┏━━━━ •❃°•°❀°•°❃• ━━━━┓
chapter twenty
"  Close my eyes, she's
somehow closer now
Softly smile, I know
she must be kind
When I look in her eyes
She goes with me
to a blossom world."
┗━━━━ •❃°•°❀°•°❃• ━━━━┛

NOW PLAYING: "GOOD VIBRATIONS" by THE BEACH BOYS (1966)

___________

RORY: Daisy and Billy were in exile until they got their shit together, which left the rest of us to fend for ourselves. Nobody wanted to say it, but we were all nervous about how things would go between them. Everything hinged on it. If they went down in flames, so did any possibility of Daisy joining the band, and that left the others in a rough spot. How could they pretend that morning never happened, like they didn't air out their dirty laundry to Billy?

But it wound up being a good day.

[Smiles] Yeah. A really good day.

∴━━━ ✿ ━━━∴

IT'S ONLY NINE-THIRTY in the morning, and Rory itches to do something. The band has gathered back at the house. When she arrives after her short meeting with Walter, they seem to be enjoying their day off by relaxing. Warren and Eddie share a joint on the back patio while Graham waxes his beloved surfboard. Karen leans against the house, her arms crossed as she watches the boys.

Rory's songbook is open in her lap, but she only stares at it for five minutes, struggling to conjure writing inspiration. "Heartstopper"'s duet version had been her last high point. Since finishing it, she's been stuck in a rut. Not even experimenting with different writing exercises has helped. She has pages full of vague ideas and potential lines, but none want to click together, intent on existing as fragments rather than daring to conflate into something useful.

She groans in frustration and grabs the sweating glass of lemonade on the table beside her. Even though it's November, it's still hot outside, and their house doesn't have air conditioning. They rely entirely on open windows and lucky breezes. As a result, the back door is open, and Rory can hear the conversation between Warren, Eddie, and Graham drifting through the screen.

"Hey, man, are you sure you don't want to come?"

"Well, I've already seen it," Graham replies absentmindedly, most of his focus turned to perfecting his board.

"Yeah." Warren exhales a puff of smoke from the side of his mouth. "You've seen it once."

"That's probably the appropriate number of times to watch Rollerball."

"Not if you appreciate art, brother. It's a true cinematic masterpiece," he says, standing up and downing the rest of his beer. How they can drink and smoke so early in the morning, Rory will never understand. "Hey, Ro-Ro, you haven't seen Rollerball yet, have you?"

Díos. She was hoping this wouldn't happen. "No."

"You like art. You'll like the movie."

Rory sets her songbook aside and walks to the back door. "What's it about?"

"Well, that would be ruining the suspense. Part of the intrigue is going in blind."

Graham looks at her over his shoulder and shakes his head. Though he can be a huge pain in her ass, he usually has decent taste in films. If he doesn't like something that Eddie and Warren do, there's probably a good reason for it. But she has nothing else to do today than stare at her book. Any more of that will give her a headache.

She sighs. "Fine."

"Woo!" Warren sets his empty can on the wicker table and claps. "I knew I could count on you."

"All right, well, enjoy round two, gentlemen and lady," Graham says with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "And Rory, bring some change for a pay phone in case you need to call me to pick you up because you're bored out of your mind."

"Not gonna happen," Warren tells him, shrugging his peach-colored flannel over his white tank top. "She's gonna have the time of her life."

∴━━━ ✿ ━━━∴

RORY: And no, it wasn't because I saw Rollerball.

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Rory sits through Rollerball wondering if she should get new friends.

Sci-fi movies are fine, though not her preferred genre, and this one is not going on her list of exceptions. She doesn't understand how James Caan went from The Godfather to this. It relays warnings about how society can crumble once corporations have total control over people's lives, but the so-called "underlying messages" may as well be glaring neon signs mixed in with laser guns and artificial intelligence.

Her hand moves robotically to place popcorn in her mouth. The extra salty kernels practically melt on her tongue from how much butter Eddie had dumped onto them before she could protest, and her fingertips are slick with grease.

She blinks and realizes she's been zoning out for five minutes. She missed an entire conversation between James Caan and Moses Gunn. They're only halfway through the film with no sign of her attention span returning. Realizing her attempts at enjoying this movie are futile, she excuses herself to the restroom and scrubs the butter from her hands in the porcelain sink.

Going back in there is the last thing she wants to do. Rory thought she'd be content with their outing because it got her away from the house, but she'd gone from sitting there to sitting in a cramped theater seat. Not even the presence of her friends helps considering they can't talk. She can't help but feel like their free time is being wasted away. Today was supposed to be a day filled with memories, and Rollerball is not going to stick in her mind for years to come.

She sits on a bench in the corridor and twiddles her thumbs for a few minutes. The sounds of the movie echo into the hall— lots of shouting and grunting and rollerblades skidding across the floor. Her eyes flicker to a pay phone in the adjacent hallway. Maybe she should call Graham and beg for him to rescue her.

"There you are." Warren's voice snaps her attention away from the phone. He emerges from the showroom, his hands shoved into the pockets of his light-washed jeans. "You've been gone for a while. Got worried."

"This movie is terrible," Rory tells him bluntly.

He places a hand on his heart. "Ouch. You're always into deeper meanings and metaphors and stuff. I thought you'd dig it."

"I don't understand why they need to set trees on fire with their laser guns. That is bad for the environment. What did the trees ever do to them?"

"Ah, you think about things too much," he sighs, plopping next to her. Since she was sitting in the middle of the bench, he has to press up against her to avoid falling off. She shifts further down to give him more room.

"I just feel like we're wasting this rare day we all have off," Rory says. "I want to .... to go somewhere. To do something new."

"You are somewhere doing something new. We're watching Rollerball."

Her side-eye could cut diamonds. "Warren."

"Okay, fine. I get your point." He thinks for a long moment, running his thumb over his mustache. Rory tracks the movement — tan skin, fingers calloused from holding his drumsticks, his lips the perfect shade of pink — and then averts her eyes. "Have you ever been to the Santa Monica Pier?"

"No."

"Me neither. Let's go."

Warren stands and extends a hand to her. She takes it, allowing him to haul her up.

"I thought it was closing," she says.

"Nah. Well, it was going to, but they started building new stuff after a buncha locals came together to save it. I think it's getting popular again. Someone was talking about it at Billy and Camila's party."

And so it's decided. Warren and Rory pop back into the screening room to ask Eddie if he wants to join, but he only replies with a vague sound of acknowledgment when they tell him where they're going, so they leave him in his seat with his red eyes glued to the screen, images of Maud Adams reflecting in his pupils.

"I kind of feel bad leaving him behind," Rory says as she climbs into the passenger seat of the car.

"He sealed his fate," Warren replies. "He can call a cab or something if he wants to meet us later."

And that is how they leave Eddie Roundtree stranded at the movie theater.

It's a beautiful day as always— one where they can roll the windows down and let the wind blow through their hair while Warren cranks up the radio. Both of them laugh when "Look At Us Now" is already playing. He turns the dial higher and they belt along to the lyrics at the top of their lungs, playing invisible instruments. Warren taps his hands against the steering wheel to the beat of the drums. People on the sidewalks and in other cars turn to stare at them when they stop at red lights, but Rory couldn't care less about looking crazy.

The drive is just long enough for five other songs to play. It winds up being a great mix— Bowie, Abba, The Rolling Stones, Queen, and Rod Stewart, all upbeat tracks that keep her fingers tapping on the center console for the entire ride to the pier.

Only when they pull into a parking spot, Rory belatedly realizes that something is wrong. "My vest is suede. It can't get all sandy. And my blouse is too sheer to wear on its own."

"'S'fine, you can wear this," Warren says, unbuckling and starting to take off his overshirt like it's nothing. "I'll keep watch so you can get changed."

He tosses the shirt at her and then gets out of the car. Rory stares at the crumpled fabric in her hands for a moment, struggling to process the casual suggestion that she should wear his clothing. Her cheeks warm as her fingers stray to the strings of her vest to untie its bow. Once she wrestles it off along with her blouse, she slips her arms through the sleeves of his plaid button-up. It's not made of flannel fabric after all, but is much lighter and airier than she'd expected. Only it's ginormous on her and makes her look shapeless. She tucks the front into her jeans in an attempt to make it more flattering.

When she steps into the parking lot and shuts the door, Warren turns around at the sound of it clicking shut. "Perfect. No sign of Revolutionary War chic anymore."

"Shut up," Rory says, smacking him between his shoulder blades. "Where should we go first?"

"Let's just find the actual pier."

"Okay, but we're not walking along the tide because I don't trust you not to push me into the water."

"You have such little faith in me," Warren laments in a falsely dramatic tone, turning around to face her while he walks backward. "I wouldn't push you in... while you're wearing jeans and boots. That's a crime."

The area is busier than she'd expected for a place that was going to be shut down. The revitalization efforts are already working, because people crowd both the beach and the pathway leading to the infamous pier. Families have picnics spread out on the sand, children lick dripping ice cream cones, and flocks of seagulls soar overhead. The sunlight reflecting on the crests of each wave makes her squint until she slides her sunglasses onto her nose.

This. This is what she had been yearning for— new things to observe, to experience. So many possibilities lie ahead.

Warren and Rory walk side-by-side down the boardwalk lined with vendors selling everything from handmade bags to food. He doesn't protest when she wants to stop and check out a booth or two. He seems eager to check out the local handcrafted items as well, picking out a shot glass with a painted picture of the pier on it. Rory purchases a crochet top. They try on the most ridiculous pairs of sunglasses they can find, laughing as they observe their reflections in the small mirror on the table.

"What do you think?" Warren asks. He's chosen a pair of oversized, square-shaped glasses with purple lenses and rhinestone gems around the frames. The pose he strikes is ridiculous.

"You look like a Latin Elton John," Rory replies.

"Emilio Juan," he says. Then, in a thick Colombian accent like she used to have, he begins to sing, "Daniel, eres una estrellaaaaa—"

She plucks the glasses from his face before he can keep going, setting them back on the booth.

Warren pouts. "I think Elton would've liked that. You should ask him."

"Oh, yes, I have his personal number in my pocket for emergencies," Rory replies sarcastically, trying on a pair of red flower-shaped frames. "I'll call him when we get home." Soon she can't deny that his joke was funny, and glances at him over her shoulder, thickening her accent and cooing, "Sostenme más cera, pequeña bailarinaaaaaa."

Warren breaks into laughter that makes her heart sing, slinging an arm across her shoulders and sighing, "Ah, it doesn't match quite as well in Spanish."

Rory buys the flower glasses and wears them as they continue down the path. His arm remains casually slung around her. She could say it isn't making her heart pound, but she would be lying. She could also pretend that all of her nerves aren't zeroed into where the warmth of his bicep touches the back of her neck, but she wouldn't be telling the truth then, either.

"When's the last time we hung out by ourselves?" he wonders aloud.

Rory's face scrunches in thought. "I can't remember. It's been a while. With you guys starting the new album and me working or helping Cami with Julia..."

"I get it," he says. "You're too good for me now."

She rolls her eyes, groaning his name out in two drawn-out syllables: "War — ren."

"No, no, it's okay. You're a big-shot songwriter and you can't be seen with the likes of a lowly drummer like me."

He removes his arm from around her and starts to walk to the right, putting more distance between them, only for her to grab his wrist and tug him back. "¡Basta ya! Stop being so annoying. You're in a famous band."

"Nobody pays attention to the drummer."

"I do."

A second too late, Rory realizes what she said and how it could be interpreted. She forces her face to remain neutral while her insides scream, adding, "I pay attention to all of you."

He grins at her. "Well, thanks, Ro."

She chastises her mouth for working before her brain does.

They finally reach the pier— a long stretch of rickety wood that extends out into the Pacific. The local vendors and food trucks have been replaced with more carnival-like attractions and games. Rory immediately tugs them over to a machine that exchanges nickels for tokens, eagerly digging into her small purse.

"Good thing Graham told me to bring all that change," she says, sliding all of her nickels into the slot one after the other.

"You don't need so many." Warren eyes the tokens that come clinking out into her waiting palm. "These games are always easy. I'll win you so many prizes you won't be able to physically carry them all back to the car."

"Mmhmm. Right." She drops some into his hand as well. "Go try that one, then."

He follows her pointing finger to see a strength test. Rory has never attended a carnival before, but she knows it's a classic— the kind where you hit the machine as hard as possible with a mallet, and the bar rises correspondingly. The higher it goes, the better your prize.

"Two tokens, please," the employee says when they approach.

Warren hands over the two gold coins and grabs the mallet. Rory takes a step back, watching him squint at the red light at the top that will go off when the bar touches it. She hadn't been thinking about this when she suggested the game, but now she becomes acutely aware of the fact that she's wearing his overshirt and his arms are bare. When he raises the mallet and slams it onto the machine, his muscles flex under his bronze skin, forming peaks and valleys that completely capture her attention.

"What?" he yelps. She blinks to see him staring at the bar in indignation. It had stopped right before the top level, lingering exactly at the section that teases, Almost had it! "Again."

He digs in his pocket and hands the attendant two more tokens. Once the game is reset, he clutches the hammer tighter, his jaw clenched in determination, and swings. The bang! that results is loud, but the bar only reaches the midway point this time before sadly falling back down.

"How did it go lower this time?" Warren demands.

"Sorry, man," the worker says in a monotonous tone, then presents him with his prize: several small pieces of candy.

"This game is rigged," Warren announces when he's back at her side. "Let's try another one."

Their second choice involves fake rifles, where the player must shoot one of the moving targets five times for the grand prize. Rory raises her eyebrows.

"Have you ever shot anything before?" she asks, eyeing the row of guns.

"No," Warren replies, passing over the tokens. "But how hard could it be?"

Apparently, very hard. He manages to get three shots on the target, earning more candy as a consolation prize. Then he tries again, muttering, "Jittery bastards," and holds the rifle up once more.

Four shots. The last one pings off the edge as the target jerks away, which, of course, makes Warren outraged.

"It moved!" he exclaims, throwing a hand out. He glares at the attendant. "Did you move it?"

The employee, a tired-looking teenage boy, responds, "Dude, I don't make enough to care whether or not you win the stuffed animal."

Warren walks away before he can receive his pity sweets, so Rory holds out her hand to accept them instead.

"It was literally right in front of me and moved right as I pulled the trigger," he complains as they press through the crowd to find another game.

"Maybe I should try," Rory suggests.

"We have two tokens left, so sure," he says, staring at the coins in dismay. "If we lose again, I'm gonna see if they have a machine to trade dollar bills for change. I'll use all of my cash if I have to."

She pats his shoulder in mock consolation. "Oh, Warren. You're the only one who's lost so far."

His head snaps up to look at her. "Hey!"

Rory takes off sprinting down the pier before he can retaliate, the tail of the huge shirt fluttering behind her in the wind. She stops in front of a booth with water guns and cutouts of yellow ducklings. The goal is to knock down each target while avoiding the ducklings as they "swim" past.

"This one looks harder than the others," Warren says. "You sure about this, Ro?"

"I'm sure," she says. She pays with her final two tokens. "I like the ducklings."

"You have thirty seconds to knock down the targets," the employee informs her as she readies herself at the middle squirt gun. "Good luck."

Warren holds out his index finger as if testing the wind direction. Rory ignores him to the best of her ability. The worker presses the button and the game comes to life, her timer starting to tick. She presses the trigger of the tiny squirt gun as fast as her body will allow. Small jets of water burst from its nozzle, and she knocks down the first target with two sprays, then the second one falls a moment after that. Her focus turns into tunnel vision. Even the blaring music, which she found annoying at all the games Warren played, turns to static in her ears.

The final target falls within the time limit. And she didn't hit a single duckling.

Rory accepts her massive stuffed dog with an ecstatic grin. When she turns to Warren to give it to him, he has his arms folded across his chest and a scowl on his face.

"What's wrong?" she asks, waving one of the dog's floppy ears in his direction. "You don't want to meet Señor Guau Guau?"

Warren stares at the adorable plushy in Rory's arms for a moment before accepting it with a sigh. "Hola, Señor Guau Guau. You have a terrible name."

Having only eaten an orange, cookies, movie theater popcorn, and carnival candy all day, they decide to stop at one of the overpriced food stalls for a late lunch. Warren orders them a bucket of fries the size of his head and hot dogs smothered in toppings. While they're waiting for their food, the woman in front of them turns around with a smile.

"Did you win that for her?" she asks Warren, motioning to the stuffed animal held protectively against his chest.

Before he can respond, Rory pipes up, "I won it for him!"

The woman's laugh sounds like wind chimes. "How wonderful. You two are an adorable couple."

Rory's heart lurches painfully against her ribcage. Words stick to her tongue like taffy, causing her to stammer, "Oh — we're not — we're just friends."

"Oh!" A hand flies to her mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean — you just ... you looked like one. Sorry."

They're all saved from the now-awkward interaction by the woman's order being called at the window. She quickly scurries to receive it, causing Rory to release a slow exhale to quell her embarrassment. But as the woman walks by, she leans down to Rory's ear, murmuring, "You should see the way he looks at you, honey. That's all I'm saying."

And then she's gone, merging with the crowd like she didn't just make Rory's heart do gymnastics with two sentences. She blinks. Her palms become slick with sweat and they clutch her purse, willing the pier to break beneath her and send her falling into the ocean below or something. Maybe the cold water would help the burning of her skin.

Eddie finds them seated at the picnic tables along the boardwalk, approaching them with his hands shoved in his pockets. He looks at them, then at the stuffed dog Warren had placed between them, its front paws leaning on the table so it looks like he's also eating.

"This is what you guys were doing the whole time?" Eddie asks, both sounding and looking unimpressed. "Winning that?"

"His name is Señor Guau Guau," Warren informs him. "And we went through hell to get him."

"Warren went through hell," Rory clarifies. "I got him on the first try."

Eddie steals some of their fries and shoves them into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously while staring at the dog with an expression of longing. "Can you get me one?"

∴━━━ ✿ ━━━∴

RORY: Sometime in the mid-eighties, I got a piece of mail and couldn't believe my eyes. Someone sent me a letter explaining how they were going through old photo albums and found some from their trip to Santa Monica in November 1975. And look.

[She holds a photograph up to the camera. It's a broad shot of the pier, clearly intended to capture what it looked like at the time, but right in the middle of the small passing crowd are the clear figures of Warren and Rory. Both are smiling at each other. Warren has a large stuffed dog tucked under his arm.]

RORY: It's us! I couldn't believe it. What are the odds of that? Someone taking a picture and we just happen to be walking by?

∴━━━ ✿ ━━━∴

Rory's hair is tangled and windswept, but by the time they pull into the driveway, she's too elated to care about how she looks. They start unloading all of their treasures from the car. She had won Eddie an oversized stuffed bear that he'd named David Bearie, plus a smaller one for Julia. Their arms are full of goodies as Warren opens the front door, calling, "Honeys, I'm home!" into the house.

"We're home," Eddie corrects him.

The sound of the landline ringing greets their ears as they walk through the beaded curtain into the living room, where Graham and Karen sit on one of the sofas. This would normally not be anything for Rory to take a second glance at. But Graham's curls are sufficiently ruffled, and Karen's blonde locks are also in slight disarray. She appears to be combing her fingers through them in a subtle attempt to tame her hair.

Rory squints.

"You guys hear from Billy yet?" Warren asks.

"Uh, no," Graham answers casually. Too casually.

Rory's eyes narrow further.

Eddie picks up the phone, finally cutting off its incessant ringing, and holds the receiver to his ear. "Hello? Okay. Yeah, sure, no problem."

At the extended periods of silence between sentences, the others share looks of confusion. Warren motions for him to explain, but Eddie remains as vague as possible with his responses. Not even his voice betrays a hint of emotion.

"Mmhmm. Be right there." He sets the phone down. "That was Teddy."

A beat. No explanation. Rory wants to smack him.

Warren inquires, "What'd he say?"

When they return to Sound City, they're met with a sight that had seemed impossible this morning: Daisy and Billy sitting in the recording booth and laughing together.

Rory approaches them unsurely, wondering if this could be a facade that could shatter at any moment, or if Daisy is going to breathe wrong and cause Billy to start having another meltdown. It's strange to see him smiling openly like this. When he turns to his brother, he surprises them all by saying, "Hey Graham, you know the, uh, riff you're always playing?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." His voice is tinged with excitement, his eyes flickering between the pair. "You guys write something to it?"

"Sit down. I think you guys are gonna dig this."

Rory perches on a chair like it's going to explode beneath her.

"Oh, Rory?"

Her heart stops when Billy says her name. She's sure she looks like a deer in headlights when she asks, "Yeah?"

"We're probably not gonna get to 'Heartstopper' tonight, but feel free to stick around, you know, and tell us what you think of the stuff we've got."

Rory blinks. For a moment, she almost demands, "Who are you and what have you done with Billy?" but she swallows the question back lest she break this new, fragile dynamic.

"I figured we wouldn't have time to get to it," she replies, patting the hulking bag that rests by her feet. "I'm on camera duty today."

"What the hell is that?" Daisy asks. Everyone turns to see her pointing at the huge stuffed dog placed in a nearby chair, its smiling face declaring that this once tense recording studio is now a place of happiness.

"It's Señor Guau Guau," Warren replies. "He's a part of the band now."

"I thought you guys went to see Rollerball," Graham says.

"We did," Warren replies. He looks at Rory and winks.

Rory sets up her video camera while they run through the new song. She finds herself bopping her head along to the acoustic instrumentals they test out while Daisy softly sings the vocals, already enjoying the vibe they've created. She can't wait for the finished product. If "Look At Us Now" did so well, she can't imagine how a whole album like that would explode.

"And then it goes to D major?" Eddie asks, lifting the headphones from his ear.

"Yeah, I know, but just trust me, it works," Billy replies. "All right? And, hey, if you want to fuck around with it, do your thing, man."

Rory bites back a smile while she snaps a few photos. One of Karen adjusting her headphones while seated at her keys, one of Warren waving a drumstick, and one of Daisy doing a peace sign. The air feels different now. This morning, it had felt off, like they had just tried to jam an extra body part in without preparing. Now, all the parts are working together in unity.

A beep sounds over the speakers, followed by Teddy's voice. "Should we put this one on tape?"

"Yes, we should," Daisy replies in a sing-song voice.

"What's it called again?" Warren asks.

"It's called 'Let Me Down Easy.'"

∴━━━ ✿ ━━━∴

[CLIP: November 9, 1975. Sound City Recording Studios. Footage from Aurora Marquez.]

RORY: [Off-camera] I hope this is working. Is it recording? Oh, yes!

[The camera shakes as she bumps into it. A moment later, her face appears, smiling into the camera. The indistinct sounds of the band practicing "Let Me Down Easy" can be heard in the background.]

RORY: Uh, okay. So. [Claps] This is Daisy Jones and The Six's first day recording... um... the album doesn't have a name yet, so we'll just call it The Album. Today is the 9th of November, 1975. I set up my standing camera here to capture the song they're about to record, but I also have my handheld one for some other shots.

[CUT to a close-up of the band seated in the middle of the booth, running through the song again. Graham misses a note and swears loudly.]

[CUT to Rory's portable video camera. She zooms in close to Karen, who fiddles with her keys.]

RORY: [Off-camera] Karen! Hi!

[Karen looks up and waves excitedly.]

RORY: [Off-camera] What do you think of the song?

KAREN: I love it. I think it's going to sound great once it's all put together.

[Eddie steps in front of the camera, visible only as a blob of color until Rory zooms out to reveal him from the waist up. His face moves in and out of focus from his close proximity.]

EDDIE: In any song, though, it's always the bass that makes it the best.

RORY: [Off-camera] Shut up, Eddie.

[CUT to the production team.]

RORY: [Off-camera] Hi, Teddy. Hi, Tobias.

TEDDY: Hello, Aurora.

TOBIAS: Hey.

RORY: [Off-camera] What do you think about recording soon?

TEDDY: [Sighing] I'm just glad they got their shit together.

[CUT to the tripod camera. Rory is visible, taking photos of various band members, as they set up to record the song.]

TEDDY: [Over loudspeaker] Should we put this one on tape?

DAISY: Yes, we should.

WARREN: What's this one called?

DAISY: It's called "Let Me Down Easy."

[Warren counts down to the beginning of the song and starts the instrumentals off with his drums. Each member slowly joins in, with CUTS to close-ups of each of them in turn, and additional CUTS back and forth from the tripod to the portable camera. Until, finally...]

DAISY: [Singing] Found me lost in a daydream feeling / I've been awake too long...

∴━━━ ✿ ━━━∴

RORY: [Smiling absently] Sometimes I still go back to that day, you know? When I need a moment of peace, I close my eyes, and I'm there at Sound City, listening to the start of something great.

______

a/n:

the inspiration for the sunglasses scene came from this peanuts comic square:

we love charlie brown <3

special thank you to starryeyedturtle for her IMMENSE help with this chapter!!! she gave me the idea of them going to the pier because i knew i couldn't have rory sit in a theater for like 8 hours and didn't know wtf to do. so everyone say THANK YOU IMOGEN because i gratefully accepted her idea and RAN with it.

also !!! i have made a tracklist playlist for this book on my spotify! it features each song that has been a chapter title so far, and will be added to as i continue writing. you can find it on my account, which is scottmccutie (it's also in the carrd link in my bio!)

thank you for all the love and support on the double update!! it made me so happy :)

— kristyn

TRANSLATIONS:

¡Basta ya!: Enough already!

Daniel, eres una estrellaaaaa: Daniel, you're a staaaaaaaar

Sostenme más cera, pequeña bailarinaaaaaa: Hold me closer, tiny danceeerrrrrr

Señor Guau Guau: Mr. Bow-Wow

( word count: 5.3k )