The Forever of Ella and Micha

time, we have to leave tomorrow morning. And I’d drive over there tonight, just to see you, but we have a performance.”
    My insides wind into knots, but I stay calm on the outside. “How long are you going to be gone to New York?”
    He takes a second to answer. “About a month.”
    My hand trembles with anger or fear… I’m not sure. “So I haven’t seen you in almost a month and I’m not going to be able to see you for another month?”
    “You could come visit me in New York,” he proposes. “You could fly out for, like, a week or something.”
    “I have midterms.” My voice is sullen. “And my brother’s wedding’s in, like, a month and all my extra money is to pay for that.”
    “Ella, come on!” Lila shouts and my eyes dart to her. She motions me to come over, while Blake stands beside her with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. “Blake’s waiting on us.”
    “Who’s Blake?” Micha wonders curiously.
    “Just a guy from my class,” I explain, leaving the tree and heading toward Blake and Lila. “Look, I got to go.”
    “Are you sure you’re okay?”
    “Yeah, Lila’s just waiting on me.”
    “Okay… I’ll call you after my performance then.”
    “Sounds good.” I hang up the phone, realizing I forgot to say good-bye, but the word wouldn’t have left my mouth anyway. It feels like we’re slipping away from each other, and he was the one thing that brought me back out of my dark place. If he leaves me, I’m not sure I can hold onto the light.

Micha
    “Fuck.” I hang up the phone and kick the tire of the band’s SUV, which is in the middle of a parking lot of a shitty-ass motel in the bad side of town where crackheads walk the streets and every building has graffiti. It makes Star Grove look classy.
    The sadness in Ella’s voice worries me. She’s still struggling with her personal demons, Grady’s death, her mom’s death, and won’t completely open up to me about everything. There’s always a thought in the back of my mind that she might vanish again.
    A car backfires as I walk back to the motel room. On the stairway, I weave around a man making out with a woman who’s probably a hooker to get to my door.
    This is what I’m choosing over Ella? Sometimes I wonder why.
    “Wow, you look like you’re in a pissy mood,” Naomi remarks from the bed when I slam the door of the motel room. She’s painting her toenails and the room stinks like paint thinner. “Did you have a bad day?”
    Clearing my throat, I empty out the change from the pocket of my jeans and drop my wallet down on the nightstand. “What gave it away? The door slam?”
    “You’re so hilarious.” She sits up and blows on her nails. “What did Ella say to you this time?”
    “She didn’t say anything.” I unzip my duffel bag that’s on a chair between the television and the table. “She never does.”
    “That’s the problem.” Naomi likes to put her two cents in on everything and sometimes it gets on my nerves. “That she doesn’t tell you how she feels.”
    I grab a pair of clean jeans and a black, long-sleeved shirt from the bag. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
    “But you do when you’re drunk.” She smirks. “In fact, I can’t get you to shut up when you’re wasted.”
    “I talked to you about stuff once.” I walk backward toward the bathroom. “And I was having a really shitty day.”
    “Because you miss her.” She clips bracelets around her wrists. “Here’s a thought. Why don’t you just bring her on the road with us?”
    I pause in the doorway. “Why would you say that?”
    “Dylan, Chase and I have been talking and we think maybe you’d be a little bit more…”—she hesitates—“pleasant to be around if she was here.”
    I cock an eyebrow. “Am I that bad?”
    “Sometimes.” She gets up and slips on her shoes. “It’s like you’re the same as when Ella disappeared for eight months, only sometimes it’s worse. You’re always so down and you hardly ever go out with us.”
    I rub my face with my hand, taking in what she said. “I’m sorry if I’ve been acting like a douche bag, but I can’t ask Ella to come with us.”
    Naomi grabs the keycard from the dresser and puts it into the back pocket of her jeans. “Why not?”
    “Because she’s happy,” I say, recalling the many times she chatted to me about her classes and life in an upbeat tone that made me smile. “And I can’t ask her to give that up, even though I’d love