A Song for Julia

though the truth is, he’d always been a bit remote. But my mother, not so much. Also … I needed some distance, some time to think about where this thing with Crank was headed, and if I wanted it to head anywhere. I was terrified I’d already become too intertwined, too many connections, too much commitment.
    Sometimes he gave me these looks … looks that scared me. Looks that said he was going to tell me he loved me. Part of me desperately wanted that. But, I knew that was dangerous. It wasn’t even Crank that scared me any more. It was me. It was losing myself.
    9:00 A.M. I picked up the phone and dialed.
    It rang several times, then a chirpy, cheerful female voice answered. “Good morning, Division Records.”
    “Hello,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and professional. “My name’s Julia Thompson. I’m calling Mr. Murray on behalf of Morbid Obesity. He’s expecting my call.”
    “Please hold.”
    Silence for just a second and then hold music. Not Musak; instead, it was a high-pitched woman screeching into the microphone. Undoubtedly one of the label’s artists. Murray probably wouldn’t take my call, and I’m sure he had no idea who I was. Interns were pretty invisible to CEOs.
    After about forty-five seconds of me holding the phone a good distance away from my head, the call was picked up.
    “Hello?”
    “Hi! My name’s Julia Thompson, I’m calling on behalf of Morbid Obesity.”
    “Right. I’m Terry Woolard. Mr. Murray told me to expect your call. You’re the band’s manager?”
    “Yes, I am,” I said. It felt really strange saying that. And really good.
    “Good. I’ve got the basic terms lined up here, if you want to discuss it right now.”
    “I’m ready.”
    “Okay. What we’re looking at is a single. Royalties of four percent. We can do an advance payment of two thousand dollars. We include a provision in the contract that if the single earns out the advance, and then doubles it, we’ll offer a standard recording contract for a full album.”
    I sat back in my seat. From everything I’d read, four percent was at the bottom of what was usually offered. And the advance was almost insulting. If I knew Crank he’d jump at this in a heartbeat. But they hired me to manage, and that’s what I was going to do.
    “How long are the terms of the contact?”
    “Five years.”
    My eyes widened. “I think on a two thousand dollar advance with such low royalties, that’s asking a lot.”
    “It’s our standard offer for new artists.”
    “Mr. Murray really liked the single. And you don’t have any upfront costs … the band already paid for the studio and editing time.”
    “All right, Miss Thompson. Tell me what terms you’re looking for.”
    I closed my eyes. “Ten percent. Ten thousand advance. Recording contract if the advance earns out, with a full budget for the album. And three years.”
    I could almost hear Woolard roll his eyes across the phone lines. “Lady, either you’re really new to the industry, or you think your band is the next thing to God. We don’t give out contracts like that.”
    I was taking a big risk here. But I pushed forward. “Then make me a counter-offer that doesn’t insult my guys. They’re eating rice noodles and living in a crappy little warehouse in order to pay for studio time. This band’s going straight up. You guys are local, I’d like to take your offer, but if it’s this low?”
    I let my voice trail off. And then I heard someone knocking on the door to the suite. Several knocks. Loud. Don’t let that be my family. Not now, while I was on the phone.
    “What’s your email address?” Woolard asked. “I’ll discuss with Mr. Murray, he’s back in the office on Monday. Maybe you should come by for lunch next week.”
    I gave him my email address, and we agreed to meet at the offices for lunch on Wednesday. Which would mean I’d have to skip class. But it was for a good cause.
    The knocking on the door was louder. Jemi was probably at the gym. I got off the phone with Woolard as quickly as I could, then went out to the common room and opened the door.
    “Julia!” shouted both of the twins, who came bouncing in, grabbing hold of me. Jessica and Sarah were fraternal twins and didn’t look alike at all. Jessica had blonde hair and green eyes, and Sarah had brown, almost black hair, with very pale blue eyes. Nevertheless, my mother insisted on dressing them identically. They’d just turned six a few months ago, and I