Everleigh hated exams. Even when she knew the answers, she hated exams. Exams were fucking stupid and Everleigh never felt dumber than when she sat in a silent lecture hall where even the smallest of stomach gurgles was like an IMAX movie. (Breakfast was still difficult.) (Waking up to an empty fridge was not inspiring—Maverick probably would've killed her if he saw how little she'd bought herself to eat.)

It was something to say that training for being a flight attendant included emergency protocols. Everleigh knew how to behave when a plane was crashing. On land. In the ocean. A ball of flames as each engine went down. There were ways to navigate emergencies and panic and she was trained to do so. The training was hard, but for fuck's sake, Everleigh would take a thousand rounds of that training if it meant she never had to write another fucking nurse exam.

There were things Everleigh knew she studied. She could picture where the information was on her notes—carefully colour-coded with specific information on hand drawn sticky notes that let her know the information was important. What she lacked was the ability to read what the note said. Fucking hell.

Maybe it wouldn't actually help but staring up at the ceiling like she was willing someone to come down and slap the stupid out of her felt like it was helping. Staring anywhere else would've gotten her exam taken away for plagiarism, so the ceiling was the most useful. If she wasn't on a time limit, she probably could've counted the holes in the tiles. Looked at them for hours like stars in a clear night's sky.

It was a toxic stare, think of an answer, write it, and repeat cycle. Everleigh was going to need to pay a visit to a chiropractor if she kept craning her neck the way she was. She remembered when she was little and her back would hurt. Troy would lay her down and try to rub the knot out. Never the trained massage therapist, but always one to try. He'd sit with her after and ask what was stressing her out so much that she had such bad knots. It usually ended up being some lame excuse like school—she wouldn't mention that her life had reduced itself to reducing herself and the space she took up. Now it felt like that was the exact reason for the knot was school. All those times she'd lied had caught up to her and it was unlikely her father would sit patiently and rub the knots out for her. (Maverick might've.) (But Maverick was on the other side of the ocean and then some.) Everleigh's only hope was trying to massage it out while praying the answer she scribbled was legible enough that she could mostly get the mark she needed.

A cough from somewhere else in the lecture hall. Everleigh stared down at her paper as a few heads turned to look. How did they have time to take a look at someone else? She felt like she'd be lucky to finish before the five minute call. The clock ticking was agonizing, and what came out on the other side? More anxiety about her results? There was no winning.

After nearly three hours of writing the exam, Everleigh heaved a sigh. The last question was answered. Reviewing it would make her second guess herself. Collecting her papers, she rose from her seat and walked her exam to her professor. Sitting at the front of the class was somehow more stressful than when her teachers used to roam between desks with their hands behind their backs, silently judging the answers they read.

The overwhelming urge to turn on her heel and sit back down hit, Everleigh's heart pounded in her chest. It was too late, her professor made eye contact with her. No turning back. Something about reminding herself she had semisolid lunch plans with Roman, all she had to do was call when she was done her exam. That would be good. Going out for lunch. Help her rumbling stomach and avoid grocery shopping for one more day.

Losing weight had always made her feel some type of awful happy. Her bulimia made sure of that. Rewarded her for being shit to herself and sent butterflies through her stomach across the bridges of protruding ribs cutting through her skin. The fact she simultaneously wanted to starve herself and feed herself because a bulimia versus someone noticing she was bulimic was a terrible battle that she constantly fought. Donny? She was sure he knew. Never said anything, though. Simply had sex, slept, and left. That was a good way to act. Don't ask, don't tell. But now Everleigh had someone who would ask until she told and that was terrifying.

"Miss Meadowlark?" her professor asked. "Are you finished?"

Everleigh looked down at the table they sat at. The kind of terrible and creaky plastic table that they only set up for bake sales and school-run flea markets. "Hi. Yes." Everleigh held her exam papers out. "Thank you."

The professor took them from her. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Sure."

Everleigh's stomach twisted as she followed her professor out of the lecture hall, grabbing her bag from the floor and throwing it over her shoulder. Footsteps echoed in empty hallways that somehow begged them to be more silent than they already were. Exams in progress, students nonverbally begging each other to pull the fire alarm and get them out.

Everleigh crossed her arms across her stomach. "Yes?"

"I wanted to tell you that I've been impressed with your work ethic this last part of the semester." Not that Everleigh had been given a choice not to be present with that shitty phone call.

"Thank you."

"Are you almost done here?"

"Two more semesters."

"You're going to be an amazing practitioner when you take your head out of the clouds."

Fuck off was likely what Everleigh should've said. But instead she managed another, "Thank you."

"There's something to say about the phenomenal work you put in when you came home for a little bit."

"I—" Everleigh pressed her lips together. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Thank you for this semester."

"I hope you have a good last couple semesters, okay?" the professor said. "You really need to apply yourself. You'll do great things."

"Okay."

"Keep being brilliant."

"Sure."

The professor waved at her and walked back toward the lecture hall. Everleigh, certain they weren't turning around again, threw a middle finger up at them. A thousand times more venomous than what she'd given to Maverick at her dining table. Pulling her phone from her bag, she dialled Roman's number as she walked out of the building. A couple weeks was too little time not to be there.

"Yello?"

Everleigh hung the phone up.

Roman called back a moment later, lucky Everleigh picked up. He'd truly perfected the dad-wheeze in the three months he'd been a father. "Holy shit, Leigh."

"Never answer the phone like that again, you toad."

Roman laughed harder. "Promise."

"Good."

"Is this you calling to tell me you've finished your exam?" Roman asked. "Or have they finally had enough of knowing you're smarter than them and just given you your degree early?"

Everleigh laughed as she dug her keys from her bag. "No. They have not. But I am done."

"Thai? On me? As a congratulations for finishing your semester?"

"Do you have Navi with you?"

"Yes."

"You retain the right to move this lunch to your house or my flat if she starts to fuss," Everleigh said. "But it's a deal."

"Wow, you're too kind."

"I can take that right away so fast, Roman—" Everleigh unlocked her car and sat down, tossing her bag into the passenger seat. It was lucky the university had underground parking, Everleigh hated when the seats sat in the sun for exams. She closed the door and locked the car as she sat there.

"No, no, no," Roman said. "I'm joking. I'll meet you at Patara Fine in Soho?"

"Sure. In 10?"

"I have a baby to put in a car seat. Can it be 20?"

"Sure," Everleigh said. "Take your time."

"See you there, Leigh."

"Bye, Roman."

Everleigh dropped her phone in her cupholder and turned her key in the ignition. Pressing the button on the radio, she let the music take over the car. She knew some of the words, muttered them under her breath a little. Mostly, Everleigh drove in silence. Let the music take over the car and allowed her brain to breathe. The semester was fucking done. And that felt amazing. Everleigh could text people and play Witcher and watch Witcher without guilt. Amazing. She could even text Maverick, which she hadn't done because she'd been studying. Incredible. Fantastic. Awesome.

And then she realized she was driving to lunch with her brother-in-law and the person she wanted to talk to was in Windsor. Wonderful. Everleigh was lame as fuck, holy shit.

"And now," the radio DJ said as the music from the previous song faded out, "something new from our friends across the pond. We'll see you in a few with more information on this hot new single—and we're not talking about me. Sit back, relax, and enjoy. Stay for the bants after as we scream about this new release."

Everleigh bopped her head as the song started up. It had a good beat, slower. Felt familiar in the sense that a lot of the music she listened to had that same vibe to it.

She nearly drove into the car in front of her when the lyrics started. Hit the brakes just in time, tires screeching under the pressure she'd put on them on the ever-slick London roads. Choked on her own spit when she inhaled, she pounded her fist against her sternum to try and clear it from her throat.

"Did they have sparks like us before 1895 / lot of office buildings now, blurry as we fly / Past, barely even alive / high above Central Park Drive."

"Oh my God—" Everleigh said.

That was Maverick. Her Maverick. Everleigh looked over her shoulder, peeling into the left lane and turning to find a spot to park at the side of the road. Even though she'd finally pulled over, it didn't feel quick enough. Stevie was already singing by the time she turned the car off. Giving herself optimal listening ability—the radio blocked out any outside noises. God, the song sounded phenomenal.

Everleigh had only been to Chicago once or twice. Spent most of the time there sleeping, if she was being truthful. But the way MARS and Maverick had brought out every aspect in a way she could see it was undeniable. Each lyric flew through her head—shooting stars in a solar system of melodies. She may have heard it recorded, but hearing the fully produced version was undeniably a thousand times better. (A lot less giggling, too.) Each beat hit her full throttle, a race car hurtling it's way through her ribs. Ready to take her away from Earth and simultaneously keep her grounded. Everleigh might've found her new favourite song—an ode to everything MARS and Maverick wanted out of life and wanted for everyone else.

Pulling her phone from her cupholder, Everleigh quickly downloaded the song. Spent most of her time while it downloaded seeing if MARS had made their album available to pre-order. (Everleigh would be the first person—cross her heart and hope to die, she would be the first if she had to stay up all night before a 12 hour shift.) No such luck, but at least she'd tried.

"All right, London, that was The L, which is the newest song from our fan favourite Grammy-nominated band, MARS featuring their friend, and another fan favourite, Maverick. Released earlier, The L is the first collaboration between the two artists, though it's unsurprising given that they met on the set of Work, Wife, starring Nikita Wong of The Honeymoon and Maver Vincent of Werewolf in the Catacombs—" the DJ coughed as they spoke again, "not-a-fan-favourite."

Everleigh snorted.

"Though there's been no announcement for their sophomore album, MARS fans are surely on the edge of their seats after this iconic release," the radio DJ continued. "We're hoping that this single release means an album announcement is coming soon, but for now, here's a little double dip while he's still in everyone's heads. Here's For Her from Maverick's newest EP, Revive. Maverick, if you're listening, we're still waiting eagerly to find out who she is."

Look. It was simply bad timing that Everleigh turned her radio off. It wasn't that she was still mad at Maverick—frankly, quite the opposite—it was that The L had been released and she'd been stuck in a shitty exam when she could've been listening to the song. It was that listening to lyrics written by some of her favourite people in the world was a thousand times better than memorizing the chemicals in the brain that caused mental illnesses. It was that there was an entire fucking verse written about her that did not consist of a mile high pun and it was written by her favourite singer of all time. Everleigh had listened to Revive plenty. It was a great EP. But she'd waited years for something new from MARS. And it was finally here, if only a single star in the galaxy they were likely to release. The other stars were on their way, passing through lightyears on their way to Earth.

Everleigh quickly texted Stevie. A ton of hearts and cheering emojis, followed by THE SONG TURNED OUT AMAZING, CONGRATULATIONS, QUEEN! CAN SMELL THE GRAMMY! She figured she was getting a thousand of those texts and wouldn't be surprised if it took a while for Stevie to reply. Everleigh rarely got excited about things, and Stevie was worthy of her excitement. Always.

Remembering she had Jun's number as well, Everleigh shot him a text as well, also expecting it may take a while to reply. She had the potential to pass out if she really thought about the fact that she was able to text members of her favourite band at any given time. That was utter insanity she never would've considered six months prior.

Everleigh played The L a couple times as she sat in the car. Eyes closed as she listened to the lyrics, let the melody take her over and allowed herself to explore the verses over and over again. As she listened for the umpteenth time, Everleigh started adding the songs to her playlists. Too many to count and yet it still didn't feel like enough.

After she was satisfied that The L had been added to all the playlists she wanted it on, Everleigh leaned back in her seat again. Continued listening to the song on repeat. She wasn't sure how long had passed when she sat forward, eyes wide.

"Oh, fuck."

Everleigh unlocked her phone and typed quickly. song's amazing but fuck you for not telling me it was out. <3

Almost like I signed an NDA.

guarantee Stevie would make an exception for me.

Yeah, she probably would. I apologize.

i'm kidding. obviously. legality comes before me. it's okay.

Do you actually like the song?

of course i like the song, you spoon. my favourite singer cowrote it.

You mean Stevie don't you?

your verse was good too. <3

Wow, thank you so much.

seriously, it's amazing. i've listened to it, like, 100 times already.

I'm glad you're enjoying it, Maverick wrote. Hope your exam went well. (That would also be why I didn't break my NDA. You needed sleep.)

i got told to apply myself better despite my 4.2. your song made everything better. thank you for not telling me. it was a good surprise.

Was it on the radio?

yes sir.

So fucking cool.

you guys killed it. seriously.

Did your exam go okay?

i think so—gpa should be fine. the talk after was... nasty.

Tell them to eat shit because you're Everleigh fucking Meadowlark and you're going to be their valedictorian.

Everleigh smiled at her phone. today's your day, don't worry about me.

Always here if you need to talk, Meadowlark.

isn't it like seven in the morning where you are?

That's not THAT early.

did you sleep at all?

I wanted to hear how your exam went.

good night, Kingston. talk to you soon? <3

Sure, nurse Meadowlark.

i do need you to promise me you're actually going to sleep.

I promise.

i'll get your sister to snitch on you.

Good night, Meadowlark.

Everleigh waited a long moment, made sure Maverick didn't send her any cheeky texts when he should've been sleeping. For his sake, he didn't. Everleigh would've been forced to fly to Windsor and dose him with melatonin herself.

It startled her when her phone started vibrating in her hand. She slid the bar and pressed it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Leigh, are you okay? Where the fuck are you?"

"I'm on my way, Roman, what the hell?"

"It's been forty-five minutes."

Everleigh's eyes widened as she let out a nervous chuckle. "Sorry. Be there soon."

The L took her all the way to her lunch with Roman.

Turn this loss into a found indeed.