catesby drops the announcement like it’s nothing, like he’s not telling a bunch of barely-organized teens to chase a secret show in the mountains on a wednesday night. dex romweber. live. unannounced. it hits the room like a spark.

neil’s eyes go huge, charlie’s grin spreads slow and wild, and the entire band moves like someone yelled free drugs in the parking lot.

within minutes, they’re trying to sweet-talk topher into stealing—borrowing—the willington golf bus. neil leans into his “buddha charm,” rambling about destiny and cosmic signs. charlie plays backup hype man, arms flailing, voice cracking, insisting, “dude, it’s dex. dex. the world’s greatest weirdo with a guitar. we can’t miss this.” like he didn't just find out who he is.

topher caves faster than anyone expects.

later, charlie corners sophia kinney at java junction, breathlessly retelling the news. sophia freezes, then blinks slow, like she’s somewhere else. “he was my mom’s favorite songwriter,” she murmurs. “she used to play him driving up the coast.”

the minute she mentions it to you and amanda and bender, it’s over — you’re all going.

before leaving, neil stands in topher’s driveway holding a gallon ziploc like he’s performing a ritual. “phones. now. digital detox, mountain edition. dex would want this.” somehow he convinces everyone. pete drops the whole bag on the lawn like it’s cursed.

the boys pile into the golf bus — bez riding shotgun with his drum bag, wyatt already trying to hijack the aux, pete pacing like an anxious father, topher gripping the wheel, charlie and neil bouncing in the back. you four take amanda’s car.

fifteen minutes into the drive, wyatt and topher start fighting over the radio — so aggressively the bus swerves. the girls watch the wobble and screech and all collectively oh no right before amanda loses control and runs her car straight off the shoulder.

windshield? shattered. mood? dead.

you march to the bus, demand the phones, only to find out pete left them. before you can start screaming, a random tow truck materializes — divine intervention or dumb luck — and takes amanda’s car away. tomorrow at the earliest, they say.

so now you’re stranded, mildly traumatized, and mad.

and joining the boys in the van feels like the only option.

the second the door slides shut, wyatt claps his hands. “okay. hot seat. two minutes. ask anything. all truth. no skipping.”

bez tosses his head back. “you’re gonna start a fight.”

“that’s the point,” pete grins.

everyone cycles through stupid questions at first — “who snores,” “who steals socks,” “who smells like a wet dog after practice.” then someone — probably bender, because she’s way too nosy for someone who pretends to be above gossip — drops:

“has anyone here ever had a three-way?”

the bus goes quiet.

like dead quiet.

wyatt shakes his head. “nope.” bez: “not yet, but give me time.” topher chokes on his water.

but you… and charlie… and neil…

you don’t move.

you don’t speak.

you don’t even blink.

and that silence? that silence is the loudest thing in the van.

bender’s head snaps around so fast her ponytail hits amanda in the face. “oh. my. god. oh my GOD. you three? like—together together?”