Champagne Problems

F I F T E E N

t's Saturday afternoon, and Yves is lying on the couch watching an episode of *Catfish* on MTV. His little sister, Ruby, sits on the floor in front of him, completely absorbed in her Barbie dolls. She hums to herself, occasionally making the dolls talk to each other in her sweet, high-pitched voice. Yves tries to focus on the TV, but his mind keeps wandering. Tonight's performance is all he can think about. Divergent's first official gig, and the pressure is building in his chest.

He sighs, running a hand through his messy hair, and glances down at Ruby. Her world is so simple. She doesn't have to worry about impressing a crowd of people or making sure everything goes perfectly. She's just playing with her dolls, oblivious to the weight Yves is carrying tonight.

Getting up from the couch, he ruffles Ruby's hair on his way to the stairs. "Don't make too much of a mess, okay?" he says, though he knows she won't listen.

Ruby doesn't even look up from her Barbie. "I won't!"

Yves heads upstairs to his room, where his mom is busy vacuuming the floor. "Almost done, darling," she says with her usual warm smile. She always knows how to make him feel a little calmer, even if she has no idea what's going on in his head.

Yves grabs his laptop from the desk and sits in the chair, lifting his legs so his mom can finish vacuuming under him. "Thanks, Mom," he says absently as she finishes up and leaves the room. Once she's gone, Yves opens his laptop, his fingers hovering over the keys. He hesitates for a moment before typing "Chantal Montoya" into the search bar.

He knows it's probably not healthy to keep obsessing over her, but he can't help himself. A flood of images pop up, pictures of Chantal looking effortlessly stunning. One picture, in particular, catches his eye. She's sitting in front of the Eiffel Tower, her long, ombré hair peeking out from under a soft blue beanie. She's wearing a gray coat, and she's smiling, looking over her shoulder at the camera. She looks beautiful—*too* beautiful, Yves thinks.

He sighs, saving the picture to his private folder, even though he knows it won't do him any good. "Four years," he mutters to himself. "If only I was four years older." The gap between their ages feels like a chasm, and it's clear that it bothers her way more than it bothers him.

He closes the laptop and glances up at the poster hanging above his desk—the one Fenna made for tonight's performance. She had done an incredible job. In the poster, Yves is standing in the center, wearing his signature leather jacket, white T-shirt, and black skinny jeans. His arms are crossed, and he looks cooler than he ever feels. The band is gathered around him, all of them looking like they're ready to take on the world.

The thought of the performance tonight makes his stomach flip. It's not just another practice or a casual jam session. It's their first real gig, and people are actually expecting something from them. He can't mess this up.

---

Levi pushes open the door of the café, the smell of freshly brewed coffee hitting him as soon as he steps inside. He's early—an hour early, in fact—but he needed to get out of the house. He needed to be anywhere but home.

The café is quiet, except for the sound of Fenna humming behind the counter as she wipes down the bar. She looks up when Levi walks in, her smile as bright as ever. "You're early," she says, teasing him. "You didn't see the sign, did you?"

"What sign?" Levi asks, raising an eyebrow.

Fenna grins and nods toward the door. "We're technically closed right now. Setting up for tonight. But since you're part of the band, I'll let it slide."

Levi chuckles. "Lucky me. Mind if I grab a drink?"

"Sure," she says, wiping her hands on her apron. "What can I get you? Coffee? Beer?" She raises an eyebrow playfully.