“You’re really lucky to have every single one of us,” he said. “And you should really get to know the new kid. He’s your age, and I’m sure he could use a friend with . . . Some of the stuff he’s been through. You could be that friend for him. Do something good.”

It’s amazing how much I followed his advice. But being friends with Ayden was never about doing something good. It always came so naturally, as if we were supposed to be friends long before we ever met. And if anything, he’s the one who did something good for me, by letting me into his world. It’s always made me feel so special that he’s trusted me so much.

After we get out of the car, Ayden and I go into his house and up to his room to work on our song that we’re supposed to be singing together on our album, but we spend a lot of time kissing too. About a half an hour later, the crazed parent mob shows up and we’re summoned to the kitchen. They tell Fiona, Everson, and Kale to go into the living room and work on their homework. After the room is cleared of the youngin’s, Ayden sits down at the table with Uncle Ethan while my worried mom sideswipes me with a hug.

“Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re okay.” She circles her arms around me, squeezing so tightly I feel like my lungs are being crushed.

I give her a moment before I step back. “I’m fine, Mom. Would you relax? Nothing happened.”

“I will not relax, Lyric Scott. We were so worried.” She has yellow, green, and red paint spots on her shorts and tee and even in her auburn hair, which means she probably rushed away from one of her art pieces.

I feel bad that she had to bail in the middle of a piece. As an artist myself, I know when inspiration strikes, you just roll with it until it stops; otherwise you could totally lose the vibe.

“But I’m fine.” I span my hands to the side and curtsey, trying to lighten the stressful tone taking over the Gregorys’ kitchen. “See, one hundred percent okay.”

My mom shakes her head exhaustedly. “You know, I’d ask you how on earth you could possibly joke at a time like this, but I already know my answer.” She shoots my dad a look.

He’s sporting his infamous bedhead/fauxhawk hair, a style that’s unintentional and only appears when he’s really stressed and has been raking his fingers through his hair.

He pulls a whoops face then shrugs. “Sorry, but you knew what you were getting into long before you married me.” He turns to me, his amusement vanishing as his arms fold around me. “I was so fucking worried about you,” he whispers in my ear so only I can hear.

“I know,” I whisper back. “But it’s okay. It was just a note.”

“Still, we’re going to keep an extra eye on you,” he promises. “No going out alone or anything.”

I nod my head up and down. “That’s fine by me, but Dad? This isn’t Ayden’s fault.” I keep my voice low so no one else will hear me.

“Of course it’s not,” my dad says, sounding shocked. “Why would you say that?”

“Because he thinks it is.”

We hug for a second longer then step back, forcing ourselves to relax for the sake of the others.

My dad walks over to Ayden, who’s sitting in a chair at the table, staring at the floor, looking so sullen I want to cry for him. “You’re okay, right?” he asks Ayden.

Ayden glances up, looking startled by my dad’s question. “Um, yeah, of course.” He looks at Aunt Lila, Uncle Ethan, and my mom who are all staring at him with concern.

He may blame himself for all of this, but there’s nothing but love for him right now. I just hope he can see it.

“Good. Good.” My dad yanks his fingers through his hair, making the strands go even more askew. “If you guys want, we can move the recording to a later date.”

“No way,” I protest at the same time Aunt Lila says, “I think that’s a good idea.”

I scrunch my nose at her. “That is so not a good idea and it’ll totally set us back for the tour.”

She shoots me a warning look from across the kitchen. “Lyric, I don’t think the tour is the most important thing right now.”

“It might not be, but right now everyone is so stressed out it’s starting to give me a headache,” I say, stealing a sugar cookie from the plate on the counter. “No one laughs anymore. Tells stories. Smiles. It’s all stress over this. Stress over that. And I really think everyone just needs to take a chill pill and focus on some fun stuff in life, even if it’s just for a few hours. Then you can all go back to acting twitchy and crazy.” The four of them give each other curious glances, so I keep on rolling. “What I think we need is for all of us get in the car and go do something fun.”