Chorus

“Again!” Eloise yells into the microphone – the one that I unplugged as soon as this practice started because she’s so damn loud. “It doesn’t sound right.”

“It doesn’t sound right because we’re down a guitar,” I sigh. “You’re doing rhythm but it’s just going to sound wrong if we don’t have lead.”

“Blake’s right,” Ash pipes up from behind his drumset, spinning one of his drumsticks expertly in his hand. It’s hard to keep my eyes off of the movement, hard not to imagine those hands on me. “We should get Zephyr in here.”

“Fuck no,” I spit, not wanting my adoptive father sitting in on this practice. Especially not when half of my thoughts have been on how good my best friend of over ten years’ arms look in that cut-off tanktop. “I’m not dealing with him right now.”

He’s talented as hell, the whole reason we even started this band. That said, he’s insane. And, it doesn’t help that he insists on calling me Celeste. I’ve been made fun of for having a feminine name my entire life, and there’s only one person that I’d actually let call me that.

“Oh come on,” Ash, the exception to the rule, pipes up. “If we don’t find someone to come with us for this festival tour thing he’s going to have to play.”

“Or we could just use the backing track,” I say, not hiding my irritation at how Ash idolizes that man.

I guess he’s kind of become Ash’s father figure, too. Since he’s been around Zephyr for so long, it’s only natural. Sometimes, I think that they were meant to be the father-son duo. It used to piss me off, but now I’m resigned to it.

“Ugh. Fine,” Eloise yells, throwing her hands up in the air.

She makes a big show of crossing the room and plugging her phone in. As she does, I shift my bass, pretending that I’m tuning the instrument so I can sneak another look at Ash. He’s dyed his hair recently. Instead of the blue he’s been sporting for the last few months, he’s gone with orange. It’s a little ridiculous, but I expect nothing less from him.

He’s like the sun. Everything about him is bright and good. Of course he dyed his hair orange. I’m sure that pink is coming soon. Maybe a firetruck red. And I’ll love every single choice that he makes. I always have.

I always will.

“Alright, losers,” Eloise announces, turning toward us, phone in hand, guitar swinging. “Take it from the top.”

She hits play, and Ash whoops before starting to play along. I’m a little slow on the uptake, distracted by the way his muscles flex. I cover it well though, jumping in before Eloise can whip around to yell at me.

This time, we sound good. We’re fresh off of our biggest show yet, and right now I actually understand how we drew that kind of crowd. Eloise’s energy is intoxicating, and when I turn to look at Ash, he’s electric.

I feel like I don’t live up to them. All I do, aside from adding the bass to our songs, is stand here. So, in an attempt to keep up with my bandmates, I force myself to move. It’s nothing special, just walking around, turning in circles. I’m doing something right though, because Ash lets out a shout of encouragement.

It doesn’t deter Eloise, who’s singing her goddamn heart out. She misses a chord or two, but she more than makes up for it with the sound of her voice. The longer we do this together, the more I have to admit that letting her be our lead singer and frontman was the right idea.

We’re coming off of the bridge, building up to the last movement of the song when the garage door starts to lift. Eloise curses, Ash gives a dramatic drumroll, and I sigh as I walk over to where Eloise’s phone is connected to the aux. I already know who’s interrupting our practice.

“You bastard!” Eloise yells, her voice drowned out by Ash’s drumming.

“Ash, enough,” I snap, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Surprisingly, he listens to me. My ears ring in the sudden silence, though Eloise doesn’t keep it that way for long. She’s flinging all kinds of colorful insults at Zephyr, who’s standing there with his hands behind his back and a shit-eating grin on his face.

He must have just gotten back from the salon because his hair is so goddamn blond it might as well be white.

“What do you want, Zephyr,” I ask, my droll tone undercutting Eloise’s ranting. “We were in the middle of something.”

“Using a backing track, though,” he notes, walking into the garage. “You going to play all those shows with that? Really? Is that what I taught you?”

“Are you going to play for us?!” Ash asks.

When I turn to glare at him for the question, he at least has the wherewithal to look ashamed. He flashes me those big, brown puppy eyes, and I scoff before turning back to Zephyr. I can’t stay mad at Ash, especially when he looks so fucking cute.

“You’re not playing for us,” I say.

“Aw, Celeste,” he coos, taking another step toward us, his hands still behind his back. “You don’t want to perform with your dear old dad?”

“You’re not my dad,” I deadpan, rolling my eyes when he acts as if I’ve shot him.

“You wound me, Celeste,” he says as he straightens himself up. “But, you’ll be relieved to know that I won’t be joining you on stage.”

“Great,” Eloise says, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. “Now, is there a reason that you interrupted us or are you just here to be a nuisance?”

“Sheesh,” he says, lowering his stupid sunglasses to look over all of us. “The older you kids get, the meaner you are.”

“I’m not mean!” Ash calls.

“You’re annoying, though,” Eloise notes.

“Can we please get back to why you’re here, Zephyr,” I say, knowing this can get out of hand quickly.

The thing about Zephyr is that he was a teenager when he took me in. I’m pretty sure he didn’t have a chance to be young, so he’s been bickering with my friends and acting like an idiot for as long as I can remember. Sometimes I think I raised him instead of the other way around.

“That’s my boy, always on topic,” Zephyr says, smiling at me like he’s waiting for validation. I don’t give it to him. “Anyway, I actually interrupted because I have a solution for your vacancy.”

“Wait, so you’re actually going to play for us?” Ash asks again.

“He already said he wasn’t,” I say, feeling a headache coming on. “Who is it?”

“Ash, another drum roll, please,” Zephyr says, and Ash jumps into action. Over the sound of the snare, he yells, “Everyone, give it up for your touring member, May!”

Nothing happens for a moment and Zephyr sighs dramatically before stepping back. He looks to the side and says, “Come on! You missed your cue.”

“Sorry. I stopped listening,” May says, stepping into view with her guitar case in tow. She looks at me and nods, saying, “Hey, Blake.”

“Your cousin?” Ash says, catching my attention. When I turn to look at him, he’s staring at May, eyes roaming over her form.

I stomp down the jealousy I feel, reminding myself that nothing will happen between the two of them. Even if Ash was interested, May’s in a relationship. And she’s scary. She’d chew him up and spit him out without a second thought.

“Yes, my cousin,” I say. “She’s a good choice. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.”

“Because your mind’s on other things,” May says, walking into the garage like she owns the place and setting up.

My face heats up. It’s not overt, but I know she’s making fun of me for my pathetic crush on my best friend. I regret ever telling her.

I open my mouth, ready to defend myself, but Zephyr interrupts by popping a confetti cannon and cheering. Eloise screams, and I jump. The man who raised me is giggling like a fucking child.

“Is that all?” May asks, getting us back on track with her no-nonsense attitude. I guess that runs in the family. “I’ve got a lot to learn, and I don’t think your presence is going to help.”

“Are you saying I’m a bad teacher?” Zephyr asks, face falling dramatically.

“Zephyr’s a great teacher, May!” Ash interjects. “He taught me how to play drums.”

“You’re not even the best drummer in the band. Blake’s got you beat,” Eloise says, turning on him with fire in her eyes.

God, this is going to be a long ass few months. I have no idea how I’m going to make it through. I wonder if it’s too soon in my career to get into drugs. I’ll be lucky to make it out of this alive.

“Of course Blake’s got me beat,” Ash says, turning his gaze back to me. There’s a fondness in his eyes that gets under my skin. “He’s good at everything he does.”

Scratch that, I’m going to be lucky if I even make it through this practice.