverick, having just noticed this, mutters under his breath. "Oh, my God."

        "Chrismas isn't in January?"

        I flick my hair over my shoulder so the cartoon Santa is on full display. "We're so festive we celebrate it all year long. Sucks if you're a Grinch."

        Maverick crosses his arms. "Is it being a Grinch if we've been subjected to a month and a half of the same Christmas songs and somehow you're still excited about it?"

        "That's exactly what being a Grinch means, actually."

        "I'm going to put out such a bad Christmas album it'll never make you want to listen to Christmas music ever again."

        I pocket my phone. "Bold of you to think I'd listen to your music."

        Everleigh excuses herself to set up on the couch. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as she opens up her binder and pulls a pen out.

        "By the way, Stevie, I have those concert tickets you wanted."

        "I'll just keep doing my thing over here, I guess," Rami comments under his breath.

        I turn back to Maverick. "Perfect. How many?"

        "Hope I remembered right that you wanted three, 'cause that's how many I reserved."

        "Yeah, that's good. Thanks." I flick a smile over to Everleigh who's not paying attention.

        Maverick looks horrified.

        "I thought you were kidding—" he whispers.

        "I don't know what you're talking about."

        "You know you're here for work, right, guys?" Rami says.

        Seira tosses her things off to the side. "Okay, time to pretend like we're a functioning group of adults. Let's go."

        Rami pulls off his headphones and presses a few keys, allowing the beat he's working on to skip around the room. It's the same one he showed me a few nights ago except refined and polished after his fine-tuning.

        "Something small but I've got this so far." As the other producer in the room, Rami eyes Maverick. "What do we think, Mav?"

        He nods to the beat, foot-tapping, fingers drumming against his thigh, completely in the zone. "Dude, that's amazing."

        I pull my notebook out of my bag and flip through the pages until I land on the scribbles I jotted down after he first let me listen. "So, I had a couple of lines. I don't know how we feel about them but he played it for me the other day and I just....couldn't stop thinking about Chicago. For obvious reasons."

        Working with someone as talented as Maverick is a dream come true, and it's hard not to tie the start of our friendship together for our first collaboration. After meeting in Chicago because of our contribution to the assistance of Keira Lim's film Work, Wife, the famed city was an inspiration I couldn't ignore.

        Maverick smiles as his eyes coast along the pages. Before he replies, he reaches into his own bag and pulls out a notebook. It's black moleskine with a band stretched around the edge. All of the pages are a crinkled mess, with trinkets of inspiration taped onto them.

        "I had some Chicago too. Great minds, and all that."

        He flips through in search of Chicago lyrics when he starts to laugh.

        My eyes lock onto a particular word on the page that manages to slip through his fingers. "Wait a second....what did that say—"

        "Hmm? Oh, um, nah, nothing."

        My eyes narrow. "I know your writing is literal shit but I saw F1. Don't try me."

        Flushed with a sudden wave of confidence, he holds his notebook out to me and, after I manage to decode the scribbles, watches me spiral at the lyrics etched onto the pages.

If there weren't rules about carpool and speed / We'd be racing out of here like F1, you see /
Ain't gotta catch the bus like Sandra and Reeves / already out here pushing it /
Pace of my heart exceed– / –ing two-sixty at the Grand Prix

        "Rami."

        "Yes?"

        "What are the studio rules about punching someone in the face?"

        He hesitates. "Don't do that."

        I turn to Maverick. "I cannot with you right now."

        "Hey, I was seconds away from putting Aussie before Grand—"

        Before he can finish his sentence, I tear the notebook from his fingers and smack him upside his head, grinning when he winces and rubs the sore spot.

        I pull him close and whisper, "You're the one with the special guest here. Don't make me write something truly horrendous."

        He snatches his notebook back. "Rami—"

        "What?"

        "Rules for tossing Stevie off the roof—"

        "No."

        "I didn't invite her—"

        "Consider her my security blanket."

        He shoots me a glare but decides the risk isn't worth the reward of poking the bear. "Fine. I have more."

Anybody have a map? I'm lost / guess taking the L's better than breathing exhaust /
Off to Kimball when it should be Jarvis / can someone Iron Man me out of this? /
Tony Stark wouldn't have to dealt with this shhh–

        Seira leans over us to take a peek. "You would make an Iron Man reference."

        "Blame Chicago for calling an L-train stop Jarvis."

        "You're lucky you're a good songwriter 'cause I would never let these fools make that reference."

     "I'm taking that as a compliment, Seira." He stops when he reaches a particular page. "Ah, see? I have normal ideas too."

        While Rami takes our notes and tweaks the music he's working on, Seira, Maverick, and I comb through our scattered thoughts until we find a way to piece the puzzle into something somewhat resembling a song. It's hard to know exactly how well we are going to like something before we've started recording, but once we're confident, Maverick and I high-five, proud of how quickly we manage to pull a song together.

        Seira walks out of the recording booth after adding some notes for Rami while we finishe writing the lyrics. "Where did Lauren go? We're gonna need her for backing vocals."

        I turn around, not realizing she left in the first place.

        "She's on the phone outside," Jun answers from a spot next to Everleigh on the couch. "I'll go....get her."

        Everleigh's eyes follow Jun, something lingering in her expression I can't quite read. Maverick next to me must because he starts to sign to her.

        "Mav," Rami interrupts, "you're up."

        Maverick makes his way into the booth, sliding the headphones over his head with one ear covered.

        "Mic check," Rami says.

        "Mic check," Maverick echoes.

        Rami gives him a thumbs up. "Good to go."

        He starts the track from the beginning so Maverick can waltz smoothly into the opening of the song since he's singing the first verse.

        It starts slowly with piano notes, lonely like drops of rain against a puddle but with all of the stormy background noise dissolved out of the picture. As the pace begins to accelerate, the plucking sound of an acoustic guitar helps everything shift into the next gear, and Maverick nods his head along with the beat.

Did they have sparks like us before 1895 / lot of office buildings now, blurry as we fly / Meant to clear my–

        "Wait, fuck." Maverick breaks out in a fit of giggles. He looks up through the glass at Rami. "I'm sorry, I can't read. Can we start that again, please?"

        "It's 'cause your handwriting is shit," I mutter under my breath.

        Rami rubs his temples. "Yeah, go ahead."

        Jun and Lauren come back inside, both looking a little worse for wear but trying their best to hide it as well as they can. I try to catch the former's eye but he looks anywhere else.

        Maverick cracks again, laughing harder than last time. "I've got it. This time. I—I promise this time."

        He jumps into the air like he's winding up for a penalty kick in a heated soccer game. Because of course that's something Kingston Maverick does to stop himself from laughing.

        "One more time?"

        "Maturing is starting to relate to Marty and Jenny more and more," Rami mutters under his breath. "Yeah, go ahead, Mav," he says, louder this time. "Or do you need a sec to look it over?"

        "Yeah, Mav," I taunt. "Do you need to look over the lyrics you just wrote five minutes ago?"

        "I take insult to that. I have an eidetic memory. It's been proven."

        "Then please," Rami waves his hand, "get going."

        "I got it, I got it. Promise."

        I turn around in my seat. "Five bucks says he doesn't got it."

         Everleigh laughs and pulls the same bill I handed her earlier out of her pocket, walking it over and slapping the cash into my hand before Maverick can even start.

        "Well earned," she replies before returning to her seat.

        Too distracted to see what's going on, Maverick starts to sing, barely getting to the end of the first eight-count when he starts laughing again.

        "I'm so sorry. This time. Double promise. Triple promise." And then, out of all possible things he can do, runs a lap around the booth to hype himself up. "I'm going to do it with my eyes closed—" He takes a long sip of his water, "—that cool?"

        The next sound that slips past his lips is something I can only describe as in the realm of Sharpay Evans.

        "Does anyone else want a Capri Sun? I have another box in the fridge."

        Seira relaxes back into the plush leather sofa cushion. "Sure, I'll take one. This is going to be a long afternoon."

        "If you can spare, yes please," Everleigh adds.

        Maverick closes his eyes. "Are we ready?"

        "And...go."

        Before Maverick starts again, he flicks his hearing aids off to eliminate any possible distractions, most of which are coming from inside the booth.

        After flying through his entire verse on one take, he reopens his eyes and powers his hearing aids back up. "Was that okay?"

        "Sounded great on my end," Rami answers. "Let me play that back, tell me if you like it."

        The entire band listens in, melting beneath the smooth, dulcet sounds of Maverick's voice. The beginning of the verse perfectly displays the quality of his voice, expensive whiskey that settles in your chest, before it crescendos into an A4 near the end that sets my entire body up like fireworks on the fourth of July.

        Everleigh's eyes shoot over to me during that verse of his song. "Did he say F1—"

        "I don't want to talk about it," I grit through my teeth. "We're fine. We're even."

        "Oh, this'll be good."

        She has no idea.

        "One more time to fix that little....falter?" Maverick stumbles, staring at me laughing with Everleigh.

        Rami looks up, confused. "What part did you hear it?"

        Everleigh begins to sign to him again, but Maverick, being the bozo that he is, doesn't respond.

        "Keanu Reeves. Somewhere in there. Can I please go again? I'll make it sound better. Just a...thing. I want to fix it.

        Rami slides back to that part of the song. "Alright. One sec and—" He points his finger. After Maverick breezes through this new take, Rami stops the recording. "Okay, let me replay again. I think the other one was great but this sounds good, too. We can do some kind of comp if we need to."

        Maverick listens through. "Yeah. Sounds good for now. Thank you."

        "Yeah, we got it. This is good, Mav." He turns around. "Stevie, can we get your verses, and then we'll get you both in there together?"

        I tiptoe over to the door of the sound booth and high-five Maverick as we switch places. All jokes aside, his voice sounds amazing and I'm aching to know what everything will sound like once it's mixed together.

        "Mic check," I call out once I have my headphones on.

        "Mic check," he repeats back. "Ready to go when you are."

        Recording vocals for an album is equal parts prepping my voice and mind. If they're not both in the right space, nothing sounds good. It never feels like a simple act or something second nature. It requires every inch of my body, mind, and soul.

        I close my eyes and take a deep breath, giving him a thumbs up when I'm ready.

Figures passing, blurry traffic / lonely on the streets of chicago /
Aimless wandering, no proximity / head and heart in different timezones /
We're racing down the highway skyline / false dreams and tarnished gold in sight /
If you need me, check the boardwalk / test your luck at cicero

Stop the clock / still I'm lost / just another terrible end /
'Scuse me, sir, can you point me toward- /
Nevermind / these caving walls are way too thin

        "Sorry, can we play that back?"

        He does, waiting once it ends. "Thoughts?"

        Rami is patient, even though all we've done so far is test it to the limit.

        "I like the first part. Could smooth the second part out."

        "It sounds good but we can do a couple more takes if you want."

        "Yes, please." After redoing the second part of the verse, I sigh. "I don't know, the vibrato on 'thin' isn't my favorite."

        "Stev," Jun adds from his spot on the side, "your vibrato couldn't be more uniform if you cut it out with a cookie cutter."

        My fingers rub circles into my temples. "Let me torture myself with my artistic process, please."

        "It sounded great but you could try for a note higher if you were game. Might be what you're looking for," Maverick suggests.

        I nod, thankful for his input. "Go again, Rami." When I'm done, the pressure on my chest is less suffocating, so I ask him to play it back again, more hopeful I'll be pleased with it.

        "Good," Rami comments with a smile tugging at his lips. "Very good."

        I have to agree; it's a good take. But, as always with my perfectionist nature that takes over once I step inside the recording studio, I waver. "Maybe one more t—"

        "I'm calling bullshit," Rami interjects, taking on a sense of authority I can't question. "Next verse. We've got it."

        "Fine." I smile through it knowing he's right, as he always is. And as Rami starts the music again, I peek at Maverick, holding back the laughter knowing the lyrics coming next.

Steady my feet on this holy ground / catch a flight to my head lost in the clouds
Missed connections and flight attendants / all I want for you is to hang around
Turn this lost into a found

        "Okay, replay please."

        "Oh, boy. Okay."

        Rami is fighting back a laugh at this point, while also dreading the chaos ensuing from Maverick and my back and forth. It's all fun and games, and, let's face it, makes for some entertaining songwriting, but Maverick looks like he wants to be anywhere else but here.

        Everleigh sips on her Capri Sun. Pacific Cooler.

        "Was that good, Mav?"

        He nods. "Real great, Stev. Note changes were subtle. Nice work."

        "Perfect. Glad you liked it. I think that take was fine."

        Rami sighs, "Starting up again."

If I knew the rules of love and greed / maybe I could stop this heart that bleeds /
Forget what it's like to have lost your company / drown my sorrows /
Crowd surf it away tomorrow /  on my mark set one two three

        "I liked that one."

        "Me too. Let me replay."

        Lauren gasps at the playback, smiling and waving to me. "Geez, Stevie. Save some talent for the rest of us, please."

        "Says you."

        "Great. We got that, then." Rami snaps his fingers, his eyes alight behind the bright laptop screen. He waves his hand over his shoulder, pointing in Maverick's direction, then over to the booth door. "Mav, can I get you back in there? And don't make any faces at Stevie. You two will just spiral down from there."

        "Aye, aye, captain," he salutes. He walks inside the booth, taking his place in front of the other mic. Even though this setup means we're both facing away from each other, I feel a tickle inside my throat, and it takes everything in me to not immediately start laughing.

        "Mic check."

        Rami, who looks like he's aged ten years since we got to the studio, raises his thumb once again.

        "And...go."

       The music starts before the first chorus and our voices come together in perfect harmony. Sometimes, creative minds can be perfectly in sync and two artists' voices don't necessarily mesh well together, but Maverick and I sound incredible.

        "Okay, first chorus is good," Rami notes. "Think we can get a high note on that last note for the second one, Mav? And Stevie, drop down a little for it. I think that'll sound good."

        "You got it," Maverick confirms.

        We start the second chorus. Everything is running smoothly, a repeat of what we just sang but more energetic, Maverick rising to the occasion while I take the backseat, when all of a sudden, the two of us accidentally look at each other at the same time and it all comes crashing down.

        "What did I just tell you, oh my G—"

        Trying and failing to control the laughter bubbling out of me, I stare at Rami through the window. "Shit, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have looked at him. I shouldn't have looked."

        Maverick buries his head in his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Rami. I tried so hard—"

        "Even Jun doesn't give me this much trouble."

        Jun shakes his head at being roped into the conversation. "Uh....thanks? I guess."

        I look at Maverick again and want to slap myself in the forehead. "Stop it, oh my god."

        Maverick leans down into his notebook on the music stand, burying his face somewhere between Keanu Reeves and Grand Prix. "I had it, Stevie, Jesus shit—"

        "Rami, do you think I could go to the bathr—"

        "If we don't finish these vocals in the next fifteen minutes, I will never let Maverick on another song again."

        Seira cackles. "Yall are wrecked."

        "Okay, okay, okay. Go ag—" I wheeze, "—I'm sorry. I'm good." I take another breath. "I'm okay, I'm good. Let's go."

        I nearly burst into flames when Maverick punches the air, snorting. "Yeah, I've got it. Here we go." He turns his hearing aids off.

        "Go, Rami," I say. "Before I faint."

        "Okay."

        It takes every shred of effort to push through the final lap, but we come out on the other side stronger than before, somehow making it through the second chorus, bridge, and final chorus with a few runs and high notes thrown in here and there. When we're done, Maverick places his hearing aids back on.

        "How do you like that?" Rami asks after starting the playback before either of us ask. "And give me a real answer, Stevie. Don't overthink it. Please."

        Our eyes meet briefly and we find ourselves fighting for our lives once again against another onslaught of giggles still scratching at the surface.

        "I thought we sounded good," Maverick answers.

        "I loved it. We pulled through. Good job, us."

         The two of us high five.

        "Does that mean I get to come back, Rami—"

        "You're on thin ice, but I'll consider it," he sighs, placing his headphones back on. "You two can go. Let me play around with this and get Lauren in there."

        Ever the upstanding professional, Lauren dusts her hands off on her jeans. "Give me, like, five minutes. I should be good."

        "No need to show off—"

        "I guess we kind of deserved that." Maverick slumps in his spot, laughing.

        "I mean, yeah. But I'm not going to admit that."

        "It's been recorded, actually. Now get out, please."

         Maverick hangs up his headphones. "Aye, aye—"

        "Nope." Rami shakes his head. "Just get out."

        "Are you sure we don't need to—"

"Say one more word and I'm quitting this band."

         The two of us run out of the booth without another warning.

        Everleigh is still on the couch next to Jun, both of which are done with their Capri Sun pouches, and a spread of homework stretched across her lap.

        "You survived," I tell her.

        "Watching that was worse than doing her stats homework," Jun comments.

        Maverick's jaw drops to the floor. "You brought stats homework to a recording studio?"

        "I'm not sure how much free time you think I have, Kingston, but believe me, your snorting was definitely worse than these calculations."

        He crosses his arms. "I think we're both strict professionals."

Seira laughs at the four of us. "In what damn world—"