"I can't go," Ella said. "You don't think I should. Right?"

She passed a mug of steaming tea to Louise. The dark-haired girl was curled up in Sophia's bed, clutching a pillow to her stomach like a drowning sailor clutching a life preserver. Ophelia was gently stroking her hair. Next to them, Sophia was wearing a fluffy white bathrobe, painting her nails jet-black.

"I think you should go," Sophia said, for the millionth time. "When else will you get the chance to tour with the most famous band in the world?"

Ella feigned surprise. "I wasn't aware the Beatles were still touring."

"Funny."

"I thought so."

Sophia pointed her nail polish brush at Ella sternly. "If you don't go, you're insane."

"What's insane," Louise said, looking slightly green, "is that there's two of you right now." She shielded one eye with a hand, squinting up at Ella. "Can you stop pacing, please? It's making me queasy."

"Look, I can't just go on tour." Ella hopped on to the bed. "It's—"

"Bed!" Louise yelped, cringing. "Don't move the bed!"

"Sorry! I forgot."

"I wish I could bloody forget," Louise growled, clutching the pillow tighter. "I feel like an army of jackhammers has taken up residence in my head."

"Poor baby," Ophelia crooned, stroking her hair. "Those martinis were lethal." She smiled at Ella. "I agree with Soph; you should go, Ells. Break the rules for once."

Ella stared at her; Ophelia once cried when she forgot to return an overdue library book, so the fact that she was telling her to break the rules was nothing short of miraculous.

"But I won't know anyone," Ella pointed out, chewing her lip. "And the boys will be rehearsing most days. What if I get lonely?"

"Well, I'll go with you," Louise said casually, as if she was suggesting that they grab an ice cream cone. "My classes don't start until January, and I haven't seen Max in ages." She shrugged. "We could both join for the first few weeks of the tour."

"You mean it?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"Oh, you're kidding me," Sophia groaned. "So you're both going to jet around the U.S. while Ophelia and I rot in Toronto?" She jabbed her polish brush at Ella once more. "Where's the justice in that?"

Ella rolled her eyes. "You have a photo shoot with Cosmo next week, Soph. I don't think you'll exactly be suffering."

"True." Sophia held up a hand, admiring her handiwork. "And you can bring me back that face cream that I like from New York."

"And books," Ophelia chimed in. "Lots of books."

"There are books in Canada, you know," Ella said, and Ophelia smiled sheepishly.

"I know," she said. "But the new Nicholas Sparks one doesn't come out here until April, and I really can't wait that long."

Ella stole Louise's tea, taking a sip of the warm beverage to steady herself.

This was a bad idea. In fact, this was a bad idea of epic proportions. She just failed out of university; she didn't deserve to travel the world. She deserved to spend her days grinding espresso beans at Starbucks and getting shouted at by middle-aged mothers for mixing up a latte and a caffè misto.

She couldn't just run away from her problems.

And yet.

She passed the tea back to Louise, pursing her lips. Up until now, Ella had tried to be the perfect daughter. She got a scholarship to Lovewood Academy because her father wanted her to. She got into the best business school in Canada because her mother asked her to.

Didn't Ella deserve to spend some time with her brother? Didn't she deserve to have some fun for once?

And, a small voice inside of her whispered, you would get to see Max.

Ella told that voice to shut the hell up.

"Let's say I did go," Ella said slowly. "How would we get there? It's the December holidays; airlines will be booked solid."

"We'll fly private," Louise said. "The boys can send a plane."

"And what about money? I don't want to Rory to—"

"If you say 'bankroll my lifestyle' right now, Ella, I'll kill you."

Ella frowned. Up until now, she'd refused to take a penny from Rory; even though he offered to pay for her university a million times, she would rather be up to her ears in debt and work full-time at a music store than take money from her brother.

Louise had fewer qualms.

Besides, the Bentley family owned a sizeable estate in the Scottish Highlands and a holiday home in the French Alps. Ella didn't think Louise had ever thought much about money before, simply because she never had to.

"Oh, come on, Ella," Sophia sighed. "Don't make us post that video of your pants ripping at a bowling alley on Facebook."

"Is that a threat?" she asked, startled.

"It's incentive."

"What if I still refuse to go?"

Sophia's smile turned wicked. "Oh, trust me, honey; after we post that video, you'll be begging to leave the country."

Which is how, two hours later, Ella was packing a suitcase.

It didn't take Ella long to clean out her apartment — there wasn't much in it to begin with, other than some clothes and her violin — and she was just loading the bags into a taxi when her phone buzzed. She glanced at the text.

Louise phoned. Sending the plane tomorrow. I know you stole my Maple Leafs cap — bring it with you, thief.

She smiled to herself. Typical Rory: short and to the point.

Then Ella remembered what she was about to do and her smile disappeared.

"Where to?" the cab driver asked.

Hell.

"Yorkville," Ella said, and then rattled off her parents' address.

A part of Ella was hoping that her parents were out again, but her father opened the door almost immediately after she knocked. He was dressed in a green sweater with a toucan on the front, and there was a mug of coffee in his hand. His eyes were red-rimmed.

Ella's heart twisted; she hoped that wasn't because of her.

"Ella!" He smiled. "Come in."

He ushered her into the living room, where her mother set down a stack of sheet music. Ella's throat felt dry. She had deliberately left her luggage in the lobby with the doorman — no need to tip them off early — but she still felt like they could read the guilt on her face.

"I've got something to tell you," she blurted out.

In retrospect, this was not, perhaps, the best opening line.

Her mother turned white. "Oh, my god. You're pregnant, aren't you?"

"I—what? No."

But her mother was undeterred. "That's why you're having trouble at school, isn't it?" She took her hands. "Don't worry, honey. We'll support you. Even if the father is that rude Adam boy you used to see, we'd—"

"Mom!" She shook loose of her grip. "I'm not pregnant!"

"Oh." Her face tightened. "Is it Rory? Did something happen to him?"

"Rory's fine." Ella collapsed on to the couch. "The only problem he has these days is deciding which back-up dancer to date this week."

Unfortunately, her mother seized on this.

"He's dating someone?" she demanded.

"It was illustrative." Ella resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "You know Rory doesn't date. He's paranoid about having his secrets leaked to the press."

"Poor Rory," her father sighed.

This was one of her father's favourite sayings.

It didn't matter that Rory was one of the most successful musicians in North America, swimming in money, and could get any girl that he wanted; their father would continue to pity him for having to deal with (and Ella was quoting directly, here) "the pitfalls of fame."

Rory could buy a Rolls Royce and their father would still feel bad for him.

"Well, this is kind of about Rory," Ella relented, backtracking. "At least a little bit."

"Oh?"

She took a deep breath. "I'm going on tour with him. In America."

There was a long, drawn-out pause.

She prepared herself for hysterics. She braced for shouting and angry denials and tears. But what Ella wasn't prepared for was her mother to perch delicately on an armchair and say, "Good. I think you should go."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You should go," she repeated. "This is just what you need, honey. A recharge."

And then Ella understood.

"Mom," she said slowly. "You know that I'm not going back to university, right? Not even when I'm back from the tour."

Her mother picked up her sheet music. "We'll talk once you're back."

And that was that.

Ella lingered for another thirty minutes before they said their goodbyes. Her mother gave her a quick hug, but her father squeezed her so tightly that Ella was convinced he'd crushed several bones. It was only when Ella was in the lobby again that she felt like she could breathe properly.

Her phone rang.

"Louise," Ella sighed, not bothering to check the caller ID. "I'm on my way." She dragged her suitcase towards an awaiting Uber. "You would not believe what I just went through. Do you know my mother still thinks I'm sleeping with Adam?"

"Well, are you?"

She almost dropped the phone.

"Max!" Ella squealed. "I wasn't expecting— I thought—"

"Calm, down Elliephant." His voice was amused. "I'm only teasing."

"I hate that nickname."

"I know," Max said easily. "That's why I use it."

Ella frowned. She could hear the TV blaring in the background — or maybe it was a video game — and an unexpected sense of relief filled her. She half-expected Max to be at a party. But now she could picture him at home, alone, eating a packet of chips (or "crisps," as he would call them) in his grey sweatpants.

She liked Max best this way.

Sober. Teasing. Mildly irritating.

"So," he said. "I hear you're flying out tomorrow."

"Yeah." She paused to direct the taxi driver toward the Bentley family apartment. "Look, Max, about university; I was going to tell you, but I—"

"It's none of my business," Max said firmly. "And it's not anybody else's, either."

"I still should have told you."

He crunched on a chip. "How are your parents taking it?"

Ella thought of her mother's face after she told her the news and grimaced. "Not well. I wish I could go back just to please them, but I can't. Not this time."

"Why?"

She paused, momentarily thrown; out of everyone that Ella had told so far, Max was the first to ask her that.

"I don't know." She pointed out Louise's apartment to the driver. "Business just isn't for me, I guess. I had trouble concentrating."

That was a gross understatement.

For some reason, Ella took one look at all of those economic equations and terms like "horizontal competition" and immediately filed it under the junk pile in her brain. She could get good grades, when she tried — she certainly had in her first year — but she just didn't care enough anymore.

Plus, Ella spent most days in class scribbling lyrics in her notebook. At the library, she tapped out rhythms with her pencil.

If Ella loved business as much as she loved music, she'd be Warren freaking Buffett.

Not that Ella would ever admit that to Max. Firstly, because the idea of telling Max that she loved music made her want to get out of the taxi and ask the driver to run her over repeatedly, and secondly, because Rory could never find out.

He would think that he had ruined her dreams.

"Well, I'm excited to see you," Max told her. "It's been too long."

She rolled her eyes. "It's been six months, Max."

"Exactly."

She bit her lip. "You won't tell Rory about Adam, will you? I'm really not sleeping with him." She paused. "At least, not recently."

"No promises," Max said cheerfully. "Bye, Elliephant."

And he hung up the call.