"So... what goes through your head when you're approached by someone like Marty Thompson and he says he wants to manage you?"

"I hope this man doesn't squish me."

Porter stifled a laugh. "He can be a bit intimidating."

"That's putting it lightly." If Nora and Kinsley had to guess what Marty was going to say to them that day he first introduced himself, it would have involved using them as coasters or something. Not that they wanted to lean into any stereotypes or anything, but he was absolutely an intimidating man to be around, and he wore that impression like a badge of honor every single day. If she didn't know any better, she would have said he got off on making everyone scared of him. Puny little people, she imagined him saying, you're all like tiny ants. How many of you can I squish under one shoe? "He could probably flick us into the next state if he wanted to. Wouldn't recommend getting on his bad side."

"And have you gotten on his bad side?"

"On more than one occasion," she admitted. Porter wasn't surprised.

Of course, their manager was anything but scary once they got to know him. He was a heart of gold buried beneath a tough exterior built up from having to defend himself against the world from a young age. While the rest of the world constantly screamed in Nora's face about all of her many faults, there was something to be said about having someone like Marty on her side, even when she wasn't sure she deserved it. If he didn't think she was worth the trouble, he would have left a long time ago. He had a juggernaut in MARS as his number-one client, after all. They weren't even just a job to him. MARS was his family. Just as Roslyn was hers.

"I don't know, I guess we were all a little hesitant at first," Nora continued. "Not because of him. It's just... he's notable for managing probably the biggest band in the entire world. You'd think being approached by someone who helped start their careers would give you a confidence boost or something. Like hey, if he trusts and believes in us, who the hell are we to say otherwise? But it scares you shitless. You can't help but compare yourself to them, even if he made it clear from the start that he didn't want us to compare ourselves."

Comparison was a son of a bitch, especially in a field where someone's worth was wildly subjective. Awards were subjective. Popularity and fame were often mixed with notoriety. Success could be measured if only there weren't many underlying forces at work, moving the needle to exactly when and where they wanted it. How could one be jealous of someone else when context was an ever-fluid concept and no one would ever be able to agree on one single definition of who's worthy of success?

While it appeared as if Nora was staring into a display case filled with various awards and accolades of a bunch of people she had, regrettably, never heard of, she always found a way to stare at her reflection, even if no good ever came of it. She blamed this trait on her Aries Sun once again. Self-absorbed was a descriptor used on her many times over the years. Her bruised ego preferred to call it tunnel vision combined with the need to succeed. Her friends and bandmates probably agreed with the former.

She tore her eyes away and returned to pacing in front of Porter sitting on the ground. He had found her when she was trying to avoid everyone. Pretended as if she remembered what it was like to breathe. When she offered to walk back to the courtyard they had been talking in before so they could at least sit somewhere that wouldn't leave shoe prints on their butts, Porter declined. He said something about her looking deep in thought and didn't want to disturb whatever was going on in her head. Nora wasn't sure how much she liked that he could read that much into her blank expressions. Then again, she wasn't an actress. She was a musician, and musicians were notorious for wearing their hearts on their sleeves. Getting them to keep their true feelings out of their music was impossible; that was also what made their songs great.

"You opened for MARS a couple of years ago. Safe to say you've spent a lot of time together?"

"Sure. Yeah. I love them."

"That's an impressive start to a career, opening for one of the biggest acts in the world. What do you take away from an experience like that?"

Nora remembered that first tour like it was yesterday. The opening show in Austin was euphoric, and the entire tour broke every record possible, many of which were previously held by MARS themselves. As a band with limitless talent that carved their own rightful place organically, they were their only competition. Even MARS' number one collaborator, Maverick, had been there to perform their most recent collaboration at the time. Nora couldn't decide if she had been better off being able to perform alongside them or if she would have liked to have been in the crowd more. The fans in the crowd that night were given the show of a lifetime.

That first show was the kind of moment every artist dreamt of, and she managed to experience it on her first tour ever. If there was a memory she knew better than to take advantage of, it was the one.

But what she remembered most was feeling starstruck in their presence, and how they still managed to bring themselves back down to Earth in every interaction she shared with them since. Before Roslyn rose to such great heights, Nora had heard horror stories about people meeting their favorite idols. Most of the disillusionments were a result of fans realizing their idols were more human than mythical beings. A lot of it was true, though. Some artists were shit because they were shit people. But MARS didn't fall into the latter category. They were above and beyond anything she could have ever imagined. A galaxy entirely of their own. Nora considered herself lucky she was allowed to exist in their orbit. And in the end, she had become one of those shit artists who were shit people.

"Do you ever meet someone and they're like... everything you want to be? Talented. Honest. Kind. Giving. MARS is like that to me. They've always been like that to me. All of us at Roslyn have worked incredibly hard to get to where we are, but there is a sense of... luck to it all. And we were lucky. Really lucky."

She never wanted to diminish the work they put into their craft or the obstacles they faced along the way, but luck always played a factor in an industry built upon connections and knowing the right people. If Marty hadn't stumbled upon a video of them online playing at one of their graveyard shows in their hometown, there was a good chance they might not have ever touched the same stage as certified supernovas like MARS and Maverick.

"How do you balance that admiration with the jealousy that comes with comparing yourself to them?" Porter didn't pull punches when he was digging to the heart of a conversation. It wasn't surprising to hear him spell it out for her.

"I don't know. I probably haven't done a good job, so I'm not sure I'm the one to ask. But the biggest takeaway from it all? They remind me that, no matter where you come from, even somewhere as small as an island, you can become a star, as cheesy as that sounds. And the brightest stars are the ones that share their light with others. And you know they do it because they just really fucking love music, you know? They're not in it for anything else. Everything they do is because they can't live without music."

Porter must have gotten tired of watching her pace because he patted the space next to him, and against her better judgment, Nora sat down, instantly recoiling from the sharp sting of the cold marble floor. Although she loved winter and snow, she didn't necessarily love all things cold. There in that hallway, it became a blank slate, but not the kind that reminded her of new beginnings but of the absence of hope. A desolate, sterile feeling. The only sign of warmth in sight was the man sitting next to her.

"Along that same vein, how would you describe Roslyn?"

"Roslyn was... is a lot like that, to some degree. We came together over the love of music, realized how much we saw the world in a similar way, how much we liked working together, and it just all clicked."

"And did you ever expect you'd come this far?" he asked.

Nora shook her head. "Not at all. Does anyone? Maybe. People who are just... brimming with confidence probably do. But, I don't know, I think you always remain hopeful but nothing is ever guaranteed, is it? You know you can do it if you get there, and you know you'll work hard. But I can walk down the street and find five other people who are equally as talented as me and not doing what they love, right? Life isn't always fair. I've learned to take things are they are. Try not to overthink it."

"I don't know how well you do that."

Nora lifted a brow. "Pardon?"

"Off the record." Porter made a show of pausing the recorder and tucking his notepad under his leg. "You're quick to praise everyone around you but you do it in a way where it's... you're trying to undercut yourself in the process. MARS is talented, but you're lucky. The entire world screams your name and you hold a grudge over one guy's review six years ago that most people don't remember, if anyone else does at all. I get it, but I also don't."

"Is this turning into some kind of therapy session?"

"I think a lot of artists in the limelight don't get the assistance they deserve, especially when they have a career as potentially damaging as you do."

Nora shifted away, wrapping her arms around her waist. "I'm gonna need to see some kind of psychology degree before I let you psychoanalyze me."

"Sometimes you need someone to listen."

"Then stick to the script." Nora poked her finger against the spine of his notebook. "We're here for the interview, not because we're friends having a chat."

It wasn't often that someone like Porter surprised her as she went out of her way to avoid putting herself in the situation that allowed it, but she understood the implication of his question that followed and hadn't expected it.

"You don't think we're friends?"

"Are you saying that you do?"

Porter shrugged. "I think we're not strangers and we're too cordial to be rivals."

"We can't be rivals if we're not competing with each other."

He laughed. "Some might disagree."

"We're still not friends." Nora kind of wanted to laugh. Had she misunderstood their relationship the entire time? Surely not. "I threw a shoe at your head before, remember?"

"And you missed."

"You have faster reflexes than I thought you would. It would have been a perfect shot."

Porter smiled and picked up his notebook and clicked his pen before turning the recorder back on.

"What are you doing?"

"Returning to the script."