ATLANTA, GA — July 11. Night before Show 1

Keira unpacked her beauty supplies from the water cooler and stacked the important ones in the tiny mini-fridge. The A/C in the motel kissed her brown skin when she stood again and snatched her phone from the single bed. She paced, phone in hand, chasing the light that made her skin glow the best.

Never before had she been proud of herself. She looked like a real young adult who traveled. The soles of her new boots were dusted in gas station dirt. Her black cropped tank top clung uncomfortably after hours on the road from Caldemere University. There were indents in her upper thighs from the creases of her denim shorts.

If anyone took one look at her, they couldn't call her spoiled! She was a hot roadie. And that was a win.

Behind her, the room smelled like lemon disinfectant and dollar store air freshener. Keira didn’t mind. She used to dream of nights like this: ugly walls, outside vending machines, and just enough magic to make it feel like she was straight out of a 90's biopic!

Everything was just so “tour-core”.

She leaned against the faded wallpaper like a girl in a movie. The camera of her phone switched to record mode as she whispered into her portable mic.

“God,” she pushed down the giddy giggles forming in her stomach. “This feels like every dream I had since high school.”

She used to dream about attending a Rosemilk Radio tour, but never with someone else. Her brown eyes settled on her companion, suddenly prouder to have a bestie along for the ride.

The first show was tomorrow at Terminal West. She wondered where the band was sleeping tonight.

‘Wait, stop thinking about them! Think about you!’

Keira was appalled at herself; she hadn’t even picked her earrings yet! Stopping the recording, she climbed onto the firm mattress with a moody groan.

“Help me pick earrings or I’ll look like a loser on the timeline tomorrow.” She scrambled to her feet, pulling out an altered Rosemilk Radio t-shirt and a pair of sheer thigh-highs and high-waisted shorts. Then, she tossed five pairs of earrings onto the bed dramatically, before flopping back with an exasperated sigh.

“Will I look ‘hot and edgy’ or like a ‘mom-coded poser’?” Wait, she didn't want to ask that and risk her heart breaking.

She held up one of the earrings—shaped like little records—and dangled them. "Remember when I wore these to sophomore formal and said they made me feel sexy? That was peak delulu, right?"