I am a walking Venmo ad as I take the few steps up to the porch of the Perez-Holland residence.

Want to avoid hassle, save time, and never see your ex-girlfriend again, but still return the money you kind of stole from her? Say no more! With the Venmo app, you can easily transfer back the seven hundred dollars you spent on a guitar using her credit card.

Yeah, that's not going to work as an opening speech.

Lifting a hand to knock, I tuck the manila envelope of cash under my right arm, noting the skateboard left a few feet away from the bay window and the potted palm fronds flanking the door. I try to imagine Leo Perez or Skye on a skateboard. The image never comes.

A brunette teenage girl appears at the door, not alleviating any of my confusion. Her eyes widen when she sees me. "Are you Ryder Black?"

"I think I have the wrong house," I say, glancing down at the address that Poppy texted me. I'm at the right house, but who is this girl? "I'm just going to..."

"No, wait!" She grabs my hand and forcibly drags me into the house, surprisingly strong for someone who's nearly a foot shorter than me and has a physique that suggests she survives on iced coffee and saltine crackers. "Did my brother tell you it was my birthday?"

"Uh... maybe?" I scrutinize her face, trying to gauge her resemblance to anyone I know.

"Wait here," she says. "I'll be right back. I need you to sign my For The Record vinyl!"

I groan, rubbing a hand across my face and readjusting my Lexington Legends baseball cap. "Okay..."

Casting a glance around the room, I try to figure out whether or not this really is Skye and Leo's house. Their decor is sleek and starkly modern; the living room is to my left, with a grey leather couch, made only slightly more cozy by the throw blanket draped over it, a glass-topped table and uncomfortable-looking chairs. The kitchen consists of a white marble island and one of those shiny new stove tops that resembles a set of NASA controls. Nothing screams to me that Leo Perez or Skye Holland lives here, not even a framed family picture on the walls.

I wouldn't put it past my sister to trick me, especially considering we're in a fight right now and I have no idea how or if it'll end. Maybe Poppy just gave me the wrong address as a prank, and this is the house of a crazed Ryder Black fangirl who is going to cut off a lock of my hair and clone me. Actually, it might be convenient to have a clone of myself. Maybe I could use it to sing harmonies with me. Though is a clone of myself an it or a him?

The teenage girl comes running back down the stairs. She thrusts a Sharpie and a vinyl record cover towards me. "Here."

Uncapping the sharpie with my teeth, I pause in signing my name. If this girl really is a Ryder Black fan, I might as well give her a personalized signature. "What's your name?"

"Raina Aguilar," she says, before spelling it out. "R-A-I-N-"

"Raina," says a vaguely familiar voice. "Who is this, and what are you doing?"

I look up from the signature and lock eyes with Leo Perez, my former boss, record exec at Volume Records, and the guy who's marrying my ex-girlfriend. He's standing in the middle of the hall, clad in a suit and tie like he's about to go to the office. Well, it is eight in the morning. "Leo. Hey. I was just signing this for your... cousin?"

He clears his throat. "My little sister. Raina, were you never taught about stranger danger or do you just let anybody wander off the street and walk into our house?"

They look more alike, now, with the same brown hair and a similar way of moving, a certain unbridled energy suffusing their movements. I remember now that Leo is the son of Antonio Perez, the now-jailed filmmaker, while his mother remarried. Raina must be the product of that relationship.

"He's not a stranger, hermano major. I know exactly who he is," Raina argues. "I've been to all of his concerts."

"What are you doing here, Ryder?" Leo asks, ignoring his sister's protests. "And Raina, maybe you should go, as the kids say, touch grass or something, because if you think that it's okay to let someone into your house just because you've been to their concert before, you're losing it."

I finish signing the record. "Did I spell that correctly, Miss Aguilar?"

"Yes, thank you," she says. "I think you should make another song like Thought You Hated Me. No offence, but your newer stuff has kind of... flopped."

"Any other constructive feedback you have for me?" I say drily. My molars grind together and I have to stop myself from gritting my teeth.

"Yeah," she says, pulling out her phone and opening what looks like the Notes app. "I have a whole list. Number one: You should've made a music video for Not That Drunk. Two: tell your record label to promote you more. Three: Stop singing songs written by other people. Start singing songs that you wrote yourself, like Thought You—"

I'm torn between jotting down her "feedback" and leaving, money be damned. I came here to move past Thought You Hated Me and the drama of my first album, not have the past dredged up like a rotting corpse exhumed for a postmortem. Thankfully, Leo Perez prevents either thing from happening. "Raina, I'd like to talk to Ryder Black, alone."

Folding her arms across her chest, Raina gathers her things and slinks off. "Thanks, Ryder! If you want more feedback, drop by any time."

"Sorry about my sister," Leo says. "What did you drop by for?"

"I just came here to give this to Skye," I say, holding out the envelope. Seeing the expression on his face, I clarify. "Money that I, uh, borrowed from her. When we were dating."

Leo's brows furrow as he surveys me. "Wasn't that four years ago?"

"I may have put off returning it to her." What can I say? Procrastination is my greatest vice.

"Leo? Who is it?" I hear Skye's voice echoing down the stairs, accompanied by a flurry of footsteps.

"Ryder Black."

Skye appears at the foot of the stairs, wearing a green -shirt and cutoff shorts with some kind of crochet cardigan. Her engagement ring sparkles on her left hand, right next to a wedding band. "What are you doing here?"

One hand still extended, holding the envelope of cash, I gesture towards it. "Consider this a debt being paid. Whatever was between us... it's over."

"Thanks..." She opens the envelope as if counting the rubber-banded stacks of cash in there I felt like a robber or a rapper walking out of my house with bands of dollar bills, the cold, solid stacks of cash feeling insubstantial. It's all that lies between us now after all these years. "I appreciate it. Even if it took you three years to return the money."

I shrug. "I always repay my debts."

"And you never keep grudges, I recall," she says, closing the envelope. "Poppy and you still aren't talking?"

Part of the reason I came here is that Poppy and I still aren't talking after everything that's happened between us. We moved to L.A. together almost a decade ago, from our small Kentucky town, two kids with big dreams thinking we'd become superstars. I got my dream, with no small amount of ups and downs. Poppy? Well, Poppy found other sleazier, darker ways of making her dream happen. Ways that are dragging me down as her notoriety skyrockets, even if under a false name and image.

Still, she's family. And like my parents drummed into my mind, tattooed into the inside of my skull: family is everything, no matter what you do to each other. It's a mentality that I'll never shake, no matter how unhealthy it may be. Which led me all the way here, to my ex-girlfriend's house with a peace offering of nearly a thousand dollars. I thought that since Skye and Poppy are best friends, this act of goodwill toward one of them might be interpreted as an act of benevolence by the other. Apparently not.

"Yeah. We're not speaking, but that's none of your business."

"No," she says. "I guess you're none of my business anymore. Is this all you came here for?"

I rake a hand through my hair, still absorbing everything that I've been through just from stepping into this house: Raina Aguilar's scathing, unfiltered critiques of my music, straight from my target demographic; Leo Perez's half-pitying look as we talked; Skye's faint tinge of disdain coating her words.

"Yeah. Have a nice wedding."

With that, I turn around to go. Leo walks me out, as if he wants to make sure I don't steal anything else.

I thought I came here to leave my past behind; for a fresh start. Now it seems like part of my past will never leave me. I thought I could cut ties so easily, but some strings weren't meant to be snapped. Like the one between me and my sister, no matter how tangled it might get.