Chapter Text
“Josie! Over here!”
MG is barely audible over the bustle of the other patrons in the pizzeria, but luckily, Josie spots him before she hears him; it’s so crowded she has to squeeze past quite a few people, but she manages to make it. Josie doesn’t usually come to places like these—not because she doesn’t want to, but she’s never really done anything without Lizzie before. Lizzie would rather spend after-school days at some party, not settle for something as simple as dinner with friends.
At the table there’s already pizza waiting, untouched; Josie is warmed by the thought that her friends have waited for her.
“Josie, Josie, please tell my man Landon here that his music is wack,” MG says jovially. “He’s trying to—no, no, get this—he’s trying to get me to learn how to play some really emo music.”
“I thought you and Landon were practically married,” Penelope mock-coos, kissing the air for good measure. MG throws a balled up napkin at her forehead, which does not dissuade her from batting her eyelashes suggestively at him.
“It’s Seven Nation Army. It’s not even emo, it’s a classic,” Landon’s protest falls on deaf ears, because Hope elbows him sideways so everyone can scoot over and make room.
It means Josie is sitting next to Penelope, and the proximity makes her nervous.
“Josie, you’re vegetarian right? We got cheese pizza,” MG says. “Well, Hope bought the pizza, but I remembered because I love you the most.”
“We all know Josie’s a vegetarian, Milton,” Penelope interjects. “Shut up and pass us the plates.”
Josie can’t help but smile a little when Penelope catches her eye. It’s…certainly different, knowing Penelope doesn’t hate her. Different in a good way.
(Different in a way that has her hyperaware of how close Penelope’s hand is to hers.)
“So why did you call this emergency band meeting anyway, Hope?” Landon asks. “Not that I mind the, uh, free food. Thanks for that?”
Hope shrugs. “We only ever see each other in detention,” she says. “I was thinking we should change that.”
“Aw, so we can become a happy family?” MG beams, and Hope immediately kicks him in the shin. “Ow!”
“We’re friends, aren’t we?” Hope says. “Don’t make it weird.”
“You’re weird,” MG replies, rubbing at his leg with a dramatic grimace.
“You’re all a bunch of weirdos,” Penelope says decidedly. “We can toast to that, I think.”
They indeed have a clumsy toast, knocking their coke bottles together and dissolving into giggles. Hope asks Landon something about The Eagles and he delves into an excited answer—MG groans, and takes that moment to stand and declares that he’s going to bring some breadsticks.
And Josie observes Penelope as this unfolds, takes in the nonchalant way she takes a swig from her bottle, takes in the shape of her jaw and the movement of her throat as she swallows.
“Do your friends mind?” Josie blurts out, the question finally escaping from her head; it’s been bouncing around there just about forever. “You know, that you’re friends with us.”
“What?” Penelope turns to face her, a smile lingering on her lips.
“You know.” Josie grips her bottle tightly, feels the condensation wet and cold against her palm. “Since you’re kind of insanely popular and all that.”
Penelope chuckles. “I’m not popular,” she says. “If I had to put a label on it, I’d prefer the term ‘rebel.’ Definitely more badass.”
“Oh, come on. People follow you like you’re the next best thing since sliced bread. That’s being popular,” Josie retorts. “Everyone loves you.”
“And what, they’d stop loving me if they knew I was on your good side?” Penelope raises her bottle to her mouth, head tilted questioningly.
Josie licks her lips and pretends not to watch. “Who says you’re on my good side?”
Another laugh. Another swallow. Josie is mesmerized and she doesn’t even notice. “Damn, Josie, you’re a tough girl to keep up with,” Penelope jokes. “One minute we’re friends and now you’re acting like we’re not.”
“Well, you do have a tendency to sidestep my questions,” Josie notes. “So?”
“So…”
“Do your friends mind?” Josie will not allow herself to waver, even though Penelope is stupidly hot.
Penelope’s smile slowly fades. “They don’t know,” she says. “They know about the band, but they don’t know I hang with you guys.”
“Are you ashamed of us?” Josie drops her gaze to her coke, focuses on peeling away its label.
“No.” Penelope sinks back against the back of their booth as though she is weary. Maybe she is. “They just wouldn’t understand.” She leans in a bit to whisper, “This is the part where you tell me that’s predictable behavior on my part.”
“Lucky for you, I’m not an asshole like that,” Josie whispers back. “I get it, actually.”
“Oh yeah? Are the mathletes scandalized about your friendship with me?”
“I’m not even a mathlete, you jerk.” Josie suspects she’s smiling too much for her feigned anger to work. She doesn’t mind, though.
“Could’ve fooled me.” Penelope is grinning back at her when Josie shyly meets her eyes, and it’s enough to make Josie’s stomach somersault. “So how’s your song pick going?”
“I don’t have one yet,” Josie says. “Landon and I still might write something.”
Penelope looks surprised. “We’re supposed to share songs in two days.”
“I know. It’s—something I have to explore with Landon, but you’ll see,” Josie says.
“Ah, the mystery route.” Penelope tips her coke bottle in Josie’s direction before taking a drink. “I like it.”
“And how’s your song choice coming?”
“That,” Penelope says, “is a surprise.” She offers an encouraging wink and turns back to the others, leaving Josie to hide an exasperated smile behind her hand.
The longer she stares at Penelope, Josie has to reach a begrudging truth: she’s definitely beginning to like her. And it is, possibly, the opposite of a problem.
In fact, all things considered…developing a tiny crush on Penelope wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, would it?
.
.
.
On Friday night Landon shows up to the Saltzman household.
Alaric is clearly befuddled by Landon’s presence. He questioningly calls, “Josie, there’s someone at the door for you,” as if he didn’t give Josie explicit permission hours earlier to have a friend over.
“You can say Landon’s name, Dad, I know you know who he is,” Josie shouts, hopping off the stairs as she makes her way into the living room. “Come in, Landon. We can work in my room.”
“Cool.” Landon awkwardly sidesteps Alaric, who barely gives him room to do so. “Uh, your house is nice Dr. Saltzman.”
“Thanks—Landon,” Alaric says slowly. “Josie, can I speak to you for a minute?”
“Dad, we’ve got so much homework to do.”
“It won’t take long.” Alaric nods towards the kitchen, and Josie groans and follows him. When they’re safely out of earshot her father inquires, “Since when are you friends with Landon Kirby?”
“Since detention,” Josie answers. “What does it matter?”
“Do you really want to be around a boy like that? He’s a good kid, I know, but he’s making a lot of poor choices this semester. If you want me to talk to him—”
“No way,” Josie cuts him off. “Landon is my friend. And he’s a great guy, so…don’t worry about anything.”
“Okay. Well.” Alaric doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue further. “Keep the, ah, door to your room open.”
“What? Oh my God, Landon is not that kind of friend—”
A sudden scream from the living room tells Josie that Lizzie has walked downstairs. Faintly they hear her yell, “Dad, why the fuck is Marilyn Manson in our house?”
Alaric sighs. “Just keep the door open, Josie,” he says wearily, and then he steps out to handle the situation.
To his credit, Landon handles the poor reception like a pro. He doesn’t mention Lizzie or her dad as Josie leads him into her room, only compliments her on her posters and takes a seat on her bed when prompted.
“Do you really think we can write a song in one night?” Landon asks. “Because we do have to present it tomorrow.”
“About that…” Josie haltingly reaches for her prized notebook, the one full of poetry and half-written song lyrics she has never shared with anyone. “I was thinking we could finish a song I’ve already started? Unless you want to start fresh, which would be fine either way.”
“Are you kidding? Let’s finish your song. That would work out better,” Landon says. “Can I read it?”
“You won’t make fun of it?”
“I’d never,” Landon promises, and Josie believes him. She may not be as close to Landon as she is to the others, but they get along well; they’re both quiet, both reserved in their own way, and apparently both like writing music.
Josie waits a few minutes before she says, in the silence of the room, “I’m sorry, by the way. About Lizzie.”
“It’s okay,” Landon says. He runs a hand through his hair, sheepish, and adds, “I guess I’m not like your usual friends.”
“Lizzie will warm up to you,” Josie says. They both know it’s a lie, but Landon pretends to believe her and that’s all that matters. “So what do you think of the song?”
“Right!” Landon props open the notebook again. “I think it’s fantastic.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, it’s really good,” Landon says. “I like this line—the one about chasing an adventure. It’s poetic.” He’s brought his guitar along, and he reaches for it now. “Did you have a melody in mind? It reads like it’s meant to be kind of slow, but not melancholy.”
“That’s exactly it!” Josie says. “Do you think we can work with this?”
“Definitely.” Landon grins, then props his guitar up in his lap. “MG said he’s rooting for our song to win.”
“Isn’t MG supposed to root for his own song?” Josie laughs. “I think he’s messing with you.”
“Who cares? I’m holding him to it,” Landon says. “Do you want to sing the first verse? I’ll play along.”
They spend the rest of their night like this: trading off on different points, laughing and trading suggestions on how to write the remainder of the song. It’s the most fun Josie has had in ages.
.
.
.
They don’t have a band name.
They have pizza nights, friendly banter, music that is beginning to sound coherent, but no band name. In fact, they don’t even remember to think about a band name until Emma asks what it is.
For a while they sit, silent and stumped. Somehow the idea of using a name makes this all very real.
“We should name it after me,” MG announces first, “because no one ever names their bands after the drummer.”
“What, are you suggesting we become Milton and His Mathletes?” Penelope snorts. “No way. We have to think cool.”
“I’m not a Mathlete! Geez, you help out a friend once in a speed round timing session—”
“Let’s not bicker,” Hope interjects civilly. “We need ideas.”
“Something cool, right?” Penelope says. She’s got half a stick of licorice hanging out of her mouth, and she nudges Hope’s leg with her boot. “You won’t let us fall into nerd obscurity, will you Mikaelson?”
Josie rolls her eyes. “What kind of name would you call ‘cool’?” she demands. “Something with the words rock n’ roll and anti-authority sentiment?”
Penelope grins. “I bet your dad would love that,” she says, waving a second piece of licorice in the air before sticking it into an unsuspecting Landon’s mouth. “We could call ourselves ‘Fuck Josie’s dad in particular,’ but it’s a bit wordy.”
“Seriously, my dad is not the enemy here—”
“Profanity, Penelope!” MG shouts, scandalized, and Penelope pelts him with candy next.
Landon pipes up around the unchewed licorice still in his mouth. “Maybe we can narrow it down,” he suggests. “Do we want our name to be silly? Inspirational?”
“We want it to be cool, Kirby,” Penelope stresses once more. “I have a reputation to uphold.”
“You hang out with us now,” Josie reminds her. “Isn’t that kind of a moot point?”
Penelope bats her eyes in Josie’s direction. “Aw, Jojo,” she says. “Are you jealous I still have other friends?” She’s sitting across from Josie in their makeshift circle, and she slides over the licorice box as if making a peace offering.
“Shut up,” Josie groans. “I’m just saying it’s dumb to think anyone will think you’re cool after we do this. Playing the talent show is already social suicide, right? That’s why no one does it.”
“No one does it because your dad creates a hostile environment for the arts,” Penelope counters. “Plus, one year a kid puked all over the judges’ table on purpose, so no teachers are keen on signing up for the gig.”
“Ew,” Hope says. “What about puking on stage?”
“Oh, there’s been countless times that has happened. Kaleb keeps a log—it’s so gross it’s kind of cool.”
“Can we stop talking about puke?” Josie interrupts. “We’re getting off track.”
“Yeah,” MG agrees. “And if we’re going to become MG and the Musketeers, we need to stay on point.”
There is silence all around. Then,
“We’re not picking that.”
“I’m with Hope,” Landon says. “Sorry, MG.”
MG pouts. “Jo?” he says hopefully. “Peez?”
Penelope shakes her head. “I’d rather sign up for three weeks detention voluntarily,” she says. “With Mr. Saltzman as the overseer.”
Josie bites her lip. “Um, I’m not going to be as rude as Penelope,” she says, “but I kind of have to agree on a no.”
Hope pats MG’s shoulder sympathetically. “Well, I have an idea,” she says. “But feel free to tell me if it’s terrible.”
“We don’t need permission, we’d tell you anyway,” Penelope says, and Hope shoots her an unimpressed glare.
“Go on, Hope,” Josie encourages, sending Penelope her own disapproving look for good measure.
“Well…” Hope trails off. “What if Landon has a point, about the whole ‘inspirational’ thing? We can pick a name that’s indicative of us, not the people the social chain of high school has pigeonholed us to be. Like picking our own kind of legacy to leave behind.”
Landon scratches his chin, puzzled. “We’re just kids, though,” he says. “Who says we’re leaving any kind of legacy?”
“That’s the point—that we should,” Hope says. “You know. Write our own legacies.”
“This is beginning to sound less and less like a high school band,” Josie says slowly. “That’s all we are, right? Just a high school band?”
No one answers her question. Penelope has a pensive expression on her face when she says, “Legacies, huh? I like it.”
MG nods. “It’s pretty cool,” he says. “It’s no MG and the Musketeers, but it’s cool.”
The room is silent for a moment. Josie sees it, the exact moment where this stint in detention suddenly becomes more. She is a witness down to the minute—no, the very second they realize how far they’re willing to take their newfound friendship.
She surprises herself by speaking up. “What the hell,” Josie says. “Let’s do it. Let’s be Legacies.”
Penelope is the first person to catch her eye; when Josie allows herself to stare, Penelope is smiling in that soft, fond way that Josie is beginning to realize is a glimpse into actual vulnerability.
She never would’ve guessed Penelope Park could be capable of such a thing.
.
.
.
When the day comes to vote on each other’s songs, the unanimous consensus is picking Josie and Landon’s song.
MG’s pick—a random Beyoncé song—was apparently never intended to win. Hope’s pick of an Elvis Presley song also ensured the same outcome. And Penelope, Penelope who’d winked and said her song choice was a surprise, showed up to Josie’s house with no song at all.
“This is insane,” Landon says, but he looks touched, disbelievingly shaking his head at the three of them. “You guys really want to go with our song?” He glances at Josie as if to marvel at the very idea, and Josie is inclined to agree.
“We trust you won’t let us down,” Hope says decidedly.
“You guys…” Josie can’t think of what to say. “Is this really happening?”
And as everyone shares glances at each other over empty pizza boxes, as they ignore the sprinklers dampening their jeans, something new begins. The excitement hangs in the air, unspoken, and they don’t talk about what it means right away.
“I think this calls for a celebration,” Penelope says. “Hey Josie, can we steal some whiskey from your dad?”
“I’m in too good of a mood to fight with you, Penelope,” Josie huffs, pointedly taking a sip of the lemonade her dad had brought out.
Penelope laughs, the kind of laughter where she throws her head back, unbridled and free. “Then I guess we have to celebrate old-school movie style,” she declares. Before anyone can ask what she means, she’s taking off into the grass—running into the sprinklers without a care in the world, throwing her arms out like she’s putting on a show.
Hope puts her chin in her hands and watches her go. “What movie is she thinking of?” she wonders aloud.
“High School Musical 2,” MG says, the way someone might say it’s obvious, duh. Landon nods like MG has imparted sage advice.
Without warning, Hope stands up. “Why not,” she says decidedly, and then she, too, follows Penelope’s example.
Josie’s mouth falls open in silent protest. “Um, I don’t think this is exactly the celebration we were imagining,” she tries, casting a worried glance backwards at her house. Her dad, she’s sure, is probably posted at one of the windows watching all of this unfold.
Her protests fall on deaf ears. MG is already whooping in excitement, dragging a reluctant Landon behind him. They fall into a rather undignified heap in the grass, nearly taking out Hope with them.
Penelope returns to where Josie is still sitting while the others wrestle and shout. “You coming?” she says, holding out her wet hand. Her hair is damp, sticking to her cheeks, and her clothes a shade darker than before. But she is unbothered; if anything, she seems far too pleased with herself.
“Uh…” Again, Josie glances at the house. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
“Josie.” Penelope takes a step closer, hand still outstretched. “Just this once?”
It takes a second, but Josie finally lets herself be pulled to her feet. Penelope doesn’t drop her hand as they rush back into the sprinklers, doesn’t even drop it when Josie shrieks at the assault of chilly water and inadvertently pushes Penelope in front of her to take the brunt of it.
“It’s cold,” Josie yelps, almost falling right into Penelope’s back as the shock overwhelms her.
“That’s the point!” Penelope says, grasping at Josie’s wrists to spin her around. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Saltzman?”
“It’s nonexistent, actually,” Josie says, drawing her hands to her chest in order to cross her arms. But she is smiling; she must be smiling, because Penelope grins in response.
Then Penelope takes a step closer. Her face is inches away—Josie can see each individual drop of water on her eyelashes. “Maybe it’s time we helped you find it,” she suggests.
And in that moment Josie is struck. Penelope is so much more than Josie could have ever expected. So much more than she did expect.
It’s a surprise. But, admittedly, a rather nice one.
.
.
.
Everyone is nervous.
It seems like a silly thing to admit aloud. They’ve never so much as performed in front of an audience (unless Ms. Tig counts, which they unanimously agree she doesn’t). Of course they’d be nervous; it’s only natural, given the fact that they’re about to play in front of everyone sitting in the talent show stands.
Penelope plays it cool, acts unfazed, but her leg keeps shaking—and her shoe continuously taps Josie’s. Each time Penelope jerks it away without apologizing out loud.
MG doesn’t bother hiding his nerves; he keeps pacing, and eventually he’s the one who voices what they’re all thinking: “What if we’re terrible?”
“Then we’ll be terrible,” Hope replies. But as dry as her voice is, Josie can tell she’s gripping onto her arm rests far tighter than necessary.
“Yeah, but what happens after that?” MG presses. “This was a bad idea. Oh my God. I’m going—I’m going to pass out.”
“Dude, no,” Landon says. “I’m not sure I have the upper body strength to carry you to the nurse's office.”
“You definitely don’t,” Penelope agrees. “Don’t worry, Hope and I will take care of it.”
“No one’s passing out!” Josie interrupts. “That’s what you mean, right Penelope?”
Penelope purses her lips, considering, then shrugs. “Whatever you say,” she says. Her leg does not quit shaking even then.
“Look, I know we’re all freaking out,” Josie says. “I certainly am. But we’ve practiced this song so many times! We can do this.” She reaches to her right for Hope’s hand, and feels Hope squeeze back. “There’s no going back now.”
“We really could be minutes away from social suicide,” Hope says wryly. “Are you all ready for that?” She pointedly looks in Penelope’s direction.
“Why are you looking at me?” Penelope says. “I’m fine.”
“Well, this might put a damper on your tough girl image,” Hope points out. “You might actually have to end up sitting with us at lunch. The horror.”
“On second thought…spending the rest of my high school life looking at Landon every day? I have to quit the band.”
Josie surprises everyone by bursting into giggles. Penelope smiles over at her, a half-smile that’s pleased and soft, and soon everyone else is laughing along.
“I’ll try not to take offense to that,” Landon says sarcastically, and Penelope redirects her attention to him with a much more teasing smile.
A knock against the wall directs their attention to where Emma is waiting in the doorway. “You’re on in two minutes, Legacies,” she says, beaming. “How are you feeling?”
Landon throws her a thumbs-up. It would help, though, if he didn’t look like he was seconds away from puking.
“We’re freaking out,” Hope informs her, tone rather deadpan. “But we’re ready.”
“We are?” MG says.
“Yes, we are,” Josie cuts in. “No matter what, we have each other, right?” Her head turns to Penelope before she even realizes it.
Penelope straightens up somewhat. “Yeah, whatever,” she says. “Are we supposed to be having some kind of emotional moment right now? Is one of us going to cry? I’m putting my money on Landon.”
“Penelope,” Josie says, and finally, Penelope’s resolve seems to weaken.
“Fine, if we’re being mushy,” Penelope sighs. “I believe in all of you nerds. Even you, Kirby.”
MG finally slows his pacing altogether, directing a beaming smile at everyone else. “Aw, are we going to have a group hug?”
Hope rolls her eyes; she also flicks a guitar pick in his direction, but it bounces harmlessly off his shoulder. “No. Why would we do that?” she says. “We’re either about to walk out for the worst embarrassment of our lives or the tamest embarrassment of our lives. I’m not hugging you guys on top of that.”
“Stirring pep talk, Mikaelson,” Penelope says. “I know we’re all touched.”
Hope merely shrugs at her, extremely undisturbed. “Don’t cry on me now, Park,” she says dryly. “We do still need you.”
“One minute till curtain,” Emma chimes in. “I think that calls for places, everyone.”
As the nerves begin to kick in, Josie finds herself looking for something—it doesn’t quite hit her what she needs until her eyes fall on Penelope. It’s Penelope who she looks to, who gives her the smallest reassuring nod when she needs it. Josie grips onto the microphone stand all too tightly and Penelope is the one who brushes by her elbow; the one who takes her position right by Josie’s side, bass at the ready.
“You can do this, Josie,” Penelope whispers too quiet for anyone else to hear, Josie’s name fading in the air like a promise.
And Josie believes her.
Hope begins soft on the piano, and Josie swallows tightly and starts with, “Standing in the shadows…”
At first her voice wavers, though just noticeably. Penelope’s steady gaze grounds her, though; Josie can’t tear her eyes away from her for the first half of the song. When she sings I’m finding my place on the stage, Penelope is there, nodding along, even mouthing the words—by the first chorus of I’m stepping into the light hits, Josie is confident enough to look out into the crowd.
Penelope does not move away from her spot the whole time, and Josie—Josie has never felt more grateful for her until then.
.
.
.
When they win the talent show, it does not feel as surreal as Josie expected.
She’s sure she looks odd, standing stoic on stage while MG and Landon cheer beside her. She’s sure she looks odd when she does not return Hope’s jubilant (and rare) hug. All of it is just so surprising, and it does not really sink in until Penelope jostles beside her and shouts something like don’t look too upset there, Saltzman.
The most shocking part of it, though, is Lizzie—Lizzie, who has been in the audience the whole time, actually there to support her. Lizzie, who had actually cheered for Josie when their band won.
Josie hugs her first when she stumbles off the stage, and she is finally, finally, able to smile. She has never felt Lizzie hug her as tightly as she does now.
“You were amazing, Josie,” Lizzie says. She has an odd expression on her face, an almost bittersweet kind of cheerfulness. “Dad is going to be so proud when he finds out.”
“He’s not here?” Josie’s heart sinks a little. Her dad wasn’t sitting in the judges’ table this year, but Josie still hoped he had come. She doesn’t know what it means, the fact that she’s not surprised by this information.
Lizzie shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Maybe he got tired of the puke fest,” she says. “Or maybe he just didn’t know you’d be here. I’m sure if he knew you were part of a band he would have come.”
“Yeah, probably,” Josie agrees mindlessly. Privately, she’s not sure she really believes that.
“We should celebrate,” Lizzie suggests next, more chipper than usual; clearly, it is a means to distract her. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know…” Josie glances out in the crowd. She realizes that she is unconsciously searching for her friend, all of whom have been taken aside by their own family members in the crazy aftermath of the announcement of their win. MG is laughingly bumping fists with Kaleb; Landon is hugging his brother, Rafael; Hope is actually smiling (for once) at her aunts—and then there’s Penelope.
Penelope is leaning against the wall, eyes glued to her phone as everyone shouts and cheers and laughs around her. It doesn’t seem like anyone is paying her any attention, and even stranger, Penelope does not seem to care.
“Josie?” Lizzie waves a hand in front of her face. “You can invite the nerd squad, you know. If you want.” It’s clear she is begrudging about that part, but Josie is touched nonetheless at the attempt.
“Sure,” Josie says, “let’s celebrate. Just…give me a minute? I’ll be right back.” She moves towards Penelope before she even pauses to think about it. As if sensing that she’s being watched, Penelope finally looks up; when she sees Josie, her mouth curves into the smallest grin.
Once Josie is in earshot Penelope calls, “Hey Jojo,” and slides her phone into her back pocket. She jerks her chin in the direction of the crowds of people celebrating around her and says, “Pretty wild turn of events, huh?”
“Definitely,” Josie replies, shyly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and trying not to notice how Penelope looks so different after the performance, hair tousled like she’s just run her hands through it. “I was pretty sure the kid juggling potatoes was a shoe-in for the winner.”
“Oh yeah, he totally had my vote. My metaphorical vote anyway,” Penelope says. “Well—unless it had only been you on stage. Then you’d win every time.”
Josie is pretty sure her lips part quite noticeably at that, but she doesn’t know what to say right away. Penelope seems uncharacteristically nervous, because her eyes are darting across Josie’s face as she takes her in like—like she’s waiting for Josie to say something. Like she is expecting Josie to say something. Something that Josie can’t even put into words right now.
So instead she laughs, or tries to. “Hey, this was a team effort,” Josie reprimands weakly. “And I think we all were all pretty great.”
“I don’t know…” Penelope says. “You, definitely, and Hope is kind of scary good for no reason. But MG’s only improved somewhat, and don’t even get me started on Landon—”
“Would it kill you not to make a joke?” Josie chides, but she is smiling when she says it; she feels it form, too wide and too telling. “You have to admit we’re pretty good together.” When she realizes how that sounds, an immediate blush burns up the back of her neck. “All of us together, that is.”
One corner of Penelope’s mouth twitches, as if in amusement. “Yeah,” she says, “I guess you’re right. We are pretty decent together.” Then she glances past Josie, any possibility of a smile dropping cleanly off her face. “I think your sister’s looking for you.”
“Oh.” Josie fights the urge to frown at the reminder that Lizzie is still waiting for her. “About that…Lizzie wants to celebrate. With us.”
“With us?” Penelope echoes.
“All of us—the band,” Josie corrects herself. “She’s kind of coming around, I think. To the whole…”
“Codependency withdrawal?” Penelope guesses.
Josie rolls her eyes. “To the fact that I actually associate with you,” she says, meant to be biting, but Penelope’s eyes light up and Josie knows she’s not kidding anyone.
“I guess we can let her hang out with us,” Penelope says. “But we’re definitely not letting her into the band.”
“Trust me, she’d die before she would join a band. Much less a band with Landon.”
Penelope clicks her tongue. “Damn, maybe I have more in common with her than I thought.”
“Oh, shut up,” Josie says, not like it does any good; any semblance of a stern demeanor on her face is long gone. She notes that Penelope casts an uneasy glance sideways, like she’s looking for someone. It’s what causes Josie to ask, quietly, “So…are your parents here?”
“Nah, my parents get a front row seat to my playing every night. They’re sick of me,” Penelope replies easily. “Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering,” Josie says. “My Dad isn’t here either.”
She waits for Penelope to scoff and say something about how her dad just hates the arts that much. At this point, Josie might welcome the criticism against her father—might even agree a tiny bit. But Penelope only offers a wry half-smile and says,
“Screw ‘em all. I think we have to go celebrate the fact that we’re the least cool people in existence.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Josie completely forgets about her dad, and Lizzie, and everything else—right now she’s thinking that her life has a new, crazy sort of normal.
“You told me this talent show is social suicide,” Penelope reminds her. “So does winning mean we’re officially lame as hell?”
Josie shrugs her shoulders and plays along. “Probably,” she says. “At the very least, this makes you one of us lowly unpopular kids.”
“Damn,” Penelope feigns disappointment, “and here I thought people dig a girl with a guitar.”
“That is…so vain.”
“Hey, I’m just saying I might be somebody’s type,” Penelope says. With a roguish wink she adds, “Don’t pretend you’re blind to my appeal, Saltzman.”
“Okay, now that really is vain,” Josie teases, because she knows Penelope is joking. The satisfied way Penelope smirks in response really shouldn’t make Josie’s heartbeat quicken but it does, and it’s annoying.
“C’mon,” Penelope says decidedly, “let’s find everyone else. We can settle the debate if I’m everybody’s type or not.”
“I don’t think anyone will think you’re their type,” Josie says, but she matches Penelope’s stride as they head down the hallway. “Hope and Landon will probably say no. MG might says yes, and I don’t know if you’re your own type…”
“Give me some credit, Jojo, I’m not conceited,” Penelope chuckles. “Besides, my type isn’t really girls with guitars. Girls with ukuleles, though—that’s another story.” This she pairs with another wink, and dammit, if Josie thought she could feel flustered before she’s never realized just how red she can get.
It’s official: Penelope Park will be the death of her.