MARS has a thing for space.

      Much like the ocean, majority of it is vastly uncharted. It's as terrifying as it is exhilarating. Free-falling into the unknown is the sort of terrifying that sends every nerve ending into overdrive, and it's a feeling none of us have turned away from. Even if there's no guarantee we'll make it out on the other side unscathed. Even if the act of succeeding hinges on a very honest reality that requires risking it all.

        When the band decided on the title of our debut album, it clicked naturally. We were out to prove our worth. Prove we have the power of a thousand suns to shine throughout endless galaxies. Though we were by no means perfect—and still aren't since such feats are simply unachievable—we were determined to make the world recognize that while we can accept there will always exist those who doubt our strengths, we can never and will never doubt our own. It's the only reason we've made it as far as we are, and the only reason we'll keep going up from here.

        Coming up with the name of our second album takes a little longer. Although we agree on a theme for our album titles, it takes us a while to realize what we want people to take away from this second effort. In a way, there's more to prove when we're following up on the critical and commercial success of Nuclear Fusion. Fighting the infamous sophomore slump curse and our own expectations isn't just a necessity, it's a driving force.

        Escape velocity is the minimum speed needed for a free, non-propelled object to escape from the gravitational influence of a primary body.

        Maybe this album is our way of escaping those self-imposed expectations and proving to the world we're not a singular moment in time.

        In the words of one of the greatest songwriters of our generation: we will be remembered.

...

Rami picks out a few pictures from the tablet in his hands and returns the device to Jenny. "These are the best. In my opinion."

       Going over concept art is one of the easier facets of releasing an album. Since we are working with the same graphic designer and photographer from our first, they understand of our style and what we like, but this also means being able to help push us out of our comfort zone. For Escape Velocity, we want something that stands out from Nuclear Fusion but isn't inauthentic either.

        Jenny flicks the concept art for Nuclear Fusion and the tentative selections for Escape Velocity. From murky shades along the neutral spectrum to intense but mysterious hues of pinks and purples and blues.

        "Are we all in agreement on these?" Jenny asks. The gears turn in her head, figuring out ways to incorporate these into promotion and music videos. Jenny is the most hands-on assistant we can ask for, and her creativity rivals even that which is shown in our music.

        The group nods to confirm.

       "What a coincidence. All of the bi-colors," Lauren remarks. "Even unintentionally we have the best taste."

        I hold out my hand for a fist bump.

        "Obviously the most important." Jenny flips the tablet cover back with a sigh. While staring at pretty pictures isn't hard work, dealing with the five of us is. "One more thing on the agenda for today and I can let you go."

        "Hope Marty is paying you overtime," Seira scoffs. "Pretty sure he was supposed to go over this with us today."

        "Unfortunately for both of us, his kid has the stomach flu so I think I should consider myself lucky I'm not dealing with that." She shudders. "I know we haven't finalized the tracklist, but I know there are clear favorites for singles. If we can decide on a lead today, that'll make things easier. I can have Malcolm work on promo for the single at the same time he finalizes the album cover."

        It's not a question that needs an answer, but we give the illusion we're considering all of our options. While Escape Velocity (the track) is a powerhouse anthem that will make a statement, we've already decided it'll be the final track on the album. We want the album to end on a high note, blood pumping and full throttle, so that's out of the question. It needs to be the final song everyone listens to when they hear the album for the first time.

        That leaves a Maverick-sized elephant in the room since there can truly be no other.

        "Well, it's gotta be The L right?" Jun's gaze ricochets across all of our faces. "Mav already signed off on it. And I think it sets the right tone. Definitely a departure from Nuclear Fusion."

        Jenny flicks her eyes up. "Can we make Marty a pros and cons list so we can pretend like we spent time thinking this over?"

        I roll my eyes. "You don't think Marty will know already? He's Marty."

        "I know," she sighs while pulling out her tablet again. "But if we go through the motions, we can say he has no evidence of us hustling through this meeting."

        "Fine." Rami claps his hands together. "Maverick obviously brings us good attention."

        "Do you think his good attention will be late too, though? Maybe his fans will start to listen after we've released the album?"

        I smack Jun's arm and he winces.

        "Like Rami said earlier," Lauren adds, "it's a departure from Nuclear Fusion, which I think is important to establish from the jump. We've been sitting on this one album and its deluxe edition for a few years now, so we want to be clear this isn't more of the same."

        "It starts slow but picks up so it's a nice—"

        A loud slap echoes out from Jenny's tablet as she slams the cover closed and tosses the device back behind her onto the couch.

        "Yeah, I'll be honest—I don't really care. We all know The L is the best choice so we're going with that. Marty will survive without an explanation."

        "Great!" Seira darts toward the front door. "I have lunch plans so I'll see you all later."

        With a Seira-sized hole punctured through the atmosphere, the productivity is sucked straight out with her, and the rest of the band quickly disperses along with it. Jun is the only one that remains.

        "You got any plans?" I ask.

        "Not really." He stretches across the entire sofa now that there's more space. Jun looks back at me. "Dinner with some of the guys, if you want to come."

        I scrunch my nose. "Guys? No thanks."

        He laughs, "I figured. But the offer still stands."

        "Thanks. If I'm feeling generous, I might grant them the honor of my presence."

        While Jun shuts his eyes for a few minutes, I make myself busy in the kitchen. When I'm elbow deep in soap bubbles and a concerning amount of mugs, Jun makes his way over and slumps onto one of the barstools.

        "We never talked about New York."

        With my back turned, I shrug. "Nothing to talk about. It was fun. Mav's show was good. We all had a good time."

        I'm not entirely lying; New York was great. But it was also hectic with Rhylan's appearance and the argument. Not that I'm angry at Maverick anymore or ignoring him—not really, just a few texts that have gone unanswered—but having to watch Everleigh witness the whole thing was the torrential downpour on an otherwise spotless parade.

        And then there are those silly feelings about the night with Brendon that I'm still trying to wrap my head around, which is an even sillier task in and of itself since matters of the heart can rarely be made to make sense.

        "You seem happy about something." Jun squints at me. "But you've got that funny look on your face."

        "I don't have a funny look."

        "Everyone has a funny look."

        "I think you're imagining things." I drop a plate down into the soapy water and let it sink sadly to the bottom. Dramatic ass dishware. "Just some personal stuff with Maverick that isn't worth repeating. I promise."

       "Something we should be worried about?"

        The genuine concern makes me laugh. "It's not that serious. Nothing happened between us that I can't handle. Although, I might be putting myself too much into other people's business."

        "You and Maverick care a lot about each other. I'm sure whatever it is is just a side effect of that."

        "Maybe. I'm sure it'll work out."

        "I'm sure it will, too." He pauses long enough that I suspect he might fancy letting me go easy this time, but I'm underestimating the power of Jun's persuasion. "That leaves the other elephant in the room."

        "There is no elephant in the r—"

        "It's Bash."

        "I thought you were supposed to be the one that doesn't push me on this." The realization that my relationship with Brendon is now a this makes my stomach fuzzy. Like it's full of static and the only thing that'll make the music come through is for everyone to stop speculating.

        He looks around the empty room. "I'm not going to bring it up in front of other people but I never said I'd never try to ask you about it."

        "There's nothing to ask about. I take a friend to see Mav's show and suddenly they're talking behind my back like it's a date. Don't think I can't hear yall."

        Jun holds his hands up in defense. "I never agree with them."

        "I'm considering you an accomplice."

        "Am I allowed to appeal this decision?"

        "No," I reply. Maybe I just wanted to not be a third wheel. Have they considered that?"

        The smile on his face, as subtle as it is, proves that, while Jun doesn't feed into the rest of the band's sneaky comments about us, he doesn't entirely disagree with them on an internal level.

        "You're protesting a lot."

        "Don't start with that."

        With the kind of comical timing that can only ever come out of this conversation, my phone starts ringing. From this distance, I can tell who's calling, even without a clear view of the name. Blurred lines on all fronts.

        "Speaking of which—" Jun snatches the phone before I have a chance to yank it out of his reach and answers the call. "Hey, Bash. Long time no talk."

        Even through the stunned silence, I can hear the laughter in his smile. "Hey, Jun."

        "Stevie is hard at work right now so I will be playing the part of messenger for this phone call if that's alright with you."

        "I'm standing five feet away from you, Jun. I can hear everything you're both saying."

       Brendon chuckles quietly while Jun looks away, pretending to be fascinated with the bare, white walls of our living room. I roll my eyes and eliminate some of the distance between us, but Jun slides the phone away from me.

        "Very funny."

        "How was testing? I heard you were doing some testing today. Whatever that means."

        Since Brendon is in Italy for the first round of testing, his call is an hour earlier than usual, though I'm surprised he's even calling at all. With how much goes into these few days, I was expecting the weekend to be full of radio silence.

        "The car is looking good so far. But there's always more work to do."

        "Were you at the top of the...board thing?"

        Brendon laughs again, unbothered by the line of questioning. "Yeah, but it doesn't really mean much. Testing is all about checking out the specifics of the car, not just trying to go fast. Being the fastest during testing doesn't mean anything until the first race."

        "Gotcha."

        Before Jun can react, I lunge across the counter and snatch the phone from his grasp, sticking my tongue out at him as I skip past him on my way toward my room for privacy. If Brendon is calling during testing, he's probably trying to ask me something.

        "Sorry about that," I groan when I drop down onto my bed. "We just got out of a meeting not too long ago."

        "What about?"

        I wave my hand in the air. "Just finalizing album concept art and picking the lead single."

        "So the song with Maverick."

        "Exactly."

        "Glad it went well."

        Since it's not a video call, I can't see what he's doing right now, but I imagine he just got back to wherever he's staying or found a quiet spot in the paddock.

        It's the first phone call we've had since New York. With how busy he's been, most of our communication has been through texts, and while there is nothing tangibly different with those conversations, something does feel different. I can't quite put my finger on it. Or maybe it's because I just don't want to. I'm too stubborn to entertain the latter.

       "I have to jump onto a Zoom meeting in a sec," he says in a rush. Indiscernible noises begin to pick up around him. "But I had a question to ask."

        "And I have an answer to give you."

        "My sister was supposed to come to the race but she got grounded—I don't know what for and the brat won't tell me—so I have an extra ticket if you wanted to come."

        The race is a couple of weeks away, so it's not the most last-minute trip I've ever planned. I can't think of anything I have scheduled that week that can't be rescheduled.

        Honestly, after that first race, the thought of returning gets me excited. I can imagine how long-term fans feel about the privilege of attending one of them. The smell of gasoline, the rush of adrenaline, feeling like I'm soaring high in the sky every time a car bursts past me in a flash. Thinking back to that feeling now, one race was never going to be enough.

        "I'll happily be your backup plan."

        "You're not a backup." I hear the smile. "That was kind of half of the question, though."

        "That sounds...strangely ominous."

        "Apparently, grounding Stacey means no race, but inviting world-renowned lead singers to brunch is okay."

        "You're asking if I'll have brunch with your family?"

        "They're much bigger fans of MARS than I realized." He pauses. "Or, at least, Stacey is. She wouldn't shut up about you coming here last year and not getting to meet you. She's threatening to disown me if I don't introduce you this time around."

        The Ellis family is fiercely private, which can be chalked up to not wanting the intense scrutiny of being connected to a famous athlete, but with all he's said about his family in the past, I suspect there's something more to it. I'm not sure what meeting them means for any of us, but I find myself thinking of his younger sister and not wanting to disappoint her, even if I know Brendon will never fault me for turning down the request if I want to.

        "On one condition," I tell him sternly.

        He doesn't hesitate. "Anything."

        "You let Stacey and me kick your ass in Mario Kart."

        "Oh, it's on."