The group text with my bandmates that began with the news about no one working with Dallas or being involved with what happened at our concert turns into making plans to get together. It will be the first time we've all seen each other since our ill-fated rehearsal weeks ago.

We should just jam or something, Kara suggests. I miss all of your faces. Well, I miss Deni more than I miss Key, but whatever.

We all know you miss me the most, Key responds. Pool party at my place? Or movies? Or something?

Dylan answers next. Count me in, but only if Deni is there. I don't know if I can handle you two and all your bickering on my own.

There's more chatter from the three of them discussing the best days to get together, movie picks, and what type of food to order or bring. As I scroll through their banter, it hits me just how much I want to see them. I can't remember the last time we spent this many weeks apart.

And so, at the encouragement of both Mom and Dr. Delacruz to ease back into my life and be among friends, I find myself at Key's door three days later, my guitar case in hand.

Key answers the door less than a minute after I ring the doorbell, but his greeting is cut short when a blur of lavender hair and exuberant shrieks pushes past him and nearly knocks me over.

"Deniiiiiiiiiii!" Kara flings her arms around me with so much force that I nearly drop my guitar case.

"How much sugar have you had?" I tease her.

"This is what happens when she has time off from taking out all of that energy on her drums," Key says. "You know this. It's like hanging out with the Roadrunner or some other kind of cartoon."

"Someone has to liven things up around here," Kara huffs. She tugs on my arm. "Come on. Dylan is already here and inside. It's time to literally get the band back together."

"Don't I get to give Deni a hug?" Key complains.

"Nope. You snooze, you lose." Kara flips her hair over her shoulder and pulls me past him, through the foyer. She veers to the left and takes me to the living room.

Dylan is in the room, and so is my band's gear. The sofas and tables have been pushed to one side of the room. Dylan's guitar, Key's bass, and their amplifiers are out, and Kara's drum kit is set up in the middle of it all.

"Did you get your drums from our rehearsal space and bring them here?" I assumed Kara would bring her electric kit or bongos or something, and not go all out with her full setup. The texts made it sound as though this would be a casual get-together where we might play some songs or we might not, versus an actual rehearsal.

"If we're going to jam, we're doing it right," she says. "I got a little excited about it."

She slides onto her stool and picks up her drumsticks, then starts hitting her drums. Key walks into the living room with his hands over his ears.

"Cut that out for a minute," Dylan calls over to Kara. "Give Deni a chance to say hi and catch up and eat some food or something before you start up that racket."

"Says the guy who plugged in and played a never-ending guitar solo the second he got here," Kara retorts, but she puts the drumsticks down.

"I was entertaining the neighbors while we waited for Deni."

"Your hair entertains the neighbors. Your shredding probably just gave them a headache."

I listen to the two of them trade joking insults, all the while feeling like a spectator at a ping-pong match. I missed this, and I missed them.

"Will you two call a truce if I play you something new I've been working on?" I ask after a few more minutes of this. My question brings their back-and-forth exchange to a halt.

Kara's eyes light up. "You've been working on something? Does that mean you're ready to--" she pauses, appearing to change her mind about what she was going to say.

"Does it mean I'm ready to get back to performing?" I finish for her. "Maybe. I won't know until I'm on a stage again, I guess. But I still love writing songs and haven't stopped doing that, and I could use some help from you guys with the arrangement on this one."

"Sure," Key tells me. "Let's hear it."

My band will be the first people to hear the song I wrote for Hunter. I've intentionally kept things at a low volume when Mom is at home. Full-volume singing and playing have only happened when she's been out running errands.

I'm used to bringing new songs to my band, whether they're in the earliest stages and are only the basic idea, or whether I've been working on something for a while and it's more developed. Even so, now that I have their attention, I hesitate. None of them know much, if anything, about Hunter and me. What they do know depends on what headlines and social media posts each of them have seen. The lyrics of the song are like my diary, expressing things no one else knows.

This song is a piece of me, and it means more than my mega hits or any other songs I've written or co-written in my life so far. But I want it to be as musically perfect as it can be, and that means sharing it with my closest collaborators and allies, even if I'm nervous about how they'll respond.

"I started writing it after I got back, so it might need some work," I caution them. I take my guitar out of its case and pluck the strings to make sure it's tuned correctly, and then I begin to play and sing.

Silence fills the room for a moment after I've finished. I'm afraid to look at my bandmates for their reactions until Dylan gives a low whistle. It's followed by Kara squealing.

"Whoa, Deni is in love." She sounds awestruck. "That's about your boy in Canada, right? Because if it's about the other guy I refuse to name, we need to have a chat."

My cheeks heat up, and my shoes are suddenly fascinating to me. "Yes, it's about Hunter."

"Those lyrics were intense," Key says. "Who is this guy?"

"Oh, come on." Kara elbows him. "You know who he is unless you've been hiding in a cave since Deni told off the paps." She turns to address me. "I've seen the videos, and Hunter is super cute. You should bring him here and play the song for him."

"I don't know that he's up for an L.A. trip right now." If Hunter isn't interested in texts or calls, I'm pretty sure sending him a plane ticket and asking him to fly across North America to see me is out.

Kara doesn't know about our lack of communication, though, so she latches on to another reason. "Ah, paparazzi watch." She nods. "Got it. I can see that being a little much at the moment if he isn't used to it. But you're going to serenade him with this before the rest of the world hears it, right?"

"Like over the phone?" I ask.

She rolls her eyes at me. "In person, you goof. Think about how romantic that would be."

"I don't know when the next time I'll see him is," I admit. "We haven't spoken much since he found out about the celebrity part of my life when Bowie blew my cover at the music festival we were at."

"That's how he found out?" Kara's mouth is agape. "Girl, what? Why didn't you--"

I cut her off before she finishes her question. "It's a long story, and I didn't mean for it to happen that way, and I really don't want to talk about it."

Kara starts to speak again, but she stops when Dylan shoots her a warning look. "We won't ask for the details," he assures me. "I'm sure you had your reasons for not telling him, and none of us need to know. I hope things work out, though."

"Why don't you bring the song to him?" Kara ignores Dylan's signal to stay quiet this time. "If you're still not speaking much after that, then you'll know he isn't worth it and can move on. But I think he'll realize you should be together."

"What do you mean, bring the song to him? My mom forced me to come back to L.A. It's not as if she's going to let me get on a plane to go right back there."

"Has she said that?" Kara asks.

"No, but I know her. She's already back in the thick of things with her business and shielding me from people at the label. I'm sure she would say it's too much to arrange for a second time this summer."

"Hmmm." The gleam in Kara's eyes tells me she's scheming. She steeples her hands together and squints at me.

"What are you thinking?" I don't even try to keep the suspicion from my voice.

"She would have to let you go back there if that's where your return performance is." She flashes me a triumphant grin. "This is why I'm the brains of this operation."

Key chokes on a sip of water. "When did you become the brains?"

"Shush, you," I scold him, even though I'm trying not to laugh. I turn back to Kara. "You know the first show after all of this will be a huge deal. The label will want some kind of stadium gig in a big city that they can hype up."

"Which is the opposite of what you or any of us need when we return to the stage," she points out. "You have a compelling argument for this. You can tell them the first show will be the most difficult and the one most likely to make you or any one of us panic, so we need a smaller venue in a place far away from The Domino to be comfortable."

She isn't wrong about any of this. If I want to continue my music career, I have to be able to get on a stage again in the first place. If anxiety takes over like it did at our rehearsal before I canceled on the summer tour, could having Hunter and Paisley in the front row and being somewhere far away from L.A. help me pull through? It's tough to say.

"As much as you never act like it, don't forget that you're the star," Dylan reminds me. "You can call the shots, and don't give anyone a choice if it's something you want to do. Tell the label they can have their stadium gigs later."

"You know they want you touring again," Kara adds. "I'd be surprised if you get much resistance to where this one show happens if it signals that you're back."

"Anyway, think about it. We support your decision, whatever it is, and I think that's where the discussion ends for now." Dylan points a finger at Kara, who seems ready to interject with something else. "That means it's the end of the discussion for you, too."

"You're so bossy," she grumbles.

"I'll think about it," I promise everyone. "Can we change the subject for a while, though? Aren't we here for a pool party or movies or something?"

"You got it," Key says. "Our first order of business is going to the backyard and pushing Kara into the pool. Everyone follow me outside. We can bring the food out there."

Kara grabs a bowl of chips from the table and mutters something about it not happening if she pushes Key in first. I barely hear them, because my thoughts are still swimming at the idea of booking a show, telling people where I want it to happen, being on a stage again, and playing the song I wrote for Hunter.

What if it embarrasses him and the whole thing backfires? What if he doesn't show up? At the rate things aren't going between him and I right now, I don't know what his response will be if I do manage to get a show booked where he lives, reserve front-row tickets for him and his family, and ask him to come.

I also don't know if the people who need to agree to this plan will, even if my band members seem confident about it. If I do get sign-off, and if they can find an open date at a venue in Thunder Bay, there's still no telling if I can last more than one song on stage without flashbacks and a panic attack taking over.

There's so much that's uncertain, the end goal seems almost out of reach. But the inner voice trying to discourage me is the old Deni attempting to make a comeback—the one who doesn't make waves and who puts everyone else's best interests first.

The old Deni isn't who I want to be anymore. If I want to move forward, then the one thing I'm certain of is that I have to try.