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The problem isn’t really that the boys are too loud. It’s that Julie can’t explain why it bothers her so much.
She didn’t really notice it at the beginning, when things were new and exciting and she was still so trapped in grief over her mom that nothing felt quite right, even at the best of times. She mistook the twist of her stomach when they rehearsed after she finished her homework for fear that the boys’ secrets would be discovered. She thought the tingly feeling at the tips of her fingers when Luke fed song lyrics to her in the middle of the night was just nerves about being alone with him, even back when she was convincing herself she liked him as nothing more than a friend. She figured the exhaustion in her bones after every show they played and the uneasiness heading into the studio after school each day was just a part of being a semi-popular musician masquerading as a hologram expert in a ghost band.
But after everything—Caleb and the Orpheum and whatever weird stage between life and death the boys have found themselves thrust into—she finally finds herself with the time and energy to devote more than a single second’s thought to the fact that the later in the day it gets, the less able she is to deal with the guys’ antics. She starts snapping at them more easily, and then feels deeply guilty about it because her ghost friends (Luke especially) can break out the kicked puppy looks like nobody’s business. She starts turning down Luke’s requests for a late-night writing session, starts begging them to end rehearsal before the sun’s even all the way down, starts giving excuse after excuse for why she needs to spend time with her family one night, do some extra studying another, at the very least take a (usually unsatisfying) nap before she can meet them out in the studio, and no Luke, you cannot take one with me, do you not hear how creepy that sounds?
She doesn’t know what’s wrong, what changed. She still loves the guys—of course she does—and she loves spending time with them, as long as it’s during the day on the weekends or in the morning before school. But evening rehearsals and hangouts just take so much more out of her than they used to, and she hates that she can’t quite articulate why, not even to herself.
In lieu of being able to identify the problem and therefore find a solution, Julie does her best to pretend there’s not a problem at all. The last thing she wants is to be mean, after all, or to make the guys think she’s mad at them or something. On a Thursday about a month post-Orpheum, after a relatively good day at school, she brings pizza into the living room and invites Luke, Alex, and Reggie to watch a movie with her. They all light up at the offer and instantly start bickering over what they should watch (Reggie, as always, wants Star Wars; Luke wants to catch up on the recent filmography of his favorite director Kenny Ortega; Alex has been trying to convince them to watch some of the filmed Broadway musicals that have been released in recent years for weeks now, and his friends continuously shoot him down).
Julie would love nothing more than to find their arguing endearing, or at the very least entertaining, but the more their voices raise, the more she shrinks in on herself on the couch, resisting the urge to cover her ears. She rubs the hem of her shirt between her hands, letting the roughness ground her, and tries to breathe past her racing heartbeat. Her throat feels dry and choked, like she couldn’t join in on the conversation even if she wanted to, even though she knows the second she suggested a Disney movie that came out after 1995, the guys would agree without argument. She stares at the patterned carpet beneath the coffee table and blinks back frustrated tears. She wants to have fun with them, wants to talk to them, wants to know why their rowdiness grates on her so much now when it didn’t use to before.
“All right, I think we’ve come to a consensus,” Luke announces, loudly, and flops onto the couch next to Julie with a stack of pizza slices in his hand. Julie flinches and stiffens, every nerve in her body telling her that this is all too loud too much even as her brain fills in the banter she would respond with if this were any other moment on any other day. Luke doesn’t seem to notice her distress, just digs the TV remote out from between the couch cushions and tosses it into her lap. “The consensus was we’d be better off letting you pick. Less bloodshed.”
Julie glances up at him, musters up a shaky smile, and takes the remote to switch on Mulan. There are any number of things she could say to him, or to Alex and Reggie—thank them for the honor of choosing the movie, tell them why she thinks they’ll like this one in particular, invite the other boys to join her and Luke on the couch before he gets the idea to stretch his gangly legs all over everything. But she feels like her heart is in her throat, like her voice box isn’t working, like she’s back in Ms. Harrison’s music class staring down at her own hands on the piano but physically unable to sing.
She can’t talk. She doesn’t know why. She just… can’t.
If any of the boys notice how quiet and tense she is throughout their movie night, none of them says anything. Julie doesn’t stop feeling weird and uncomfortable and kind of like crying until she’s alone in the dark of her bedroom, and she falls asleep before she has much chance to analyze her own behavior tonight. The next morning, she feels normal again, happy and energetic as ever. She tells her dad about the history test she spent all last week studying for that she’s definitely going to ace today. She listens to Carlos ramble about his new favorite video game and then shoots back with a speech about the good old days of Nintendo DS and Pokemon. Luke poofs in as she’s packing up her school stuff, and she lets him play her a half-written song, immediately grabs her phone so they can record the harmonies before either of them forgets. He grins at her and wishes her a good day at school before heading back out, and she grins right back.
She’s almost able to forget how weird and wrong everything had felt last night, in the face of such a good, normal day with her family and friends. But then she starts down the path toward the sidewalk, backpack on her shoulders, and jumps as Alex appears out of nowhere right in front of her.
“Sorry,” he says immediately, holding up a non-threatening hand. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you, I just—wanted to make sure I caught you before you left.”
Julie frowns. She shifts the strap of her backpack a little higher on her shoulder. “Is everything okay?”
It’s rare that Alex approaches her individually. Usually, the boys are all together anyway, or at the very least, it’s Alex and Reggie coming to explain to Julie why Luke said something particularly stupid. More and more often these days, Alex has been out looking for Willie anyway, so Julie hasn’t seen a lot of him in general outside of rehearsals and last night’s movie night. She can’t think why he’d be so urgent to talk to her now, by himself, unless something’s wrong.
Alex hesitates, sticking his hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels a little. “Yeah, no, it’s fine, I just… um… Look, I wanted to ask you something.”
Now Julie’s starting to get really worried. She reaches a hand out and gently takes Alex’s wrist, guiding his hand out of his pocket and into hers. He instantly relaxes, offers her a little smile, and says again, “I’m okay. I just wanted to make sure you were.”
“Me?” Julie starts playing with Alex’s fingers, just to give herself something concrete and physical to focus on. “Of course I’m okay, why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well…” Alex pauses again, chews at his lip like he does when he’s really thinking over what he’s going to say. “You just seemed quiet last night.”
“Oh.” Julie lets his hand slip out of hers. She bites her own lip, tries to think of how to respond, but that’s the thing, isn’t it? She was quiet last night, and weird, and uncomfortable, and she doesn’t know why. “Well, I’m okay now,” she says, because that at least is true.
Alex just frowns. “Were we too loud? Cause, you know, Luke and Reggie will back off if you tell them to, I know we can all be kind of a lot if you’re not used to it.”
“No, it’s not that—” or at least she doesn’t think it is—“It’s just.” She stops again, swallows, and takes a deep breath. Her eyes are starting to burn, but she doesn’t want to cry in front of Alex, she doesn’t want to cry at all , she just wants to understand what’s happening to her so that she can explain it to her friends, convince them and herself they’re not doing anything wrong.
“Never mind,” Alex says quickly, like he can tell she’s one wrong move from falling apart. “Don’t worry about it, Julie, you were probably just. Just having a weird day. You don’t have to explain or anything, we’ll just chill out next time.”
Julie nods gratefully, but even after Alex bids her goodbye and poofs out again, she stays standing there on the pathway another minute or two, trying not to cry. Of course it’s Alex who noticed that she was acting weird, who thought to check in with her and make sure she was okay. And she wishes so much that she could give him a real answer, because she knows Alex notices and questions and worries about things, she knows he’d feel so much better if he understood what was going on with her, knew how to help her, and she hates that she can’t give him that because she doesn’t even know.
She spends all day thinking about it at school, trying to figure out what changed in the last month, why the everyday noise of teenage boys suddenly bothers her so much. She goes throughout the day in a bit of a fog, mentally running through every word Luke, Alex, and Reggie said to her last night and trying to figure out where and why she went from being excited to spend the evening with them to wanting to curl up alone and cry just because they were having fun.
“You okay, Jules?” Flynn asks her at lunch. “You’ve been more distracted today than you were the day Zayn left One Direction.”
Julie doesn’t even have it in her to laugh at the joke. She pokes at her lunch, searches for words. “I’ve just been feeling kinda weird. I don’t know how to describe it.”
Flynn frowns, taps Julie’s hand with a finger. “Well, hey, if you want to try, I’m here to listen.”
Julie manages a smile at her best friend, takes a deep breath, and tries. She explains how she’s noticed recently that hanging out with the guys after school or for late rehearsals just takes a lot out of her, how things she loves that they do or say during the day drive her crazy at night, how Alex asked her what was wrong this morning and she just felt so frustrated that she couldn’t tell him because she didn’t know.
“I think something’s wrong with me,” she concludes, her cheeks burning red as she stares down at the lunch table. “Like maybe I made a mistake with this whole band thing, you know? Maybe—Maybe I’m not as ready to get back into music as I thought I was.”
Flynn pulls Julie’s hand all the way into theirs, squeezes her fingers. “Jules, can I be honest with you for a second?”
Julie looks up at her best friend, nods.
“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Flynn insists, and she sounds so confident about it, it actually lets Julie relax, if only a little. “And you didn’t make a mistake. Teenage boys are just loud and exhausting and you’ve got three of them living in your garage when two months ago, you barely knew how to interact with one. That could take a lot out of anyone.”
Julie shakes her head. “But sometimes it’s fine, you know? I love spending time with them, it’s just—”
“Well, Julie, babe, you’re not used to being on for people all the time.” Flynn rubs their thumb over the back of Julie’s hand. “I know things were a little different after you lost your mom, but don’t you remember you used to go practically non-verbal in the evenings when we were growing up? Your whole family—you’d play board games or sit in a room together and read, but after, like, 5pm you barely spoke to each other. I’d come over for slumber parties and we’d do our homework together in silence, put some music or a movie on before bed, but you’d never want to talk about anything until morning. Now you’ve got these guys running around, who you feel like you have to talk to all the time, like you owe them conversation just because they never shut up? I think you just need that quiet time back."
Realization dawns on Julie like a curtain being lifted behind her eyes. Flynn’s words make so much sense all of a sudden, and how could Julie have forgotten? Before her mom died, Flynn’s right—they had this weird designated quiet time in the evenings, when they might put music or a movie on, or they’d all sit around the living room and Dad would read to them from his eclectic collection of nonfiction books, but they wouldn’t talk much, not like they would during the day. It’s why Julie started drawing, when she wanted to express herself without having to find the words, when she wanted to sit at the piano with her mom but didn’t have the energy to sing anything. It’s why she never had sleepovers with Carrie, not even back when they were friends, because Carrie couldn’t stand how quiet the Molinas got, Carrie wanted to talk about anything and everything at all hours of the night, like she had a monument of thoughts she just had to get off her chest.
When Mom got sick, Julie was quiet all the time, because she didn’t ever know what to say, because no words felt worth saying when none of them could stop her mother from dying. And then, when she passed away, not being able to sing felt so oppressive that Julie felt like she had to keep herself talking to make up for it, like she was afraid the grief would become overwhelming and silence her forever.
It was one of the first things she talked to Dr. Turner about, how quiet time felt too much like inviting her mother’s ghost. Julie can’t believe she forgot about all that. She can’t believe Flynn remembered.
Julie spends the rest of the afternoon crafting a speech, in her head and then in the back of her biology notebook so she won’t forget. She brings the notebook out to the studio the moment she gets home, planning to give the boys her speech before she can convince herself not to.
She hears them before she’s even made it all the way up the driveway, their bouncy boyish chatter echoing underneath the garage doors. She slows her steps and listens for a moment—they’re arguing about a song, she’s pretty sure, Luke’s on some kind of rant about the inherent stupidity of minor keys while Reggie just lists songs at the top of his lungs. It’s the exact kind of talk—loud and obnoxious—that would’ve made Julie feel weird and uncomfortable last night, but now it just brings a smile to her lips.
Julie pushes through the studio doors, fully prepared to weigh in on the argument because Luke is just flat out wrong and Reggie is offering terrible examples, but the second she steps inside, both boys fall silent like they’ve forgotten how to speak. Luke hops down from where he was perched atop the piano (despite Julie’s continued reminder that he’s not allowed to climb on things he doesn’t know how to fix if he breaks them) and shoots her a bashful smile. Reggie grabs his bass and flops onto the couch, plucking gently at the strings so that the notes are barely audible. Up in the loft, Alex waves at Julie, and his calm, happy expression is the only thing keeping Julie from freaking out.
Even so, she frowns, looks from each of her boys to the next (who are being quieter than she’s ever seen them, quieter than she even thought possible), and says, “Are you guys okay?”
Luke startles a little, then grins and bounces over to her, taking her backpack and dropping it on the couch by Reggie’s feet. “Yeah, boss, we’re all good! How are you? Did you have a good day at school? You know, I was thinking that song we were working on this morning would be a really great—”
Alex snaps his fingers, shooting Luke a pointed glare, and Luke wilts, his mouth closing with an audible click. “Never mind,” he says quickly. “I mean, we can work on it later.”
He falls silent again, his jaw clenched like it physically pains him. Julie glances up at Alex, confused, and he offers her an apologetic smile but nothing even approaching an explanation. Julie feels like she’s definitely missing something, like she walked in on something she was never meant to be a part of, but when she looks around again, sees how Luke is tapping his fingers against his legs at a mile a minute, how Reggie’s flicking his bass strings with the most intense gentility, how he stops the second her eyes land on him and holds the guitar closer to his chest like he’s afraid she’ll take it from him—eventually, it all comes together.
“Hey, Alex?” Julie says. “Could I speak to you outside for a minute, please?”
She turns around without waiting for an answer and stalks back out of the studio. Alex poofs onto the driveway a moment later, blocking her path, hands in his pockets, grinning at her like a proud student ready to get his gold star.
Julie has no gold star to give him. She does have a mildly disapproving glare. She crosses her arms over her chest, and Alex deflates, stiffens, says, “I did something wrong.” It’s not a question.
Julie sighs. “No, Alex, you didn’t do anything wrong. Just—what was that in there? You had Luke acting like some kind of puppy in obedience school, and Reggie would barely even look at me. What did you say to them?”
“Nothing, I just—” At her disbelieving look, Alex sighs and shuffles his feet nervously. “I just told them they were being too loud around you, that it made you uncomfortable. Should I not have said anything?”
Julie can’t stand to be mad at him, not when Alex is looking at her like that, apologetic and worried and sad. “It’s fine,” she says with a sigh. “Let’s just get back in there, so I can clear some things up for all three of you.”
It’s a weird conversation. Julie scraps most of her speech, now that Alex has already given Luke and Reggie some basic, if misplaced, context for the whole thing. The boys sit on the couch with their hands in their laps like they’re kids waiting to be reprimanded, and Julie paces in front of them, talking with her hands, trying her hardest to explain.
“It’s not really about noise,” she says. “I mean, you guys don’t have to do anything different, I don’t want you to force yourselves to be quiet all the time, or do anything you’re not comfortable with, it’s just… From now on, I think we need to stick to weekend rehearsals, and if we hang out after school, you just have to be patient with me. I might not have the energy… I might not be able to talk a lot back, is all, but I’m happy to listen.” She stops and turns to face them, fiddling with her hands. “Does that make sense?”
“No,” Reggie says, and Alex leans across Luke to whack him.
Luke leaps up and scrambles over the coffee table. “I just don’t get it,” he says softly, gently, untangling Julie’s hands so that he’s gripping one of them. “It’s not that we’re too loud, or annoying, or anything?”
“It’s really not,” she promises, looking over his head to address all three of them. “And I really don’t know how to explain it any better. It’s just how I’ve always grown up, my family had this, like, designated quiet time in the evenings. I think I just got used to it, using up all my energy during the day cause I knew I wouldn’t have to use any at night. I’ll be okay for shows and stuff, I mean, it’s not a be all, end all thing, it’s just…” She takes a breath, considering her words. “It’ll just be a lot easier on me if we can try to have some quiet time. Or at least, if you guys can let me have some.”
Luke’s eyes on her are wide and worried, but he nods, gives her a soft buoyant smile, says, “Of course, Julie. Whatever you need.”
That night, they fold out the couch and set up another movie on Julie’s laptop, High School Musical to reward Luke for good behavior. He’s a little bouncier than usual, takes Julie’s hand and plays with her fingers, kicks Reggie’s foot until Reggie tangles his own fingers in Luke’s hair. He’s not any less talkative than he usually is during movies, keeps offering commentary about how Ortega’s directorial prowess has changed over the years, but he doesn’t ask Julie any direct questions, he doesn’t expect her to respond, and the few times she goes a little tense next to him, he grabs the remote, turns the volume down, wraps an arm around her shoulder and manages to stay quiet for a few minutes at a time until she relaxes again.
She falls asleep about halfway through the movie, legs tangled with Alex’s, head pillowed on Luke’s shoulder, hand clutched in Reggie’s. She has a dream, that she thinks might be a memory, of coming home to a different house, a smaller house, and climbing on her father’s lap to read a story before bed. Except it’s not her dad tucking her hair behind her ears and holding the book steady while she sounds out words, whispering corrections when she stumbles. It’s someone else, someone strange and yet familiar, distant and yet comfortable. She looks up at him, silently asking for approval, and his blurry, out of focus, face smiles down at her, nods, takes her tiny hand in his big, calloused one, and gives it a reassuring squeeze.
The dream fades into muffled sounds—a raspy cough, her mother’s laughter, the rambunctious squeals of three little kids, “Now, remember girls. It’s Daddy’s quiet time.”
Julie always liked quiet time, some deeply repressed part of her dream self assures her. She liked sitting silently on her daddy’s lap, playing with dolls at her mother’s feet, perching on the kitchen counter and watching, enraptured, as Papi cooked.
Carrie, she remembers, was never very good at it.
The dream dissipates, and the memories with it, and Julie falls deeper into sleep, quiet and safe and rooted to the present, with her perfect, too loud, family.
It’s the best night of sleep she’s gotten in months.