Total pages in book: 198
Estimated words: 186242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 931(@200wpm)___ 745(@250wpm)___ 621(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 931(@200wpm)___ 745(@250wpm)___ 621(@300wpm)
Then sometimes I forgot she was a multimillionaire.
Nearly four hours later, Yuki and I found ourselves downstairs in the garage in two of Mr. Rhodes’s camping chairs while Amos sat on the floor, looking sick. It had only taken a stack of pancakes that were eaten at the table with my young friend not saying a word; a quick talk with the same teenage boy, who pleaded with me to take the day off, but I insisted that, no, we shouldn’t; and arguing about it for a second, which had surprised and amused me, to get to this point. I’d gotten to talk to Yuki in private while I’d gotten dressed about how the tour was going, which was just okay.
Jackie was on her way.
“We can wait another day,” the teenage boy insisted, his neck red.
Usually I didn’t like to force people to do things they didn’t want to do, but this was Yuki and she had the kindest soul in the world. “What if you turn around and pretend neither one of us is here?”
He shook his head.
“Neither one of us would ever say anything mean or bad, and I’ve heard you already. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, Am, and One Hundred and Twenty-Seven Million Albums over here—”
Yuki grunted from where she was sitting in her chair, legs crossed, holding a cup of tea she’d somehow made in my apartment. Knowing her, she probably kept a couple of packs in her purse. “Would you stop calling me that?”
“Not after you asked for Voss water earlier.” I raised my eyebrows. “Would you prefer Eight-Time Grammy Winner?”
“No!”
Amos paled.
“You’re making Amos more nervous,” she argued.
But there was a method to my madness. “What about . . . I Puke Before Every Concert?”
She seemed to think about it for a second but nodded cheerily.
And that had Amos snapping out of it and asking quietly, “What?”
“I throw up before every performance,” my friend confirmed seriously. “I get so nervous. I’ve had to go to the doctor for it.”
His dark eyes flicked from side to side like he was processing her comment and having a difficult time doing so. “Still?”
“I can’t help it. I’ve tried therapy. I’ve tried . . . everything. Once I’m out there, I’m fine, but getting up there is so hard.” She uncrossed her legs and recrossed them. “Have you performed in front of an audience yet?”
“No.” He seemed to think about it. “My school has a talent show every February . . . I was . . . I was thinking about it.”
This was the first time I’d heard about it.
“Getting up there is difficult,” she confirmed. “It’s really hard. I know some people get used to it, but it’s fighting every instinct in my body to go out there every single time.”
“How do you do it then?” he asked, gaze wide.
She cradled her cup, looking thoughtful. “I throw up. I tell myself I’ve done it before and I can do it again, remind myself I love making money, and turn into Lady Yuki. Not normal Yuki, mind you, but Lady Yuki who can do everything that I can’t.” She shrugged. “My therapist said it’s a survival instinct that isn’t necessarily healthy, but it gets the job done.”
She set her cup down on her thigh. “Most people are too scared to ever put themselves in a position to be criticized. You shouldn’t care what they think if they don’t have the guts to do what you’re doing. You have to remember that too. The only opinion that really matters is your own and other people you respect. Everyone is scared of something, and perfection isn’t realistic. We’re humans, not robots. Who cares if you’re a little sharp or trip on national television?”
That had happened to her. Her sister had recorded it and cackled over it for at least a year.
Amos’s face was very thoughtful.
“So . . .” I trailed off to give him some time to think about her advice. “Have you written anything new?”
“Are you writing a song?” Yuki interrupted.
“Yeah,” I answered for him. “We’re still trying to figure out long-term what story he wants to tell with his music.”
She understood and puckered her lips together. “Yes. You absolutely have to figure that out. Amos, you’ve got the best person in the world right here to help you. You have no idea how lucky you are.”
I gritted my teeth, hoping she wouldn’t say much more, but the boy made a face.
“Who? Ora?”
That got me to snicker. “Dang, Am, don’t make it seem like it sounds that wild. I told you I’ve written a few songs.” He just didn’t know that some of them had done . . . well.
It was Yuki’s turn to make a crazy face. “A few?”
I had told her while we were upstairs that they had no idea about Kaden, that they only knew about her; at least Amos had been warned in a backward way with little hints. All they knew was about my . . . “divorce.”