 
Valerie Thomas

Auburn: Outcasts and Underdogs

Copyright ©Valerie Thomas 2015

All rights reserved.

This a work of fiction.

All characters, events, and places in this publication are fictional and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

To the heroes and villains in my life. Whether you inspired Ashley or Jessica, Joey or Will. Whether you helped me realize how hard things could get, or how beautiful life can be... Thank you. I can honestly say that this book would not have been possible without your help.

Acknowledgements

I would like to say a big thank you to my mom, who has read all of my manuscripts, even back when they were terrible (and who has listened to me ramble on about my stories for more hours than I care to admit).

# Chapter 1

We were the lost. We were the broken. We were the freaks, the losers and loners hiding in the corners of the world.

And then we weren't. Every morning I had to pick up the jigsaw puzzle of my life and rebuild it into something vaguely resembling a person. A hazy shadow of the happiness I was faking.

And then I didn't. I didn't become whole. No, there was no glue that could bind me back together. No remedy to fix any of us. We weren't lost anymore, but we remembered losing our way. We weren't freaks, but we remembered living on the fringe. We weren't losers or loners, but we still remembered hiding from the world.

We were Auburn. I was Auburn. And this is my story.

-Ashley Nimzovitch, lead singer of the punk rock band Auburn

***

I was stuck in Charlie's well-lit bathroom, inspecting my own face in the mirror. He'd asked me over to try out for a band he was forming with another boy our age, an outcast like us. Or so he'd said. It had only taken me one look at Joey to decide that he wasn't really an outcast. My first instinct had been to run. I'd rushed out an excuse about fixing my makeup and fled to the bathroom.

The room itself was painted a beige white, stippled and textured in sweeping arcs. In front of me, below the mirror, was a white granite counter with a matching sink. A bright fluorescent light illuminated my face in the mirror: the terribly square jaw, crooked nose, hopeless eyes. Perhaps I was only imagining that my eyes looked hopeless, since no one else ever seemed to notice. In my more delusional moments I allowed myself to believe that their clear blue color would have been attractive on a slightly more refined face. In fact, taken individually, I liked to think that my features were the same I saw on television. Beautiful, curly auburn hair, a dimpled chin...

"You can do this," I whispered to myself. "Worst case, they don't like you and they won't let you be in their band. Then you can go home and it'll all be over." My voice felt weak, but that actually helped me make the decision to leave the bathroom. Paradoxically, the knowledge that I was going to fail anyway allowed me to pull the cold metal door handle, walk through the long hallway lined with pictures of a young Charlie, and step back into the garage.

The concrete had loads of oil spills on it, like someone had spent hours working on their car inside but never bothered to clean up after themselves. Blue walls surrounded me on every side except ahead, where the gray metal of the garage door blocked off the rest of the world.

In the middle of the floor, Charlie and Joey were sitting on wooden stools, tuning their guitars. Charlie looked up at me and smiled. He had the look of a much younger boy, with cheeks still heavy with fat, shining green eyes, and a small, rounded nose. I'd heard a few of the other freshmen at our school make fun of him for the fact that he hadn't hit puberty, but I didn't mind. I liked being friends with him; he was nice.

Joey was a stark contrast. He had a bit of a shadow growing on his lower jaw, and his heavy brow made him look almost like an adult. "Go ahead," he said, nodding toward a spot in front of them. "We're ready when you are." He gave me a slightly lopsided smile that reminded me of the kind of boys I was always too afraid to talk to.

_You know you're gonna fail,_ I reminded myself. I dropped down the pair of steps to the floor of the garage, grimacing as nerves tightened their grip on my throat. I could hear the muffled scrape of each step of my black-and-purple converse shoes as I walked on the concrete; my eyes felt glued to the plain black fabric of my own shirt.

"Um, hi guys. I'm Ashley, but—yeah, you know that. Okay, I'll just get to the song." I took a deep breath and forced myself to look up at the two boys—Joey in his dragon-print shirt, Charlie in a tight-fitting gray tee. One more breath, and I launched into a song I'd written myself. " _Beating hearts and dead lies, we're all zombies in disguise. Pasting smiles over pain inside. Twisted lies that we can't hide. Our own lives cannot be denied. Will you—_ um, will you..." I met Charlie's eyes. "Sorry, it's hard to keep track of where I am without any music in the background."

"Oh, that's fine." Charlie flashed a quick smile. "It's not a ton to go on, but we'll make our decision and contact you soon." He glanced over at Joey, who was busy playing around with chords on his guitar.

Seeming to notice the awkward silence, Joey pulled his hands from the strings and looked up at me. "Yeah, sure, we'll let you know. You were pretty bad, but I guess you were better than the only other person we got to try out."

"Wow, thanks," I muttered, my hands clenching into fists. He was such an asshole. I wanted to tell him all about the years I'd spent in choir, demand that he sing if he was so much better than me. I settled for an angry glare.

Joey laughed. "I was just kidding!" His throaty chuckle was the only sound in the garage.

Charlie cocked his head, mouthing the words 'I'm sorry.' He turned to Joey. "That wasn't funny."

"No it wasn't," I whispered, more to myself than either of them.

"Sure it was." Joey finally stopped laughing. His eyes wrinkled with confusion as he noticed the expression on both of our faces. "I was just kidding, and it's funny because she thought she was bad and..." He shrugged. "You're not really that bad. See? Funny."

Despite his insistence, I had a hard time seeing any humor in the situation. "Now I know why you're an outcast," I said, trying to think of the most hurtful thing I could. "You're such a jerk!" I shot Joey one more glare before turning on my heel and stomping out of the garage.

I heard the clatter of a stool behind me, but didn't bother to turn around. I'd nearly closed the distance to the door that would lead me out of Charlie's house when a soft touch on my shoulder made me stop.

"He _is_ a jerk," Charlie whispered. "He's a jerk, and he's an outcast. Just like us." He moved to face me, pulling on the cord of his guitar when it stopped him. "Ashley, in case you haven't noticed, we don't have the luxury of choosing our friends. You heard Joey say we only had one other person try out to be the singer, and they were nowhere near as good as you. And to be honest, Joey's the only bass guitarist I know who wouldn't laugh at the idea of being in a band with me."

There was a pause as his eyes fell to the floor. "Remember how I told you how much I wanted to be in a band? I want to get it started before we're too far into our freshman year. Music is the only thing that makes me feel normal, and I know you feel the same way. August is already gone, and September's going fast. We've waited long enough, but if you can deal with Joey being a jerk then maybe we can start playing some music together. What do you think?"

"I don't know, Charlie." His _we're all outcasts_ argument made me feel terrible about myself. I didn't like to think of myself as an outcast. I was a rebel, and society didn't reject me; I rejected it. "Music _is_ kind of the only thing that makes me feel normal," I admitted. "But I think we can find someone better than that. Someone nicer."

He took a step back and leaned against the blue wall of his garage. "Like who? Let's be honest Ashley, there aren't many kids who want to play bass guitar in a no-name band with people like us. Please, just sing one song with Joey and me. I know that once you do you'll realize how good we can sound together." He dipped his head and gave me a slight pout, using his puppy dog eyes to their full advantage.

I folded my arms, trying to decide whether Charlie's attempts at persuasion were enough for me to get over my immediate dislike of Joey. Part of me wanted to hold out, keep saying no just so he would keep begging me. It felt good to be wanted, even for—as Charlie called it—a 'no-name band.' "Okay. One song, and then we'll see. What song did you wanna play?"

A grin spread across Charlie's face. "How about _Feel Sorry for Me_?" He knew that was my weakness. When we'd first met a year before—in eighth grade Shop class, where I'd failed to make a decent wood cutting board—I'd told him about how much I loved it.

"I guess I could give it a try." I let my arms drop, fighting a small grin of my own.

***

We spent around two hours playing every song we all knew. It turned out to be quite the challenge to find any, since Joey was more of a hard rock fan than either Charlie or I. But Charlie was right; we did sound good together. After practice, as I hopped down the steps leading to the sidewalk, all I could think about were the songs I wanted to write. We'd need some music of our own, and maybe I could help with that.

The sun was high in the sky, and the only clouds in sight were those fluffy white ones that almost never end with rain. I had the route back home basically memorized: a left at the sidewalk, straight for four blocks, right, go to the traffic light, turn left again, walk to the next traffic light, take a right, and then I'd be at the apartment my mom and I called home. My sneakers scraped against the concrete sidewalk, creating a rhythm for me to hum to.

An occasional car drove by with a swishing sound, but I paid them little mind. No doubt the occupants were judging me as they passed, like everyone did—the girl with heavy eyeliner, dressed like a skater. I liked my eyeliner heavy. That was how I'd worn it since I first got into makeup in seventh grade. Heavy eyeliner concealed the look in my eyes, that terrible hopeless look that I always saw in the mirror. As for my clothes... I preferred comfort over fashion.

I paused at a stop sign where someone had spray-painted over the 't'—why 'sop' was funny, I couldn't guess—and turned right. The only sound was a slight breeze rustling the leaves of a linden tree across the way. _They chose me_ , I thought as I crossed, already reminiscing about the time I'd spent singing with Charlie and Joey. _There was someone else who auditioned, but they chose me._ The words felt warm and comforting. I imagined bragging to my mother, playing up it up so that she'd understand how cool it was.

Then my thoughts took a wild turn. As my scuffing footsteps carried me toward the first traffic light, I imagined telling a radio DJ the story. He'd be interested because of how successful our band was, of course, and I'd try to guide the discussion away from the band. There was a charity I was trying to promote. I wanted to use my fame as a platform to help starving children.

The pride from how generous I would be with my fame lasted until I was almost home. My mind kept returning to what I'd say to that DJ, the exact way I'd deflect his questions to talk about my charity. When I saw my apartment building, it was like I'd been caught up in a daydream and the sight was all I'd needed to wake up.

With a laugh, I realized how stupid that was. No doubt our band would fail, like every other garage band. So my pride, my generous charity plug, wasn't anything to feel good about. It was nothing, unless I could actually make it happen.

That part of the pride left, but I still had something. A spring to my step that didn't leave. My band had chosen me, and we'd had fun playing together.

My apartment building was one of those long ones, with so many apartments that the floor numbers were counted in thousands instead of hundreds. From the outside, it looked absolutely utilitarian: mostly gray stucco, with a few small windows looking out on the parking lot on one side and the highway on the other. There were winding staircases at both ends, as well as a few straight staircases in between. I glanced at the cracked parking lot ahead of me as I made my way toward the stairs closest to our apartment; most of the cracks weren't bad, but one or two were wide enough that I'd tripped on them before.

The stairs were made of metal that rang with every step, and although I normally tried to keep quiet, I let myself fall into the same rhythm I'd had when I initially set out from Charlie's house. _One-two, one-two-three. One-two, one-two-three._ The rhythm turned it into a sort of game, and I found myself jogging past landings so that I wouldn't miss the next beat. I passed the first floor, then the second, and finally reached the top floor.

My mom liked to call it a penthouse floor, even though it was anything but. Penthouses were for the rich and famous, and they had elevators to take them all the way up. We weren't rich or famous, and we had to take the stairs. I remembered my DJ daydream with a smile; perhaps someday I wouldn't have to take the stairs.

I let my hand drag on the wall as I walked in the direction of our apartment. _3032, 3034, 3036..._ 3036 was one of my favorites, because they always had interesting messages for solicitors. This month's edition read: _Please, no preaching. I've already met God, and we just didn't hit it off. No offense to the guy, I'm sure he's great._

3040 was my home. I stopped in front of the brown metal door and fished around for the key in my pocket. I was already getting excited about telling my mom about what had happened. I wiggled my key into the lock and turned it, listening for the second click. The first click never did it; the handle would twist most of the way, but the door wouldn't open until I turned the key enough for that second click.

Once I got the lock turned all the way, I pushed the door open and stepped into our apartment. The main living space consisted of our kitchen and living room; off to the right was a small bedroom and a bathroom for us to share. Clutter in the form of cardboard boxes, discarded napkins, and graded papers from my classes always seemed to collect in the living room, but my mom kept the kitchen clean. And whenever a guest was due we'd have to clear out the visible trash.

"Hey Mom!" I called, closing the door behind me before heading over to our faded blue couch and plopping down on the middle cushion. "Are you home?" Despite the fact that it was sunny outside, the curtains kept most of it out, leaving the apartment relatively dark.

Her yawn came from our bedroom, followed by the sound of steps in the short hall connecting it to the living room. "Hi honey. Did you have fun with your friends?"

My mom, Nina Stupple—she hadn't gone by Nimzovitch since she divorced my dad before I was even old enough to talk—had a refined quality to her face that mine was missing. She had the same light blue eyes and dimpled chin, but her jaw was thin and angled. Her nose wasn't off-kilter like mine, but it had the same thinness to it. Almost as if she was the before and I was the after of having it broken. The one thing I had on her was the lack of bags under my eyes. Hers had circles, purple and heavy, so deep that she never managed to entirely hide them. Despite those circles, my mom didn't have any trouble finding men. Sorting out the good ones, though, seemed like an impossible task for her.

I scooted over on the couch to open up a space for her. "Yeah, I did. I really did! Mom, I'm in a band!"

"Oh, that's great, honey." She leaned against the off-white wall. "I think you'll really enjoy that. It'll be a good outlet for you."

"Yeah, I think so too." I started to launch into a speech about how it had felt, but my mom held up a hand to stop me before I could get the first word out.

She frowned, looking at me with the heavy-lidded expression she always used before mentioning bad news. "I have to go to work, honey. We lost a bartender last week, and if I pick up the graveyard shift tonight my boss said I might be able to take his spot. It would mean a lot more tips. Maybe enough to buy you some cool stuff for your band."

"Oh, I don't need cool stuff," I said, meaning to say something to the effect of 'I'd rather have you here and live in poverty.' "But okay. Um, have fun. I hope you get a lot of tips."

My mom smiled, pushing off from the wall. "Thanks, honey. I promise, we'll talk all about it tomorrow." She turned and headed for the door, leaving the faintly floral smell of her perfume hanging in the air. _If I ever write a memoir,_ I thought, _That's what I'll call it. Faintly Floral Perfume and my Mother Leaving for Work._

# Chapter 2

September passed by in a blur, seeming to speed up as Charlie, Joey, and I settled into a comfortable pattern. None of us were very involved at school, so we could head straight over to Charlie's on the same bus and practice for a few hours before dinnertime. We ran through every genre that struck our fancy, trying to find our own sound.

School let out at two in the afternoon, which meant that even on the days where we practiced for three hours Charlie's parents were just coming home by the time Joey and I left. His dad and I had a short conversation after the third day of practice, little more than a quick 'hey, how are you doing?' I didn't see much of his mom—unlike his dad, she didn't park in the garage, so I would have had to go out of my way to run into her—but she popped her head in one time to ask if we wanted to stay over for dinner. Joey and I both said no, because... Well, somehow eating dinner with someone else's parents just felt weird.

It was Friday, and after a day of muddling through my classes I was ready to sing my heart out. Charlie, Joey, and I were lined up at the bottom of our school's parking lot with a few other students while we waited for the school buses to arrive.

"I came up with some new lyrics," I said, pulling a crumpled piece of paper out of my bag. "What do you guys think?"

Charlie took the paper from me. "Mhm. I like this whole part about feeling like a puppet. What's a winter tempest, though? And could you sing it for us, so we can get an idea of how you were thinking it should sound?"

I glanced at the larger group of four freshmen standing near us. No doubt they would hear if I started singing. But I told myself that I didn't care what they thought. I held out my hand and waited for Charlie to hand the lyrics back to me. _"Feeling lost,"_ I sang, as quietly as I could. _"Twisted and confused. Abused like a puppet, caught up in a winter tempest. I'm feeling like a kite, torn up by the wind. My colors once so bright, now I just can't stand..."_

I looked up from the blue-lined page, aware of six sets of eyes on me. Charlie was smiling, but a girl with long black hair and a face nearly as unrefined as mine wrinkled her nose. "What's that song about?" Her voice was pleasant; it was a bit on the low side, but there was a fullness to it that led me to wonder what she would sound like if she tried to sing.

"It's about..." I paused, trying to think of a good way to explain. "It's about feeling like an outsider, like everyone's judging you and you just don't know how to hide from it."

She nodded slowly, her mouth drawn into a flat line. "Huh. Okay." I could tell she was holding something back; I would have asked her to explain, but I wasn't sure I wanted to know. Maybe she thought the song sucked, or maybe she just didn't agree with the message behind it.

"What?" Joey asked her. "It's not like _you've_ ever written a song. And it's not like we asked for your opinion, either. This is band stuff, so just mind your own business." On some level, I was pretty sure he was trying to help me out. He just had a strange way of going about it.

"Well, if I ever write a song, it won't be some boring funeral march about how no one likes me because I'm weird." The girl turned her scowl on me instead of Joey. "No offense, but that song really sucks. Maybe you should scrap it and write something new."

What got to me, more than what she was saying, was how she said it. So casually, like she was the final authority when it came to _my_ lyrics. "It's not that bad," I said. "Maybe it needs some work, but with the right melody and rhythm it would be good."

"Honey, the best band in the world could perform it, and it would _still_ be a boring song about how no one likes you." The condescending way she said 'honey' rubbed me the wrong way. We were in the same grade; it wasn't like she was some adult giving me advice. Even if she had been, I probably still would have bristled at her tone. "Rip it up, throw it away, and write something new."

"Just stop!" I shouted, feeling anger well up at her casual dismissal of the song I'd worked so hard on. "Like Joey said, no one asked for your opinion."

Joey had a more elegant response: "Seriously, shut the fuck up." He shrugged, as if that would help smooth the harsh words.

For a moment, the girl just stood there, a muscle in her jaw twitching as if she wanted to walk up to Joey and punch him. She didn't say anything, but one of her friends—a tall, dark-skinned girl with black hair and hazel eyes—turned and ran for the main entrance. She made her way inside just as our bus arrived.

Charlie tapped me on the shoulder. "It's a good song. Don't let Jessica get you down. She's kind of a—um, a b word."

"Yeah, I guess." I stuffed the lyrics back into my bag and swung it over my shoulder. "Thanks, Joey." Having someone stick up for me was nice, even if it looked like he might get in trouble.

Charlie gestured toward the door of the bus a few feet ahead of us as it hissed open. "Here, Joey, get on first. Once you're inside, they can't call you in to the principal." I doubted that was true, but it seemed like a better plan than just letting him get punished for standing up for me. Charlie and I stood aside as he jogged up the brown, plastic-covered steps.

"I'm already thinking of a good hook for that 'one, two, three' part in the chorus," Charlie said before starting up.

"Oh, cool." My mind was still focused on what Jessica had said. It couldn't be true; the song had sounded good to me, and Charlie and Joey had liked it. She was probably the only one who thought it was boring, and she'd taken it upon herself to shove her opinion down my throat.

I glanced in the direction of the front entrance. Jessica's friend was already walking back toward the bus at a brisk pace, but there wasn't anyone with her. I let myself believe that she hadn't found the principal—or anyone else who could punish Joey.

Once we were inside the bus, Charlie made his way toward the back to sit with Joey, but the seats around them were all taken; I slid into an open one four rows up, moving over so that I could stare out the window.

The sound of Jessica's friend jogging down the aisle and coming to a stop near my seat made me turn around. "What's your name?" she asked, scowling at Joey.

My seat squeaked as I turned to look at him. "Will Strainer." He looked at me and winked.

She nodded. "Hmm, okay then. I'm gonna tell the principal what you said, Will." She probably expected that to scare him. I had no idea who Will Strainer was, but I couldn't help laughing as Jessica's friend took a seat behind me. Joey had won this round.

Or so I thought. "God, that girl wore so much eyeliner," someone said from the seat behind me. I was all but certain that the low, smooth voice was Jessica's, but I didn't want to sit up to confirm it. "She looked like a raccoon!"

There was a weak laugh, probably from Jessica's friend. "She did?"

"Yeah. She looks like such a skank." I sank lower in my chair. "Have you seen her hanging out with those two guys every day before the bus picks us up? Bet you she's hooking up with both of them. Any girl who looks like that has no respect for herself."

There was no way they didn't know I was right in front of them. Jessica's friend had just been standing there. In my mind, I sat up straight. I glared over the top of my bus seat and gave them a tongue-lashing they'd never forget. In my mind, I explained how I was actually so much cooler than they were, because I was in a band and they were just stupid. I'd be playing in sold-out arenas while they were still worrying about childish things like raccoon eyeliner and who I was or was not hooking up with.

In reality, I did none of those things. I slowly opened the Velcro patch on the outside of my bag and pulled my iPod out. As I stuck the white earbuds in, I heard more laughter from behind me, but I did my best to ignore it. The sounds of punk rock helped me drown them out.

I moved over to the window, staring out at the world passing us by. There were trees with brown leaves, green grass, and all the concrete and pastel-colored buildings I'd come to expect from the California suburbs. The unmistakable scent of wintergreen chewing gum wafted over me, but I just kept staring at the passing scenery. There were only three stops until I could get off and escape to Charlie's garage. With any luck, I'd be gone before Jessica and her friend said anything else.

The smell of burning rubber filled the bus as the driver pulled to the side of the road at our first stop. I forced myself to look at the street instead of the students passing by, just in case one of them happened to be Jessica or her friend.

_She's a bitch,_ I thought. _Just like Charlie said._ The knowledge did little to help my mood, as my mind kept returning to what they'd said about me. There was no denying my style was different, but they seriously needed an education if they thought that meant I was a skank. So why was I the one on the verge of tears?

The bus rolled to a start in unison with a new song coming up on my iPod: _Feel Sorry for Me_ by Queen Anne's Subtle Overdose. They were a band from L.A., just like us. The song struck a chord within me in a way few songs did, perhaps because of what had happened or perhaps because I liked the idea of tying someone down and forcing them to see my side of things, like the man in the song.

I closed my eyes, feeling the window tap against my temple with each small adjustment the driver made. At some point, we stopped again, but I kept my eyes closed. Time seemed to pass extra slow as I waited for our stop to come.

Finally, the hiss of brakes signaled our arrival. I opened my eyes and hopped to my feet. Despite my best intentions, I couldn't help but glance at the seat behind me.

Of course Jessica was still there. Her friend was gone, but she broke into a small smile when she saw me. It never reached her dull brown eyes, which narrowed with what I could only guess was hostility.

With as much willpower as I could summon, I forced a sweet smile back at her. "Yeah, I thought it was funny when Joey told you to shut the fuck up too." It didn't make a whole lot of sense, but as I stepped out into the aisle and made my way to the stairs I felt pretty proud of myself. I hopped down to the curb with the 'sop' sign and turned to wait for Charlie and Joey.

"Will is just some dumb jock in my flag football class," Joey explained as he walked down the bus steps ahead of Charlie. He looked back over his shoulder. "I figured it would be funny to watch him get in trouble. He's kind of a jerk anyway."

Charlie pushed him forward when he started to slow, gesturing for him to meet me at the curb. "Joey, has anyone ever told you that your sense of humor is mean? And not just run-of-the-mill mean. You're a piece of work."

For some reason, the comment made me laugh. I suppose it just felt good to think of Joey as being just as unlikable as me—or maybe even more. "Aren't we all?" I asked as the pair came to a stop a couple steps away from me. "I mean, Joey's just an outcast like us, right?"

Charlie frowned, but seemed to recognize the words from a week before. He nodded, a smile slowly spreading on his face. "Hell yeah. He's an outcast like us, and we're gonna go to my house to play some outcast music." He hugged me from the side. "How are you feeling, Ash? You looked a little sad when you were getting off the bus."

"Oh, I'm good." I hugged him back for a moment before slipping my iPod back into my bag and beginning the walk to his house. "If anything, I'll get some new lyrics out of it."

"Good. Good." Charlie kept looking at the ground as we walked. Once, when I glanced back at the two boys following me, we locked eyes, but he quickly looked away. I wondered why he was an outcast, or why he felt like one. We'd gone to the same middle school, but I didn't remember ever hearing any rumors about him. He seemed so normal and nice. There was a mystery there that I wanted to unravel, but I decided it was best not to push the issue. Maybe he had some family stuff going on.

We rounded the pavement leading up to Charlie's garage. Since I was in the lead, I headed for the gray-paneled keypad and entered the four digits of his birthday: 1, 5, 97. In a moment, the gears rumbled to life, revealing the exact set-up we'd left the day before: Joey's guitar lying flat on the floor, Charlie's in its case by the wall, and a Swiffer handle that I'd been using as a microphone sitting in front of the two white stools. I headed over to the far wall and set my book bag down.

The door rumbled again, closing as I grabbed the sheet with my lyrics and crossed to the middle of the garage. I leaned down and retrieved my impromptu mic stand, watching as my friends set up their guitars.

"So here's what I was thinking for the one, two, three part," Charlie said, sliding the white strap of his thin, deep purple electric guitar over his shoulder. He leaned down and frowned at the strings, placing his fingers over them. With little warning, the garage—and likely the whole house—was filled with a trio of eighth notes. Charlie looked up. "Then I can repeat that three times, getting a little louder each time. And that'll lead into the chorus, which could be really good. We just need a strong hook. What were you thinking for the vocals?"

"Um..." I held the handle close to my mouth. _"One, two, three! Do you see, what you've done to me? And can you hear, my whining plea? Oh, please just let me be. Let me be."_ I drew out the final three words, sliding down them like a staircase. I was surprised to see both Charlie and Joey nodding in apparent appreciation.

Joey stepped forward, twisting one of the dials on his own black guitar. "I can get behind those lyrics. What do you guys think about pulling back with the guitars? If Ashley could crank up the volume and hit some higher notes, I think that would work."

"Do you think you could do that, Ash?" Charlie asked, folding his hands over his guitar. "You'd have to get a lot more power behind your voice." He side-stepped to one of the stools and sat down on it.

My free hand unconsciously rose to my throat. I considered the question for a moment. Truth was, I didn't know whether I could do it. But I knew that I wanted to. "Yeah, I can," I said confidently. With Jessica's criticisms fresh in my mind, I felt like I couldn't possibly allow myself to fail.

# Chapter 3

I tried my best to forget about Jessica after that, even when she'd notice me and turn to whisper something in her friend's ear. Even when she got her friends to ignore all three of us when they were waiting for the bus. Charlie, Joey, and I just kept practicing, every single weekday afternoon. We focused on that, instead of her. And we focused on the small victories too, like the fact that Joey never got called into the office for what he'd said.

The next week, my mom got a new boyfriend, some guy named Kent... Something. I never could remember. All I knew was that when she told me, I rolled my eyes and hoped he was better than the last guy. Although, given that he was a friend from my mom's bartending job, I didn't think it was likely.

After practice, I usually spent my time either writing lyrics or finishing homework. Writing lyrics was easier though, since I actually wanted to do it. I was sitting on the floor of our beige-walled bedroom, working on the lyrics for a second song. After all, we'd need enough to fill a CD at some point. Hell, we'd have to come up with a name for the band at some point. I hadn't been pushing too hard on that front though, since I knew that once we had a name we'd start trying to book gigs.

A broken slat in the wooden blinds in front of me let in sunlight at the worst angle possible, but the queen-sized bed to my right cast enough of a shadow that I could keep writing. There wasn't much else in that room, just a six-drawer dresser that my mom and I split down the middle, and a sixteen square-foot closet.

Sometimes when I was writing, inspiration struck like a hurricane, seeming to lift off a cover off my mind, and when I looked up the lyrics I wanted to write were right there. Sometimes all I had were broken sentences and lonely phrases, without any idea how to chain them together. But sometimes it didn't hit at all, and I had to bully myself into coming up with anything.

This day was one of the latter, a day where I'd filled countless pages with terrible puns and obvious rhymes. I decided to try rapping it out, writing down the first rhymes that came to my head until I stumbled across something cool. I shifted onto my side, giving my elbows a rest from the dark gray carpet that was rubbing against them, and set to work:

If I was better

Never feeling under the weather

Never having to deal with this confusion

An illusion, fighting against my contradiction

I circled the last two lines, feeling like they might fit somewhere, like orphaned jigsaw pieces. Contradiction didn't fit with confusion; I'd have to rephrase that a bit, or maybe add another line. I was just about to return to rhyming when the sound of a key in the door made me jump.

From my spot on the bedroom floor, I didn't have a view of the front door; the small hallway and doorframe at the end blocked it. But I could still hear everything with a fair amount of detail: my mom whispering something about me being home, a set of heavier footsteps following hers.

"Hey honey," she said, stepping into view. Her hair and makeup were mussed, but I was more interested in the man following her.

The first thing I noticed about Kent Something was the sleeve of tattoos wending up his right arm. The largest one—and the only one I could see well from my position on the floor—was a spider web, with detailed lines for each strand. The artist had even incorporated his veins into it, making them look like strands of the web.

I shook my head and focused on the rest of Kent Something's features. Muddy green eyes, brown hair, on the tall side; a cleft chin and heavy jaw... _Meh,_ I thought, turning my attention back to Mom. "Hey. How are you?" I said, setting my paper aside and pressing a hand against the bed to help myself get up.

"Oh, I'm fantastic! Honey, this is Kent." My mother gestured to him with the white-and-black cardboard box in her hand before holding it out to me. "And this is for you. I told you I'd get you something nice with my extra bartending money!"

I took the box from her and turned it so I could see through the clear plastic screen on the front. I didn't know what to expect, but when I saw the white microphone there... It was the perfect gift. The color seemed unusual—I'd never seen a microphone that wasn't black—but in some ways that made it all the more special. "Wow, thanks! I mean, no more mop!" Somehow, having a real microphone made me feel like a real musician. Not just some kid playing at music.

My mom chuckled. "You're welcome, honey." She held out her arms for a hug. "It was a little more than the other models, but this one came with a MIDI cable and a collapsible stand, and I figured... Well, you have to have a stand, right?"

"Yeah. Yes, thank you!" As I took a step forward and pulled my mom close, inhaling her floral scent, I could tell Kent was already feeling uncomfortable. But I didn't much care. He'd probably be gone in a month anyway, once Mom got bored with him. As far as I was concerned, he was just as much a part of the scenery as the wallpaper.

"You're so very welcome." My mom released me and stepped back, a wide smile spread across her face. "So listen, Ash. We were gonna order pizza and watch Survivor. Do you want to join us?"

The mic, pizza, Survivor... I raised an eyebrow at my mom to let her know I understood what she was doing. I decided to let her bribe me into liking Kent, since she was doing such a spectacular job of it. "Sure, Mom! Hi Kent, I'm Ashley." I held out my hand to him, and after a moment he shook it half-heartedly.

"Nice to meet you," he said with a curt nod. Like a lot of Mom's boyfriends, he didn't seem like one for niceties.

Mom put a hand on my back and walked with me back to our living room. As much as it made me feel like a child, I let her do it, only pausing long enough to set the microphone down by our bedroom door.

We made our way over to the faded blue couch; I reached down and grabbed our remote from the white ash coffee table, clicking the button to turn everything on as I fell onto the couch beside my mom. The TV hissed to life as we scooted over to one side, close enough that I could still smell her perfume.

"Ashley's in a band," my mom said, watching Kent as he took a seat on the free end of the couch.

He grunted, his lips pulling up for a single moment in a small smile. "Really? That's great. I was in a band in high school too. What kind of music do you guys play?"

"Oh, nothing." I shrugged, clicking the button to bring up a menu of shows to watch. "We haven't decided for sure yet, but right now we're kinda going for a punk rock sound."

"Oh, that's cool. So you want to be like Falling Dutchman? They have that one song that's not bad... God, I can't remember the name of it right now. But anyway, what's your band called? Mine was the Vengeful Minnows."

I tore myself from the abyss of blue-and-gray on-demand menus on the TV. "We don't know yet. I guess that isn't too high on our list of priorities."

"Awh, you have to have a band name. You should call yourself Return of the Vengeful Minnows." Kent grinned, as if it was a brilliant idea.

"Sure." It was easy enough to shrug off the suggestion and select Survivor from the list of shows. Kent didn't even seem to mind, squirming against the couch cushion and not-so-surreptitiously working his arm around my mom. It was almost comical watching him stretch out to span the gap between them, until my mom moved away from me.

I sighed and moved closer to the armrest, focusing on the show as it began. The familiar slideshow of each contestant played across the TV, showing their faces and names for a brief second before fading onto the next. Most of them looked about average, but there was one cute guy that season; he'd looked like a boring businessman when he first started, but since then he'd grown a bit of a beard that covered up his weak jawline and made him look like a true survivalist.

My mom nudged me gently. "Do you wanna order pizza now? You can get green peppers on your half."

"Yeah, that sounds good." I leaned over to one side in order to pull my phone out of a back pocket. The screen—with a crack straight down the middle—lit up at the push of a button. I frowned at the notification that I'd missed a call, wondering who it could be. Besides my mom, Joey and Charlie were the only ones with my number.

Sure enough, the call was from Joey. "Hey mom, I'm gonna call my friend back first," I mumbled, pushing off the couch. I pressed the button to call him as I walked toward the bedroom, even though the TV was still nearly as loud in there. The room wouldn't provide much privacy, but at least it _felt_ like it would.

"Hey Ashley!" Joey practically yelled over what sounded like loud cheering in the background, "Guess what?"

"Um... What?"

"Misadventure Galley is playing over at the Ford Amphitheatre! You like them, right?" The cheering died down just enough for me to catch his words, but I still felt myself straining to hear what he was saying.

I plopped down on the bed. "Yeah, of course I do. Why, do you have tickets?"

There was a moment of silence; perhaps Joey was having as much difficulty hearing me as I was him. "Oh, tickets! No, I don't, but we're down near the entrance and there's this spot nearby where we think we'll be able to hear them."

My first thought was, _Who's we?_ But I decided not to ask. If Joey had a way that I could see Misadventure Galley—and for free, no less—I wasn't about to worry about specifics. "I'm on my way!" I said. "Text you when I get close."

All thoughts of pizza forgotten, I ended the call and launched myself off the bed and into the short hall, pausing just long enough to compose myself before peeking into the living room. "Hey Mom, would you mind if we had a little change of plans? There's a band playing nearby that I really wanna see."

"Really, honey? But we aren't even ten minutes into the episode. And you haven't eaten anything." She looked at me with a slight smile. "And I don't think you've done your homework."

Kent, on the other hand, seemed excited about the idea. Before my mom had even gotten done telling me I hadn't done my homework, he was nodding enthusiastically. "Come on, Nina. Stuff like this is important for young musicians. It helps them figure out what they want to do and who their influences are. Plus..." He lowered his voice, but not enough to keep me from hearing. "I'd enjoy some alone time. Just you and me."

Mom sighed. "Who's playing?"

"It's Misadventure Galley. I really wanna see them. Please?"

"I was really hoping we could have a family night." She pursed her lips. "How about—if you stay with us tonight, I'll buy a ticket for you the next time they're in town."

"Fine," I muttered, stepping around the couch to sit in the spot I'd vacated a few minutes before. I understood what she was trying to do, but I was certain Kent would either turn into an asshole or she'd dump him in the next few weeks. Either way, I didn't see why I had to bond with him. He was Mom's boyfriend, not mine.

If there had been another concert scheduled soon I might not have minded so much, but as it was... Well, I was pretty sure she'd forget about the deal by the time I got another chance to see them. The one thing that made it slightly more bearable was the fact that Kent seemed as reluctant to accept the deal as me. He pulled my mom close. "We can bond another time, babe. There'll be plenty of bonding time. But does it have to happen tonight?"

"Yes," she said, folding her arms across her chest.

I mirrored the motion, feeling my chance to see the band slowly slipping away. "Fine, I'll order pizza." No doubt Misadventure Galley would be amazing, and Joey would brag all about seeing them. Even if it was from a hilltop.

# Chapter 4

As predicted, Joey talked nonstop about the concert on Monday. Since we shared a few classes throughout the day, I got the pleasure of hearing him adjust the story with each telling. The first time he told it to me—and probably the closest he got to an honest retelling—he admitted that he could barely hear the band from their spot on the hill, to the point where he and his cousin gave up trying after one song.

But in second hour, he claimed to have heard the whole concert. Third hour, he said that they'd managed to climb nearly twenty feet over one of the side fences, where they'd been treated to one of the best views in the whole amphitheater. By the time school ended, he was bragging about how he'd gotten picked to go sing on-stage.

More power to him, I suppose. Charlie was better at humoring him than I was, but maybe that was because he only had to deal with the fake story for a couple hours, instead of hearing it all day. Or maybe he just had less on his mind.

In the weeks after Joey told her to shut the fuck up, Jessica had gotten back at me a hundred different ways. She and her friend—whose name, I learned, was Maya—were in four of my six classes, and even though Maya ignored me when she was by herself, Jessica did whatever she could to make sure I knew she blamed me for what Joey had said. Or maybe she was angrier about the way I'd thrown it back in her face before getting off the bus.

Either way, she clearly felt like she had a score to settle. She heard me tell Charlie how afraid I was of public speaking and wrote down my name under the part of Juliet for English class. We read through the script half an hour every weekday, and it felt like every scene involved Juliet in some way. I thought I could handle it at first, but it wore me down over time; it got to the point where I gritted my teeth every time I saw _Juliet_ on the page.

She spread a rumor about me hooking up with Joey and Charlie, too. Even though most of the freshmen didn't seem to know who I was or care about the rumor, enough of them believed it to make me grimace whenever I passed them in the halls. Worse than the wrinkled noses and dirty looks were probably the grins. From boys, mostly, but from a few girls too. The label stuck so well that I couldn't help feeling like my name was synonymous with 'slut.'

I decided that if everyone thought I was a slut, I'd show them what a real slut looked like. I started disobeying the school dress code in just about every way possible, wearing clothes that didn't quite break any rules, but certainly stretched them. I got sent to the principal's office on one of those days, the Monday before the Homecoming dance. I was wearing a spaghetti-strap top that didn't cover my shoulders, with black-and-white vertical stripes. In my defense, I'd layered it with another shirt and spread out the three straps—including my white bra straps—to fulfill the requirement that shoulders had to be covered by at least an inch of fabric.

I pushed the door to Principal Wroth's office open, my book bag slung over my shoulder and a yellow note in my hand. The room was lit by a green-shaded desk lamp that didn't provide quite enough light to fill the room. In the middle of the room was a thin slab of wood held up by two pairs of intersecting metal stilts that must have served as Principal Wroth's desk. Errant papers lay strewn across it, along with a black phone and one of those old-timey rolodexes. I stared at the principal sitting in her blue pantsuit, waiting for her to react to my presence.

"Hello?" she said, looking up at me. "Please come in." Principal Wroth was a short woman with broad, stocky shoulders. Her blonde hair was cropped short, casting her boxy face in all sorts of unflattering shadows, and she spoke with an authority that surprised me. It was a kind of authority that seemed to promise swift punishment if I'd done something wrong. I took a seat in the fold-out metal chair across from her and handed her the note.

"Hmm." Principal Wroth frowned, her lips moving subtly as she read. "Interesting." She lowered the note and looked up at me. Well, at my shoulders. "Miss Nimzovitch, you understand that you are in violation of our dress code?"

"No I'm not." I held up two fingers against my left shoulder. "See, this is a little more than an inch. I read the code. I'm not doing anything wrong."

She blinked at me a couple times, as if trying to decide whether I was truly ignorant or willfully disobedient. "Miss Nimzovitch, that rule specifically states an inch of _solid_ fabric. Trust me, none of the faculty wishes to see any part of your undergarments, including the straps holding them up."

I shrugged, despite a growing sick feeling in my stomach. "Whatever. You can define solid however you want."

"Yes, I can." She glanced down to my shorts, which came to exactly the length of my fingertips; again, as per school rules. "Miss Nimzovitch, I'm sure that whatever attention you think this is getting you is not the right kind of attention."

I gritted my teeth. I had a feeling she was about to talk about the boys who were interested in me because of the way I was dressing, which—as far as I could tell—wasn't a whole lot more than had ever paid attention to me. "I don't think it's fair that you can let people call me a slut and then get mad at me when I start dressing like a slut. Seriously, what kind of double standard is that! If..."

She held up a hand to stop me. "Who called you a slut?" Her brow wrinkled in a look of genuine concern.

"Everyone. It's just a stupid rumor."

"Hmm." Principal Wroth frowned. "Do you know who started it?"

I hadn't meant to get anyone in trouble—I'd just hoped to get myself off the hook—but I had a hard time talking myself out of pointing the principal toward Jessica. She deserved some sort of punishment. The only reason I decided not to rat her out was because I wanted to handle it on my own. "Nope, no idea."

"Sure." Principal Wroth raised an eyebrow at me, obviously not buying the lie. "You know, we take insults very seriously, especially when it begins to affect a student's behavior."

"Okay. Well, I wish I knew then. I'll be sure to tell you if I ever figure it out." I started to stand, but at a look from the principal I stopped.

"Miss Nimzovitch, even if that is the case, it does not settle the other matter." She dipped her head toward my barely-covered shoulder. "I know this is your first offense, so today you have two options. Do you have a jacket or anything else you can put on that would be more in line with the dress code?"

"I have my gym shirt."

Principal Wroth nodded. "Good. Then you can change and continue your day. Your other option would, of course, be to have your mother or father bring over something more suitable."

I forced a sweet smile, knowing that the last thing I wanted to do was force my mother to leave her new bartending job because I didn't know how to dress myself. "Thanks. I'll just grab my gym shirt." I swung my bag back onto my shoulder and retreated from the principal's office.

The office led out into a large waiting room with a glass door looking out at the main hall. I pushed it open and turned right, toward the gym and locker rooms. I'd barely taken a step when the bell chimed, signaling the beginning of passing period; in five minutes it would be sixth period, which meant I only had to deal with a couple more hours of school.

My feet tapped against the red linoleum of the hallway as I walked toward the gym, pushing past the students shuffling from class to class. A few of them glanced at me and looked away, only to glance back with a frown, as if to say _I know you. You're that one freshman slut._ I sighed and focused on the wall to my right, running my hand along the bumpy white paint. It only took me a minute to reach the girls' locker room; I turned inside and headed straight for the closest bank of blue lockers. My locker was only a dozen steps away, with the ratty gray t-shirt sitting on top of the rest of my gym clothes.

"Hey, Maya." Jessica's voice hit my ears like a bad replay of a nightmare. She stopped at a locker just a few spots to the right of mine and started working at the lock, as if she hadn't noticed I was there. "Do you think we're gonna have to run sprints today?"

I ground my teeth and focused on opening my lock. She obviously wasn't talking to me, so there was no need to respond. "Hopefully not," Maya said, from the bank of lockers behind me. "That whole thing was just ridiculous. It's a gym class, not an actual Volleyball team. Who cares what kind of shape we're in?"

Jessica laughed. "Mr. Reinhardt probably just likes to watch us run. He seems like a perv."

"Yeah, right," I muttered to myself, a little too loudly for Jessica to miss it. "As if anyone would want to watch _you_ run."

"Excuse me? We weren't talking to you." Jessica scowled at me. "Oh. What's up, Juliet? Do you wanna stick your fucked up nose in our conversation? I thought you and your friends were big on privacy."

No clever response leapt to mind. I tried to come up with something that would get her to stop, but I couldn't do it. Over my shoulder, I heard Maya laugh nervously. "Guys, calm down."

Instead of responding, Jessica just kept glaring at me. "Come on, speak up, Juliet. How is Romeo ever going to hear you if you don't say anything?"

I didn't have anything to say, so I just focused on the task at hand. My lock clicked open as I finished the final turn. Only a few more seconds and I could leave.

She shoved my elbow as I reached for the shirt inside my locker. "Hey, I'm talking to you. Could you please go home? Or is sleeping with that gay boy and the asshole really so important that you can't miss it?"

I turned and cocked my head at her. "If he's gay, then why would he sleep with me?"

"Oh, good point. Haha, so you finally admit it!"

"I didn't admit it. I just—"

"Nope, you admitted it!" Jessica interrupted. "Good to know. So he isn't gay at all. Well, he wouldn't be if you didn't look so much like a boy. Maybe that's what he likes about you. That whole ugly factor you've got going on."

I felt my face burn with indignation; as much as I tried to tell myself that her insults were stupid and immature, they still hurt. "I don't look like a boy," I whispered, as much to myself as her."Do you think that's why she puts on so much eyeliner?" A girl behind me said, loud enough that I could catch it without any effort.

"I dunno. What if she's like one of those girls who when you take her makeup off, she looks totally different?" The slightly husky voice didn't seem familiar, and the worst part was the total absence of malice.

Maya had been the only one to attempt to get Jessica to stop, but when I found her face she didn't say anything else; she just gave me a look of sympathy. I could take Jessica's teasing. I knew that I could, as much as I hated it. But the whispered comments lent them a validity that made me want to curl up into a ball right then and there. Instead, I slammed my locker closed, slung my bag over my shoulder, and forced myself to take even steps out of the room.

My ragged breathing accompanied me all the way back down the emptying halls. I should have gone to Math. I knew that was what I was supposed to do. Go to class as quickly as I could, to avoid a tardy or unexcused absence. I didn't want to. The thought of seeing more people made me feel sick.

I stumbled down the hallway, trying to tell myself that everything would be better if I could survive until after school. I could sing out all of my emotions, like always. As I took a left, down a hallway lined with more blue lockers, I knew that wouldn't be soon enough. My emotions had to come out, and the only way that was gonna happen was either through the tears already welling in the corners of my eyes, or if I found somewhere safe to sing.

The plain wooden door to the most secluded bathroom on the floor beckoned. I was pretty sure—judging by the sign—that it was reserved for staff, but I remembered someone in orientation mentioning that none of the staff actually used it. As if I was lost in the desert and the bathroom was an oasis, I made my way toward it and slowly eased the door open. I stepped inside, closed the door, and sank against the wooden panel, feeling like I'd found the only safe place in the school.

" _Feeling lost_ ," I sang softly, _"Twisted and confused. Abused like a puppet, caught up in a winter tempest. I'm feeling like a kite, torn up by the wind. My colors once so bright, now I just can't stand..."_

I paused at the sound of shuffling steps coming to a stop just outside the door, but in the next moment whoever it was moved on. _"One, two, three. Do you see, what you've done to me? And can you hear, my whining plea? Oh, please just let me be. Let me be."_

The moment I finished the chorus, someone knocked on the door. I inhaled heavily, becoming painfully aware of the dampness on my cheeks. The knock sounded again, and I forced myself to turn back around. My hand hovered over the handle, but it wasn't until a third knock that I managed to open it. I swung the door wide, ready to get sent to the principal's office all over again.

Charlie was standing there, a sympathetic look on his face. He looked almost as hurt as I felt. He pointed behind me. "Um, mind if I join you?"

I tried to sniffle, but it ended up as a giggle. "Yeah, sure."

He took a step inside, took the door from me, and closed it. When he turned back to face me, there was only a couple inches between us. I could have counted the dark dots in his green eyes.

"I hear your plea," he whispered. "I heard it out there, and I heard it in practice the other day. I figured you might be going through something rough."

"I am. I really am." I took a step back, taking in the whole room for the first time. The white porcelain sink, tarnished gray trash can, white tile walls, the toilet... There was nowhere to sit, but I stepped over to the sink and leaned against it. "Jessica said some mean things. Stupid things. And I know I shouldn't have let them hurt me, but... I couldn't. I can't control how I feel!"

Charlie nodded, falling against the door. "What did she say?"

"Nothing." I tried to wave it away, but at a doubting look from Charlie I stopped. "She said that you were gay, and that the reason we were sleeping together—which we're not—is because I look so much like a boy."

"Oh. Well, she's just an awful person." A small smile came to his face. "I know that we're not sleeping together, though. I think I'd be aware if we were. She's still just mad because of the Joey thing, and she's taking that out on us."

I nodded. "I know, but that doesn't make it any easier."

With a sigh, Charlie looked down to the floor. He stayed like that for a few seconds, just sitting and staring. "Ash, what are we afraid of? What is there to be afraid of, really? That we'll be losers or outcasts? We already are. That everyone will think she's telling the truth? I think everyone who matters will realize that she's an idiot. So what are we afraid of?"

His question took me by surprise. I gulped, not sure what he was getting at. Perhaps he was simply asking the question because he hoped I might have an answer. I frowned at him. "I'm afraid of being hated. I don't want to be an outcast. Charlie, we don't want to be outcasts."

"But we already are." His eyes rose up to find mine. "This gay thing didn't really start with Jessica. On the first day of school, I could practically feel everyone judging me. I think it started then, because of the way I talk, the way I act. The way I am. As much as I can say I'm not gay, it doesn't affect that initial judgment. So I'm an outcast. Maybe the best thing for me would be to learn how to be okay with that."

There was a subtext to his words; I could tell he was trying to tell me that I should be okay with being an outcast too. But I didn't want to be okay with it. "Maybe I should stop wearing so much eyeliner," I whispered, "And stop hanging out with you guys for a while. Until the whole slut thing blows over."

"That would be one way to handle it." Charlie watched me closely, gauging my reaction. "The other would be to tell Jessica to shut the fuck up, and go on living your life. I mean, you're in a killer rock band, and five years from now all the Jessicas of the world will be begging to be your friend."

"Yeah, right." I laughed, trying to imagine what that would feel like. As much as I didn't want to be an outcast, I had no aspirations to that kind of popularity either. I just wanted to be normal. Average. Not above or below the radar in any way. "How do people do it?" I asked. "Pretend to be normal, I mean. How do they manage that?"

Charlie's brow wrinkled. "That's just it. They pretend to be normal. No one really is. Jessica sure as hell isn't. But you and me and Joey, we're free from having to pretend, because our approximations of normal weren't close enough. If you think about it like that, the other freshmen are giving us a really nice gift. We don't have to pretend. We can be as crazy as we want, because it isn't like we're gonna lose friends we don't have." He grunted and pressed against the door as he pushed himself up. "No matter how crazy you get, Joey and I will always be there for you. So don't worry about Jessica. There aren't any rumors she can spread that would hurt us."

# Chapter 5

My days as Juliet in English passed slowly, but they were bearable. I stopped cringing when Juliet was in a scene, and I got used to speaking in front of the whole class. Charlie's talk helped me change my perspective; it was only fear of becoming what I already was that had held me back. With that in mind, I survived the play, and when we moved onto a different one I signed myself up for one of the main roles.

In practice, we tried a million different versions of the song I'd written, which we decided to call _Jaded._ We tried it with more bass, less bass, a jazzy feel, a more traditional rock sound... After everything, we settled on my original melody, which strained my range to its breaking point but sounded perfectly punk. I'd written a couple other songs other too _,_ and we started working on those along with some covers so that we'd be able to play a whole show—if we ever got the chance.

After practicing for several weeks on end, we made a group decision to take the Friday before Halloween off. We ended up at my apartment; Charlie was lying on the far side of the couch, with Joey in between us as we watched some boring show on the History Channel. Through the slats in the blinds, I could see that the sky was already getting dark, even though it was at least an hour away from dinnertime.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Charlie trying to get my attention. "I think it's time for us to figure out our band name," he said, his tone full of reverence that I didn't quite understand.

I wasn't sure about that; wasn't sure if I was ready to come up with a permanent name, and I wasn't sure that having a band name wouldn't make me even more of a target at school. So I kept quiet and watched for Joey's response.

"Okay, cool," he said, without any discernable enthusiasm. "We could do something like Band Number Forty-two."

"Um..." Charlie grimaced. "I don't want something generic. We should have a special name. Something to set us apart from every other band out there. What do you think, Ashley?"

Part of me felt about the same as Joey. I wasn't sure our band name would matter that much. "Can we name the band something like 'Screw You Jessica'?"

Both Charlie and Joey chuckled. Charlie shook his head. "That might make a good song at some point, but I don't think it works for the band name. What if Jessica moves away or you guys stop being enemies for some reason?"

I raised an eyebrow, unable to believe that we could stop being enemies. There was already so much bad blood between us. "But she's just awful! I mean, that thing in the locker room..."

"I know, I know," Charlie said soothingly. "Trust me, I understand why you'd want to get back at her. But a band name definitely isn't the way to do it."

"Then how? How can I get back at her? I just—sometimes I want to hurt her, Charlie. I don't think I ever would, but she deserves it." Although I did my best to fight it, I could feel my body shake with anger.

To my surprise, it wasn't Charlie who comforted me, but Joey. He reached out and squeezed my shoulder. "I think I know how you feel," he whispered.

It wasn't much. Hell, if it had come from Charlie or my mom I would have been angry they hadn't actually said anything helpful. But it was Joey, and it felt like displays of empathy from him were special. "Thanks, Joey." I leaned over and wrapped my arms around him.

"We can't do 'Screw You Jessica,'" Charlie said. "But I have an idea. What do you like about yourself, Ashley?"

"Nothing." No, that wasn't true. I shook my head against the cotton of Joey's black shirt. "I like my hair. I think the color's pretty." It sounded so stupid to say out loud, but I felt safe. Something about the way Joey and Charlie were acting let me know that nothing I trusted them with would leave the apartment.

"It is," Charlie agreed. "Very pretty. Beautiful auburn hair."

I pulled away from Joey, who stiffened as if he'd expected the hug to last longer. "Thanks, but how is that going to give us a band name?"

A smile slowly spread on Charlie's face. "Instead of a negative name—something born from our hatred of a certain girl—I think we should choose something positive. Something we like about ourselves. Something you like about yourself. Auburn. Think about it; your hair makes you different, but it's also one of your most beautiful traits. Auburn is us. We're different, but because of that we shine so much brighter."

"Auburn," I whispered, squinting through my tear-laced eyes at a strand of my own hair. _Auburn is us._ "I like it."

"Thanks." Charlie sighed slowly, as if that was a weight off his mind. "Now we just need to figure out what our next step is. I think if we know how we're going to get into venues once we're better, we'll be more motivated to _get_ better."

"We don't need to get better," Joey argued. "We're already as good as any band on the radio. I sang at that Misadventure Galley concert, remember?"

I had to suppress a laugh; we'd let Joey go on thinking we believed his lie for so long that it seemed like he'd started to believe it himself. Charlie rolled his eyes, too subtly for Joey to catch. "Look, I think we have a choice here. We can keep playing in my garage, and we'll never move beyond that, or we can decide that we're going to succeed. That we're willing to do whatever we have to in order to reach that point."

For a moment, I thought about that. It didn't take me long to decide that the answer to the question of how much I was willing to do to succeed with our band was 'pretty much anything.' "Whatever we have to do," I repeated, nodding.

"Exactly. Are you in, Joey?" When he didn't reply, Charlie continued. "I don't want this to be something that we can just turn our backs on when it gets hard. So... I think we should make a contract. Do you have some paper, Ash?"

I pushed off the couch, planning on heading for my backpack, but my mom was sleeping in the bedroom and I didn't want to wake her up. Not after ten hours of work, followed by about thirteen hours with Kent. She probably hadn't gotten a lot of sleep during those thirteen hours, and I remembered something about another long shift tomorrow. So instead of going for my backpack, I crossed to our kitchenette and started pulling drawers. There wasn't any real paper or pens that I could find, but I did manage to get my hands on a white pan liner and half-dead Sharpie. Charlie raised an eyebrow as I brought them back to the couch, but didn't say anything.

"Okay, what's in this contract?" I asked, taking a seat on the armrest and holding the Sharpie ready.

Joey frowned, apparently lost in thought. "We'll practice, at least an hour every weekday. And we'll get a gig before we graduate high school. A real gig, one that pays."

I nodded and wrote down the ideas. "I like that. What else?"

"We'll maintain a good GPA," Charlie said. "No failing classes, and we'll do our best to help each other if we need it."

Even though I was a little surprised by the direction he was taking the contract, I added the suggestions. Charlie's idea gave me one, too. "We're friends, right?" The pair of them nodded. "Then I think we should have something about staying friends, no matter how hard things get. Not just with our band, but with life in general."

"We'll always be friends," Charlie vowed. "Yeah, add it in there."

Over the next half hour, we came up with a couple more items to add to the list—that we'd chip in if the band needed any money for expenses, and that we'd settle hard decisions by a majority vote—but for the most part its soul remained the same: we wanted the best for each other, would work to achieve it and help our friends, and we would stick together. The pan liner had more than enough room for us to sign by the time we finished, but Joey filled up most of it with a huge, looping signature.

"Sorry," he said when I commented on it, "I wanted to show how much I agreed with the contract. I think..." He coughed into his hand. "Well, you guys are really good friends. Probably my only friends right now."

"Me too," I said, smiling. "And nothing could ever change that. Especially now that we have a contract." They laughed, but I was being serious. Somehow having it all down on paper—even the paper of a pan liner—made the whole thing feel more real.

Charlie stood up. "So, now that we have a contract... What are we going to do to get better?"

I shrugged. "Practice. And maybe, figure out somewhere to play so that I can get used to singing in front of people before we have our first real gig."

"That's a good idea. Actually, I know a place." Charlie chuckled, shaking his head as if he was enjoying being in on whatever it was he hadn't shared with us yet. "But you aren't gonna like it, Ash."

"Why? Where?"

"At school." He held up a hand to silence the protest that jumped to my lips. "If we bring our instruments and play in the cafeteria, we'll have a guaranteed audience. I don't think it's against any school rules. There's that one kid who brings his guitar in all the time."

I grimaced, hardly able to imagine the field day Jessica would have if we did that. "But he only has an acoustic guitar. Where would we find power outlets?" I looked to Joey for help, but he seemed sold on the idea.

"I like it," he said. "And if Jessica says anything, I'll just tell her to shut up again."

"Yeah, okay." I wanted to say something about how Jessica wouldn't care, how we'd be giving her more ammunition to torture me, most likely when I was away from my friends, but that was my own problem.

## Chapter 6

Over the next couple of weeks, as we prepared for our impromptu performance in the cafeteria—planning ways to set up quickly, get over any nerves before we ran out of time, and leave before someone brought in teachers—Jessica treated me differently. She wasn't as openly mean, but what worried me was how every time something happened that she normally would have made fun of me for, she'd simply smile and text on her phone. I didn't understand it... Maybe she was talking to Maya, but I doubted it. I started to hope that she'd found a boyfriend, and he was helping her with her anger issues.

On November seventh, we felt like we were finally ready. I'd been working on my nerves by singing in front of my mom, and our practices were sounding really good. It was a rainy day out, so we knew there'd be a good audience.

The cafeteria had a dingy atmosphere even on the brightest days, thanks to the dark brown tile lining the floor and matching bricks that served as three of the walls. The only aspect that seemed slightly modern was the fourth wall, consisting of seven tall glass windows. The spot we'd picked out was just in front of the middle one, since most students' attention was already focused outside and there was a power outlet close by.

I could hear my heart thudding in my ears as the three of us met up outside the cafeteria. I lowered my bag, retrieved my microphone and the small attached speaker and waited for Joey to head in first. He was carrying the amp, and Charlie would follow with both guitars. As anxious as I was, I was excited too; we were like bank robbers, in a way. I imagined everyone at school would talk about the stunt for years to come.

The walk in was slow, deliberate. We didn't want to alert anyone to what we were doing. I saw one boy look at us, stare for a second, and tap his friend.

Joey led the way down the rows of navy blue tables, grunting as he lifted the amp over a girl who refused to get out of the way. Jessica. I could hardly believe when she looked at me... And smiled.

Not a kind smile. A leer, a malicious grin. As if she knew what we were doing, and could hardly imagine anything more entertaining than making fun of us afterward. I stopped in my tracks, but regained control of my legs after a moment. I couldn't let Charlie and Joey down; I couldn't forget our contract. They had my back, no matter what Jessica did.

All too soon, we reached the middle window and power outlet. I fumbled with the cord for my speaker, barely managing to calm my shaking fingers long enough to work it into the socket. It felt like I only took a few seconds, but when I looked up Charlie and Joey were already sliding under their guitar straps.

"Hello," I said, pressing the power button on my speaker; my voice echoed throughout the cafeteria. "We're Auburn!" I couldn't help but grin at the sea of smiling faces in front of us. Granted, they might have simply been happy for the break from a mundane school day, but I let myself think they were smiling as a form of encouragement.

Joey led in with a thrumming trio of notes on his bass, repeating them in quick succession. Charlie cut in with his slower harmony, and I tapped my free hand against my leg to count down to my cue.

Three, two, one... "To one pain, we add another. When you're hurting like no other, sometimes you just can't take it in stride..."

Two-beat rest; I had just enough time to congratulate myself on making it through the first lyric before I had to continue. _"If you can't stand, you hopeless sufferer—to one trial, here take another. Don't collapse until the day you survive."_

A lot of the smiles turned to frowns, but I figured that was okay; they were probably just thinking about the lyrics. _"And maybe you'll find... No not happiness, but just a little less sadness. Just a little less pain to deny. Not satisfaction, but perhaps just some compassion. Something you won't have to keep inside. Maybe one day you'll survive."_

I spotted the lunch lady—a short, wrinkled woman—working her way toward us, at about the same time as two male teachers jogged into the cafeteria. They didn't look very happy; perhaps they didn't appreciate the lyrics. I hesitated to sing the next verse, but knew that if I didn't take my chance, in a few seconds I wouldn't have one. _"To your sorrows, add one more. When you feel like death's door, is coming close at your own hand. Maybe you'll remember, that this isn't our December..."_ I trailed off as the teachers reached us.

They all started speaking over each other, but they were saying the same thing. "Principal's office, now!"

There was one last thing I had to do. "Thank you, L.A.!" I shouted, jumping above their shoulders so that everyone could hear me. There was no outburst of applause, but I heard some clapping. As we gathered our stuff and walked out of the cafeteria, I saw a few nods. Enough that I felt just the tiniest bit successful. We'd taken a chance, and no matter how much trouble we got in, I knew it had been the right thing to do.

Even Jessica grinned as we passed. I let myself think that it was different than her smile when we'd come in, but it wasn't. At least, if I was being honest. It was the same Cheshire grin as before.

Since the teachers let us lead the way, we turned left out of the cafeteria to pick up our backpacks and put everything away. I was finished first, since all I had to do was drop the speaker and microphone in and zip up; I rocked awkwardly on the balls of my feet while I waited for Charlie to put the guitars away.

The halls were nearly deserted, echoing with the sound of a half dozen pairs of footsteps as we walked toward the staircase. The few students we did pass wore expressions ranging from bemused to befuddled, but I hardly paid them any mind. We'd go to the principal and she'd tell us we shouldn't have interrupted lunch and send us on our way.

The lunch lady left us at the foot of the stairs, but the two teachers accompanied us the whole way. They pushed past once we'd entered the main office, in order to speak to Principal Wroth before us.

"Well, that... Could've been worse," Joey said, falling down into a padded wood chair. "At least they didn't throw their pudding at us."

I chuckled, before noticing Charlie's expression. He was wincing like a cat about to cough up a hairball, but I suppose that made sense. Because of my clothing choices, I'd been sent to the principal at least a dozen times throughout the semester, and Joey kept getting sent because people took his jokes as bullying, but Charlie probably hadn't ever been in that situation. I caught his eye and smiled at him.

"It's okay. Principal Wroth likes to dish out punishment, but she does it quickly, like a band-aid. If we're gonna get in trouble, we'll know pretty quickly once she calls us in." It occurred to me that Charlie's parents might actually care if they received a phone call from the principal; my mom might have too, if I hadn't been able to beat her home and erase every one Wroth left.

We didn't talk much for a while, partly because I was trying to listen to the conversation going on inside Principal Wroth's office and partly because I was actually starting to worry about the kind of trouble we were in. If we were just going to get another call home, the conversation wouldn't have lasted as long.

When the two teachers ducked out of the office and walked past us, we took it as our cue to head in. I led the way, faking a confident swagger like I always did in front of the principal.

She looked tired, with puffy bags under her eyes and an expression like she was fighting a yawn. "Miss Nimzovitch, Mister Innis... Lovely seeing you two again. And you are...?" She trailed off, looking at Charlie.

"Mister Wilson," he said. "Um, I mean, Charles Wilson. Charlie." He fell into one of the chairs in front of her desk, and Joey took the other. There weren't enough seats for all of us, so I stood off to the side, leaning against the wall while we waited to hear the penalty for whatever rule we'd broken.

Principal Wroth cleared her throat. "Miss Nimzovitch, that is a wall, not a chair." She looked back to Charlie. "Nice to make your acquaintance, Mister Wilson. Although I suppose I wish it were under better circumstances. Now, who was the author of that—ahem, the song you just played in the cafeteria?"

Charlie glanced at me, his green eyes full of a fear that I didn't quite understand. Technically, we'd written the lyrics together, but if he didn't want to take credit... "I did," I said, stepping forward.

"Oh, I—suppose that makes sense." The principal pursed her lips, tapping her fingers on the desk as if she was expecting more information. "Alright, is there anything any of you would like to say about the disturbance you caused?"

"At least we were good," Joey said with a wry grin.

"Yeah, and technically we didn't disturb any learning," I said, citing the rule I thought we'd come closest to breaking.

Principal Wroth pointed to something on her desk that I couldn't quite see. "The Code of Conduct asks all students to remain civil and respectful, and I think we can all agree that your impromptu rock concert was disrespectful towards those trying to enjoy a quiet lunch."

_Jesus,_ I thought, _she's really stretching on that one._ "Well, doesn't the Code of Conduct also say that you have to explain inappropriate behavior to us before we get punished?" I asked hopefully.

"Yes, if the punishment is to be suspension or expulsion." She paused a moment, no doubt to let it sink in. The message was clear: if we did something like this again, both of those options would be on the table. "What I'm going to do is send you home for the day. This will not count as suspension, and so it won't go on your permanent records, but you must have a parent pick you up. This is so that I can be assured that they are actually aware of your punishment." Her eyes were on me, as if she knew I'd been erasing her messages. "Mister Innis, Mister Wilson, you may wait in the main office. Miss Nimzovitch, please take a seat."

Joey winked at me on his way out, but Charlie didn't seem to be taking the news nearly so well. I waited for the door to close behind them before crossing to one of the chairs opposite the principal and sitting down.

"Mr. Schmitt mentioned that your song included suicidal themes," Principal Wroth said. "Would you care to address that?"

"Okay. I'm not suicidal."

"I understand, but hopefully you can see how my hands are somewhat tied in this matter." She shook her head. "If, God forbid, something should happen because I fail to respond appropriately, I'm not sure I could live with that."

At least she had the decency to avoid mentioning that she'd probably be fired if that happened, too. "Look, I'm not suicidal. I've never been suicidal. It's just not who I am. So I think it would be the wrong reaction to punish me for a song lyric."

She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes and exhaling slowly as if she was weighing her options. "Miss Nimzovitch, I would never punish you for something like that. I'm just planning to refer you to the counseling office. If you _are_ having any thoughts of suicide or self-harm, I want you to promise me that you'll see one of our counselors."

Well, it was better than getting suspended for something Charlie had written. "Okay, I will," I promised, although I was sure I'd never have to go. "And by the way, my mom's at work, so I don't know how you expect her to pick me up."

"If that's true, then you will either have to remain in the main office until the final bell or call your father."

My father. For some reason, I didn't want to tell Principal Wroth that he wasn't really in the picture. Without waiting for her to dismiss me, I stood up and walked out of her office.

# Chapter 7

Once I was back in the main office, I tried to get a hold of Mom, but she had a hard time getting off work. That was probably for the best... I'd told her that I needed her to come sign off on something for school without mentioning that we'd done something wrong. Since she couldn't come, I didn't get in any trouble for it.

I had to wait around for the final few hours of school though, while Charlie and Joey got picked up by their parents. It was a high price to pay in order to have our first performance, but afterward I figured we could pretty much handle anything. Other venues would probably let us play a complete song, at least.

We were ready to start playing real gigs, if we could have found a place willing to host us. Between Charlie, Joey, and me, I swear we checked out every single building in LA. But still, I got flat-out rejected more times than I could count... Places just weren't interested in a high school garage band.

At least it gave me something to focus on. Jessica seemed to have forgotten about me, and with the search for a gig to take up my time I was—not happy, but content. As if I had been granted a temporary reprieve from my worries.

The weather was cool on Wednesday evening of our third week of searching, and the sky kept letting out short bouts of rain. The good news was that school was out for Thanksgiving Break; the bad news was that I didn't feel like we were any closer to finding a location to play at than when we'd started. Forget worrying about playing in front of people, I'd begun to worry that we'd never even get the chance.

"Is there anywhere we haven't checked?" Joey asked as we walked, fiddling with one of the metal hinges of his guitar case. We kept bringing our instruments, on the off chance that someone would ask us to play before they rejected us. But we hadn't even gotten that lucky.

The three of us had done our best to look like a single band, picking out navy shirts and black jeans that would have burned awfully in any season except winter. I couldn't help feeling like that was part of why no one was willing to give us a chance: we didn't look like rock stars, we looked like three strange kids who'd gotten off at the wrong train stop.

"We haven't checked Cat's Cradle," I said. "But it's not worth it. They never have live shows, and the guy who owns it is... Well, I don't think he'd be open to anything." Cat's Cradle was one of those places that felt like a holdover from the past that simply hadn't figured out how outdated it was yet. It was a record store, with only four shelves devoted to CDs. Even if the whole place had been filled with CDs though, I probably wouldn't have thought about it differently. People just didn't buy their music in person anymore.

I leaned against a wooden telephone pole behind me and stared out on the road in front of us. The passing cars were oddly soothing, moving with a predictable ebb and flow that helped distract me from the lingering scent of cigarette smoke.

Charlie paced across the small patch of grass separating the three of us from the sidewalk. "Maybe you're right. But we have to try, don't we? Who knows, maybe we'll be their first live band ever. Wouldn't that be cool?"

"Yeah." It would be, but I already knew what the answer was going to be. Cat's Cradle was about a mile's walk from the sidewalk we were loitering on, and I couldn't help feeling like the walk would be nothing more than a waste of energy.

"Fine, let's just go," Joey said, with about as much enthusiasm as I was feeling.

"Yeah, let's go!" Charlie bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, a giddy smile coming to his face. "This is it! I can feel it! He's gonna say yes and we'll have our first real gig!"

I pushed off from the wooden pole and followed the two boys toward Cat's Cradle. At least we were heading in the direction of home... Kinda. I decided that once the owner said no we could head over to my apartment and hang out for a while. Mom was working, or she was on a date, or she would just be out of the house. Wednesday nights without my mom were a safe bet.

For a while, the only sound was our footsteps against the pavement. I started to say something once or twice, about how we could play in a parking lot if we couldn't get a gig, but I didn't want to ruin Charlie's excitement. As unfounded as it was.

"When he says no, we should beat him with our guitars," Joey joked. "Or we could threaten him, Godfather style." He lapsed into a strange, throaty voice. "We'll make him an offer he can't refuse, see?"

Charlie sniggered. "Yeah, we'll have to keep that in mind." He held out a hand as we stopped beneath a traffic light. "But I don't wanna think anything along those lines. He'll say yes because he has to. Because if we get a gig then we're a real band, and not just three losers with guitars."

I nodded, knowing exactly how he felt. I wasn't the only one who'd attached a lot to making this work. "I'm with Charlie. Hopefully he'll say yes."

We kept walking once the light turned, passing by row after row of town houses. 17A, 16D... They all looked the same to me. About twenty feet wide, made from brown brick with a single white door looking out on the street. The town homes gave way to a small mall; Cat's Cradle was hidden at the very back, behind the giant Safeway. Night was beginning to fall as we crossed the black parking lot, but my mind was focused on what was to come.

I shifted my grip on the mic Mom had gotten me, suddenly wondering whether bringing it had been a bad decision. _Will it look unprofessional to use a mic to sing for one person?_ I wondered.

When we reached the music store's door, Joey held it open and ushered me inside. The place was almost entirely empty, as usual. Dim fluorescent lights illuminated rows of brown cases; records to my left and right, CDs in the middle. The space was so small that I doubted it could fit twenty people without feeling cramped, but I guess we would have been lucky to draw even that many.

A few feet away, the grizzled store owner cleared his throat. I knew from experience that he had a voice like a chain-smoker, and his face matched: creased and crumpled like yesterday's homework, with a scar running along his cheekbone from God-knows-what. "Are you three looking for anything?" the man asked.

Charlie stepped forward, striding confidently toward the granite counter. "No. Well, yes, I guess. We're looking for a venue for our band. We're new and we'd like to get some experience and we'd be thrilled if—"

"I don't think so," the owner said flatly.

"Please, sir. We really want to get some experience, but nowhere will have us." Charlie's voice had a slight pleading tone to it, but I couldn't blame him. "I promise, we're good. If you let us play here, I can guarantee at least... Fifty people. When was the last time you had that many customers in here at the same time?"

Judging by the way the man's lip curled, that last question had struck a chord. And not a pleasant one. I stepped forward, putting a hand on Charlie's shoulder to let him know I was there. "This is a really cool store. I bought my first CD here. It would mean so much if you just let us play for even a few minutes."

The grizzled man looked from me to Charlie, then to Joey behind us. His expression softened slightly. "Okay, we'll have an audition. Right here. Play one of your songs for me."

"R-right now?" My body felt suddenly cold, but I did my best to ignore it. Joey and Charlie seemed just as shocked, but they pulled out their guitars and the owner pointed them toward an outlet. I was the only one standing there, dumbfounded.

" _Battle_ or _Jaded_?" Charlie whispered once he'd finished setting up.

It took me a moment to respond. " _Jaded_." _Battle_ wasn't my favorite song; the lyrics weren't there and no amount of vocal tweaking I did seemed to be able to save it. But I was confident that we could play _Jaded_ well.

Before I knew it, the first notes were echoing through the store. I held the mic up to my lips. " _Feeling lost, twisted and confused. Abused like a puppet, caught up in a winter tempest. I'm feeling like a kite, torn up by the wind. My colors once so bright, now I just can't stand..."_

It felt almost silly singing with the mic, since I hadn't bothered to plug it in anywhere. That was far from the only problem, though; I could tell that my voice was unsteady, but I did my best to ignore it. " _One, two, three! Do you see, what you've done to me? And can you hear, my whining plea? Oh, please just let me be. Let me be_."

There was time enough for a deep breath before the second verse. Time enough to notice how much my left hand—the one not holding the mic—was shaking down by my side. " _Feeling hated, rejected and affected. By all of the cold shoulders, by all of your hostile stares. Where once I was a kite, now I can no longer fly. I'm stuck here on the ground, and I just keep falling down."_ To my surprise, I saw the old man nod. It wasn't much, just enough that I noticed it.

" _One two, three!"_ Launching into the second chorus, I felt as if I was finally gaining control of myself. I'd stood as stiff as a board at first, but I allowed my arms and legs to relax. " _Do you see, what you've done to me? And can you hear, my whining plea? Oh, please just let me be. Let me be."_

Over my shoulder, I could hear Charlie and Joey playing faster in anticipation for the end of the song, as if they were rushing to get it all over with. " _I want this feeling to end. Please mend my broken colors, and let me sing again. Hear my plea, and let me be. Oh, don't make me feel lost, and don't make me feel hated. The sadness will pass. Don't leave me feeling jaded."_ The final notes on Charlie's guitar faded slowly, and in a moment the store was quiet. The old man nodded again after it was clear we were done; I was sure that we'd turned him.

"That was decent," he said, leaning against the countertop.

I smiled at him. "Thanks! Does that mean we can play here?"

"Oh, no. Sorry."

I'd known it was coming. That should have made the rejection easier to swallow, but it didn't. "That's okay. Thanks for listening." I turned to leave the store.

The store owner sighed. "Look, how old are you kids?"

"We're freshmen in high school," Joey said, half-answering his question.

"Yeah, that sounds about right. You did good, especially for your age. As a vocalist, you have to get control of your nerves. You were all over the place at the beginning. And you two guitarists need to decide whether the bass or six-string should lead. It sounded like you were fighting for the spotlight, which was distracting." He stood still for a few seconds, no doubt waiting for some kind of response.

I didn't know what to say. He was probably right, but I thought he was a jerk for saying it so plainly.

"Thanks for the, um, feedback," Charlie said. "We'll see you later." He and Joey unplugged their guitars and began to stow them away.

With their attention elsewhere, I decided to try convincing him one last time. "What if we make those changes that you talked about? Would you let us play here then?"

The store owner raised an eyebrow at me. "Probably not. There are other, smaller problems too. Things that will get ironed out with work. It'll probably be four or five years before you're good enough to play here."

"What?" I asked, feeling a sudden surge of anger. "In some crummy music store? You've gotta be kidding me!"

"No, I'm not. While you're at it, let's add respecting others to the list of things for you to work on. Yelling at me won't get you anywhere." He raised an eyebrow, as if waiting for some further argument. When I didn't give any, he visibly relaxed. "Alright, how about this? If you and your friends come back a year from now and play for me—and if you've fixed your guitar and vocal problems—then I'll consider letting you play here."

As hurt as I was, I still noticed a softness to his expression that made it hard to stay angry. Besides, I wasn't angry at him. I was angry at our situation, angry that the one person who hadn't rejected us straight out still thought we needed to get better. I'd spent four months singing into a mop handle, getting crap from Jessica, crap from the principal...

_To one trial, we add another,_ I thought, remembering the phrase even though I couldn't recall the source. It certainly summed up how I felt: just when I thought I was getting a grasp on my life, new wrinkles arose.

"Well, see you in a year then," I said, pushing my anger down and forcing a grateful smile.

# Chapter 8

The let-down at Cat's Cradle wiped us out for a while. We still came to practice, but it took months to regain the enthusiasm we'd had before. Something about getting shut down by the old man—on top of getting rejected by every other venue, and on top of the teachers stopping us in the cafeteria before we could even play one song—just made it hard to focus.

We got over it, though. With a little bit of time, we started to get better. Slowly. We got to the point where we began to wonder how we'd ever thought we were ready for a real gig—especially way back in November. Practicing became fun again, but it was productive in a way it hadn't been before. Before, we'd just been playing songs without any direction, but now we had a specific goal to work toward. By the end of the school year, I felt as if our confidence had finally returned.

Then there was Jessica... I was naïve enough to forget that she existed. Obviously I was aware that a bitchy girl named Jessica went to the same school, but it had been so long since she'd done anything that I guess I forgot to worry about her.

Our English class had just finished our Final; at one PM on Thursday, we were officially done for the year. Since band practice wouldn't start for at least another hour, I figured that meant I could go home and relax a little before walking over to Charlie's. Maybe I could even start writing some more lyrics.

The group waiting for the bus was smaller than usual, since only the students with a seventh hour class had to go to school that day. Joey wasn't there because he'd already gotten enough points to get a C in Algebra without taking the Final, and he didn't seem interested in doing any better than that. Charlie never showed either, even though I waited for him.

My eyes were closed as I got an early start on listening to my summer playlist. About eighty percent of the songs were from Queen Anne's Subtle Overdose—I liked their older stuff, but the new songs were pretty good too—and the rest was a mixture of rock songs, including one of Auburn's. We'd recorded it with Charlie's phone, so the quality was noticeably worse than the other songs, but I liked being able to listen to something I'd had a hand in creating.

"Hey," I heard a boy say, almost too quietly for me to hear.

I opened my right eye. "Hey?" The boy in front of me was familiar; his dark skin and short black hair stuck out at our diversity-poor school. I remembered seeing him hanging out with Jessica and Maya. Will Strainer, the boy Joey had pretended to be during our first run-in with her.

"I saw you guys play in the cafeteria. You were pretty good."

"Thanks," I said, managing a small smile. It was cool to hear that someone else had liked one of our songs, that we weren't totally delusional to think we sounded good. I reached up and pulled my earbuds out.

Will just nodded, glancing at the school's main entrance. He seemed almost like he wanted to say something else, but couldn't get around to it. "How do you think you did on our Geography Final?" he finally asked, referring to the one class we shared.

"I don't know. It seemed easy, but I guess the only way to know for sure is when we get our grades. How about you?"

"Oh, I aced it for sure." He laughed weakly. "Like you said, it was really easy."

"Mhm." Since I couldn't think of anything else to say or ask, I just stayed quiet. Either Will would reveal what he really wanted to talk about, or the bus would arrive to end our awkward conversation. My bet was on the latter, since I could already see the yellow buses pulling up to the curb. Our driver usually arrived next-to-last, but even then it would only take a minute or two longer.

Finally, Will sighed and looked me in the eye. "Okay, honestly, I wanted to come over here to let you know... I don't believe the Loser McGee stuff. It's just stupid, and I don't think you should worry about it." He shrugged awkwardly.

"What Loser McGee stuff?"

"The stuff on Facebook. I don't think you're... Well, don't worry. It'll probably get taken down soon. I mean, the account's obviously fake." The way he looked at me was almost comforting, but in a strange way. It was laced with too much pity. "Anyways, I'll see you next year?"

I frowned, trying to figure out what the hell he was referring to. "Hold up, _what_ Loser McGee stuff?"

"It's this account on Facebook. But don't worry about it. I'm trying to convince Maya to take it down, and if she could just grow a backbone and stand up to Jessica... Look, I want you to know we're on your side. The rest of it's just Jessica and some other mean people with too much time on their hands. I'll see you next year, okay?"

"Yeah, I guess I'll see you next year." I tried smiling to let him know that I didn't absolutely detest that idea. His comments about the 'Loser McGee stuff' had piqued my curiosity, especially since it seemed like it involved me.

I didn't have a Facebook, but I would have to make one. I couldn't do it on the bus—my phone didn't have roaming data—but I could do it once I got home. The stop for my apartment was one of the last, and even though the weather was nice and the sun was high, I had an awful pit in my stomach as I hopped off the bus.

My gray apartment building was visible from the moment I reached the sidewalk; the bus stop was only a few blocks away, and even though the building was something of an eyesore, it was certainly easy to spot. Vibrant lawns and tall trees passed by on both sides as I headed home, giving way to the black asphalt of our parking lot. I jogged up our metal stairs, listening as they clanged with each step.

Mom wasn't home, of course. She'd been working more often, at her new bartending job. The apartment door creaked shut behind me; I twisted the lock and dropped my bag by the door before heading into the bedroom and falling on my inflatable bed. I pulled up Facebook on my phone and registered, determined to find out what the 'Loser McGee stuff' was about.

Registration was easy. I just entered my email address and name, and I was in. Finding the page the boy had been talking about was almost as simple. A search for Loser McGee brought up a profile with that exact name, living in the same city in California. The description mentioned that it was fake, but...

Starting way back in October, Loser McGee had been posting about me. It was like she was living my life, only making fun of herself for being 'such a miserable excuse for a person that no one could ever take her seriously.' The pit in my stomach grew to a black hole as I scrolled through the posts:

_Loser:_ _Had a lot of fun fake-kissing Romeo in English today. It was the closest I'll ever get to someone actually wanting to touch me._

_Loser:_ _Had to go to the principal's office for trying to sing in the cafeteria. She expelled me because I sounded like an eighty year-old man._

_Loser:_ _Figuring if I dress like a skank, people will ignore the fact that my face looks uglier than a burn victim._

That was what Jessica had been doing. Instead of making fun of me to my face, she'd been doing it on Facebook. Her words, the way she phrased some of the hardest moments of the year, hurt. But far worse were the comments from other kids:

Aaliyah: LOL if I were this girl I'd probably just kill myself.

Jake: Seriously, does Loser have any friends?

Desiree: Wait, are you sure this is fake? I think I saw this happen to a girl in one of my classes. It's okay, though... She's a total freakshow.

My emotions didn't know how to come out; I was crying before I knew it, and as much as I didn't want to read on I felt like I had to. It was like someone had peeled back the civil mask of my classmates, and I was seeing them the way they truly were. It was devastating, it was hurtful, it wounded me on a level I honestly couldn't explain.

At some point, I was aware of my nose becoming totally stopped up and my tears running onto the white sheets, but I forced myself to keep reading. My morbid curiosity wouldn't let me do anything else.

_If I were this girl I'd probably just kill myself;_ the words reverberated around my skull, even once I finished reading the last comment. I turned my phone off and twisted to lie on my back. All I did was lie there, processing. _I'm not suicidal,_ I told myself.

A different part of my mind—a dark place—answered. _How do you know? Maybe it would make things easier._ I had no response for that. For several minutes, I just sat on the bed, wishing I could end the sadness.

Like a reminder that life wasn't over, my phone buzzed with a text from Charlie, asking why I hadn't shown up to practice. I didn't have a good excuse ready; in my Loser McGee panic, I'd simply lost track of time. With a sigh, I texted back to tell him I'd be over soon.

Before I left, I needed to clean up. My nose was still plugged, and sniffling might give me away. So would damp cheeks and puffy eyes. I rose up from my bed and slipped out of the bedroom, flicking the switches for the bathroom lights before shutting the door behind me.

The stippled, canary yellow walls surrounded me, but I was focused on the oval mirror above our sink. I stepped toward it, examining my own face. Sure enough, there were some obvious signs of crying. My eyeliner and mascara had run all the way along one cheek, making it look like I'd put on some kind of strange war paint. My eyes still had tears swimming in both corners, and I had to blow my nose. I grabbed a tissue and dabbed at the stray makeup, desperately trying to fix it. After a few seconds of smudging and wiping, it looked mostly clear; I tossed the tissue in a trash can and grabbed another to blow my nose. It didn't look pretty, but after a few seconds I was reasonably confident that I could pass anything that was still amiss off as nothing more than seasonal allergies.

"Damn it," I whispered, tapping a hand against the counter. "Okay, I can do this." Even with no one there to call me on it, I knew that was an obvious lie. Part of me wanted to tell Charlie I was sick, but if I started down that road I didn't know if I'd ever be able to stop. If I just stayed home and wallowed in self-pity, Jessica would win.

With a slow, ragged breath, I stepped out of the bathroom and headed for the apartment door. I locked it behind me, made my way down the metal steps, and tried to calm my mind as I walked in the direction of Charlie's house. _That's a lovely tree,_ I thought, staring at a towering maple as I passed it. In my head, I composed a Loser McGee post for the maple. _Stood around and waved in the breeze today. Haha, isn't my life so boring?_

Then the responses:

Linden: LOL I saw that tree just down the block! He's such a skank. He lets all the boys hang off him.

Aspen: What a total freakshow!

Pine: Screw you, maple! If I were you I'd probably just kill myself.

Only, that last one wasn't funny. That last one made me stop, sucking in air as I tried to get a grip on my emotions. I was nearly at the 'sop' sign, and I had to hold it together. I told myself that we could cut the practice short. One hour, I just had to pretend for one hour.

When I reached Charlie's garage, he and Joey were sitting on their stools with the door up. They both waved when they saw me, as I walked up the concrete and stopped in front of them.

"I was beginning to worry you wouldn't show," Charlie joked.

"Yeah, well, me too. Let's just get started." Normally, we talked about our days for the first half hour or so, but I didn't trust myself to do that without spilling about Loser McGee. "Do you wanna practice _Jaded_?"

Charlie frowned. "Okay. But once we finish that I was thinking we could work on our covers."

"Yeah," Joey agreed. "I need to figure out the bass line for _Feel Sorry for me._ "

Faking a happiness I didn't feel, I smiled at him as I grabbed my mic. After all, it was my favorite song... "Sounds good to me." I turned to face the empty street. Since it was a nice day out, we probably wouldn't put the garage door down.

I managed to keep my composure as I sang _Jaded._ Afterward, I even managed to convince Charlie and Joey to play a couple of our other songs before we moved onto the covers _._ I couldn't quite get out of my own head, but I didn't feel as bad as I had on the walk over. Music was like that for me; it played on my emotions, molding them to match the tone of whatever song I was singing.

Then we started to play _Feel Sorry for Me_. I held the mic up. " _One chair, a piece of rope._ " My voice trembled so terribly that even I could hear it. " _Two men, one out of hope. Out of time, one tired of crying..._ " I closed my eyes, breathing slowly. " _One void soul locked in a basement, gonna find out just what my life meant. And what it—what it means..."_

Charlie stopped playing, and after a moment Joey did too. "Are you okay, Ash?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I wished I could keep my voice from trembling, but I couldn't do it. When I felt a comforting hand on my back, it only made things worse. I could feel a single tear roll down my cheek, and in a moment my entire façade, my no-I-haven't-just-been-crying façade, was broken.

"Come on, you can talk to us. Do you wanna hold off on practicing?"

For a moment, I didn't say anything. My mind was lost in the comments I'd read. Loser McGee, the girl who should just kill herself. "Could you close the garage?" I whispered.

The hand fell away from my back, followed by the sound of soft footsteps; I heard the familiar groan as the garage door descended, shading us from the warm sun. It took me a couple breaths before I was ready to face Charlie and Joey. "Guys," I said, turning to look at them. "Jessica... She made a fake Facebook profile, and she uses it to make fun of everything we do. Like the thing in the cafeteria."

Joey's brow knitted. "She does? What did she say?"

"A lot of things." I shook my head—not because I didn't remember them, but because I wasn't sure I wanted to repeat all of them. "The one that really got to me wasn't even hers. It was... This one girl said that if she was me she'd probably kill herself."

Charlie grimaced, but didn't say anything. Joey's lip curled. "What the fuck! Who was it? I don't even care if it's a girl, I'll kick her ass!" His eyes were narrowed, and his fists clenched like he actually intended to make good on the promise.

It was nice to see that, in a way. Although I'd never let him do it, it was nice to have a friend who was willing to fight the people who'd hurt me. "I don't even know her. That's how it is with most of the comments. Just random people who think Loser McGee's life is a joke."

"Your life is not a fucking joke! Ash, tell me who it was." Judging by the way Joey's breath was coming out—in short, powerful bursts—he was getting almost as worked up about the whole thing as I was. Only, his response wasn't tears.

His response was to get totally pissed, and threaten to hurt anyone who'd hurt me. I found myself wishing I could react a little more like that. "Some girl named Aaliyah."

"Aaliyah." Joey nodded, like he was committing the name to memory. "I'm serious, just show me a picture and the next time I see her..."

"Guys," Charlie said, putting a hand on Joey's wrist, "We need to tell the principal. _She'll_ punish Jessica."

It sounded like a good idea, but there was one big problem. "How would we prove it's her? It just says Loser McGee..."

I could see Joey's muscles twitch again at the name of the profile. "That's why we need to handle this ourselves. We don't need any proof to show people that they shouldn't mess with you. You could just trip one of 'em in the hallway. They'd get the message pretty quick."

Charlie wrinkled his nose. "I don't think violence is the answer. Ash, we'll just find someone who can tie it to her. Like Maya."

"Right." Based on what Will had told me earlier, I doubted that was a possibility. I didn't know Maya well enough to approach her directly, and besides, Maya was Jessica's best friend. Trying to talk to her might only make things worse.

"Well, we'll figure something out," Charlie promised. "Something that doesn't involve hurting anyone." He stepped forward and wrapped me up in a hug. "But if nothing else works, I suppose we can let Joey have at her."

Over Charlie's shoulder, I could see Joey shake his head. "Ash, you need to stand up to her. That's the way to end this. You don't have to trip her—although she definitely deserves it—but you've gotta show her that any time she pushes you you're going to push back."

He had a point. So did Charlie. "Then Jessica'll just push even harder the next time," Charlie argued. "I get the whole not wanting to involve adults thing, but in this case I think we should. At the very least, it'll scare Jessica to know that the principal's looking into it."

"I don't know..." I understood Charlie's way of thinking, but I'd also seen the way Jessica had shut up when Joey cussed her out. Perhaps if I could just do that whenever Jessica bothered me, I'd be okay. Only, I couldn't exactly do it online.

Charlie cleared his throat. "Well, I guess school won't be back in session for a while anyway. Until then, you can talk to us about anything they say on there. Day or night, if you call me I'll pick up."

"Thanks," I whispered. I figured I wouldn't take him up on it, any more than I would run to the principal. I didn't want my friends—my bandmates—to think I was unstable, or that I was letting Jessica get to me.

Letting her get to me. That makes it sound like I had a choice...

# Chapter 9

I spent most of the next day alone, trying to write song lyrics even though it was all but impossible. My mind was still fixated on Loser McGee; I kept checking it obsessively, until my phone ran out of battery around two in the afternoon. With a sigh, I hopped to my feet and headed for the charger.

The plastic cable was hanging off Mom's nightstand, like always. I grabbed it and plugged my phone in. For a few seconds, I just sat there waiting for it to show that it was connected. Once the screen lit up with a little battery icon, I let myself fall down on the bed, lying on my back as I tried not to think of Loser McGee.

The sound of someone inserting a key into the lock of our front door made me sit up, twisting to see who it could be. It was probably just Mom, but if so, she was home early. I didn't exactly rush to the door, but after a few minutes I stood up and made my way into the living room. I couldn't see her from the hall, but when I took a step forward I saw her arm resting on our blue couch.

"Hey sweetie, how did your Finals go?" she asked as I came into full view. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and Kent was beside her on the couch, wearing a stained gray shirt.

"Pretty well, I guess."

"I was thinking we could have some more family time," she said. "I feel like the two of you should get to know each other better."

_Great,_ I wanted to say, with as much sarcasm as I could muster. "Oh, okay."

His fake smile was obvious. "Yeah, Nina and I were just talking about how awesome it would be if we moved in together, and we agreed that it might be best if you and I were... You know, if we weren't total strangers when that happens."

"Mhm." I wasn't exactly in the mood to pretend that I cared about Kent. I was doing better than yesterday, but not by much.

"We have a whole day planned," Mom said. "We were gonna go bowling and then—"

I cut her off. "I have band practice in about an hour. You guys can still go bowling, though."

"Ashley." She cleared her throat. " _We_ are going to go bowling. You can miss practice for one day."

"Actually, I can't Mom. Charlie and Joey and I signed a contract." I could feel myself getting heated; I was more upset by what I'd been reading than by anything Mom was doing, but it manifested as anger at her. How dare she decide that she wanted to play the part of caring mother when I was trying to deal with my own issues? "I get that you like to pretend like you care about me every once in a while, and I'm usually fine with helping you with that, but not today. I'm gonna go to band practice and come home and cook myself a microwave dinner, like I have every freaking night this past month."

"Ashley!" Mom hissed through clenched teeth. "You know I've been working myself to death, trying to save money for you!"

My eyes shifted to Kent; it was almost amusing to watch him shift uncomfortably. "Right. And how are you planning on spending this 'money for me'?"

I could see the pain in her expression, a mirror of the sorrow I'd felt the day before. "It's for a house. A real house. Kent and I figured out that if we both pool our money we could get a place where you would have your own bedroom. And a bathroom too..."

"Well I don't want to live with Kent," I said, glaring at him. He had no right to come in and take my mom from me. Didn't he know that our unspoken agreement was limited to dates and the occasional conjugal visit? Moving in was a step I wasn't prepared for, wasn't used to. It was another wrinkle in my already hopelessly complicated life. I wanted to stomp my feet and just scream. Scream about Loser McGee, scream that I wasn't suicidal, scream that it wasn't fair that Mom was trying to make me move in with a man I hardly knew.

"Oh, honey, I know that this might be hard for you to deal with. But that's why I wanted to have today. If you make it through the day and don't want us to move in together, we won't." I hated her for that. She was being kind, and I wanted her to be mean. I wanted her to be someone I could be mad at.

Despite my best intentions, I felt my lower lip tremble. "O-okay," I whispered.

"Thank you. I was thinking we could go to that bowling alley down on Tenth. You know, the one with the free popcorn?" She spoke in a soothing tone, as if she knew I was still on the verge of a breakdown.

Despite how I was feeling, I managed a shrug. "Sounds good to me." Kent sighed and got up off the couch; I let him lead the way out of the apartment, while Mom squeezed my shoulders and walked out with me. I hadn't realized how long it had been since the last time we'd been that close—the past couple months, even when we were hanging out she was usually closer to Kent than me—but the realization only brought me to the edge of tears.

For so long, it had been us against the world. Just the two of us, and I felt as if Kent was deliberately tearing that apart. Between him and all the work she was doing, I was losing her. As we made our way down the steps, I tried to focus on something else. I counted my steps: _one two, one two three._

"So, how's band practice going?" Mom asked.

"Pretty well." I wasn't sure what else to say. I couldn't tell her about the cafeteria performance without also possibly getting in trouble.

"Oh, that's good. How about school? Are you still worried about those plays in English?"

I thought about it for a moment. To my surprise, I wasn't. I'd performed the main part in three plays since Jessica first signed me up, and all it had done was make me better at performing. "Not really. That was last semester's problem, I guess."

As we reached the bottom of the steps, Kent slowed down so that we could catch up. He glanced at me, opened his mouth to say something, and then looked away. Maybe he was feeling just as awkward as I was; probably more, since I had the sting of Loser McGee to focus on.

It occurred to me that I should text Charlie and Joey to let them know that I wouldn't be able to make it to practice. I pulled out my phone and sent Charlie and Joey a quick message, looking up just as we reached Kent's beat-up silver SUV. He pressed a button to unlock the doors and I climbed in the back seat, leaving the front for him and my mom.

"Did you ever come up with a name for your band?" he asked as he clicked his seatbelt.

"Yeah, we're calling ourselves Auburn." My phone buzzed with Charlie's response, just a quick little _kk._ I frowned at the text, trying to figure out what that meant. Hopefully he wasn't mad, but it seemed short.

He probably wasn't mad... At least, I didn't think he would be, after what had happened the day before. Maybe he was just worried. Kent twisted the key, and after a couple tries his engine finally started.

I kept tapping my phone against my thigh as Kent drove, hoping that either Charlie or Joey would send another response. I'd even take one of Joey's awful jokes, just so that I could be sure they weren't mad at me. The bowling alley on Tenth Street wasn't too far; Mom and I had walked there once when I was young, and it had only taken about fifteen minutes. Despite her claim that they had free popcorn, I distinctly remembered that they'd charged us for it the last time we'd gone.

"How's school going?" Kent asked, breaking the silence.

I wanted to blow the question off—after all, the answer was hardly interesting—but at least he was trying to have a conversation. "It's going well. I mean, I'm not about to get on the honor roll or anything, but I only have a couple B's so far. And a C, but I'm pretty sure I did well enough on the Final to bring that up to a C plus."

Mom shifted in her seat. "What class do you have a C in?"

"Choir. It's not because I'm bad at it or anything, I just... The teacher asked me to sing a soprano part, and I'm an alto. Then she started arguing with me, and getting mad because I told her I couldn't sing it. I don't know, I don't think I'm going to take it next year." In front of me, I could see Mom relax. Apparently choir wasn't a class I had to do well in.

We pulled into the bowling alley's lot. There was almost no one there, since it was only three in the afternoon. Kent parked near the doors, one space over from the last handicapped spot, and the three of us got out of his SUV and made our way inside.

It was about as dingy as most bowling alleys, with the lights turned low and the doors shaded so that it felt as if we'd left the sun outside. Along the far wall there was a neon sign of a bowling ball hitting some pins, perhaps to remind us why we were there.

"Don't worry Kent, I'm paying," Mom said, stepping forward. She reached into her beige leather purse and pulled out several twenty dollar bills, even though the boy behind the register told her it would only be thirty dollars for a game.

***

By the time we got back, the only substantial subject Kent and I had managed to talk about was which kind of pizza we liked best. My vote was on pepperoni, but for some ungodly reason he said he liked anchovies and pineapple.

Of course, that conversation resulted in us ordering pizza for dinner. Even though it was only four thirty, my mom decided to order early so that we could take our time eating. She headed into the bedroom to call, leaving Kent and me alone.

"So..." he started awkwardly. "You've got a name for your garage band. That's cool, right?"

"Yeah." I felt as if we'd long since moved on from being a garage band, but didn't bother to correct him. Instead, I walked toward the living room window, staring out at the gas station across the road. Its red-and-white striping caught the sun, seeming entirely too shiny for a block that also held our dull apartment building. "So Kent, why do you really want to move in with my mom?" I asked, turning away from the window.

He shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "Because I love her and I want our relationship to keep moving forward."

"Mhm. Then you would want to marry her eventually?" It was actually kind of fun grilling him; by leaving the choice of moving in with me, my mom had given me entirely too much power for a fifteen year-old.

For a few seconds, Kent just looked at me with raised eyebrows. "Yeah, I guess that would be the eventual goal."

Faking enthusiasm I didn't quite feel, I clapped my hands together and smiled. "Fantastic! And then I can be your step-daughter!" Pretending to be happy was a lot more fun than being depressed. The longer I pretended to be happy, the more distance I felt like I was placing between myself and the crying girl who might as well kill herself.

Kent cleared his throat. "Yeah, I suppose..." Luckily for him, my mom came back before I could get too annoying.

"They said we should get the pizza in about a half-hour," she said, putting her phone away. "Looks like you two are getting along."

"Yup, we are," Kent answered for the both of us. I had to bite my tongue to keep from contradicting him; I didn't think one trip to the bowling alley was enough to make us get along.

Mom gestured toward the bedroom. "Perfect! Ash, do you wanna talk for a bit?"

"Sure." It wasn't as if I had much of a choice; I followed her back into our bedroom and closed the door behind us.

"What do you think?" she asked. She didn't clarify what she was asking about, but she didn't have to. I knew she wanted to know if I was okay with living with Kent.

I exhaled slowly, trying to make a decision. Based on what I'd seen of him, he wasn't anything special. But he wasn't the asshole I'd originally assumed he was, either. Given Mom's track record, perhaps that was the best I could hope for: someone who wasn't about to win a step-father of the year award, but who at least tried to get to know me. Even if it was only so that he could move in with my mother.

For a moment, I thought I'd made my decision. I started to say I was okay with it, but I couldn't get the words out. "Do you love him?" I asked instead.

Mom frowned. "I think so. It's not... Well, when you're older you'll see that love isn't always simple. It's not always as if you're in love or not in love. I like Kent, and I think that could turn into real love at some point. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, I guess." That made the decision harder. If she'd said that she was head over heels for him, I could have moved in just so she could be happy. But if that wasn't a sure thing, I didn't know how to make my decision.

My phone buzzed. I pulled it out of my pocket; the text was from Joey, finally responding to the message I'd sent earlier. _Hope things are fine. We sucked without you... And Charlie's mom made us cookies._ I was pretty sure he added that last part to make me jealous, and it worked, in a way.

"We can just move back here if it doesn't work out, right?" I asked.

"Yup. There are those two empty apartments downstairs. We could move back into one of those, or a different one. Or we could move somewhere new if you want. This doesn't have to be permanent unless it works."

"Okay, I guess I'm in." I wanted to live in a family where my mom brought me cookies, where she could be home by five PM instead of midnight. If accepting Kent into my life was the price for that, I'd gladly pay it.

# 

# Chapter 10

The house search and move-in took so long that it was nearly August by the time we finally got settled. Our new house was only a few blocks away, one of the pastel townhomes that I'd walked by every day for the past year. Even the inside was coated in matte paint: beige for the living room and kitchen on the main floor, white for the guest bathroom, an awful mint green for Kent and Mom's bedroom on the second floor, and unfinished gray concrete for my room in the basement.

Now, hearing me talk about a two-story house with a basement might give the wrong idea; the house wasn't big. In all, I could cross the length of it in about twenty steps, and the width in seven. It was squeezed into such a small area that vertical space was the only kind available. Still, there was something about having my own room, with a real bed, that I quite enjoyed.

It became a lot easier to write song lyrics, too. Not because of the move, but because summer break gave me an abundance of free time and Loser McGee gave me ready access to the emotions that made for good songs. I quickly discovered that the best frame of mind for that kind of work wasn't in the heat of the moment—tears running, mind racing, stomach curling up with emotion—but about a day after. When I could access that feeling and remember it, but still have a clear enough mind to think about what I was writing.

Sweat was beaded on Charlie's brow as we finished our daily practice; Joey looked tired too, and I knew I was worn out. We'd been giving our practices a lot more energy, and it seemed to make them more effective. Light streaming in from a half-foot gap below the garage door reflected off of his dad's new red SUV. The SUV took up half the garage, forcing us to stay over to the right.

"We're a lot better than we were last year," I said. It was more of a statement than a question.

Joey nodded. "Yeah. I think we might be able to get some real shows now. Maybe even with that Cat's Cradle guy."

"You wanna try it?" Charlie asked, setting his guitar against the wall.

"Not yet. He said we could try out again in a year." I didn't know the man too well, but from our few interactions he seemed like someone who would simply kick us out if we attempted to try out again before he'd told us we could.

The boys looked slightly dejected, as if my opinion had somehow settled the matter in a way they didn't quite agree with. "Well, school starts next week," Charlie said with a wry grin. "Wanna do another performance in the cafeteria?"

"No, I don't think so..." The last thing I needed was to draw Principal Wroth's ire so early in the school year. With any luck, she'd forgotten all about my supposed suicidal lyrics, and I'd be able to start sophomore year as a normal girl—or as close to normal as I could ever get.

Charlie broke me out of my thoughts. "Okay then, what do you propose? I think the one area where we still have almost zero practice is live performances."

I tapped my fingers against the mic in my hand. "Yeah, you're right... Wait, what if we went down to the mall and played outside? It wouldn't be quite the same as a real show, but we'd still be playing in front of people. And if we chose the right spot we'd have a captive audience, just like in the cafeteria!"

"Mhm, but..." Joey held up his power cord. "There aren't any outlets outside."

My excitement slowly deflated, like a bouncy castle with a giant hole in it. "Oh, you're right. Maybe we could bring extension cords and connect to an outlet? Like one of the ones inside Safeway?" It wasn't the best idea, and I wasn't surprised to be met with shaking heads.

Charlie rubbed the side of his jaw, even though there was only peach fuzz there. "No, I don't think that would work either. They'd just kick us out before we got set up. My house has power outlets on the side, though. Maybe we could plug in there and just play for anyone on the sidewalk?"

"That could work," I said, although I didn't relish the thought of performing in a neighborhood that was home to several students we went to school with. If Jessica found out and wrote about it as Loser McGee... I didn't want to see the comments. Even though school was out, I still checked the page occasionally, but fortunately there hadn't been any new posts.

"We could get acoustic guitars and go downtown to play," Joey said. "I've seen a few people do that before. If we opened one of the cases, we might even get some money out of it."

Charlie and I shared a slightly confused look. "Um, Joey, the problem with that is... We don't have acoustic guitars," he said. "And we don't exactly have enough money to go out and buy some."

Judging by the grin on his face, Joey had been expecting one of us to point that out. "I have a three-quarter size acoustic guitar at home. You could play that, and I could just play my bass unplugged. It would be quiet, but I mean, it would be quiet anyway..."

It wasn't a perfect solution, but as far as I was concerned it was a lot better than the alternatives. At least if we were downtown we'd be away from anyone we went to school with, and the idea of making even a few dollars sounded fun. "Let's do it," I said.

"Okay, let's do it." Charlie checked the time on his phone. "Do you wanna try it today? We could swing by your house to pick up the acoustic guitar, ask my dad to drive us downtown, and then give it a shot."

"Might as well." I figured it would be best to figure out whether the idea was any good sooner rather than later. Without another word, Charlie yanked the door leading into his house open and disappeared from view. I picked up the metal microphone stand, set my mic on it, and moved it to one of the corners of the garage.

"He's so weird," Joey said.

I turned to look at him, slightly confused. "Well, I guess we're all weird," I finally said, when he didn't elaborate. "That's why we're friends. We're all outcasts."

"Yeah, I know. I didn't mean it like... I mean, it's weird that he's not weird but he still acts like he is. Does that make any sense?"

I shook my head, laughing at whatever it was Joey was trying to say. "No. Sorry, I guess I just don't get it."

His eyes fell down to the ground, and for a few seconds he didn't say anything. "Okay, you seem weird to me. The eyeliner thing, the way you look, the way you act... It's all weird."

"Gee, thanks." It took more self-control than I would admit to stop myself from walking up to Joey and slapping him. I had to remind myself that he had a tendency to be a little more open and honest than normal people—than most people.

"And with me..." Joey continued, hardly aware of the insult he'd given, "I can't ever figure out what's wrong with me, but I know something is. I shouldn't always say what's on my mind, but I do. I guess I just don't have much of a filter." He glanced up at me, a pained look furrowing his brow. "But Charlie could be normal if he wanted. I'm not crazy, right?"

When he put it that way, I understood what he was getting at. It was the same thought I'd had before, just phrased a little differently. I blinked once, twice, cleared my throat. "I don't think you're crazy. I do think Charlie has his own demons, though. Maybe Jessica was actually right about..." About him being gay. I didn't finish the thought, because it made sense. The way he was always hugging me, the fact that his voice was still as high as it had been in eighth grade, how he was so understanding—none of it necessarily meant he was gay, but when I put it all together I couldn't deny that there was a case to be made.

Before the situation could become even more awkward, Charlie returned to the garage with his dad in tow. "Here, Joey, you should ride up front so that you can tell my dad how to get to your house. I can put your bass in the back if you want."

Charlie's dad bore little resemblance to him. They shared the same straw-blonde hair, but he sported a full beard, and his toned physique and stretched frame—at least a few inches over six feet—gave the impression of an Abercrombie model, not a typical father. When we'd first met, if Charlie had told me his dad was in fact his older brother or a young uncle, I would have believed him in a second. The only aspect that hinted at age was a slight crease trailing from the corner of each eye. "Hey guys," he greeted, nodding at Joey and me.

"Hey," Joey said, ducking out from under his guitar strap and gingerly handing it to Charlie. "Okay, let's do this."

I watched Charlie for a few seconds, as if I could figure out the truth about whether he was gay by looking at him. He did seem to walk with a bit of flair, but I figured that could just be my imagination, struggling to find evidence to support the theory.

In the end, it didn't matter. Charlie was definitely an outcast like us, whether through choice or unfortunate circumstance. He pulled the back door open and scooted over, and I came in after.

"This is exciting!" Charlie whispered, leaning over to talk to me.

"Yeah, for sure," I agreed. "It'll be really cool if we actually make money at it." The thought of being able to call Auburn a professional band—professional in this case being loosely defined to mean someone at some time had paid us to play—made me grin. "Do you think we should debut our new song?"

Charlie's dad started the car and pressed a button to open the garage door. The garage filled with the _chunk-chunk-chunk_ of working gears as the metal door rose. "Maybe," Charlie said. "We could play a lot of different songs. Maybe even a whole set. Ooh, we could treat it like a concert!"

"That would be fun." For a moment, I worried about whether I could control my nerves, but I also knew I didn't really have a choice. If I couldn't, the whole plan—and a year's worth of practicing—would all be for nothing. Charlie and Joey could play through their nervousness, but I knew from experience that my vocal cords would betray me if I wasn't one hundred percent calm.

In front of us, Joey began directing Charlie's dad. Our conversation in the backseat dropped off, and I ended up just looking out the window.

There was something relaxing about the familiar sights; trees, parks, and libraries stood out along familiar routes that I'd grown up with. Even though I couldn't recall what the name of the street we were driving on was, I knew that we were about to pass the tall hotel with flowers in the windows and a burgundy carpet covering the sidewalk. It fled by, and I closed my eyes for a few seconds. It occurred to me that we were headed in the direction of nicer homes, but I didn't much mind. I'd never asked Joey where he lived, and he didn't make a big deal about it either.

I fell into a half-sleep, unable to completely drift off because of the sound of tires and sudden stops at each red light.

"Ash, you awake?" Charlie's voice made me stir.

I shook my head to clear out any cobwebs. "Yeah." To the left, I could see Joey jogging down the front walk of one of the smaller houses—of course, given the neighborhood we were in, 'smaller' was still at least twice the size of my house. The outside of it was all stonework, broken by the occasional window and of course a double-wide garage door.

"Oh, cool. Joey's got the guitar right now. We should be downtown in twenty minutes or so." Charlie was still smiling, but it seemed as if time had worn away some of his excitement.

As I thought about it, I realized it had done the same to me. "Charlie, what if we aren't any good?" I whispered. "What if we're still bad after all that time we spent practicing?"

"Then we'll practice some more. But trust me, we _are_ good. I know it."

The front door on my side opened, and Joey climbed back in with what looked like a toy guitar; it had a bright blue front and plastic sheen that gave the impression of something intended for a child.

Charlie seemed to have the same idea. He took the guitar with a half-smirk, rolling his eyes so only I could see. "Cool. So now we just have to go downtown."

His dad turned around to look at us. "Where do you kids want to go again? Somewhere where there will be a lot of people?"

"Yeah," Charlie answered, "Wherever you think there'll be a big crowd."

"Hmm... Well, it's a little early for it, but there's a rock and roll bar on the corner of Flower and 11th. As long as you guys promise not to try to get in—and you promise not to tell your mother, Charlie—I could drop you off there." Charlie's dad looked up into the rearview mirror, waiting for us to promise.

"I promise," I said. Charlie and Joey echoed me, and his dad pulled away from the curb.

As he drove, the buildings seemed to get larger and move closer together. Lawns disappeared, giving way to parking structures and small coffee shops. Even though it was still light out, we passed flickering neon signs. I'd been downtown a few times before; it always seemed exciting, with so many different restaurants and stores smashed together in a tight space.

"Okay, we're almost there," Charlie's dad said, swerving between two fast-moving cars in the right lane. "I'm going to pull to the side of the road, and then you kids hop out. When you're done, just give me a call." He pulled over a few seconds later, and I obediently pushed the door open and slid out.

The building before us didn't fit my mental picture of a rock bar, with a simple red brick exterior and sign featuring martini glasses crossed to form an X. The door was propped open, letting the sounds of a Led Zeppelin song filter out into the street.

I heard a grunt behind me and turned to watch Charlie struggle with two guitars. By the time I stepped forward and offered my hand to help, he was already out. It wasn't a graceful exit, but Auburn had officially arrived. With a final "Call me in a couple hours," Charlie's dad drove off.

"So..." I started, feeling my hands shake with anticipation. That wasn't good. "I guess we should go down the block a little, so that we aren't fighting with the music from the bar."

"Yeah, that's a good idea." Joey took his bass guitar back from Charlie, pulling it from the case and hugging it close.

There was a nice spot nearby, with a short tree to provide shade and something to lean on. Joey led the way over and set his open guitar case a few inches off the sidewalk. There wasn't a lot of foot traffic, but enough that I knew—or hoped—that we'd find someone willing to donate to the cause. I felt like even one dollar would be enough to make me believe that it was all worth it. We were only one dollar away from being professionals.

"Um, what song?" I asked.

" _Jaded_?" Charlie frowned at the child-sized guitar in his hands. "Actually, can I have a second to make sure I know how to play this?"

"Sure." _If I was a real professional, wouldn't I have some vocal warm-up exercises to do?_ I wondered. Charlie plucked at his guitar, producing an awful sound.

He wrinkled his nose. "Joey, when was the last time you tuned this?"

"I dunno. A long time ago." Joey chuckled. "I didn't think I was ever gonna use it again."

We weren't prepared, that much was obvious. And I was getting worried, which made my throat feel dry, which worried me more... I had more than enough time to contemplate the vicious cycle while Charlie stopped to tune the guitar. Without meaning to, I shifted my mentality; all I wanted to do was finish performing so that I could go home. In a strange place, with strange people walking by, I suddenly wondered what in the world I was doing.

"Okay, I got it." Charlie played a few notes, as if to reassure himself that he wasn't lying. "We'll start with _Jaded,_ then? We know that one best."

I nodded absently. "Mhm."

As if he could sense my nervousness, Charlie touched my shoulder. "It's gonna be okay, Ash. It's just like practice, but in public. No reason to be afraid. The worst thing that'll happen is someone doesn't like the song."

"Yeah, that _is_ the worst thing that could happen." But I couldn't justify delaying anymore. I looked at Charlie and gestured for him to start.

The moment he did, a short man walking in front of us jumped, as if we'd been invisible and suddenly appeared. He took a step back, raising an eyebrow as he appraised the three of us.

There was time for a single breath before I launched into the song. " _Feeling lost, twisted and confused."_ My voice trembled, but I told myself it was hardly noticeable.

The man left after the first verse, nodding to himself as if he'd liked the song. He didn't drop any money in our guitar case, but I figured that didn't necessarily mean anything. We played on for a few minutes without anyone listening, but by the time we reached the final few bars a middle-aged couple came into view.

The nearly inaudible twang of the final note from Joey's bass guitar had barely ended when Charlie named the next song: " _Plastic Hearts_."

It was one of our newer ones; I hadn't gotten the exact notes memorized, but I thought the lyrics were pretty good. It had a faster tempo, cut into clear four-four time laid out on the bass. Joey started us off with a thrumming string of low notes. " _There are people who they say, never have to feel this way. There are people not like us, who've never felt our bare disgust. With plastic hearts and hollow love, they send on judgment from above. They don't see us, or hear our pleas. They only send us to our knees. Their plastic hearts cause only pain. Their plastic hearts go out in vain."_

As I finished the final sentence, a familiar form came into view. I had time for one gasp of astonishment before the chorus, and I made good use of it. The short, square-faced woman didn't recognize us at first, but Principal Wroth broke into a smile when she did.

Luckily, she didn't interrupt me. " _Plastic hearts, warped and twisted. Plastic hearts by the side of the road. Plastic hearts grew cold and sick as—they never learned to, no they never wanted, to let us show them how to love._

" _They are broken, cracked and bruised. They always knew, just how to use, our own feelings for their own gain. Plastic is never flesh again."_ There was a brief pause before the second half of the verse, just enough time for me to notice that my voice was becoming steadier. " _But my love is real, plastic can't touch me. Give me something I can feel. Now, give me something I can see. Whoa-oh, I can show you how to live, if you just come with me. Your plastic heart can break, let me show you how to bleed."_

Wroth was standing by our open guitar case, tapping her foot along to the staccato rhythm. I could hardly believe it. " _Plastic hearts, warped and twisted. Plastic hearts by the side of the road. Plastic hearts grew cold and sick as—they never learned to, no they never wanted, to let us show them how to love."_

She touched a finger to her closed lips, as if she was actually appreciating some of the meaning behind the song. " _Your hearts, warped and twisted, I will leave by the side of the road. When your heart grows cold and sick just, remember that I offered to show, you how to live and how to love. You could've bled with me. But now your heart, it beats in time. And you'll never learn to bleed. No, you'll never bleed."_

As amazed as I was by the principal's appearance, I was more surprised by the fact that, somehow, I'd maintained my composure. Principal Wroth applauded politely as we finished. "That was good, Ashley. You have a real talent. You all do. I, ahem..." She looked down at the case. "I take it this is for tips?"

"Y-yeah," I said, "I mean, if anyone wants to. It isn't a requirement or anything."

"Oh, I know." She twisted and unzipped one of the pouches of a red leather purse, and before I could figure out whether what was happening was real, she'd fished out a crumpled bill and dropped it into the guitar case. "Do you have any songs that are slightly more appropriate for a school setting?"

_Appropriate for a school setting?_ I mentally searched our short catalogue. "We could write one," I offered. To my right, Charlie looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was, but it almost seemed as if Principal Wroth was going to offer us a real gig. I wasn't about to let that chance slip through our fingers.

"Please do. I would love to have you play at the school pep assembly."

# Chapter 11

Principal Wroth's tip turned out to be the only money we made that day, but the five dollar bill she'd given us was more beautiful than any money I'd seen in my life. Charlie and Joey wanted to spend it on some sodas, but I begged them to let me have it. I didn't say what it was for—I wasn't sure whether I should be ashamed that I wanted to frame it or not. The first five dollars ever made by Auburn. It had a poetic feel to it.

I had a hard time finding a real frame, so I just taped the bill onto a lightly decorated piece of cardboard and hung it over my bed. When I had a bad day at school or someone said something really mean on the Loser McGee page, I liked to look at it. If my life felt like a dark tunnel sometimes, that makeshift trophy was the light at the end.

Jessica started posting on Loser McGee again once we were back in school. As much as I tried to tell myself that I shouldn't check it, I usually ended up caving. It wasn't all bad, though. I started using it as a sort of demented source of inspiration; when I wanted to write a sad song, it helped me get into the right frame of mind.

True to her word, Principal Wroth worked us into the beginning-of-the-year pep assembly. Auburn was slotted to play right after the cheerleaders performed, and before the student council president welcomed everyone to a new year. We didn't get paid, but it was still a nice form of validation. Less than a year before, we'd had to sneak in during lunch in order to play for the school. This time, the principal herself was asking us to perform.

The three of us were waiting in a white hallway; stark white walls, fluorescent lights overhead, flecked white tiles underneath our feet. It would have been disconcerting, except for the fact that the hallway was only about thirty feet long. Two doors behind me led into the gymnasium, packed with every student at school who wasn't ditching or helping with some aspect of the assembly.

On the opposite wall, Joey couldn't stop grinning. "What's up?" Charlie finally asked, cocking his head slightly.

"Oh, nothing," Joey replied. "I was just thinking about how funny it would be to use this opportunity to tell Jessica to shut the fuck up in front of the entire school."

Was it just me, or was his sense of humor improving? _I_ laughed, at any rate. "Yeah, good idea. We could use it to publicly humiliate everyone we don't like. But I guess we should be the better people..." I faked a sigh.

"Yes, we should be the better people," Charlie agreed. "I'm nervous enough anyway, without you two planning ways to screw this up." His tone sounded more hostile than joking, but I knew it wasn't directed at us; my own fear was making my heart pound like a marathon runner's.

A pumping pop tune started. That was probably the cheerleaders. As far as I knew, pop songs were the only kind they listened to. I'd never seen a single cheer squad dance to a Queen Anne's Subtle Overdose song. _That_ would be a performance to remember.

Joey leaned to the left, looking through the open doorway between Charlie and me. I followed his eyes, inwardly groaning when I realized what he was looking at. The cheerleaders were facing the other way, bouncing around in usual fashion.

Charlie looked through the door too, but when our eyes met he grinned and rolled his eyes. "Enjoying the view, Joey?" he joked.

"Maybe. I was just looking at... Their technique." I was sure Joey was going along with the joke, but he held a straight face. "I think you could be a cheerleader, Ash. You know, if it wasn't for the nose."

That stung a little, but I decided to play it off. "Yeah, or my complete lack of athletic ability. If I tried to be a cheerleader, I'd probably break my spleen." I looked back through the door just in time to see the cheerleaders fall into cutesy poses at the end of the song.

We were up. The cheerleaders filtered out into a different hallway, and after a few seconds an older boy walked out into the middle of the floor. "And now, we have a band from our very own Pyramid-Sienna High School! Ladies and gentlemen, Auburn!"

I inhaled sharply and turned toward the door. We weren't the kind of happy band that would skip into the gymnasium; I led the way with a brisk walk and the slightest hint of a smile. In the middle of the gym floor, someone had done me the favor of setting up one of the school's microphones, a black one with red electrical tape near the base. I just hoped it wasn't the one that had ruined the play last year by going dead right when it was most needed.

"Ahem." I stopped in front of the stand, glancing around as Joey and Charlie set up their guitars. It only took a few seconds, but I didn't want to start without them. We'd been set up to face half of the bleachers, but that left our backs to the other half of the student population. If we didn't start soon, I knew the idea of being surrounded would affect my nerves.

"Like he said, we're Auburn. And this is Starstruck Lullaby." Per Principal Wroth's request, we'd written the song to be school-appropriate. No suicidal references, no violence. It was stripped down, but I kind of liked the departure from our usual sound. _"I stayed awake last night, counting stars to the flicker in your eyes,"_ I sang into the mic, trying to strike a pensive tone.

There wasn't much bass in the beginning—heck, the main guitar didn't cut in until halfway through the first verse. At the beginning, it was just me singing into the microphone _. "Living dreams in my own head, fantasies better left unsaid. They say the future's full of snow, and lord knows I've felt the bitter cold."_

The speakers finally seemed to come to life as Charlie started playing. I swallowed back my nervousness, focusing on the nodding heads. Maybe some of the students recognized us from last year, maybe they liked the lyrics, or maybe they were just being nice. But they were nodding along... To me.

The chorus was paced a little faster, with Joey entering to round out the sound. _"This is a starstruck lullaby. Sing it up to the life that passed me by. Never good and never great, I keep trying anyway. And nights'll be warmer, faces kinder, in that life we can't deny. 'Cause it won't pass me by. Pass me by, tonight."_

I'd be lying if I said that everyone seemed into it. As my eyes passed over the true blue bleachers in front of us, I saw a few scowls and unmistakable eye rolls. But there was enough of a positive reaction too. Enough smiles, enough lips half-forming the words I sang, to keep me going.

As if energy was flowing through the audience, my muscles started to twitch. I'd never done anything besides sing into a standing mic before, but I pulled the red-taped microphone free and theatrically kicked the stand away.

Too late, I noticed the black wire wrapped around it. It felt like someone had yanked the microphone out of my hand; I twisted to keep my balance and threw out my left hand to catch it, but it tumbled just out of reach.

There were four beats. A four-count rest between my last lyric and the next one. I could practically hear a metronome in my head, ticking them off as I struggled to retrieve the stand. _One,_ everything was falling. _Two,_ I chased after the stand in an awkward crouch-walk. _Three,_ my hand closed around the metal pole.

When it hit four, I wasn't anywhere close to being able to sing. I paused. Joey stopped playing. Charlie slowed, but none of us quite knew what to do. We'd missed cues in practice before, but in practice we could always play the song over. We couldn't do that this time.

As if drawn by a magnet, my eyes found Jessica. The smirk on her face nearly defeated me. I could practically see the Loser McGee comments already. But I wasn't going to give it to them. No, Jessica could not win this round.

I schooled the slight tremble in my lip and slowly righted the stand and microphone. "On three," I whispered to Charlie and Joey. "One, two, three..."

They were miserably out of sync; Charlie started a few counts before the next lyric, and Joey started all the way back at the chorus. It was a mess, but I forced myself to stand still and finish the song. " _Pass me by. Whoa, pass me by. In this starstruck lullaby. Just pass me by, tonight."_

It was far from triumphant. I didn't feel like a rock star. I felt like I'd messed up our one chance. All we'd had to do was be as good as I knew we could be, and we hadn't managed it. "Thanks, everyone," I said. "We're Auburn." Not triumphant, but not defeat, either.

There wasn't any cheering, no enthusiastic response like I might have been hoping for. As I left the mic where it was and turned toward the doors we'd used to enter, the only sound was the kind of lazy, mandatory applause that met the end of any performance.

I took deep breaths, focusing on the rise and fall of my chest to prevent strong emotions from rising to the surface. Part of me wanted to run back to the middle of the floor and claim that the mistake had been intentional, part of me already wanted to check Loser McGee for a new post, and part of me wanted to curl into a ball the moment I reached the hallway.

It was all white, just like it had been before we left. Only this time, there were at least a dozen other students there, getting ready for the next performance. I heard the footsteps of Charlie and Joey behind me as I stepped into the hall, but instead of stopping to talk to them I hooked a left and didn't stop walking until we were alone.

"So..." Charlie began as we reached a turn that would lead to the same bathroom he'd found me crying in nearly a year ago. "That wasn't quite as easy as we'd hoped."

"No," I agreed, letting myself slowly fall to the ground. "Sorry guys, that was all my fault."

"No, not at all." Charlie looked down at me and, after a moment, slid down as well.

On my other side, Joey had the opposite response. "Yeah, it was all your fault," he said. He frowned when Charlie gave him a clear _You're not helping_ look. "What? It's true, isn't it? Ash, that was all your fault. But um, it would've been cool if it had worked."

"Thanks," I whispered. To my right, Charlie's guitar was sitting nearly on top of my hand. I fiddled with some of the strings.

Perceptive as always, Charlie leaned in and touched his forehead to mine. "Look, this was just practice. I mean, we didn't even get paid. So maybe they deserved a less-than-flawless performance. And if none of us were going to make mistakes, there'd be no point in practicing, would there?"

He was close, so close that I inhaled the scent of mint Tic Tacs on his breath without trying. "Yeah, you're right. I guess I was hoping that if I made a mistake, it wouldn't be in front of—you know, in front of our classmates."

"You don't get to choose moments like this, Ash. All you get to choose is what happens after. And right now, what _I_ want to happen is..." Before I could react, he'd closed the distance between us and pressed his lips to mine.

My reaction was visceral; I pushed him away and scrambled to my feet. I wasn't sure whether I wanted to kiss Charlie or not, but I was sure that if I did want to kiss him it wouldn't be like that. Not in some stupid school hallway after I'd just botched a performance. Not with Joey watching.

"Um..." I mumbled, shaking my head as if that would help me get a clear idea of what I wanted to do. It was strange to think that I'd just had my first kiss, and it hadn't even been by choice.

Charlie grimaced, scrunching his brow like he was confused by what he'd attempted. "Yeah, I'm sorry. I just thought... I should really go put my guitar away." He stumbled to his feet and headed off in the opposite direction; his shuffling steps didn't carry him far, but he turned out of sight as soon as he could.

Behind me, I heard Joey chuckle. "So he's not gay after all. Good deal, Charlie."

# Chapter 12

Joey took pride in spreading the story of Charlie's attempted kiss. I wasn't sure how I felt about that, but Charlie seemed to enjoy it. It was like the rumor blew a whole new personality into him. His voice fell almost an octave the couple of weeks after, and he began to act with a kind of strange swagger around me.

In a lot of ways, I appreciated it too. That kiss gave me something to focus on other than all of my Jessica problems. It made me feel desirable in a way I never really thought possible, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I felt more confident because of that.

I'd be lying if I didn't mention the rest of the aftermath from that day, though. Jessica, seeming to grow bored with Loser McGee, had a lot of fun play-acting what I had looked like when I dropped the mic. She had a whole skit, complete with exaggerated facial expressions and some help from Maya, that she continued repeating long after no one found it funny. Then again, I didn't think it was funny the first time, so I suppose I was somewhat biased.

Kent made sure I saw less of Mom with each passing day... No, I suppose that's misleading. She spent more time with him, and less with me, but I don't think it was out of any real animosity. He simply wanted to spend time with her, and in my mind quality time didn't include Kent, so I lost out on a lot of opportunities.

Near the end of October—nearly a year since we'd tried out at Cat's Cradle—we were practicing in Charlie's garage, with the door all the way down to keep out the downpour outside. Drops were hitting the metal door, producing an annoying pinging sound that made it hard to focus. Charlie's dad's red SUV had picked up some scratches along the side, and a pile of cardboard boxes further limited our practice space.

"Do you ever think we're about as good as we're gonna get from practicing in here?" Charlie asked, pulling at one of the tuning knobs on his guitar.

"Yeah, sometimes," I admitted. "But we can't exactly do the downtown thing again. I don't think that helped us too much."

"No, I know. But it's almost been a year since the last time we tried to get a gig. I was thinking that in a few weeks we could start asking around again."

I looked to Joey, trying to gauge his reaction. His impassive expression wasn't much help. "Okay, we can ask around," I said. "But I want to try Cat's Cradle first, so that we don't make fools of ourselves."

Joey scoffed. "That guy can't tell the difference between real rock and an old Barney cassette tape. He's just an idiot."

I couldn't help thinking that perhaps the reason why Joey didn't like the idea was the same as why I'd suggested it—or at least, related to why I'd suggested it. I trusted him to be honest, and Joey was afraid that he would be. I understood; if he told us we still weren't good enough, it would feel like the past year had been wasted. "Still, I think we should... He'll tell us if there's something we have to work on, before we waste our time looking around for auditions that might never come."

"That makes sense," Charlie said. He caught my eye and smiled; it was a strange smile, similar to the friendly way Charlie had always looked at me, but with an undercurrent of emotions I couldn't quite figure out.

"You're only agreeing with her because you luurv her," Joey teased. "But fine, whatever. When do you guys want to do it?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. In a couple of weeks like Charlie said, I guess." They both nodded; with the question settled, the conversation dropped off. We stood in relative quiet for a few seconds.

Joey checked the time on his phone. "Well, if practice is just about over, I guess I'm gonna head out."

With the driving rain outside, I wasn't too keen on walking home. As Joey packed his guitar in its case and leaned it against the corner wall, I took my time unplugging the mic and collapsing my stand. It was a mindless task, since we'd done it hundreds of times. Practice over, time to clear away the equipment until tomorrow.

I was sitting on one of the white steps leading into Charlie's house, gently packing my microphone into its worn cardboard box when I heard Charlie clear his throat. "Hey, um..." he said, "The Homecoming dance is tomorrow, you know. And..."

"I'd love to." Too late, I realized how it might seem that I'd just assumed that was where he was going. "I mean, if you wanted to go with me, I'd love to. If not, that's cool too."

"But I do. I really do." He took a step forward, reaching out to grab my free hand. "Actually, I wanted to talk about that kiss too. I didn't mean to upset you. I just wanted to... I don't know, you looked sad, and I thought it might cheer you up. But I guess it was also pretty stupid to assume that you'd see it as a good thing."

_Was it a good thing?_ I asked myself. "Actually, I don't think you need to apologize. I, um... It's just that it was my first kiss, so that was probably why I responded like that." I felt like my brain was moving slower than normal, trying to process everything he'd said. "Did you really kiss me just because you wanted to cheer me up?"

"No, of course not. I wanted to do it." He looked down at the guitar hanging low over his shoulder. "I just think that the reason I chose to kiss you at that exact moment was because of how I thought you felt, if that makes sense."

His hands holding mine were soft, except for the fingertips. I moved my index finger along one of his calluses, tracing the hard skin. "Good, I'm glad. And in a way, it totally makes sense." I _had_ needed that kiss; it had made my life so much more livable to have something to fixate on other than Jessica and Loser McGee.

"So... Do you wanna be my girlfriend?" Charlie let go of my hand and sighed. "Sorry, I should be so much smoother than this. The funny thing is, I know exactly what I should say and how I should say it, but for some reason it isn't coming out right."

"Oh, that's okay." Somehow, the boy before me seemed more honest than the Charlie I'd known before. I felt as if he was opening himself up completely; I chose my words carefully to keep from hurting him. "I wanna be your girlfriend. Thanks for asking." It felt too formal, saying it like that. So I gave up on my failing words and leaned forward.

Our kiss before wasn't anything special. I hadn't known that at the time, but I did the moment our lips met for a real first kiss. It was wet and warm, and it felt familiar, like coming home after a long day.

I inhaled as he moved away. "Charlie... That was nice." It was funny how I spent so much of my time with words—playing with their meanings, molding them into songs—and yet when I needed them most they escaped my grasp.

"I agree." He chuckled softly. "I'll, um, see you tomorrow. My dad said he could take us there, if that's okay. Or we could just walk, or—"

"That sounds great. However you want to handle it will be fine with me." This was uncharted territory, a place that I never thought I'd find myself, especially with Charlie. My only guide was how Mom always acted around men, and I wasn't sure whether that should fall into the category of behavior to imitate, or behavior to avoid like the plague.

If I were being poetic, I suppose I would have described the subsequent walk home as warm, bright, exciting. Singing in the rain type of stuff. In all honesty, the driving rain wasn't any warmer and the sun was hidden behind clouds. But I was still smiling.

***

I didn't like to think of myself as a school dance girl. I wasn't one to wear frilly dresses, or worry about dates on a Friday night. But in the couple hours between practice for Auburn and the Homecoming dance, I rethought that stance at least a dozen times. Perhaps more importantly, I thought about how I could go to the dance, have fun, and still be me.

In other words, how to go to a dance Ashley Nimzovitch style. Step one was to pick out the least dance-y clothes I had: a black-and-white tank with the word "Overdose!" written across it in red ink, a pair of tight-fitting white jeans, black sneakers, and a pink hair tie that would let me throw my hair around without getting it in my eyes... If I wanted to.

That ensemble probably explains Charlie's reaction when he saw me answer the door. The sun was on its way down, but still high enough that I could see his brow wrinkle in confusion for a brief moment. "Wow," he said a second later. "You look..."

"Bad?" I stood there awkwardly; Charlie was wearing semi-formal attire, a polo and dress pants. We couldn't have clashed more if we'd tried. "Um, maybe I should go change." I started to turn back toward the house.

Charlie touched my shoulder, gently turning me back around. "I don't think you should change at all. You look amazing. I was just thinking about how jealous everyone else is gonna be."

The words were cliché, but I believed them because... Well, I wanted to. "Thanks!" I stepped out into the night, pausing only to close the door behind me before taking Charlie's offered arm.

His dad was parked right at the curb, making for a short walk. I tapped a small apple tree as we passed it, ignoring the wending pathway to head straight to the SUV. The grass could handle being stepped on once or twice.

Charlie stepped forward, pulling the back door open and gesturing for me to slide in. Once I did, he followed me.

"You look lovely tonight, Ashley," his father said.

"Thank you." I noticed the rote way he said it, a compliment engrained through years of practice. But I wasn't so crass as to point that out.

"You're welcome." He started the car and pulled into the street.

I'd been taking a driving class, and I tried to make a game of mentally critiquing the way Charlie's dad drove. He had a tendency to roll through stop signs, never quite coming to a complete stop, and when I checked the speedometer he was going seven over the speed limit.

"Too bad we aren't bringing our equipment," Charlie whispered.

I twisted in my seat to look at him. "What? Oh yeah, that would be funny. If we had a CD, maybe we could convince the DJ to play one of our songs."

Charlie smiled, nodding as if he was genuinely considering the idea. "Once we have enough songs, we should definitely make a CD. But as it is... Maybe they'll play some Queen Anne's."

"Probably not. School function, you know." I had a hard time imagining one of their songs on an approved playlist, especially since their most famous song that year was about a married man cheating on his wife.

"You never know. They let _us_ play, didn't they?"

"Oh yeah. How could I ever forget about that?" I chuckled. Through the front windshield, I could already see the familiar gray exterior of our high school.

Charlie must have seen it too, since he sat up a little straighter and fished around in his pocket for our tickets. "I don't think Joey's coming, so we're probably on our own in there."

It hit me how _us vs. them_ our mentality had gotten, but I figured that was okay. _Us vs. them_ was better than _me vs. them._ At least I had friends. I even had a boyfriend. I had to work to keep myself from reaching out and touching him, just to reassure myself that I wasn't crazy.

Then an even worse thought occurred to me, as Charlie's dad pulled up to the curb. It was our first date. _Am I supposed to act a certain way?_ I wondered. _What am I supposed to do?_ It was probably a bad start that I'd worn such unique attire, but there wasn't any helping that now.

"Are you getting out?" Charlie asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. He was already out of the car, holding a hand out to me.

He was such a perfect gentleman, and I was... Me. I ignored my sudden feelings of awkwardness and inadequacy and unbuckled my seatbelt. "Yeah, of course."

There was a large sign over the main entrance, a white arrow pointing to our left. "I guess we're supposed to go to the side entrance," I said.

"Yeah, I guess so." Charlie shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable. I felt the same way; all around us, older students were arriving in their own cars, or kids our own age were walking in on their own. We were among a tiny group that had relied on our parents for transportation.

_Oh well. Arriving in style, partying in style,_ I thought. A confidence that came from the same place I was learning to use when I performed came bubbling up. That's all this was, another performance. With that in mind, I took Charlie's hand and practically dragged him forward.

I'd never used or even seen the side entrance before. It was tucked away between two emergency staircases, so nondescript that I'm not sure we would have recognized it if it weren't for the other students heading there.

Like a special breed of cattle, we joined a line waiting while a woman in a simple black dress checked tickets. She moved slowly, and I didn't get a clear view of her face until we were almost at the doors.

Principal Wroth almost looked pretty, with her hair styled in fancy ringlets and a light dusting of makeup that hid most of her rougher features. For a moment, I considered running away; Wroth had a habit of greeting me every time we ran into each other in the halls. Maybe it was her way of making sure I was okay, but I thought it just made me look like a basket case.

It was all a performance, though. So I pasted on a wide grin when it was our turn to show tickets. "Wow, Principal Wroth! You look great!"

She cocked her head, no doubt confused by my sudden friendliness. "Thank you, Ashley. Same to you. Enjoy the dance."

"Oh, I definitely will." I couldn't resist an evil cackle. _Let her wonder if I'm planning something._ Of course, I _was_ planning something. I was planning to have fun, no matter what the night might bring.

The doors led into a basketball court without bleachers. It looked like it had been decorated around the same time the school was built, with walls of peeling white paint and floorboards that creaked as I stepped on them. On the far side of the room, someone had set up clothing racks that were serving as an impromptu coat-check. Closer to us, pulsing music was filtering through a dark hallway. It didn't take a genius to figure out that that was where the dance was.

With Charlie by my side, I stepped into the hall. It was the same one that we'd waited in before the assembly, but the flashing disco lights made it look different. There were some kids resting against the walls, others chatting happily, and one leaning down to slurp from the metal water fountain.

A few steps ahead, I could see through an open doorway into the gym, where a DJ was standing at a raised black booth, playing with his laptop. Judging by the pop song that was playing, he didn't have to do much work.

"Well, last chance," Charlie said. When I looked at him, he was wearing a worried expression that I hadn't expected.

"Nope, no going back now." I grinned and took his hand. The music was playing, the lights were turned down low, and it was time for my performance.

Inside the gym, it looked like most of the dancers had fallen into something between grinding and awkward fist pumping. I could have fit in easily, but I didn't have any intention of fitting in. Once we were close to the center of the dance floor, I turned to face Charlie. "Do you know how to waltz?"

The look of utter confusion he gave me nearly made me burst into laughter. "What? No. What are you...?"

"It's okay, I don't know how either. But now seems like a great time to learn." A new song came on, a fast-paced one that seemed more conducive to a mosh pit than a waltz. I put one hand on Charlie's shoulder and extended the other, approximating the position I'd seen in countless movies.

There was a moment I could see in Charlie's eyes, when he thought I'd gone crazy. A moment when he had to decide whether to join me in that craziness, or go his own way. His hand found mine and I felt a tug against my waist. "Let's waltz."

Neither of us had the foggiest clue about how a real waltz was conducted, but we started to move anyway. The pace of the song had us struggling, and before I knew it we'd travelled all the way to one edge of the dance floor. Charlie took a step back and raised our clasped hands; taking his cue, I spun around once and returned to our dancing position.

We nearly ran into a group of grinding couples on our trip back toward the DJ booth. Charlie led the way through, turning every which way but never releasing his grip on my waist. I spotted more than a few judging looks, but I didn't much care. Pretending to waltz was fun.

"Ooh, I have an idea," Charlie said, holding his hand up to let me do another spin. "We could have a competition to see who can come up with a dance that clashes with the music the most."

"Perfect!" The pop song had just ended, and the romantic song that was starting seemed to fit a waltz a little too well for my tastes.

"Okay, you first."

We'd found our way to a crowded area, but I did my best to come up with an unfitting dance anyway. I settled on grabbing my leg and hopping around in something I thought was called the sprinkler—but the way I did it, I doubt anyone would have caught the resemblance. I was sure I just looked spastic.

In my enthusiasm, I accidentally hopped into someone else. "Oh, sorry!" I said, releasing my leg and trying to look contrite.

The boy twisted away from his date. "You're fine. Oh, hey Ashley." Even though there wasn't much light to go by, I recognized Will in an instant. "Looks like you're having fun."

"Yeah..." I wasn't sure I wanted to say more. I knew I wouldn't have found out about Loser McGee without him, but it was hard to decide whether that was a good or bad thing. _Should I blame him for what everyone said on there?_ I wondered. _Or thank him for giving me a heads up, even if it was accidental?_

When Will's date looked at me, I recognized her too. Maya. Her red-coated lips spread into a grin the moment our eyes met. "Ashley, what are you wearing? You, um... You look very unique." It was hard to tell whether she was making fun of me, but given that she was friends with Jessica I guessed she was.

"Wanna see my dance for this song?" Charlie asked, bringing my attention back to him. When I nodded, he did something I wasn't prepared for: he spun around, backed up until I could feel his weight against my hips, and seductively rolled his entire body against mine.

We were grinding, but in opposite positions. I felt Charlie's warmth, could smell a hint of sweat mixed with his fresh-rain cologne... _I could do this,_ something within me said. _I could love this boy._

He let out a bright chuckle, and I joined him. "You win," I said. "You definitely win."

# Chapter 13

Loser: For anyone who was lucky enough not to see it, I went to the Homecoming dance last night. Danced like a total spaz (LOL). Tried to run into everyone... Literally.

Jake: Haha, way to go Loser!

Quinn: I was totally there for that. She looked like an absolute retard!

Will: Guys, stop. This isn't funny anymore. I'm telling the principal.

Loser: Oh, boohoo. Good luck proving that we're doing anything wrong. Loser McGee is a FAKE profile, and everything on here—even stuff that might seem like it was inspired by a certain someone—is made up. So shut up, Will.

I couldn't help it; Loser McGee was wearing on my nerves. I finally took the plunge and responded to the post:

_Ashley: I know this is about me... You can say whatever you want I guess, but I think using the r-word is a little far. It's a real psychological condition, and using it as an insult is cruel to anyone who has it. The reason I was dancing like that is because it was fun. Maybe if you guys learned how to really have fun instead of tear others down, you would understand that._

Was I naïve to think that would actually work? Yeah, I suppose so. In fact, in the coming weeks I started to wonder whether Jessica had been waiting for me to show that I knew about Loser McGee, and the fact that it was about me. The posts got meaner, and life in general got pretty hard to bear. I could hardly look at my classmates without wondering if they'd snickered at some of the comments, maybe even agreed with them.

But I didn't tell the principal, or any adults. Maybe because I didn't want them to think I might get suicidal, maybe because I didn't want to worry Mom, or maybe because there was a general perception that high school was a fish bowl, a miniature world where the only thing that mattered was what we decided amongst ourselves. If I got adults involved, I didn't feel as if it would solve any of my problems in the long term.

Charlie and Joey were my allies in what once again felt like all-out war. Joey, of course, took every opportunity he could to cuss Jessica up one side and down the other, and Charlie helped by being there for me. He was the best listener I'd ever met, and more often than not I'd stay late at his house after band practice, complaining about my life.

It wasn't pretty, but I survived. I counted down the days until we were going to go back to Cat's Cradle, as if the try-out would solve all my problems. We decided to do it on a Saturday, on the theory that if other people were there they might help pressure the owner into giving us a performance.

I jogged up the soft, carpeted steps leading from my basement to the main floor. "Mom!" I called once I'd reached the entryway. "Mom, are you home?" Judging by the relative quiet, I guessed not.

Creaks echoed off the ceiling, followed by the sound of footsteps coming my way. Mom leaned over the railing to look at me. "Yeah, I'm home. What's up?"

"Um, not much." _I just haven't talked to you in a while and I wanted to see your face,_ I thought. But I didn't have the guts to say it. "I was about to head out to see if we could get a gig at that music store down the block. Wish me luck?"

"Good luck, honey." She smiled down at me. "I know you'll do well. Do you want a ride over there?"

I wanted to find a way to break down the wall that had grown between us. It seemed like Kent was at the center of it all, but I couldn't exactly make Mom break up with him. "No thanks. Charlie's dad is gonna drive us." That wasn't quite true, but I wasn't sure how Mom would react if she knew that Joey—who had just gotten his provisional license a few days ago—was going to be the one driving.

"Oh, okay. Well, if you need anything, just give me a call. I have work soon, but Kent should get home before I leave, and I know he'll be happy to help."

"Okay, thanks. See you later." At some point, I knew I'd have to let Kent into my life a little more, but I kept putting it off. I had too much stress to deal with already.

"See you later. Have fun. All that good stuff." Her head disappeared, followed by the sound of footsteps trailing back to her room.

Since I didn't want to wait inside, I pulled the door open and stepped out onto the front steps. It was a nice day to be outside, not overly warm or cold, with only wispy clouds floating overhead. Across the street, there were rows of townhomes just like mine, colored in alternating shades of brown, green, and white.

The minutes passed, mostly unnoticed as I inhaled the crisp air and watched the breeze blow at our small apple tree. I didn't pay much attention to the time, but I wasn't waiting for long when a beat-up Saturn pulled into view.

Charlie pushed open the silver passenger door, looking like he'd just been sent into space without a suit. "Hey, you ready?"

"Yeah." I pushed myself up and sauntered over to meet them. I paused just before reaching Charlie, unsure whether I should kiss him, hug him, or awkwardly sock him on the arm. In the end, I simply stood there with my arms at my sides.

Luckily, Charlie was a lot more skilled at the whole relationship thing than I was. He wrapped his arms around me. "Well, shall we?"

The car was one of those ones where the passenger seat had to be pulled forward to access the back. I didn't know it as Charlie helped me in, but that also meant almost no leg room. Even though I was hardly a giant, I felt cramped as Charlie pushed the passenger seat back into position and closed the door.

"Don't worry," Joey said, looking back over his shoulder, "I promise I won't kill us all in a fiery crash."

"Um, yeah, please don't." His sense of humor didn't exactly inspire confidence. Once he started the car I had the unfortunate realization that dying in a fiery crash was a possibility; the car was a stick-shift, and each time Joey had to switch gears it sounded like the engine was about to explode.

My hands found my seatbelt and gripped it tightly, as if that would save me from anything that might happen. I hadn't even gotten my permit, but I still felt like I could drive better than Joey. It wasn't that he disobeyed any traffic laws—in fact, he stopped for probably five seconds at the signs—but his jerking lane changes and overuse of his blinker didn't inspire confidence.

"Do you know what song you want to do?" Charlie asked as we ratcheted to a stop at a red light.

"Um, _Plastic Hearts_?" I answered, grateful for the distraction from Joey's driving. _Plastic Hearts_ was my personal favorite out of all of our songs, and the one I felt most confident singing.

"Naw. I think we should do _Jaded_ ," Joey said.

Before we could get into too much of an argument, and before I could beg Joey to keep his attention on the road so that he didn't kill us all, the mall came into view. I turned over the thought of _Jaded_ vs. _Plastic Hearts_ as Joey turned into the parking lot. They'd both been written from a similar place, emotionally. I guess I liked _Plastic Hearts_ more because it was positive, in a strange way. It was about feeling something, whereas _Jaded_ was just about hiding from the world.

"My vote's on _Plastic Hearts,"_ Charlie said after a few seconds of silence. "I think it shows how we've grown as song-writers as well as performers. So that's two to one."

Joey shrugged, or he would have if his hands had been free. As it was, his shoulders rose slightly, but the movement looked disjointed. "I'm fine with _Plastic Hearts_ if it's what you guys wanna do. But Charlie, we need to talk about the bros before hoes doctrine when we get back."

"Bros before hoes?" Charlie snorted. "Ash isn't a hoe, so I don't think that applies."

"Nope, it definitely does." Joey pulled into one of the open spots in front of Cat's Cradle, managing to come to a stop without jostling everyone inside.

We piled out and grabbed our gear from the trunk; I noticed a small dent in the box I used for my mic, but decided not to say anything. It was cool that Joey could drive, and I figured if I gave him too much grief about the way he drove that he might stop.

The glass windows of the store were heavily tinted, but I could see a few other people inside even before we pulled the door open and entered. I took the lead, walking up to the owner while Charlie and Joey plugged into the same outlet we'd used before.

The old man was busy helping a customer, but the moment he saw me he nodded a greeting. For my part, I waited silently, my microphone gripped safely in my right hand.

"You came back," the owner said, raising an eyebrow. "Are you here to try out again?"

"Yeah, we are." I was surprised by how confident I sounded, as if this was just one try-out among many, and not something I'd spent the entire past year building up in my mind.

"Okay, let's hear it. Um, just be sure not to block any of the customers please."

I took a step back, so that anyone who wanted could have unobstructed access to the register. I could practically feel Charlie and Joey behind me; their presence had become as familiar as a shadow, always around.

The first notes echoed as Charlie played the intro. _"There are people, who they say, never have to feel this way."_ I shook my head; something was off, but I couldn't quite figure it out. Pitch-wise, I was fine. _"There are people, not like us, who've never felt our bare disgust."_ It wasn't anything with the guitars, either.

I moved onto the chorus. A young woman stopped shopping and watched, a hint of a smile playing across her face. The store owner looked on impassively as we performed, and I did my best to stop worrying. The good news was that my voice didn't tremble; I'd outgrown that particular manifestation of nervousness.

We got a reaction out of the store owner at, " _Let me show you how to bleed."_ He jerked his head back, obviously surprised by the lyric. I just hoped it was a good kind of surprise.

Before I started in on the second verse, he waved for us to stop. I let the mic swing down to my side as the echo of Joey and Charlie's final notes drowned to silence. The young woman who'd been watching us gave me a thumbs up as the owner helped another customer check out.

I waited on tenterhooks for him to finish. The moment he handed the tattooed man his bag, I stepped forward. "So, what did you think?"

His face was impossible to read. "You did better. It's clear you worked on my notes from last year." Before I could get too excited, he added, "But you still have one major problem. That song was pretty heavy, and I'm okay with that. But I don't think you believed it. You didn't have the right emotion. You seemed almost happy. Maybe you should talk to whoever wrote the song and figure out how they were feeling at the time."

"No! I mean, I know what you're saying." I swallowed hard, knowing that our chance was slipping away. "I _do_ believe that lyric though. I was the one who wrote it." In a way, I understood what he was saying; it was the missing element I'd noticed when I was singing. But I also understood the lyrics. "Please, you have to let us play! I promise, I'll sing the songs with all the emotion that I have!" My pleading tone reached even my own ears.

The old man sighed. "Alright, I'll let you play. In a few weeks—November thirtieth—there's a band who will be here signing CDs, and I'd like you to play something for everyone waiting. Who knows, if you have a CD of your own maybe you'll even sell a few copies."

I could have fallen to my knees in gratitude, pulled the store owner into a hug. Instead, I ended up jumping up and down, like a kid who'd just been told they were going to get ice cream. "Thank you! Thank you so much!" It took a few seconds for the giddiness to subside, after which I politely thanked him for the opportunity and headed back out with Joey and Charlie.

# Chapter 14

Charlie and I were a strange couple. Whenever we were together, I felt like we were trying to approximate the way normal couples acted—kissing, holding hands, exchanging whispers—but of course we weren't normal. I knew that from the way Mom acted with Kent, the way I'd seen her interact with other boyfriends. There was something off, but to be honest I didn't worry too much about figuring out what it was.

The most curious thing was that my life was going great in so many ways, and yet I felt like I was still under more stress than ever. Auburn was scheduled for our first paid performance, I had a boyfriend, and the songs I was writing began to lose a lot of the plaintive tone they'd had before... And yet, there was Jessica, always waiting in the wings to bring me down.

I was being paranoid, and I knew it. Her life didn't revolve around hurting me. But a lot of it seemed to. The simple knowledge that someone in my own little corner of the world had taken it upon herself to make my life so hard was difficult to process.

But Charlie helped. He kept telling me to focus on the things that were getting better, instead of what was outside of my control. We didn't go on many dates, or at least what I tended to think of as dates; most of the time we spent alone together we were going on walks after band practice, or hanging out at the park a few blocks down the road.

Night had fallen like a sudden shroud, taking over the world before we had time to recognize the impending darkness. I was sitting beside Charlie on a wooden park bench, looking at the empty monkey bars and swing sets and wondering whether I should have brought a jacket. Sometimes we didn't stay out for long, but sometimes our talks lasted long into the night.

"You excited for Cat's Cradle next week?" Charlie asked. His blonde hair had been growing out longer; it looked slightly rumpled, as if he'd woken up with the perfect case of bed-head. I remember thinking that the way he looked, he could easily be gracing the covers of magazines.

"Yeah, I guess so. I think we're ready for it."

For a moment, the creaking of swings lifted by a light breeze was the only sound. Charlie reached out and touched my shoulder. "Aren't you glad we didn't name the band Shut Up Jessica? Can you imagine how people would react to that?" When I looked at him, he was wearing a silly half-grin.

"Mhm, especially anyone who happened to be named Jessica. So we'd pretty much be cutting out half of our fan base right there." I may not have thought we were a normal couple, but we did enjoy a level of joking beyond our old friendship. Dating had brought us closer on that front.

"Oh? Have you been going to a Jessica support group or something?"

I giggled, trying to imagine what that would look like. Realistically, they wouldn't all be scheming bitches. "God no. I can't even handle one Jessica." Even though I meant it as a joke, it came out serious.

Charlie dropped his joking tone, too. "Yes you can," he said. "In your own way, I think you handle her better than anybody else could. She just hates you because she wants to be you, you know."

"Yeah, right." I let out a sarcastic laugh and rolled my eyes, for extra emphasis. I'd heard that theory before, in different forms and at different times, and I just didn't believe it.

"It's true." He shifted on the bench so that his whole body was facing me. "Look, she wishes she could stand for something. Her personality is as boring as vanilla yogurt. You stand for something. You have goals, and she doesn't."

"But all I stand for is myself." I didn't like contradicting Charlie, but he was wrong. On some level, I knew I wasn't right either, but my truth made more sense than his.

Charlie sighed and looked away, toward the plastic swing set that was still creaking. "I think that _you_ are something worth standing for, Ash. Who you are, what you do. You stand for standing out, for working for your dreams. Jessica doesn't have that. Hell, her life is going to be so boring that I can already tell you how it ends. Wanna hear?"

Before I could answer, he'd taken both of my hands in his and continued, "She graduates high school, goes to college, gets married somewhere in between. The man she marries isn't anything special, but he isn't terrible either. He's average in every way. They pretend to fall in love, and they have average little kids who repeat the cycle all over."

"But not me?" I couldn't help asking.

"Not you, not us. We break the cycle, we stand for something. You're special in a way that Jessica can't take away." He shook his head. "That's why she hates you. On some level, so deep that even she might not be aware of it, she's worried about her average life. She wishes she had the guts to reach out and try for something better. The guts that we have. This Auburn adventure may crash and burn, it may turn out to all be for nothing. But at the end of all that, at least we can say we tried. If the world chews us up and spits us out, we can still say that we did that much."

"If the world chews me up, I hope I give it indigestion." I meant it seriously, but both Charlie and I ended up laughing.

When we stopped, he looked at me, his green eyes staring deep into mine. "The world isn't going to chew us up. You, or me, or Joey. Whatever happens in our lives will never be anything more than a temporary setback. A stepping stone on our paths to greatness. Ash, when we play... I dunno, when we're performing I feel like we can do anything. I know I'm doing a bad job of explaining myself, but I just have this feeling right now, like..."

His words were electric. No, not his words... The ideas behind them. A philosophy that made me want to cry, the idea that I meant something, that I could mean something. That we all could. Before he'd found a way to continue, I moved forward, closing my eyes and pressing my lips to his.

We'd shared one or two kisses before, but this kiss was something else. Not merely a physical or emotional connection, but a soulful one. I felt like I finally knew what it was like to love. And not love in the puppy-dog, _I just want to be with you_ way. Charlie was my closest friend, in a way I didn't think Joey could ever be, and though sometimes I wasn't sure I understood him, he seemed to understand me completely.

Charlie's arms wrapped me in a hug, and even though he broke the kiss after a few seconds he kept holding me close. "Well, I guess..." he said, "I guess... Um, sorry, I'm trying to figure out what to say."

"That's okay. We can just be quiet for a while." There was a weird empty feeling after that kiss. I assumed it was because they never show what happens after the rousing speech on TV. The heroine kisses the hero, and the scene fades to black. Our scene didn't fade to black; we just sat there holding each other for a while.

On the outside, I didn't say much, but my thoughts were running wild. Processing what Charlie had said, the way I felt about him, and oddly the way I felt about Jessica too. I realized that I pitied her in a way. If Charlie's assessment was right, I'd choose my life over hers any day of the week.

_I'm finally alive,_ I thought. _That's what I feel like right now. I'm finally alive._ I jumped to my feet. "Pen! Pen, I need a pen!"

Charlie cocked his head in obvious confusion. "Um, I have one at home if you want to..."

"No, I need one now!" Realizing no pen would make itself available, I chose the next best option; a stray twig and nearby sandbox. I fell to my hands and knees, ignoring the grains pressing against them. Before the lyrics could leave my mind, I'd written them in six-inch-tall letters:

How can I describe it?

I cannot deny this

Feeling inside

It's like I'm finally alive

Despite his continuing confusion, Charlie walked over to join me. "Finally alive," he read. "Are those... Is that a song?"

"Yeah, it's a new one. I'm thinking it should be called _Head Over Heels."_ With the words out of my head and in the sand, I suddenly felt awkward. Was I verging on insanity, to ruin a perfectly good moment with my feeble attempts at song-writing? At the very least, I should have thought to use my phone so that I could take the lyrics home with me.

Charlie only made it worse, standing expressionless against the pale moonlight. "I like it," he finally said. "We could expand it into a chorus or something. It would be good to have a song in our repertoire that wasn't all gloomy."

I'd ruined the moment, that much was clear. Not intentionally, but I'd done it all the same. Changed the subject back to music, forced Charlie from a boyfriend into the role of bandmate. "Yeah, I agree. I, um... I guess I kinda want to write it out by myself, though. If that's okay. I just wanted to make sure I didn't forget these lyrics."

"Oh, no worries. I understand."

I wish I could say we found our way back to the moment that night. I wish I could say that we didn't leave soon after, that I didn't creak open the door of my home and sneak down into the basement to finish writing the lyrics for _Head Over Heels._

But I'd be lying.

# Chapter 15

The next week was hectic, moving all too quickly as we rushed to finish a CD to—hopefully—sell at Cat's Cradle when we played. The old man gave us a tiny bit of shelf space, enough for twelve copies at once. He promised to restock the shelf if they all sold, but we all knew that wasn't about to happen.

A stack of one-hundred printable discs cost us thirty bucks, and cases set us back another twenty. After experimenting with a few different ways to record our audio, we finally resorted to holding my microphone up to the speakers for an instrumental, and adding my vocals after.

If I was being honest, the songs were nowhere near professional quality. They sounded like someone's cell-phone recording of a live performance, which wasn't too far off from what they were. But the CD's had our band name on them, and a logo we'd thrown together on the computer. Seeing that was pretty cool.

We tried to pretend that Wednesday was just a normal day; we went to school, pretended to pay attention in class, endured some taunting from Jessica while we waited for the bus, and then headed over to Charlie's house.

But instead of practicing, we just stood around talking. After a few minutes of doing nothing, I walked over to the concrete wall and leaned against it. "Did you guys see who's going to be at the signing?" I asked.

Joey looked up from tuning his guitar. "No, I couldn't find it anywhere online. Who is it?"

"Queen Anne's Subtle Overdose." I waited a moment for that to sink in. Even though they weren't Joey or Charlie's favorite band, both of them had some of Queen Anne's songs on their phones. My feelings about the band weren't exactly a secret; I'd even confessed to Charlie that I had a bit of a crush on Aras Palmer, their frontman. "Do you think we'll get to meet them?"

Charlie shrugged. He wasn't tuning his guitar like Joey, but he seemed to be finding flecks on its purple face to pick at. "I dunno. Maybe if we buy one of their CDs and stand in line to get it signed. Or maybe we could ask the store owner to arrange a meeting."

"Yeah, maybe." It wasn't much use speculating, but at least it gave us something to do. The familiar pressure that I'd come to recognize as pre-performance jitters was setting in early, and as much as I wanted to meet Queen Anne's Subtle Overdose, I also wanted to finish the night as quickly as possible. The feeling was strange; if I could have controlled time in the world, I still don't know if I would have sped it up or slowed it down.

"We could head there early if you want," Charlie suggested. "Just hang out in the car until it's time to perform. Maybe check out the set-up and get warmed up."

It sounded like a good idea. I pulled my phone out of a front pocket of my jeans and checked the time: _3:07 pm._ There were still four hours to go. "I don't know if we should leave so early. We'd probably get ridiculously bored, waiting in the car for so long."

Joey nodded his agreement. "Plus, it would look like we were total losers."

"Yeah, and that." I wanted to do something, but I didn't know what. We couldn't practice—or at least, we hadn't been successful after half an hour. "Guys..."

Charlie looked up from his guitar, a small smile coming to his face. "Yeah?"

I shrugged, not sure what I wanted to say.

"You seem nervous, Ash," Charlie said. "I think we're all a little nervous. But let's take a moment to remember... A little over a year ago, no one wanted to even let us in the door. Now we have two performances under our belt, and we're getting ready to play a third." He held up a hand to stop the protest forming on my lips. "I know, they didn't exactly go well. But this one will. And once it does, we'll have our first real performance. From there, the sky's the limit."

For a moment, I wondered whether I was hearing from Charlie-my-boyfriend or Charlie-my-bandmate. I shook my head, deciding it didn't really matter. "Yeah, you're right. I promise, I won't screw this up."

"Don't." Charlie took a step forward, reaching under his guitar strap with his right hand. "Don't put more pressure on yourself. The great thing about this is that we'll have more than one song. So if you happen to make a mistake, there will be time and chances for redemption." He took another step forward, and another, so that we were only a few feet apart.

_What is he doing?_ I thought. It seemed as if Charlie wasn't even sure himself; he had one hand on his guitar strap, another hanging awkwardly at his side, and a slightly confused expression on his face. "Thanks," I said after a few seconds, "That makes me feel a little better."

He glanced over his shoulder at Joey, whose eyes were flicking between us. In that moment, it felt as if we were all a little lost.

Joey shifted from one foot to the other. "Hey, if you guys are gonna start making out, take it outside," he said.

It was a weak joke, but we all started laughing. Not knee-slapping, red-in-the-face laughter, but laughter nonetheless. "You know what? Why don't we just watch some TV?" I suggested.

Charlie raised an eyebrow at me. "Um... Yeah, if you want to. I mean, my parents'll be home around five or so, so they might end up joining us."

"Okay, cool." I couldn't figure out why he was telling me; I was fine with his dad, and his mom too.

We set our equipment aside and filed into his house. The garage led into a short tiled hallway, and once we turned left the family room was right in front of us. It seemed more modern than my home, with walls a bright shade of gray, a simple steel-and-redwood ceiling fan, and a plush blue couch facing the flat screen TV. The couch didn't look wide enough to fit all of us; there was a brown recliner beside it, but I couldn't help wondering if a lack of available seating had been the reason behind Charlie's mention of his parents.

Joey took the recliner, which left Charlie and me on the couch. Charlie found the remote and turned on some lame cartoons, which at least gave us something to focus on other than the impending performance.

I was comfortable on my side of the couch, sitting with my knees pulled high against my chest. But Charlie kept squirming around, as if he couldn't possibly find the right position. That didn't make me uncomfortable; what did was the way he kept looking at me and then looking away.

After his third time, I cleared my throat. "Is... Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." The words came a little too quickly to be believable. Charlie sighed. "Okay, I haven't actually told my mom about... You know, anything about us. I just didn't know how to bring it up."

"Oh, okay." Based on the way he was acting, Charlie expected me to be mad. I didn't understand it; as far as I was concerned, his parents were his to deal with. I hadn't told Kent about our relationship either, but I doubted Charlie would be mad about that.

"I just figured I should tell you, in case you wanted to tell her. Or if it might make you act differently, or whatever."

"Okay. Thanks." I doubted I would have thought twice about whether he'd told his mom or not if he hadn't brought it up. But he had. I knew that had to mean he thought it was important, but the real question in my mind was whether he was worried about the way his mom would act around me, or the way I might act around her.

I wasn't mad; more like confused. The conversation died as we watched the cartoon dish-rag worry about how he'd lost track of his panda bear friend. It was a stupid story, made even worse by the fact that the humor was obviously aimed at teens. _What kind of teens would even watch this show?_ I wondered. Only to realize that, of course, we were watching it.

It was almost humorously bad, but perhaps that was the point. I found myself checking my phone repeatedly, hoping for a text that might distract me from my boredom, but I knew I wouldn't get one. After all, the only two people who texted me—other than my mom—were in the room with me.

As slow as the time passed, it did eventually pass. The sound of a key jiggling in the front door made me turn, but my view was blocked by a portion of hall that I'd never been down.

"Charlie?" a woman's voice called. "I'm home! Are you inside? The garage door was cracked open, but I didn't see anyone..." She stepped into view. "Oh. Hello."

Charlie's mom was nearly as tall as his dad. She had a thin frame, mousey brown hair that fell to a uniform length over her shoulders, and the same small nose as him. I didn't think she looked quite as pretty as my mom, but she was far from homely.

"Hey Mom," Charlie said, "Ash and Joey are here." He pointed to us, as if his mom wouldn't have been able to figure it out otherwise.

"Oh, nice to see you! I have to say, I heard you practicing a few weeks ago, and it sounded really good. Like a real band!" She smiled at me, and I returned the gesture, albeit somewhat awkwardly.

"That's 'cause we are a real band, Mom." Charlie pushed off from the couch. "We were just gonna hang out here before our thing at Cat's Cradle, if that's okay."

His mom pursed her lips for a moment. "Of course it's okay. Your father is working late tonight, so he might not be home in time to see you before you go. We have burgers in the fridge, if that sounds good for dinner."

She was so different from my mom; if I'd brought unexpected guests, we would have just ordered pizza or picked up some fast food. Although, once I thought about it, maybe that was part of why I didn't like inviting friends over. "That's fine," I said, not wanting to be a burden. "Joey and I can just eat on our way there."

"Oh no, nonsense." She shifted the brown leather purse on her shoulder. "Like I said, we have burgers, if that works for everyone. Charlie, you can even grill them if you want."

Charlie nodded. "That sounds like a good idea. Do you want us to... I don't know, go downstairs or something?"

"No, you guys stay up here. I'll find something to do with myself." She gave Joey and me one last smile and turned for the stairs. They creaked with each step; she didn't walk up them with a rhythm, like I would have. Just one step after the other, with no discernable pattern.

At least there was one good part about his mom leaving so quickly: I hadn't had a chance to act any way around her, never mind pretending that we weren't dating. Not that we acted much like we were dating anyway.

Charlie seemed to realize how strange he looked, standing in the middle of the family room for no discernable reason. He took a couple steps back and fell onto the couch beside me. "That that went well, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so," I said.

Aside from that brief exchange, his mom didn't see much of us; she came down an hour later to make sure we were able to cook dinner and find buns for our burgers, but she seemed to disappear soon after. It was obvious she was making herself scarce, like Kent when it was just me and him home.

We ended up burning our burgers, so they tasted heavily of charcoal, but by the time we finished eating it was about time to head over to Cat's Cradle, so I was happy. Joey drove; he'd gotten a little better since the last time I'd been in the car with him, but my heartrate was still pretty elevated for most of the ride.

The parking lot was dark, and about as busy as we should've expected. The spaces around Cat's Cradle were all full, but once we drove around to the front of the mall we found a place to park that wasn't too far.

Joey pulled into the space and shut off the ignition, and we climbed out. As we got our gear from the trunk and started heading toward the record store, I could practically feel the energy. It started as a buzzing, the conglomeration of a hundred whispers melding into one due to the distance. Then I saw it, a line extending past the glass doors, wending through the middle of the parking lot. A lot of kids our age, some older, and one or two adults.

They weren't there for us, but we were still going to give them a show. We'd been _hired_ to give them a show. I could hardly believe it, as I led the way past a girl at the very back of the line.

"Ashley?" The low voice was Jessica's—I would have recognized it anywhere—but I never would have guessed it from her tone. She sounded almost awestruck.

I stopped in my tracks, turning to look at her. The dim lights hid her worse features, making her look like a model or some tormented angel come to torture me. I cleared my throat. "Hey Jessica. What's up?" Cool as you please; I felt like I had power there, and she didn't.

"Oh my gosh, are you in Queen Anne's or something?" Her voice slid upward, almost humorously high.

It took me a moment to realize she was being serious. "Um, no. There aren't any girls in Queen Anne's. We're Auburn. Remember?" _We've played at school a couple times now,_ I mentally added. _You should know, since you wrote those awful posts about it._

The giddy look on her face disappeared, replaced with an irritated scowl. "Oh, I see. So what are you doing here? Going to force us to listen to more of your bad music?"

"Yeah, well... I guess the owner of this place didn't think it was so bad. He's hired us to play some songs for everyone waiting." If I'd been a little more childish, I might have flipped Jessica off or stuck my tongue out at her. But I was above such things. I could take the moral high ground, since I already had the victory of showing off that our band had been chosen for something. Without another word, I turned back around and kept walking.

The doors in front were obviously locked, but when the owner saw the three of us coming he got up from his chair and walked over. A cheer went up from the people waiting when they saw him walking up, only to end when they realized he wasn't unlocking the door. Instead, he was doing an intricate set of hand signals, holding a finger of one hand up and circling another finger around it.

"I think he wants us to go around back," Charlie whispered in my ear.

"Yeah, either that or he really wants us to do the hokey-pokey," Joey joked. Since he was the one with our CD's—packed into a small suitcase that had trouble rolling on the asphalt—we let him move ahead.

There wasn't really a back to the store—at least, not that I could see—but there was a side door tucked into the corner of the far wall. The empty space on that side was about twenty feet by twenty feet, just large enough for two heavy green dumpsters and four wooden pallets laid down flat.

The pallets looked almost like a makeshift stage. On some level, I knew that was why they were there, but I'd had a mental picture of a real stage for our first paid performance. As it was—a dull gray wall on my right, two green dumpsters on my left, a stained red brick wall in front—the set-up was far from ideal.

Joey stopped at the pallets, frowning at the guitar case in one hand and our CD suitcase in the other. Since my hands were the least burdened, I stepped forward and took the suitcase.

The white side door opened up and the old man stepped out. "You guys are late," he announced. "You should learn to be on time if you want to be professional performers."

"Um, sorry." From what I could tell, we were only a few minutes late from when we'd been told we could set up, and almost fifteen minutes early for when we were supposed to perform.

"It's alright. Hopefully you'll only make that mistake once. And even if you get famous, don't be one of those bands who makes arrangements to arrive at a certain time and then doesn't show."

"Okay, we won't be," I promised. A terrible thought occurred to me. "Wait, is Queen Anne's not here yet?"

The old man shook his head. "No, they're here. Main singer's a good kid. I was saying in general." He searched for something on the ground, which turned out to be a rock to keep the door propped open so he could come a little closer to us. "I'm sorry, I put up signs for the line to come around this way so that you'd be looking out at everyone waiting. But no one really followed that."

I shrugged, not caring much if we were visible or not. Maybe that would help with my nerves. Charlie voiced what I was thinking. "That's cool. It'll be kinda like the way we practice."

"No it won't be," the old man said, "Because I have a plan to get everybody over here. I'm going to ask Aras if he'd sing a few lines with you."

To say my jaw dropped would be a cliché, but my jaw did drop. I'd always assumed that responses like that were kind of overwrought and exaggerated, but I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. "Aras as in...?"

The old man laughed. "Yes, Aras Palmer. I'll leave the option of whether to sing one of your songs or one of his up to him. Here, come on back with me." He disappeared back into the store.

That out-of-body feeling hadn't left; my hands were shaking so badly that I had a hard time moving. When I looked at Charlie, he was watching me with wide eyes, as if he knew exactly what this would mean to me.

"Hey Joey, could you go on ahead?" he asked. Joey didn't have to be told twice; he jogged with his case toward the door, like he was scared it would slam shut if he didn't get there in time. "Ash, do you think you can sing like this?" Charlie whispered. "I mean, with Aras?"

"I don't know..." I heard my voice tremble with each word. "It's cool, but..."

"But a lot of stress too," Charlie finished for me. "I can only imagine. Okay, here, take my hands." He set his guitar case down and held out both hands. When I took them, he wiggled my arms back and forth. "You can do this. Just relax. Remember Homecoming?"

I nodded; my arms felt a little numb from how much Charlie was shaking them, and I was worried I might drop the mic if he continued. I pulled them back and waited for Charlie to explain how this was related to Homecoming.

He bit his lip, scrunched up his nose for a second. "That night, I felt like you could do anything. Like we could do anything. We danced like idiots and it didn't hurt us."

_It hurt me,_ I thought, thinking about all the comments that had come after. But I held my tongue.

"This is the same thing. We'll do what we came here for, and it won't hurt us." He paused, a slight smile coming to his face, as if he enjoyed his own words. "We'll get through this together. If you start getting worried, just look at me. Perform for me."

For the first time, one of his speeches didn't fix me. It wasn't that he was saying anything wrong, it just didn't reach me the same way he'd always been able to in the past. Perhaps it was because of the strong emotions I was feeling. I faked a smile and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks, Charlie. You always know exactly what to say."

"Of course. No need to worry."

We collected our stuff and brought it inside. It felt a little warmer; before then, I hadn't even noticed I was cold. Winters in California are usually mild, but the nighttime brought about a noticeable drop in temperature.

Though Cat's Cradle's walls were almost all glass, there was a single long room separated from the rest of the store by a red brick wall. When Charlie and I entered hand in hand, we saw that everyone—Joey, the old man, all five members of Queen Anne's Subtle Overdose—was hanging out in various positions along the long wall. The drummer was closest to us, playing with his sticks. He twirled them around each finger, stopped them, and reversed the motion.

Joey was sitting next to him, hardly further in than we were. He was a step or two ahead, bragging all about how he could have played the drums if he wanted, but decided that bass guitar was cooler ('and they're basically the same thing anyway.'). The drummer was so obviously ignoring him that I had to resist the urge to laugh.

The three guitarists were standing around a soda machine, arguing about something. Two of them, who I remembered were brothers, had their long blonde hair pulled back with white bandanas. I smiled at them as we squeezed past, heading toward Aras and the old man.

"Oh, nice. Looks like some young blood," one of the brothers said, looking from me to Charlie. "Yo, you remember when we were like that? So small we felt like little kids next to everyone else?"

"Maybe _you_ felt like a little kid," the other brother retorted. "Actually, that would explain a lot. You still act like a fuckin' five year old."

"Hey, I'll take it. Last week, you said I was only four-and-a-half. I'm aging at an alarming rate. Pretty soon I'll be able to take a shit without needing Mommy to hold my hand." It seemed like a semi-private conversation—or one that wasn't meant to include us, at any rate—so I just kept going.

It felt like we'd walked the entire width of the store by the time we reached Aras. His black hair was flat on one side like he'd just woken up, but his beard looked freshly trimmed. Brown eyes that were lined with black in all of their music videos looked kinder in person, and my general impression was that he wasn't the hottie the media had made him out to be. In a lot of ways, that only made me like him more. He was cute, but looked more approachable in person.

"I dunno, I'd have to hear what it sounds like," he was saying to the old man. When we walked up, he turned slightly to include us in the conversation. "Hey. What's up?"

Being acknowledged like that made me want to squeal, one of those typical girlish squeals of delight that I decided I was too mature for. Instead, I just nodded and relied on Charlie to answer.

"Not much, bro." I could tell that even Charlie was affected by being so close to greatness. Queen Anne's was exactly where we wanted to be in five years; at least, where I assumed we all wanted to be.

"So I take it you're the singer?" Aras asked, his eyes moving to me.

"Y-yeah. That's me," I stuttered out.

"Okay, cool. Could you sing the part of... What was the song you wanted me to sing?" He glanced at the old man out of the corner of his eye.

"Well, how about you guys choose? Which song were you going to sing first?" the old man asked.

All eyes moved to me. I frowned, trying to think of a good song to pick. I had a weird thought, that it was like Aras was my own personal karaoke machine, and had to shake my head to keep from laughing. "Um..." When it came down to it, I wasn't sure if any of our songs were good enough to ask him to sing. " _Starstruck Lullaby?_ "

Aras nodded, pinching a bit of his lip. "I like the title. How does it go?"

I refused to let my nerves render me mute, even though they threatened to do exactly that. _"I stayed awake last night, counting stars to the flicker in your eyes,_ " I sang. " _Living dreams in my own head, fantasies better left unsaid. They say the future's full of snow, and l-lord knows I've felt the bitter cold."_

"Hmm, interesting. Yeah, I can get behind that." Aras turned his head to look at the old man. "Do you just want me to sing the first verse? I'm not exactly warmed up, but I'd be fine with a few lines. It might help us sell a few more CDs."

The old man smiled, an expression that looked like a miniature reflection of how I felt. "That would be perfect, Mr. Palmer. Thank you."

# Chapter 16

The four of us—Aras, Charlie, Joey, and I—got to work setting up outside just a few minutes later. Charlie and Joey seemed to move slowly as they plugged in; all I had to do was find the power outlet and connect my small microphone speaker, which left me several minutes while they played with dials on their amps.

Several minutes of trying not to stare at Aras. It felt as if my eyes were drawn to him, no matter how much I tried to remind myself that he was just a normal person. He was just like Joey or Charlie; I could reach out and touch him if I wanted.

Of course, he probably would have thought that was pretty weird. I'd watched videos on my phone and on TV so often that it felt as if I'd slipped into the screen, but he was just a person. Just a normal person.

Paired with the darkness surrounding us—broken only by a single yellow light on the side of Cat's Cradle—it was easy to believe I was only dreaming. When I glanced over to Charlie he nodded back, gripping his guitar to show he was ready.

For a moment, I wasn't sure what to do. Aras seemed to notice; he gestured for the mic, holding his hand out with a slight smile. "Hello?" he said, bringing the mic to his mouth. "Testing, testing..." He spoke just loud enough for the speaker to pick it up; the sound filtered out into the parking lot.

A single whisper wouldn't have carried from the line of waiting fans to where we were. A hundred whispers wouldn't have. And yet, I felt as if I could hear a collective gasp, followed by the sounds of rushing footsteps.

At first, only one girl came into view. She was short, probably around middle school age. "It's him!" she squealed. "It's Aras! He's over here!"

"Yes I am," Aras replied, with a hint of bemusement. "My friends and I are going to sing you a little song. Don't worry, there'll be time for signing autographs soon. But if you guys move the line over here, maybe you can get some good entertainment while you wait." With a few strides, he made his way to the center of the impromptu stage; I wasn't sure whether I should follow or not, but in the end I had to.

After all, it was our performance. Aras was only helping us. He looked at me as I made my slow way over to join him. "What are the lyrics again?" he whispered.

"Um... I stayed awake last night, counting stars to the flicker in your eyes. Living dreams in my own head. Fantasies better left unsaid. They say the future's full of snow, and lord knows I've felt the bitter cold." I rushed through the words, making them sound more like a rap than a song, but I didn't know how else to do it.

"Okay." Aras looked back over his shoulder, toward Joey. "You guys ready? Alright, lead me in." To me, he added. "Tap me on the cue. This is gonna be a rough start."

I wasn't sure what he meant, but as Charlie started playing the first few notes on his guitar I counted out the rhythm just like I would if I were the one singing. _One two, one two three. Now!_ I nudged Aras' elbow.

Right on cue, he launched into the song. " _I stayed awake last night, counting stars to the flicker in your eyes_." I gritted my teeth, wishing I'd had the brains to sing it for him a second time; he was getting the melody all wrong. It didn't sound terrible—I doubted his smooth, baritone voice could ever sound truly terrible—but it wasn't the song I'd written. " _Living dreams in my own head. Fantasies better left unsaid._ "

He waited for a few counts, as if he was inventing his own timing as he went along. " _They say the future's full of snow, lord knows I've felt the bitter cold."_

Before I knew what to expect, he was handing the mic back to me; he raised an eyebrow, as if to ask whether I was going to continue the song. Like a sudden awareness of my own breathing, I could hear the notes Charlie was playing. I could feel Joey's strumming baseline.

"— _starstruck lullaby,"_ I sang, bringing the mic up. " _Sing it up to the life that passed me by. Never good and never great, I keep trying anyway. And nights'll be warmer, faces kinder, in that life we can't deny. 'Cause it won't pass me by. Pass me by, tonight."_

There was no time for a sigh of relief; just time to smile at Aras as he left, to take in the growing audience as the waiting crowd moved in front of us. _"I built up my dreams, poured out my hopes, and what did it ever get me? A life of has beens, a life of sorrow. A life of looking for what could be."_

I'd recovered, without even realizing it. Despite Aras putting me off-time and off-tune, I just kept reminding myself of how it was supposed to sound. _"These shooting stars are passing planes, coming overhead. Tell me, are we past these silly games? Past fantasies we left for dead?"_

Without meaning to, my eyes found that first girl who'd come sprinting over. As excited as she'd been when she'd seen Aras, she seemed entirely deflated with him gone. But I couldn't pay too much attention to her; there was a whole crowd to look at, and maybe some of them would like the message of our song. I took a single breath to ready myself for the second chorus.

" _This is a starstruck lullaby. Sing it up to the life that passed me by. Never good and never great, I keep trying anyway. And nights'll be warmer, faces kinder, in that life we can't deny. 'Cause it won't pass me by. Pass me by, tonight."_

" _Pass me by. Whoa, pass me by. In this starstruck lullaby. Just pass me by, tonight."_ As the final note faded on Charlie's guitar, I had a moment to think about the song. Realistically, it was probably one of the weaker ones I'd written. It had only taken half an hour to come up with the lyrics, and my mission—well, my mission had been to come up with something Principal Wroth would be okay with Auburn performing in front of the whole school.

With that in mind, it wasn't a bad little song. But I couldn't help feeling like no matter what we chose to follow it up, we'd be moving onto something better. "Okay guys," I said into the mic, "Um... This next song is called... _Add One More?"_ My lack of confidence made it sound more like a question than a statement, but behind me I could hear both Charlie and Joey launch into the first few notes.

Perhaps it was a subtle form of revenge to follow the school-appropriate song with one that had gotten me in so much trouble; perhaps I just liked the way _Add One More_ sounded. It had a definite rhythm, a bass groove that we hadn't quite figured out on some of the other songs.

The lyrics didn't start for several seconds, which gave me more than enough time to look out at the audience. It had grown from a single girl to dozens of faces; they were still in a tidy line though, as if for the sole purpose of reminding me that we were just a sideshow. A diversion, not the main event.

Near the back, I spotted Jessica. She was standing with her arms folded across her chest, her lips pursed in a _not-impressed_ expression. I decided that was okay... We had more time to impress her.

Or not. It was Jessica, after all. I doubted there was much I could do to win her over, short of turning myself into Aras. _"To one pain, we add another,"_ I sang, surprised by how crisp the notes felt and sounded. _"When you're hurting like no other, sometimes you just can't take it in stride."_

_I can do this,_ I thought. Even if I had a captive audience, even if they weren't hanging on every note, I could see at least one or two cock their heads. They were listening, and that was all I could ever ask for. _"If you can't stand, you hopeless sufferer, to one trial, here take another. Don't collapse until the day you survive. And maybe you'll find..._

" _No, not happiness. But just a little less sadness. Just a little less pain to deny."_ I'd spent the entire performance rooted to the same spot; like a fawn taking her first steps, I moved to one side of the stage. The wood pallets made it hard, since there were holes every few inches for my feet to fall through. Perhaps because of what had happened at the assembly, I was deathly afraid of tripping in the middle of a performance.

" _Not satisfaction, but perhaps just some compassion. Something you won't have to keep inside. Maybe one day you'll survive."_ A collective gasp, just like before, filtered out from the audience. At first, I thought it was in response to the lyrics.

No, not that. Before my eyes, the line started to move. Apparently the signing had started. And we weren't even halfway through the second song. I closed my eyes, preferring darkness to the sight of half our audience disappearing into the store. _"To your sorrows, add one more. When you feel like death's door, is coming close at your own hand. Maybe you'll remember, that this isn't our December. The end doesn't have to come as planned."_

When I opened my eyes, I managed a small smile. Of course they'd leave during _Add One More._ The song itself was about how things got worse without warning. " _So go on, give me more. 'Till I'm falling to the floor. 'Till I beg for mercy, make me scream. Because life can be a chore. And the worst afflicted, are those who never have to add one more. So add one more."_

At least the old man had done me one favor; however he'd set up the line, he'd done it so that it didn't move too quickly. Despite the fact that half my audience had entered the store when the doors were opened, the rest were stuck in front of me.

" _Add one more—sing it with me now. 'Cause life's a chore—and we'll find out how, this life will continue on. Add another—cling to it tight. Don't go under—stay with me tonight. Until we see the break of dawn."_ When I'd written the song, I'd really intended that portion of the second verse to be sung by two people, but I'd always done it by myself.

Needless to say, I was realizing that was a bad idea. I was huffing, inhaling quickly to get enough breath for the last few lyrics. " _Add one more..._ Charlie played the final melody on the guitar. _"Just add one more."_

Behind me, as the final notes fell off, I heard Charlie chuckle. I turned to frown at him; he frowned back, but after a moment he took a step forward. "You added an extra 'add one more,'" he explained with a grin.

# Chapter 17

Singing with Aras hadn't been the nirvana I thought it would be; yes, he was very good, and yes, listening to him perform our song was fun. But afterward, watching the crowd slowly dwindle was slightly disheartening.

We performed a couple more songs before calling it a night; by the time our audience was down to a few people at the back of the line, we figured there was no point in continuing for too much longer. The audience didn't exactly start singing along with any of the songs, but they didn't boo us off the makeshift stage either. I suppose, considering how our earlier performances had gone, I should've been happy that our reception wasn't terrible.

And we sold one or two CDs. It wasn't much—not even enough to cover the cost of making them—but when the old man handed us a crisp hundred, we felt like the richest kids in the neighborhood. Considering that it included the payment for our performance in addition to the ten bucks for the CDs he'd sold for us, it wasn't exactly much... But we felt rich, all the same.

As a band, we agreed that the money should be reinvested in ourselves. The real question was how to go about it. Joey wanted to press the CD idea and get some better recording equipment, Charlie thought we should order some shirts to sell, and I thought it might be cool to pay for a professionally-designed logo.

I wanted to support Charlie's suggestion, to show some small bit of appreciation for the way he was always there for me, but before I could switch my vote he decided that Joey's idea made more sense. So, with a vote of two-to-one, Joey got his way. A hundred dollars wasn't quite enough to pay for even the cheapest home recording equipment, so we put it aside until we could make some more.

After the weekend, we went back to school just like normal. As if the Cat's Cradle performance hadn't even happened. Jessica didn't forget about it, though. There were plenty of Loser McGee posts making fun of the fact that we'd been performing next to the dumpsters, like I was garbage waiting to be thrown out. It seemed as if the posts were getting even worse, too. Where before they'd been half-jokes or thinly veiled insults... Well, the veil had been torn off. Loser McGee was nothing more than a place for Jessica to insult me.

Charlie helped me through the worst of it. He stayed up late with me on more nights than I could have hoped for, chatting over the phone or hanging out at the park. We'd kiss every once in a while, but it hadn't moved beyond that.

Winter break came, granting me a few weeks off from seeing Jessica every day. But then Charlie came up with the idea of announcing our relationship to his family. Over Christmas dinner. With his entire extended family present. He had a flair for the theatrical sometimes, and I was too afraid to express how afraid I was.

I spent hours getting ready; trying on different dresses in front of my mirror, experimenting with a hundred hairstyles, deciding between my usual look and a toned down, eyeliner-less and generally makeup-less one. The dinner was supposed to start sometime around six, but at five-thirty I still didn't feel ready.

The one thing I could tell for sure was that I didn't look anything like myself. I looked like... I twisted in the mirror to assess. I looked like Jessica. _Good God, we_ are _similar,_ I thought, pulling at my own face. We both had curly hair, but there was more than that: a wide jaw, a nose that didn't quite look right. We would never have been able to pass as twins, but there was a resemblance that made me cringe.

The doorbell rang upstairs, but I ignored it. Mom was home, she would answer. I turned to my disheveled bed, pushing the white comforter around to lay out all of the dress options I'd found. There was a frilly pink one, a plain black dress that wouldn't have been out of place at a funeral, a light blue sundress that came closest to the impression I wanted to give. But my best option seemed to be the simple, sunflower yellow A-line dress I already had on. I looked a little like Jessica, but I decided I'd have to deal with it.

Someone knocked on the door to my room. My mom's voice came from behind it, "Honey? Charlie's here."

"Oh, okay." I sighed; my hands were already starting to shake at the thought of what the night might hold. My mind kept inventing scenarios where I said something wrong or did something wrong, or both. Trying to quash those feelings, I walked over to my door and opened it.

Mom had her hair pulled up in a ponytail and she had almost no makeup on. I took that to mean she'd be spending the night alone; at least, once I left. "Hey," she said, "You heard me, right?"

"Yeah, I heard you. Um, send him down, I guess. I'm not quite ready." I gestured vaguely to my face, not willing to admit the real problem.

"Okay." She smiled and turned back toward the stairs. In a few moments, I heard them creak with the weight of her footsteps. I waited at my door, catching snippets of a conversation between Mom and Charlie, and then louder footsteps came sounding down the stairs.

Charlie was wearing a normal shirt and jeans. It wasn't exactly his usual style, but he didn't look as dressed up as me, either. When he met my eyes, a laugh came bubbling up. "Ash..."

"What?" I snapped, feeling hot anger rise at his rude reaction.

"N-nothing. I just... You, um, don't look like yourself." The remnants of his laugh still seemed present on his face and in his tone, but he seemed to realize that I didn't get the joke. "I guess it's just a little weird seeing you like this. I mean... Yeah."

Even though I'd had a similar thought less than a minute ago, it hurt to hear the words from someone else. I stared at him, letting my face fall into a slack scowl. "I think you're supposed to compliment your date, not run her down."

Charlie exhaled heavily; it lasted for several seconds, like the slow deflating of a balloon. By the time he finished, he looked exhausted. "Ash, today's been kind of hard for me. Trust me, I want to say the right thing. I really do. But I can't right now. I'm trying to hold it together, but it's hard. So hard." When our eyes met, it shocked me to see his clenched, as if he was fighting off some unseen pain.

"Okay... Okay. Here, come on in. Let's talk about whatever's going on." I stepped back and gestured to my bed, before realizing there were still three dresses on it. I tossed them at the foot and took a seat.

With heavy, plodding steps, Charlie joined me. He fell against the springs like a dead weight. "I don't know where to start," he whispered.

As silly as it might sound, I was reminded of that lyric from Sound of Music _: Let's start at the beginning, a very good place to start._ "Start wherever you want. Take as long as you want." It was nice to feel like the therapist in our relationship for once; I couldn't remember seeing Charlie weak before, except for the very beginning of our freshman year.

He tapped a hand against his thigh. "My grandpa's dying. Granny... She passed a few weeks ago, and my dad thinks he just lost the will to go on after that."

_Oh God,_ I thought. The world had suddenly become heavy, dull. I tried to bully my mind to come up with some words of comfort, but all I could do was wrap an arm around Charlie.

"I dunno," he continued, "I guess I've never seen someone without a will to live. Granny was... She was a..." He sniffled loudly. "Sorry. She was a fighter, right to the end. I could understand that. She didn't let death take her gently. But there's nothing wrong with Grandpa. I mean, physically, noth-ing. When we were visiting him earlier today, the nurse said he'd just checked out. How can someone do that? How can someone look their family in the eye and decide that they just aren't worth fighting for anymore?"

I had no words for him. That was the sad truth. I'd never been close to my grandparents, and I was ill-equipped to imagine what losing a loved one felt like. "I don't know," I said. "I guess he just really loved your grandmother. Losing her must have hit him pretty hard."

Charlie leaned into my shoulder. "Yeah, I guess so. The hardest part was seeing that, hearing my dad talk about it, and then pretending everything was okay. Grandpa just kept joking about how old I'd gotten. How I was practically grown up."

"Oh." I felt like a terrible person, worrying about something as inconsequential as stress while Charlie was in real pain. But it occurred to me that he could use the night off too. "Look, let's not go to that dinner with your family. You don't have to pretend that everything's okay with Mom and me. Trust me, we're good at not okay. You can cry as much as you want, and we'll order pizza and keep things simple."

He took a moment to think about it. Then another moment. He reached into a jean pocket and pulled out his phone, fiddling with it as he stayed quiet. "Dad drove me here," he finally said. "What would I say to him?"

"Blame me. Tell him I was too afraid of meeting your family, and I begged you to stay here instead." It was close to the truth, and I was happy to finally be of some use.

"Hmm... Okay." Charlie slowly rose from the bed.

If it had been me, I probably would have just texted the man and told him something to the effect of 'hey, dinner's a no go. See you in a while.' But Charlie left the room, presumably to tell his dad in person. I was left alone with nothing other than my thoughts for quite some time.

_What would it be like to lose Mom?_ I wondered, figuring that was the closest analogy to my own life. Thinking about it, I started to tear up. But I realized something: if I lost Mom, it would suck, but less so if I knew that she was going to be with someone she loved.

My brain felt twisted. I was pretty sure I believed in some kind of heaven, some form of afterlife, but it had been years since the last time I'd stepped foot in a church. Besides, promises of heaven came from the same liars who'd told me that Santa Claus was real, that a big man in the sky was waiting to answer all my prayers if I just prayed them hard enough. If that man existed, he'd long since turned a deaf ear my way.

Charlie came back, almost immediately finding his old spot on the bed. "He said I could stay. I mean, I kind of had to tell him about us before he really understood, but once I did he was cool with it."

The words sounded dead; his mood obviously hadn't improved from the short conversation with his father. I frowned, trying to remember if Charlie was religious. I thought so, but we didn't talk about it much.

"Do you still want to talk about your grandpa?" I asked rather bluntly.

His response was quick this time. "No. No, not at all. But I can't stop thinking about it, so... I guess so?"

"Okay, that's fine with me. I was just thinking about how hard this must be for you and... I don't know, I decided it would make things a little easier to think about how he might be able to reconnect with his wife."

"Yeah, sure," he said, although I got the feeling it was more to cut me off than in agreement with what I was saying. "Look, I have a hard time with that because no one _knows_ that will happen. I mean, if you're Christian, then yeah, I guess. But if you're Buddhist, then they'll both just get reincarnated without seeing each other. And Atheists don't get any sort of afterlife." He shook his head. "All I know for certain is that he will wake up tomorrow if he chooses to. And the next day, and the next. If he doesn't decide to die, I'll get to visit him. Otherwise, he's jumping into a great unknown. Somewhere none of us can follow."

His tone struck me as slightly condescending, but I tried to see past my immediate feelings about the way he was getting his point across. "Somewhere _all_ of us will eventually follow," I corrected, as gently as I could.

Charlie looked up at me. He seemed to be calming down a little; there hadn't been any tears for a while, and no sniffling either. "Ashley, we all make that trip alone. When he dies, no one goes with him. I'm not okay with that yet."

His use of my full name took me back for a moment. "Maybe no one goes with him, but you have to believe he'll meet up with your granny, right? There's no way that wouldn't happen..."

"No way? There's a ton of ways it couldn't happen." He moved away from me, just enough that I could see the angry look in his eyes. "Like I said, no one knows. He might be fine with that, but I'm not. I don't think my dad is either. It's just selfish to die like that, when there are so many people who want him in their life."

_Maybe,_ I thought, _but isn't it more selfish to demand that he live without the love of his life just because you want to be able to see him every once in a while?_ Thankfully, I had the presence of mind to bite my tongue until I had something slightly gentler to say. "Look, in the end I think it's his choice. I can get why someone might decide they don't want to live without... You know, without someone he's probably spent most of his life with."

Charlie shook his head. "That's just stupid. He lived for twenty years before he met her. Ash, he's being selfish."

"He's not being selfish, and it's not stupid!" I could hear my voice rising; on some level it felt like his insult had been directed at me, instead of my idea. "All I'm saying is that I understand what he's thinking. How can you say that's stupid? What, you think he's crazy or something? Or are you just so callous that you can't even sympathize with someone who just lost his wife?"

"I'm not callous!" He inhaled slowly, exhaled, gritted his teeth together. "Whatever, let's not talk about it. I don't want to talk about it with you."

Of course not, because I wasn't telling him what he wanted to hear. I decided to try a different method of cheering him up. "Okay. Come on, let's go upstairs. We'll play some games and make fun of Mom's TV dinner."

"Sure." It wasn't an enthusiastic response, but it was something.

We found Mom in the living room, kicking back in her sweats and watching reruns of The Bachelor. She jumped when she heard us moving in the hall behind her. "Oh! Ashley, you scared me. What are you guys still doing here?"

"Nothing much," I answered, "We decided not to go to the dinner with Charlie's family. We were just gonna hang out here for a while."

"Oh, alright. Well, you can come and watch TV if you want. This isn't the most interesting show in the world, but..." She seemed to recognize that something wasn't quite right in the world of teens, and fortunately she reacted perfectly. No interrogations, no overtly worried looks. For as much grief as I gave her, Mom really pulled through sometimes.

I glanced at Charlie. "Do you want to watch this?"

"Sure." Sure, sure, sure. It felt as if he was slowly withdrawing into himself. Maybe I'd been wrong to argue philosophy with him, but I just didn't like his philosophy. People had to go somewhere when they died; even I believed that.

We found our way into the dimly lit and sat down on the couch next to Mom. It was a legacy from the apartment, the blue plush couch that had been our only comfortable furniture for so long.

"Courtney's the bitch this season," Mom announced. "And everyone knows Meghan stuffs her weave."

I had no clue what 'stuffs her weave' even meant. But for some reason, it brought a weak smile to Charlie's face. "Good to know. Have they had any big fights yet?"

"Oh yeah, of course." Mom leaned across me to speak directly to Charlie. "One of the girls tried to start an all-yogurt diet that made her go crazy. She ended up throwing her fancy gown into the pool. Along with Courtney."

"Well, Courtney _is_ a bitch," Charlie joked. Mom laughed, and I tried to join in without much success. It just wasn't that funny to me.

When Courtney came on the screen, Mom practically had a fit. "There she is! See? She even looks crazy!"

Curly black hair, green eyes, tan lines... I couldn't see how she looked crazy. Maybe she'd taken one too many trips to the fake tanning booth, but that was it.

"Oh yeah, she totally does." Charlie poked me in the ribs. "She looks like Jessica in ten years, doesn't she?"

I liked that idea; maybe in ten years Jessica would be the crazy bitch on TV, and everybody would make fun of her the way she made fun of me. "Oh my god, she totally does!" I said, managing a real laugh.

Charlie joined in. "Phew, no wonder she's crazy. Anyone who looks like her or Jessica would have to be."

"Yeah, totally." _But I look like Jessica,_ I thought. Charlie and Mom kept joking, and I let them. But maybe they were wrong. Wrong to mock someone just because they didn't think it would do any harm. I knew how easy it was for some people to take what was said at home and put it online. Just like Jessica.

# Chapter 18

Charlie's grandfather passed on January third. His wife's birthday. I thought it was poetic, but no matter how many times we talked about it, Charlie kept blaming him. I won't lie, it caused a rift between us that felt insurmountable.

We tried writing a song to fix things: _Early Flight._ I wrote the melody for an acoustic guitar, but Joey had to step in to play it, since it made Charlie too emotional. Hell, it made _me_ emotional. That was sort of the point. It was a simple metaphor, a man taking the early flight home. The first time I sung the lyrics, Joey guessed what it was about. But that was okay; we weren't trying to hide anything.

What I'm getting around to—admittedly, in a roundabout manner—is that Charlie and I were hardly speaking by the time Winter Break ended. That, paired with my inability to stay away from Loser McGee, left me feeling sick.

Sick enough to miss one day. Sick enough to miss two days. I didn't know if Mom called me in, but I stayed home for a third and fourth day. It was just easier than going to school. No Jessica, no Charlie, nothing but a TV and terrible daytime programming.

I was lounging on the living room couch in a pair of oatmeal-stained yoga paints when the doorbell disturbed my half-sleeping state. With a groan, I rolled off the couch and rose to my feet. The doorbell rang again, twice.

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, annoyed by the disturbance. Somewhere between the second and third day, I'd managed to convince myself that I actually _was_ sick.

It looked like the short woman outside was about to ring the bell again, but thankfully I was able to turn the lock and pull the door open first. My brow furrowed in confusion. "Principal Wroth?"

She looked up at me, hands on her hips in the stance of a strict disciplinarian. "Ahem. Yes, Ashley. Can you tell me where your mother is?"

"Y-yeah. I think she's at work." It was strange; I wasn't quite sure how to react. As far as I knew, the principal didn't make house calls.

"Alright. Does she know that you didn't go to school today?"

I thought about it for a moment. "Of course she does. I mean, she noticed that I didn't leave for the bus today. Probably. I think."

Principal Wroth's jaw popped as if she was holding back strong emotions. "My office didn't receive a call from her. You've had three unexcused absences in a row. Do you know what that means, Miss Nimzovitch?"

It was all I could do to stop myself from rolling my eyes. "That I'm in trouble, I guess."

"Yes, you could say that. I'm legally required to serve notice to your mother and recommend you to the school district's truancy program." Her eyes were on me, but for some reason I got the feeling that her anger was aimed in a different direction.

"Wait, what?" My mind wasn't in panic mode, but the word truancy certainly got my attention.

"I have to speak to your mother and recommend you to the truancy program," the principal repeated unhelpfully. "Don't worry, it sounds worse than it is. All it means is that steps will be taken to prevent future unexcused absences."

I suddenly felt very dizzy, but I also had a weird urge to laugh. Of course it would all come back to me. I couldn't catch a break. "Okay, cool. What steps will you take?" I asked, faking nonchalance.

"Miss Nimzovitch, this is serious." Principal Wroth let her hard exterior fall. Just enough that I could see a human side of her. "Ashley, you don't want to be forced to go to Saturday school, do you? You don't want to experience juvenile court."

Before I knew it, I'd lost my composure. "No, I don't want to go to juvenile court!" I practically screamed. "I don't want things to be this way! I don't... I didn't ask for this... Any of it."

"Ashley, any of what? Are things okay? Are you alright?"

_Just say you're alright,_ I told myself. _Say you're alright or she'll make you talk to a counselor._ But I couldn't do it. "No, I'm not okay. I'm not okay." Saying the words felt like I was lifting a hundred-pound weight off my chest; I wasn't alright, and I'd been lying far too long.

"Can I come in?" When I nodded, Wroth guided me into the house, pausing only to gently close the front door. She maneuvered me toward the wicker dining table and helped me into a chair. By the time she found a seat across from me, tears were flowing freely. I didn't even try to stop them.

"Okay Ashley, let's talk. What's wrong? Is there anything I can help you with?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know." I shook my head.

Principal Wroth breathed in, drawing it out over several seconds. "Can I guess what's wrong?" When I looked up, she was wearing a sympathetic expression. When I didn't answer, she started to guess. "I think our interactions are all connected. The first time you were sent to me, it was because someone was spreading rumors about you. At least, that's what you told me at the time."

I raised my eyebrows at her display of memory, but otherwise didn't comment.

"Then," she continued, "Then you were brought before me because of... Hmm, worrisome song lyrics. Possibly suicidal, according to Mr. Schmitt. When I saw you performing downtown, those lyrics worried me too, because you were singing about how no one really loves you. And now here we are, discussing your unexcused absence from school."

No response had been asked for, so I stayed silent. Her attempts to understand both irritated me and made my heart jump; I thought that I might finally have someone on my side. Someone with power to affect real change.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "In my experience, there's usually a short list of reasons why a student becomes truant. Drugs are one, and problems at home are another. I... Ahem, I hope it's not either of those. So I suppose I'll start with what I hope it is—although that's not quite the right word. Ashley, are you being bullied?"

"Yes," I admitted. "But it doesn't matter, because they use this fake Facebook profile so you can't trace it back to them."

A kind smile slowly spread on Principal Wroth's face. "Tracing it back to 'them' isn't your job, Ashley. It's mine. I can help. Who's bullying you?"

As with the first time I'd come before her, I found myself thinking about wanting to settle things on my own. It didn't matter anymore; at least, not to me. At some point, my sanity and well-being had to come before pride. "Her name's Jessica Smith. Her friend Maya does some stuff too, but I think it's mostly Jessica. Whenever she sees me do something stupid or embarrassing she posts on the fake profile, pretending to be me."

"Jessica Smith." She nodded, as if that was all she needed to commit the name to memory. "I'll look into it. Has she done anything besides posting on that fake profile?"

"Yeah... She was the one who called me a slut back in freshman year. She made me read _Romeo and Juliet_ to the class." I frowned; somehow it didn't sound as bad when I phrased it like that. "What I mean is, our class read the play and she signed me up to be Juliet. So I had to act it out in front of everyone and I don't know if that counts as bullying, but it should. She knew how afraid I was of speaking in front of other people."

She sighed. "If she intended it to harm you and you felt bullied by her actions, then of course it counts as bullying. Although, to be frank, I'm still more worried about the fake profile. Do you know where to find it?"

The question almost made me laugh; of course I knew where to find it. I had it saved under my bookmarks, so that I could go there whenever I was feeling a little too good about myself. No, that was a lie; I mostly went there late at night, when I could cry and feel sorry for myself without anyone seeing. I pulled out my phone and clicked on the link before handing it over to the principal.

"Thank you." She pulled out her own phone and typed in a note. "I promise, I'll investigate until the situation is resolved. If you know anyone who can prove Jessica is behind this, just let me know. It would make things a little easier, but either way, I'll try to figure everything out. In the meantime... Ask your mother to call and excuse your absence when she gets home. If you only have two unexcused absences, then this entire truancy mess can be avoided. But..." She pushed away from the table and stood up. "If I don't see you at school tomorrow, I'm personally coming over here to kick your behind."

If someone had told me that I'd be laughing at the end of a visit from the school principal, I think I would have asked them which flavor of crazy they were drinking. Yet there I was, laughing. Out of relief more than anything else; an adult had promised me things were going to be better, and as much as I hated to admit it, I needed that.

I texted Mom to let her know that she hadn't called me in sick, and then changed into some decent clothes. I had no plans of catching the end of the school day, but I'd missed three days of band practice as well.

The sun seemed to shine brighter as I walked over to Charlie's house. I took my time, enjoying the clear smell of winter. The smell of freedom. I'd told someone I wasn't okay, and it had been—perhaps ironically—okay. It was alright to not be alright.

I slapped the 'sop' sign as I passed; they still hadn't replaced the t, but that was fine with me. In another few minutes, I was at Charlie's house, waiting outside his garage for the other two-thirds of Auburn to arrive.

They made so much sound that I heard them before I saw them. Charlie's bright laugh, Joey's rich baritone. I couldn't make out clear words, but it sounded like they were having fun.

"Oh," Charlie said as they came into view. The way his expression fell hurt a little. "Hey Ash. Are you feeling better?"

"We were just wondering if we'd have to hold try-outs to replace you or something." Joey grinned. "Jessica was first on our list, but then I realized I was more likely to strangle her with my guitar chord than play bass for her."

I laughed at the classic example of Joey humor. "Thanks for not replacing me with her. So, have you guys come up with any new songs for me?"

"Songs for you?" Joey asked. "Shit, we thought you were writing songs for _us_. No, but seriously... It's good to see you."

"Yeah," Charlie agreed. His nose scrunched up in thought. It was clear he wanted to say something, but it took him a while to get the words out. "Ash, can we talk about us for a minute?" he finally asked.

There wasn't an easy way to say no, but I didn't know what we would talk about. We had different opinions and, as far as I knew, that was that. "Um, sure." I walked over to the edge of the driveway, where we could be reasonably certain that Joey wouldn't overhear. At least, as long as we weren't too loud.

"This is stupid, isn't it?" Charlie whispered. "I mean, there's really nothing wrong between us. Maybe the only problem is that we're still focusing on my grandpa's death. He's gone now, and I'm trying to be okay with it, but I don't want to be like this. I don't want us to be strangers, or just bandmates."

I folded my arms; since I already felt relatively peaceful, it was easy to agree with what he was saying. "Yeah, I don't want to be strangers either. I miss you. It might sound stupid, but I can't bear the thought of facing school without you anymore. We're allies, and I don't have many of those."

The tiniest hint of a smile tugged at Charlie's features. "I'm glad to hear that. We'll just try to forget everything that came before, then. But you should know... Ash, even during the worst of it, I would have been your ally. I'm always on your side, and there's nothing you can do to change that."

It was entirely possible that he simply knew that what he was saying was what I wanted to hear, but I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. "Thanks, Charlie."

"You're welcome. Now let's go play some music."

We turned, and he put his arm around my shoulder as we walked toward the garage. It was empty except for our equipment, but we still stayed to one side in case Charlie's dad came home. Practice was going fine until I started singing _Early Flight._

" _He took the early flight home. Packed his bags and said, 'I've gotta go.'"_ I sang the song with more inflection than I normally used; it was slower than our other songs, which meant I could focus on making every syllable sound perfect. _"Kissed me on both cheeks, said goodbye to everyone. Told me our time together was just about done. 'Cause he took the early flight home."_

In the slight pause before the next lyric, I twisted to meet Charlie's eyes. His expression was somewhere between controlled anger and less-controlled annoyance. Joey, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content to play his child-sized acoustic guitar.

" _All the love that we shared, the times that we cried. The times that we laughed, I still had to say goodbye. They fit neatly in his suitcase, next to pictures of his wife. I love him forever, but he left us last night."_ My voice broke slightly; it was hard not to sing the song without becoming emotional.

" _Yeah, he took the early flight home. Who could tell him he was wrong? He took—"_

Charlie interrupted me by clearing his throat loudly. "I think we need to rework the chorus," he announced. "That part about him being wrong. We could say 'I would tell him he was wrong' instead."

"But that doesn't work as well," I said. "It's a love song, in a way. And if you change the lyrics like that, it just makes it sound angry."

"Well, who cares? Maybe I _am_ angry. Didn't you say this was my song to get over what happened?"

I looked to Joey, hoping he would back me up. But he just shrugged. "Sorry, you guys are the writers. I just play my guitar." It was a total cop-out, and I almost told him so.

Instead, I lowered the mic as I refocused on Charlie. "Do you think that maybe we should shelve the song until we can play it without everyone getting emotional?"

"I don't know." His brow furrowed. "I guess we should play it the way it was originally written, if that's what you want to do. Don't mind me. I'll just sit here and pretend like I have something to do while you sing."

"But you asked Joey to play it!" I said, feeling worn bare by his passive-aggressiveness. "And we both wrote the song together! It's one song, it's not like we're trying to kick you out of the band!"

"You know what? Maybe we're done with practice for the day."

# Chapter 19

After the _Early Flight_ debacle, we were grounded as a band. Charlie still showed up for practice—since it was at his house, he didn't have much choice—but he wouldn't play. After a week or so, Joey and I stopped trying to get him to join in.

We made overtures toward peace, eating together at lunch and hanging out on bus rides home. It was a fragile peace, though, built on a single rule: never talk about Charlie's grandpa. We both skirted around the issue, trading oblique insults about it, but the real subject didn't come up.

Our fight made things a little harder. But it was good, in a way. I'd come to rely on Charlie for help with Jessica and Loser McGee, but without him I found I was still able to handle it. Even the terrible posts, the ones like that girl who'd said she'd kill herself if she were me, didn't shake my world like they had before.

I'm not saying that they didn't suck, but I _am_ saying that Charlie had given me something that didn't go away in his absence. Or maybe it was Joey who taught me that sometimes the best way to respond to hate was by getting mad. Even though I hadn't thought much of it way back in freshman year, I started to replay the memory of how he'd shut Jessica down whenever I was feeling low.

We were standing around for the bus... Well, Charlie and I were. Joey had driven home early, like he did every Tuesday. The strange thing about being sophomores was the fact that we weren't the lowest on the totem pole anymore; there was a whole group of freshmen who stood apart from the rest of us as we waited, like they were afraid we might eat them.

I probably understood that more than the group we were with. Jessica wasn't there, even though she'd been at school earlier in the day. Perhaps that was why Will, Maya, and the two other boys whose names I didn't know were _allowing_ us to talk with them.

"So Ashley," Maya said, "Jessica told me about that performance at the record store a couple months ago. Did you really get to meet Aras Palmer?"

"Yeah. It wasn't that great, though. He just sang a few bars of our song." I couldn't help wondering how long she'd been waiting to ask me about it. Probably since whenever Jessica had told her, or when she'd seen the Loser McGee post. Maybe if I played it down, she wouldn't be interested in asking too many questions.

Maya's eyes widened. "He sang _your_ song? Which one?"

" _Starstruck Lullaby._ But like I said, he only sang a few bars of it." To my left, I saw the buses start to arrive. Hopefully ours wouldn't be late. Charlie and I could sit together, and then Maya would take her usual seat further up. Until then, I decided I could humor her.

"Still, though. Think about that for a second. You can honestly say that you performed with a professional! Isn't that cool?"

"Mhm." I tried to keep in mind the day back in the locker room, when Maya told Jessica to calm down. If I remembered her as the person who'd tried to stand up for me, I didn't feel as angry. The only problem was, she hadn't done anything other than that. She'd been on board with Loser McGee, or at the very least hadn't tried to stop it.

Maya laughed, as if my non-verbal response was funny somehow. "You'll have to tell me all about it. Do you wanna sit with me? I don't think Jessica's coming today, so..."

Before I could tell her exactly what I thought about the idea—which probably wouldn't have been pretty—our bus pulled up, announcing its arrival with an ear-splitting screech of worn brakes. The sound was new, since a few weeks ago; it was irritating and painful, but at least we could all tell which bus was ours without much difficulty.

Our group dispersed, forming into a small line as the bus' doors squeezed open. Charlie and I stayed at the back, since we didn't much care about where we ended up sitting. I prayed Maya had asked all the questions she wanted to about Auburn; I'd nearly exhausted my ability to pretend we were friends. As far as I could tell, there were only two reasons why she was associating with me: Jessica wasn't there, and she thought the performance at Cat's Cradle meant Auburn was going to be famous.

Before long, Charlie and I reached the steps. I let him pick our seat as I made my slow way down the rows. Maya smiled at me when I passed, nodding to an open space right beside her.

For a moment, I wondered what Jessica would do if she knew her best friend wanted to cheat on her. That was a nice feeling, if a strange one; the idea that Maya wanted to be my friend made me smile, even though I wanted to grit my teeth at the same time. After a moment, I continued past her and slid into the seat beside Charlie with a sigh.

"Hey Ash, remember when we got to perform with a professional?" Charlie joked, "Wasn't that _so_ cool?"

"Yeah, I almost feel like one of the popular kids now." I rolled my eyes. "How can anyone be so two-faced? You know she knows about the Loser McGee thing..."

Charlie pursed his lips at the mention of Loser McGee. "Maybe you can use this. You know, convince her to tell on Jessica."

It didn't seem like a bad idea. Maybe if I just pretended that I wanted to be her friend for a little longer she'd be up for it. There was only one way to find out. "Hey Maya," I said, leaning over the empty seat in front of us. "Come sit over here!"

Maya rose to her feet, waiting for a break in the line of students before working her way over to the seat in front of us; she fell down onto it heavily, as if the short trip had been incredibly difficult. "Hey Ashley. I thought you didn't wanna sit with me?"

"Well, Charlie and I always sit together." There was no denying that it was a lame excuse, but at least it was something. "We just wanted to talk to you about Loser McGee."

The hint of a smile that she'd been wearing disappeared. "Oh."

"Yeah. It..." I shook my head, trying to figure out how in the hell I was going to summarize the damage Loser McGee had done. "Please, I just need someone who can prove that Jessica was the one behind it."

"I don't know." She glanced to the side, as if Jessica would appear just because we were talking about her. "Look, I don't want to get involved. You guys have your thing, and I don't want to get in the way of it."

"Our thing?" I could hear my voice rising, but I didn't much care. "Yeah, if our thing is that she bullies me and makes fun of me and spreads rumors! Yes, if you want to call that 'our thing,' then I can see why you wouldn't want to get in the way. Maybe you're just afraid that she'll get mad at you, but it's not worth protecting her! Don't you see that? Some things are more important."

She couldn't meet my eyes. That bothered me as much as the rest of it; if she was going to tell me that she wouldn't help, I wanted her to at least have the guts to look at me when she did it. "Ashley, I'm sorry. But I can't betray a friend like that. You understand, right? I mean, what if I asked you to tell the principal about something Charlie did? You wouldn't do it."

"Charlie would _never_ do anything like that. Jessica is just awful, and I don't get why you don't have the guts to go against her."

"I don't think you're totally the victim in this." She finally met my eyes, like she'd gained the tiniest bit of backbone. "I've been there when you and Joey were pretty mean to Jessica. I think the Loser McGee thing might be a bit far, but if you don't like it then you don't have to look at it. Right?"

My jaw clenched. "That's not fair. Just because I don't have to look at it doesn't give you guys the right to say whatever terrible things you want!"

A few feet away, I saw Jessica walking toward us. She came to a stop next to Maya's seat and cleared her throat loudly, her glare shifting between me and Maya. "Hey Maya, sorry I'm late. Mr. Schmitt was trying to get me to join the Math club again." Her tone was deadly, so quiet that I doubted anyone other than the three of us could hear it. "Why are you sitting so far back? This is where all the burn-outs sit." Her eyes locked on me. "The ones with toy guitars, who play in front of the dumpsters. Watch out, if you hang out with them too long the whole school will start making fun of you. Isn't that right?" She started to sit, as if she thought that was the end of the conversation.

Something in me snapped. I knew what I should probably do—sit back and pretend I didn't care about what she'd said—but I couldn't. I was too worked up. "Hey Jessica," I spat, "What's the matter? Aren't you gonna greet Juliet? Or Loser McGee, or whatever BS name you have for me this week?"

"Okay, Loser McGee." She turned back around to face me. "What are you doing talking to my friend? Don't you know that us normal people don't like being around you?"

"Oh yeah, the whole 'no one likes you' thing. God, I've never heard that one before."

Her lips drew into a thin scowl. "Maybe you hear it a lot because it's true. Just like how everyone says you're a skank."

The insult was so generic, I had to resist the urge to laugh. "Yeah, I've been called a skank. Come on Jessica, stretch that little brain and think of something new. Wanna call me ugly? Guess what? I've heard that one, and I'm still here. How about a freak show? Yeah, still here after that one too. How about saying that if you were me you would kill yourself? Been there, done that, and I'm still _fucking_ here. So hit me with your best shot, because I'm done caring what you have to say."

For the first time, Jessica didn't seem to have a response for me. In fact, I could see her brow wrinkle with confusion, as if she actually couldn't think of a good reply. Just like when Joey had told her to shut up. When I sat back in my seat, I felt Charlie's arm around me. Maybe I didn't need it, but it felt nice to have his support. Truth was, I almost wished Joey had been there; he would have been proud of me, standing up to Jessica all by myself.

We didn't talk any more during the bus ride. On some level, I felt like Jessica had finally been beaten. Not because I hadn't let her drag me down—I think it's obvious I didn't exactly take the high road—but because she'd taught me one final lesson. Sometimes, I was the only person who could fight my battles. No amount of cussing from Joey, no amount of comfort from Charlie, and no amount of promises from Wroth had ever shut Jessica down. I'd been the one to finally do it.

When the bus came to the second stop, Jessica and Maya got up. Jessica glanced back over her shoulder. "You know, maybe I should write a song about this. Only, mine won't be a crybaby song about how hard my life is."

"No one would like your song," I said. "There's a reason why no one listens to songs about stuck up little bitches. You know what, Maya? We'll never be friends. You may not think you're just as bad as her, but you are. So go home and do whatever boring stuff you do. Go post on Loser McGee, but I'm gonna go practice with my band. I'm going to do something that matters."

"'Something that matters,'" Jessica said, squeezing out into the aisle. "That's a good one."

I thought Maya would follow her off, but she didn't. She paused, looking at me with a half-grimace. "Um... I'm sorry." After a moment, she made her way toward the door, leaving me without any more explanation.

She was sorry. I didn't know what to do with that.

# Chapter 20

By the end of the next week, the Loser McGee page went down for good; either Principal Wroth was making some headway on the Jessica front, or my speech had been more effective than it seemed. In a way, that ended up making things harder. I couldn't stop thinking about how great life would be if I could just fix things with Charlie.

Then Queen Anne's Subtle Overdose released a surprise album, _Revenge in the Overdose._

I stepped into Cat's Cradle, shivering against the cold and rain assaulting outside. The brown floor mat inside the door was drenched, squelching as I shifted on it.

"Hello," the old man said, smiling like he'd been expecting me. Perhaps because of the weather, there was only one other person in the store.

I smiled back at him. "Hey. How are you?"

"I'm good. Really good. Actually, I was wondering when you'd make it back in here."

"You were?" I asked; it sounded like the old man thought he was some sort of oracle, predicting my return before I'd even planned it.

He nodded before reaching under the register for something I couldn't see. "Yes, I was," he said as he searched. "I'm sorry to say that I didn't get a phone number from you, so I couldn't get a hold of you or your bandmates. But..." When he came up, he was holding a small pile of fifty dollar bills. "I kept your CDs on the floor. My normal cut is about sixty percent, but for you guys I'm only taking ten. Which means..." He flipped through the money. "Fifty, one hundred, one-fifty, two, two-fifty—"

"Whoa, hold up." I could feel my eyes go wide at the obscene amount. "How much did we make?"

The old man's smile turned into a broad grin. "Five hundred, thirty-two dollars and sixty-two cents."

My brow drew down as I looked at the bills fanned across his counter. It didn't occur to me at the time, but that was quite literally the most money I'd ever seen in my life. "Five hundred dollars?" I repeated as he counted out the sixty-two cents; the pennies made a scraping sound against the bottom of the register drawer.

"Yup, plus a little extra. Someone bought every copy I had. Go on, ask me who."

"Who?" I blurted out, before he could even finish talking.

The old man flipped over a business card and laid it on top of the money. "A record label representative who wanted to get your band's attention. She said she was in here the second time you tried out for me, and if I didn't send you her way she'd personally force me out of business."

"Oh. My god." There are so many ways I could describe how I was feeling. My heart was fluttering, my hands were shaking, my eyes watered over. I jumped over the counter and gave the old man a strangling hug.

"Oof, not so tight," he said, laughing at my enthusiasm. "I rather like being in business, so please do me a favor and call that number. And don't forget me when you sign your record deal."

"Of course I will! Call her, I mean." I released the old man, hardly able to contain my emotions. "And I'll never forget you. How could I? You were the one who told us what we needed to work on. I thought you were such a big jerk." It was easy to laugh at; heck, there were five hundred reasons to laugh at it, just sitting on the counter. "You have no idea what this means to me. To us."

The old man shook his head. "Honestly, I think I do. I'm just happy I had some small part to play. Now grab this money before I decide I want a bigger cut."

"Yes sir." Yes _sir._ I didn't have to be told twice; all thoughts of the new Queen Anne's CD forgotten, I shoved the money into a jean pocket and reached for the business card. _Diane Furman,_ it said in a utilitarian black font, _Almond Records, Artists and Repertoire Division._

Underneath was a phone number. I looked outside, feeling as if the driving rain couldn't stop me.

Thankfully, the old man had a better idea. "The back's unlocked, if you want to make your phone call in there. Aren't anything but boxes to listen in."

That seemed like a much better option. I didn't know if calling in the middle of a rainstorm would be unprofessional, or if she'd even be able to hear the rain through the phone, but I wasn't willing to risk it. With one last smile for the old man, I turned and walked along the rows of record-filled cases. Just like he'd said, the metal door leading into the back room was open; I just had to turn the handle.

My hands were wet, and their shaking made it hard to dial the number correctly. Once I'd double- and triple-checked it, I pressed the call button.

"Hello," a cheery voice answered. "This is Almond Records. May I ask who's calling?"

"Um, yeah..." I shook my head, trying to clear away the cobwebs brought on by my thrilling emotions. "My name's Ashley Nimzovitch. I'm the singer for Auburn..."

"Oh, Auburn! You know, I have a desk covered in your CDs right now. How are you doing today?"

I found a sturdy-looking cardboard box to sit on, filled with posters of some kind. "I'm doing really well. I mean, it's a little rainy, but other than that..."

"Mhm, I know what you mean. Rain can be gloomy." I could tell she was just humoring me, but I didn't say anything about it. "But anyway," Diane continued, "I'm so glad you called! See, I saw you perform in that store a while back, and—look, I've heard hundreds of bands audition before, but you have something none of them did. I told my boss that we had to sign you."

"Oh, what do we have?" I couldn't help asking.

There was a moment of silence on the line, during which I wondered if I'd crossed over some invisible boundary. "I guess I'd summarize it by saying that you have a heart," Diane said, "A beating heart. When I listened to your CD—you're going to need more songs, by the way, to fill a real CD—I could tell that every song was written with real emotion. A lot of new bands try for that, but they haven't experienced enough to really succeed. Whoever wrote those songs... I think they've experienced enough. I think your message will resonate with a lot of people."

_Resonate with a lot of people,_ I mentally repeated. "So, um, what does that mean? Are you gonna sign us?"

"Hmm... Not exactly. To be honest, I've been waiting for your call before I made a real move. But now that you've called me, I'll send your CD up the chain and see what they say."

That deflated me; not entirely, but noticeably. Our big break hadn't come yet.

Diane seemed to notice my silence. "Ashley, please understand that purchasing all of your CDs was a drastic step. Not normal in any way. _I'm_ on your side in this. I believe in you, more than I can express over the phone."

"Thank you." It was hard to decide whether she meant it or whether she was humoring me again.

"You're certainly welcome. Okay, just let me check my boss' schedule and set up a meeting. School's still in session right now, right?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, so nothing before... When does your school let out?"

"Two o'clock," I answered, "But we could totally skip out if you need us to."

She laughed into the receiver. "No, that'll be fine. I appreciate the dedication, though. Okay Ashley, I'm setting up an appointment for Auburn next Wednesday at four thirty. Do you think you can make it?"

I was so anxious to be signed that if she'd asked me whether I could attend a one a.m. meeting on the moon I still would have said yes. "Yeah, of course!"

The rest was just the usual appointment stuff. _Do you know how to get here_? I said yes, figuring I could find out. _Do you have a parent or someone else able to drive you?_ As tempting as it was to say no just to see how she'd respond, I said yes again. And again and again, until she'd exhausted her questions about any intervening difficulties that could possibly stop me from being at that meeting.

***

I waited a few days to tell the boys, leading them on with hints at a big surprise. We had five days between when I planned the big reveal and when our meeting was scheduled, but I figured it would only take ten minutes to relay the news. The rest could just be a big celebration.

The money in my bag weighed on my mind. I kept worrying that someone might steal it or somehow sense that I was five-hundred dollars heavier. Neither Charlie nor I said much as we walked toward his house, which was fine by me. I didn't want to spill the beans early, and that was easier if we weren't talking.

It wasn't until the garage door was rising that he turned to me and spoke. "So what's the surprise?"

"Not yet," I said cryptically. Joey hadn't arrived, but I knew from experience that he would within a few minutes. He took a different route than the school bus, for no other reason than to enjoy the fact that he could. Maybe it was to discourage us from riding with him—the last time I'd tried, he'd explained that 'driving time was Joey time,' which probably just meant that he preferred to listen to music other than Queen Anne's.

While we waited, we moved to our usual spots, even though we didn't grab our instruments. It had just become so ingrained in us; when we were gathering after school, we habitually gravitated toward the positions where we practiced.

Someone had formed a small army of paint cans leaning against the wall in front of me. I frowned at them. "What are you guys painting?"

"The garage," Charlie answered. "I told Dad we hadn't been using it for a while, so he figured it would be a good time to do it."

"Oh." To my right, Joey's car had come into view. The sound of sand being pressed under tires announced his arrival. He climbed out and ran a hand through his hair. "Hey guys, what's up?"

Charlie answered for both of us. "I don't know. Ash hasn't told me yet."

Taking that as my cue to start explaining, I crossed over to my bag in the corner and pulled out the envelope with all of the cash from the old man. I held it close to my chest, like a well-guarded secret. "Guys, I went to Cat's Cradle the other day... And look." With dramatic flair, I upended the envelope; bills came floating out, slowly falling to the ground between the three of us.

"Holy shit," Joey said. "Holy shit, what did you do? Rob the store?"

"No, of course not." Even Charlie seemed impressed, despite his attempts to maintain an angry expression. He whistled low. "Ash, what _did_ you do?"

I giggled, happy that my big reveal had affected them just like I'd expected. "I went into the store. It was actually the owner who did this. He sold all our CDs. And—"

"Wait, those shitty CDs?" Joey interrupted. "How'd he sell them? Put a gun to someone's head?"

"No. Here, just hang on." I made a calming gesture; I could see the pair of them eyeing the money, looking very much like they wanted nothing more than to fall to their knees and pick up the spilled cash. "That's actually not the big surprise. The big surprise is... Okay, Almond Records wants to sign us!"

Two pairs of blinking eyes stared back at me. Charlie was the first to speak. "Um, sorry, I feel like I've just... I don't know, should I pinch myself or something?"

In response, Joey socked him hard on the arm. They both grunted. "Nope, definitely not a dream."

"Not a dream at all," I said, fighting to speak past my excitement. As fun as the initial surprise had been, it was more fun watching my friends react to the news. "And guess what? We have a meeting with one of their representatives next Wednesday!"

Charlie seemed to choke on nothing; he coughed, looking at me like I was crazy. "What?"

"We have a meeting. With one of their representatives."

"No, I got that. What I'm asking is..." His smile faded, replaced by a heavy scowl. "How long have you known, Ash?"

The garage fell into silence. It hadn't occurred to me that Charlie might be mad I had kept something from him. "Um, just a f-few days," I stuttered, feeling heat fill my cheeks. "I thought it would be a fun surprise."

"You knew for days and didn't tell us? And you negotiated a contract without even asking me or Joey!" Charlie's face was gaining some color of its own, but his was coming from anger.

"What? No, I didn't negotiate anything." I looked to Joey for help. "I just called the lady and..." Everything was going wrong; we were supposed to hug and laugh and celebrate. Why was Charlie so mad?

Even Joey seemed to be on my side. "Dude, relax. This is good news. I mean, I get being angry if something bad happened and she didn't tell us. But this is awesome." As far as I was concerned, Joey telling someone to relax meant that they were _really_ out of line.

Charlie turned to focus his glare on Joey. "This is _not_ good news. Maybe for you, maybe for Ash. But... Do you realize how complicated you just made this? Ash..." He didn't finish the sentence; he turned toward the door leading inside and pushed it open.

Joey and I stood there, dumbfounded. "Complicated?" Joey asked, but I couldn't begin to know what Charlie had meant any more than he could.

_Complicated,_ I thought. _It doesn't make anything complicated. It makes things un-complicated. We sign a deal, we make money. What could be easier than that?_ But after five minutes, Charlie was still gone. I leaned down to pick up the money and put it back in the envelope.

After I'd finished, I began to worry that Charlie might never come back. "I thought it was good news," I said weakly.

"It was. Maybe Charlie just needs someone to tell him to shut up." Joey smiled, a half-smile full of the same worry I was feeling.

"Maybe." I closed the envelope and handed it over to Joey. "Here, I'll be back."

I didn't know where to look for Charlie once I'd gone inside, but thankfully he found me. He stepped out of a room on the side of the hallway, and without a word gestured for me to follow to the living room. He took a seat on the recliner while I found one on the couch.

"Ash, you knew things were hard between us before this, right?" he asked once he was ready to speak.

I nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess so. But I thought this would fix it."

"Fix it? What does this fix?" Charlie started to get angry again, but he took a deep breath. "The problems with us are still there. This just adds another layer. I'm happy that we might be signed, but I'm mad at you, too. You should have told us right after you found out... And to be honest, I could forgive you for that, but part of me is still just pissed off that we can't find common ground."

So it all came back to his grandpa. I decided not to respond until I had a better idea of what I wanted to say. _Just pretend to agree with his side,_ I told myself. _That's what he wants. He wants to be the victim, and nothing you say will turn him away from that._ "Charlie, I've been thinking a lot about that. And yeah, it was really terrible of him to leave you like that. I can't believe he would be so selfish." My nails dug into my palm, but it had the intended effect.

He visibly relaxed, sinking into his padded chair. "Right? Ash, I'm so glad you're finally seeing my side."

"Yeah, me too. I guess I just didn't see it before because I was focusing on the wrong things." That was a lie. But I reasoned that since I was lying to cheer Charlie up, to pull him out of his funk as much as I was trying to help myself, it wasn't immoral.

Charlie nodded. "That could be it. So, what made you finally see my side of things?"

"I don't know. I guess it just sort of happened." I felt sick, like the physical effects of my lie were threatening to show themselves in a nasty way.

"Oh. Well then, I guess there isn't too much point in arguing anymore." He exhaled heavily. "Phew, you have no idea how hard it was to be mad at you. I feel like my head's been clamped in a vice for the past month, and it's finally been let go."

_Funny,_ I thought, _because it seems like a vice just clamped down on_ me. But I faked a smile. "I know, same here. It's nice to be friends again. So... Um, are you still mad about the record company thing?"

"No, not really. I mean, it will still be a lot of work. But it's the kind of work we've always wanted to do, isn't it?" He grinned. "Besides, we won't be bringing in any outside problems. So there won't be any complications. How much money did we make from the CDs, anyway?"

My smile became real; I leaned forward on the couch. "Guess."

"I have no idea... That was a lot of fifties."

"Yup. Ten of 'em. We made more than five hundred dollars. What do you think we should do with it?" Five hundred dollars would pay for some of the best recording equipment available, but I wasn't sure we'd need it.

Charlie frowned, pondering the question for a few seconds. "That's a lot of money," he finally said. "I think we should set up a system so that we reinvest some of it, but still get to enjoy some of our profits."

I pushed off from the couch, realizing that the conversation was quickly turning toward subjects the two of us shouldn't try to decide alone. "Hang on, I'll grab Joey. See what he thinks."

Joey was still out in the garage, playing some game on his phone when I poked my head out of the door. He looked up at me questioningly.

"Everything went well," I said, in answer to his unasked question. "Charlie and I were just about to talk about what we should do with the money. We figured you might have an opinion."

"Well, of course I do." He thumbed through the envelope, as if he'd just been reminded what it held. As he walked over, he fell into a half-skip that was equal parts awkward and funny. It even created a decent rhythm against the concrete of the garage.

Together, we pressed the button to close the giant metal door and stepped inside Charlie's house. We strode back into the living room, where Charlie had moved onto the couch.

"Did you tell Joey about my idea?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No, not yet. I think it's a good one, though." The couch was small enough that there was only one obviously open spot, which I promptly filled.

Joey collapsed dramatically onto the recliner. "Okay, what's this idea?"

"Well, I think we should split the money," Charlie said. "Reinvest some of it in the band, but keep some for ourselves."

"Ah. Well, that sounds good to me."

"Me too," I added. We spent a few more minutes discussing the exact percentage—fifty would have been simple, but Charlie wanted to keep less for ourselves—and then Joey mentioned something about having to feed his dog and got up to leave. He was sure to pick up his fifty-nine dollars first, though.

It was just Charlie and me sitting there. Charlie and me and a whole lot of money. He looked at me; we were close on the couch, close enough that I could feel his body heat. "I would have gone to that meeting no matter what, you know."

_Sure..._ I thought. "Oh yeah, of course."

"We had a contract." He started stroking my hair, in a classic move that wasn't nearly as heart-warming as popular culture made it out to be. "Do you remember that? The one we made on a baking sheet?"

I laughed. "God, how could I not? I still have it in my room. Somewhere."

"Nice. I just realized we never set out any penalties for breaking the contract. And I mean, we kinda did by not practicing for a while there."

"Mhm, I guess we did." I didn't point out that he'd been the only one to stop practicing.

Charlie cupped my chin and gently moved my head so we were looking into each other's eyes. "How about this?" When he moved to kiss me, everything else went blank. It felt almost like it always did—warm, wet, slow—but what mattered more was what it meant.

We'd finally fixed our relationship. And we were about to be more successful than any of us had dared to dream. All it had cost was a simple lie; something so small, pretending I didn't think his grandpa had been right to make his own choice about whether he wanted to live or not.

We'd fixed our relationship, but I felt terrible about it. It was like I'd used a band-aid to cover a broken bone. At some point, I'd have to admit that there was a bigger problem to deal with.

# Chapter 21

I had little reason to expect Monday would be anything other than an ordinary day. My focus was on Wednesday and the upcoming signing meeting. So when I got called in to the principal's office, it took me by surprise.

Mr. Schmitt handed me the note. His classroom was on the third floor—it was a boring, typical math class. It only took me a moment to dump my things into my bag and leave the classroom behind.

There was only one thing Principal Wroth could have called me for, and it made me want to skip. Or whistle _Ding Dong, the Witch is Dead._ The only other student I saw in the hall was Will. He looked like he was just finding his way to class; if so, he was exceptionally late. I waved at him, and he waved back.

Each step I took caused an echoing clack on the white tile floor of the hall, even though I tried to stay quiet. As loud as I thought I was, I knew it was nothing compared to the noise I would have made had I been wearing heels. One of the teachers did, and it seemed like the whole school could hear when she was on the move.

Once I'd reached the end of the hall, I hugged a right and headed for the stairs. They were right there, leading down to the main floor. I took them two at a time, caring less about noise since I wasn't close to any classrooms.

Another right, left, and left brought me to the office. I pulled the glass door open and walked up to Wroth's receptionist. "Hey, I got a slip asking me to come here?" I said, holding out the white piece of paper.

The receptionist took it, smiling at me as she did. "Hi Ashley. I'll tell Principal Wroth you're here." My immediate thought was how cool it was that she knew my name, until I realized what that showed. I didn't want to be on a first-name basis with the principal _or_ her receptionist.

I sat in one of the chairs and waited. It wasn't long until the door to the principal's office opened and Principal Wroth gestured for me to come in. I pushed off from the chair and headed inside.

It was exactly how I remembered, even though I hadn't been inside her office since the year before. Even the clutter on her desk looked eerily familiar. I walked over to the chair across from her desk and sat as she did.

"Ashley," she said, her expression unreadable. "I think I have good news for you. Do you remember how we discussed... Ahem, a certain Facebook page?"

I nodded.

"Okay, good. Miss Smith and Miss Donovan have taken it down." A hint of a smile tugged at her lips, as if she knew what that would mean to me.

"Thanks." The funny thing was, in that moment I didn't feel as if I'd gotten a big break. Maybe it was because I'd already known, or maybe I'd started to get used to Loser McGee... No, not that. I never would have gotten used to Loser McGee.

Principal Wroth shrugged. "It's my job to ensure a safe and secure learning environment. You should never have to be afraid to come to school. But Ashley, I _am_ slightly worried that you didn't come to anyone about this. In the future, will I have to conduct home visits to figure out what's troubling you?"

I smirked, thinking about the upcoming meeting. "Principal Wroth, I don't think anything could ever trouble me again. Life is pretty good right now."

She eyed me for a second, trying to assess something I could only guess at. "Ashley, life has a way of making fools of those who believe themselves invincible. I'm glad that things have improved for you, but I'm also worried that you might be flying a little too high right now."

"Sure." I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes. As if being happy could ever be a bad thing.

"Okay, you don't agree. That's your right." She sighed. "Miss Smith won't be bullying you again. At least, not if she wants to stay at this school. Do you promise to come to me if she does return to her old behavior?"

I was surprised she even had to ask. "Yeah, of course I will." Sensing that our business was concluded, I started to stand.

"Wait, there's something else." She gestured for me to stay seated. "Miss Donovan mentioned that she wanted to apologize to you."

"Alright." After a moment, I realized she might think I was agreeing to accept an apology. "Sorry, I don't think I can handle that. Right now, if I saw Maya or Jessica I'd probably do something that would get me sent right back here."

Principal Wroth sighed. "I understand. As principal, I hope you can eventually reach a positive resolution, but I also see why it might take some time to forgive them." Her maternal expression took me slightly off-guard. "Until then, I'm glad to hear you're happy."

"Thanks, Principal Wroth," I said. When I rose from the chair this time, she didn't stop me.

There weren't any chances for Maya to even try to apologize until after school. We only shared one class, and we sat on opposite sides of the room. Even though the class let out five minutes early, I made sure I was one of the first ones out the door. The way I saw it, I was just as likely to slap her as I was to play friendly.

On some level, I _did_ want to hear Maya's apology just so that I could figure things out. Maybe she would tell me just how involved she'd been with Loser McGee. I desperately wanted some backstory, some explanation for why she and Jessica had tortured me.

After school, I met up with Charlie at our usual spot, near the red trash can. When I glanced over to the larger pack of sophomores, it surprised me to see that Jessica wasn't there. Maya was, though.

"Hey Ashley," a boy said. The voice came from over my shoulder, forcing me to turn to figure out who was talking to me. It was Will; he walked over to my right side, stopping a couple feet away as if he was joining our little group.

I frowned at him, not sure why he was choosing to stand with us. "Hey Will. How are you?"

"I'm good. You know, Mondays always suck." He shrugged. "But I got to miss one of my classes, so that was kinda cool."

"Oh, you did?"

"Yeah, but it wasn't anything exciting. Just... You know, school stuff."

There wasn't much I could say to that, so I didn't force the conversation. I let it die out for a few seconds, while I tried to figure out why Maya kept looking at me. Maybe she was trying to gauge whether it was a good time for an apology.

"Um..." Will frowned, like he was searching for the words to say something I could only guess at. "You seem happier than usual. That's good."

"Yeah," I agreed. "I _am_ happier than usual. I didn't tell anyone else yet, but our band is gonna get signed."

The news didn't bring quite the reaction I was expecting. Then again, I didn't know Will well enough to guess at his reactions. He gave me a little half-smile. "That's cool. Look, Ashley, that day last year... I thought you already knew. Actually, I was hoping that talking to you about it would be a good thing. So that you could know you had some people on your side. I should've pushed Maya harder though, to get her to shut down the page."

"It's okay." The words came out angrier than I intended. On the one hand, I figured I couldn't blame Will too much, since I probably would have found out about the page eventually. On the other, it would have made my life so much easier if he'd just convinced Maya to shut down the page.

He exhaled slowly. "So we're cool?"

Our bus arrived before I could answer; it still made the annoying screech when it stopped, but by then I was pretty much used to it. "Yeah. And um, thanks for telling me. It was painful to see, but I think it would have hurt even more if I hadn't found out for a while. It's done now, so let's just move past it."

"That sounds like a good idea." The half-smile he'd been wearing widened. "So, do you prefer Ash or Ashley? I think Charlie's the only one I've ever heard call you Ash, but..."

"I really don't care much either way," I said. "Well, actually, I think I like Ash more. It's more familiar, if that makes sense." I made my way toward the bus door, and Will and Charlie followed. Up ahead, I could see Maya hanging back, glancing at me as if she was hoping we could sit together.

Maybe she didn't remember the last time she'd tried that, but I certainly did. "Oh yeah," Will said, "I've got you. I'll call you Ash, then. So you guys are just gonna go to practice?"

"Yeah." It seemed like he was trying to force the conversation, but to my surprise I wasn't that irritated by it. "You don't wanna hang out with us, do you? You can hear our music, and we were talking about offering t-shirts if you want to buy one."

Behind me, Charlie cleared his throat. "Are we inviting spectators to practices now?"

"Yeah, why not? It's not like I'm asking Jessica to come watch us. It'll be good to have someone to practice in front of."

"That's okay guys," Will said, "I'm a little busy tonight, anyway. Maybe later, though?"

"Maybe later," I agreed, letting Will move ahead. Maya gave him an icy look as he pushed past her; a moment later, she turned to me with a raised eyebrow.

She cleared her throat, glancing at Charlie behind me. "Do you want me to stay?" he asked, staring pointedly at Maya.

"No, you can go on ahead, I guess." I could handle Maya. Heck, I could handle Jessica. The confrontation on the bus had left me confident that neither of them could hurt me. I moved out of line, standing off to the side a few feet away from Maya.

"Look," she said, "The Loser McGee thing... I don't know how to explain it, but it wasn't my fault. When it started, I just thought Jessica was going to use it to vent. I didn't know it would just be about you, or that anyone else would see it."

I knew there was more there. Principal Wroth hadn't punished her though—at least, it didn't seem like she had—so she had to be telling at least some of the truth. "Okay," I said, drawing both syllables out.

"And like I said, I'm really sorry."

"Okay."

Her brow drew down once she realized I wasn't going to say more. "Do you hate me?"

"Hate you? I don't know, maybe I do. Like I said, in my mind you're just as bad as Jessica." I felt as if she should be happy I wasn't yelling at her; I was choosing to play nice, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Oh, well I don't know what else to say. I really am sorry..." She focused on the ground, kicking at a stray rock that landed a foot or so behind me.

"And I don't know what else to say either. You know what I think of you." The last girl in line jogged up the bus steps, and I knew in a minute the doors would close.

Without another word, I moved past Maya and got on the bus; I'd done it so many times that I didn't even have to think as I made my way up the steps. I found the row where Charlie was waiting and fell into the seat beside him. "What did she want?" Charlie asked.

"Nothing. It's just like the last time Jessica was gone. She wants to be friends when Jessica isn't here. Otherwise, I'm not worth worrying about." I shook my head. "Whatever, I don't want to focus on her." Despite what I'd said, as the doors closed and the bus rumbled to life, I couldn't help thinking about Maya.

She was Jessica's best friend, her partner in crime. When Jessica had made fun of me, she'd always been there. I doubted I could ever forgive her, no matter how much she apologized. In fact, I wasn't even sure I _should_. My anger had helped me survive Loser McGee. The whole experience had made me into a stronger person, and I couldn't help feeling as if forgiving Maya would ruin it.

# Chapter 22

The meeting on Wednesday didn't end up happening. Not because we couldn't make it or because the record label changed their minds; I just got a call from Diane on Tuesday asking to reschedule. No big deal, at least in my mind.

I think it spooked Joey more than the rest of us. Charlie and I leaned on each other to stay calm, but Joey only had himself. And in all honesty, his mind couldn't be the easiest place to be as it was. He got angry at some of our practices, especially when Will brought a couple friends to watch.

That was probably one of the benefits of being friends—or whatever I was—with Will. He was popular enough that he brought an audience to our practices, which helped us practice performing. We decided that it wouldn't work to play in front of other people every day, since that would stop us from trying new things, but on Wednesdays and Fridays there were always a couple kids watching. At first, I was worried that he might try to bring Maya, but either he knew better or Maya wasn't interested.

I didn't tell Mom about what was going on, mostly because there wasn't a good opportunity. She was at work even more than when we'd lived in the apartment, and when she wasn't we had to have 'family time' with Kent. He saw one of the boxes of Auburn shirts one time and asked me what was in it, but I just shrugged; any explanation I could have given would have taken way too long, and he probably wasn't that interested anyway.

With our relationship sort of fixed, Charlie and I started going out on dates again. It was almost like he'd gotten better at being in a relationship in the time we were apart. When we kissed, he'd keep the contact longer, and he actually started bringing his hands into it. At first, he'd trace little patterns on my back, but one time he tried to explore a little more. That... Didn't turn out well. I ended up giggling at the thought of him touching me, which he wasn't too happy about.

Three weeks after my conversation with Maya, Wednesday at four twenty found us standing outside the Almond Records office. Joey had driven; he was still the only one of us with a license or car, although Charlie and I were close to getting our provisionals.

The building was anything but lackluster, with a black tile pathway leading to a round courtyard. In the courtyard, ringed on all sides by tall bushes, a bronze statue of an oversized acorn rose into a full tree. Given the typical heat of the LA sun, I had to question their design choices, but it certainly looked spectacular.

"Think we should tell them that acorns and almonds are totally different?" Charlie whispered as we walked. We'd worn semi-professional attire for the meeting; he and Joey were in matching dark polos, and I'd donned a blue-and-white polka-dotted dress bought specifically for the occasion.

"Maybe," I said. "But let's make sure we get the deal first."

The glass doors looked in on two different reception desks, half ovals on either side of a long hallway. Joey was in the lead, so he pulled the door open for Charlie and me.

As soon as I stepped inside, I felt a cool breeze hit my face. I breathed in deeply as I took in the situation. I expected to have to ask the receptionist to direct us to Diane, so I walked up to the closest one. "Hi, we're Auburn. We have a meeting at four thirty. With... Um, Diane Furman?"

The receptionist looked up at me, frowning as if she couldn't make sense of what I'd just said. "Diane? Oh, you must mean Barry. Diane just booked the appointment for you. She doesn't sign artists. Okay, down the hall to the very end, take a right, and then it'll be the third door on your left."

I hesitated. "Are you sure?" It seemed stupid to contradict her, but I knew that Diane was the one who wanted to sign us. She'd said so.

Fortunately, the receptionist seemed to accept it with good humor. "Yeah, I'm sure. Diane Furman is Barry's secretary. End of the hall, right, left."

"Oh, okay. Thanks." My heart sank; something wasn't right, and I had a feeling it wouldn't be good. My hand found Charlie's as we started down the hall.

The colors inside Almond Records weren't very exciting: gray squares extending from a gray wall in a grid pattern. The only time the pattern was broken was when we passed one of the white doors or an occasional painting.

The doors were labeled, so I knew we had the right one when we found Barry's office. _Barry Saunders, VP of Artists and Repertoire,_ it read. I pushed the door open and took the plunge.

The first thing I noticed was a short wooden desk, not the woman behind it. When my eyes came up to look at her, I recognized the face from our second try-out at Cat's Cradle. It was the woman who'd been nodding along. She had the same brown hair with the faintest curl, and her heart-shaped face looked unique, in part because of the small nose in the center. I gasped in recognition. "Hey!"

She smiled at the reaction. "Hey, Ashley. You're right on time. And you brought the whole band! Perfect!"

"Yeah, perfect," Joey said. At least his sarcasm was hard to recognize; I'd known him for two years, and I still had a hard time noticing it.

"Okay, so you're going to be meeting with Barry. He's really nice, and he makes all the final decisions regarding artists." She turned to a space that was separated from the rest of the room by a half-wall and leaned over it. "Barry, Auburn's here. Should I send them in?"

His response must have been non-verbal, because Diane turned back and waved us in without a word from Barry. I squeezed through a gap in the half-wall—god knows how overweight artists got through—and smiled at the man to my right.

Barry Saunders was entirely bald, with thick, horn-rimmed glasses and thin lines near the corners of his mouth that made it look like he was accustomed to scowling. It took me a moment to realize that he, in fact, looked very young for someone who held power over our entire future. Somewhere in his thirties, most likely.

He was sitting in a comfy-looking recliner with a laptop in front of him. When I entered, he looked up at me and nodded a greeting before returning his attention to the computer. The only other available seating was a white leather couch on the other side of the small room, so I took a seat in the middle. Charlie and Joey sat on either side of me while we waited for Barry to talk.

Once it was clear we were settled, he looked up again. "Diane, could you join us?"

She came wheeling in on her office chair; it was almost comical, since it didn't roll well on the shaggy carpet. She gave up at the gap between half-walls. "Yes, Barry?"

"Would you explain the situation to them?" He started typing something on his computer. I didn't have much experience with professional meetings, but it seemed as if he was being exceptionally rude.

Diane winced. "Yes, of course. Well... Okay, I don't _technically_ have the authority to sign or scout new talent. I'm very sorry about that, but—"

"You've gotta be...!" Joey started. I threw out a hand and clasped his wrist tightly, squeezing so hard I was afraid I might draw blood. He got the message and shut his mouth, but he didn't wipe the betrayed look off his face.

" _But..."_ Diane cleared her throat. "Barry listened to your CD, and he agrees that you have talent. The only reason we're hesitating to sign you is that we couldn't find much record of live performances. You understand why that would give us some pause, right?"

Her eyes were on me, so I responded for all of us. "Yeah. But we've performed at school, and you know about the one at Cat's Cradle. And we've been practicing in front of people more and more often."

"That list's razor-thin, and you know it," Barry said. His eyes didn't leave the laptop screen. "Diane, you have to be honest with your artists if you want to be an agent. Now, how do you think you should proceed?"

It was strange, having him address me and yet not address me. Diane seemed to feel the same way; she rolled her eyes so imperceptibly that I barely caught it. "I think we should _help_ them get experience. You guys are fine with playing more shows, right?"

"Of course!" I blurted out. Even if we didn't get signed, I couldn't see more shows as a bad thing in any situation.

"Alright, then." She turned back to Barry. "I'll book them on my own time. Maybe at the Live Lounge?"

"Not the Live Lounge." Barry's scowl was annoying, but I was already expecting it. He struck me as kind of a jerk... The kind I'd very much like to slap. His deliberate nonchalance made me feel worthless, and I didn't like it. "Everyone knows the Live Lounge is ours. I don't want the band connected to Almond until they're ready for a deal."

Diane grimaced; I sincerely hoped the Live Lounge hadn't been her only idea. "Okay, um... I'll find other venues. How about we give you guys three months to build up more experience—during which I'll book your gigs—and then we'll revisit the idea of signing a deal?"

At least Barry didn't have any snide comment to add. I nearly sighed in relief, until I heard Joey start to talk to my left. "Actually, I think we're done here. We don't sign deals with assholes." He glared at Barry.

For the first time, Barry looked up from his computer. He let out an obviously fake laugh. "This is why I hate dealing with kids. No filter. No professionalism. Well, young man, this _asshole_ has the power to kick you out of his office."

For several tense moments, they exchanged murderous looks. Joey's nose twitched; I grabbed his wrist to remind him to be calm, but it didn't work.

"Luckily for you, I like artists with a little spunk." Barry's laugh was more sincere; when he finished, the angry look wasn't gone, but it was greatly diminished. "Give 'em three months, Diane. No Live Lounge, and don't throw our name around when you're calling. Say you're just an up-and-coming talent agent. Do you already have their provisional contract ready?"

"Yes, right here." Diane reached back to grab something from her desk. She wheeled her chair over to us and set a thick packet in front of Charlie. "Okay, this is your provisional contract. It basically states that you won't make any deals with other record companies while we're promoting you. And further down..."

She flipped past several pages; I could feel Joey's hot breath on my neck as he leaned over me to see. "Right here, it gives Almond Records an exclusive option to sign you at the end of the three month period. And the rest is just typical contract stuff. Let's see, is there anything else I need to cover?" She looked back at Barry.

"You might want to remind them that this does not mean they are Almond Records artists, nor are they allowed to hold themselves out as such." He pointed toward the packet. "Bottom of page eight."

"Yup, page eight," Diane said. "All that means is that you can't go around claiming Almond Records has signed you, or using our name in connection with your band. Not yet, at least. I'll give each of you a copy of the contract. You need to sign it, and unless you're at least eighteen we're going to require the signature of a parent or guardian. Does that sound good?"

This time, it was Charlie who answered. "Sounds awesome!" I could tell he was sold.

Heck, maybe I was too. As we awkwardly rose and made our single-file way out of the office, I couldn't help the giddy smile that kept coming to my face. All we had to do was play a few shows, and then we'd get a contract and become successful musicians.

Joey was quiet until we were out into the black asphalt parking lot. He jumped high into the air and gave a loud whoop. "Guys, we just got signed! For real!"

I frowned at him. "No, we aren't. I mean, not yet. Remember?"

"Yeah, but that was just them covering themselves. Trust me, three months from now we'll be with Almond Records."

"I hope so," I said as we turned right, along the row of cars where Joey had parked. "Um, I think Barry was right though. You almost cost us everything."

Charlie nodded emphatically. "Yeah, seriously. I think he was really considering throwing us out."

"So what if he was?" Joey stopped walking. "Guys, I spoke my mind. I always do. I can't help it." There was a subtext that I almost didn't catch; in a way, it sounded like he was asking us if we were still okay with that.

He was an outcast, and I couldn't blame him for that. I hugged him from the side. "That's okay. We love that about you."

# Chapter 23

The trick about the contract turned out to be getting Mom to sign it. Or rather, working up to asking her to sign it. Since I hadn't told her much about Auburn the past year, I knew I'd feel awkward just bringing it up. Like, "Oh, by the way, my band is being offered a provisional contract. But I need you to sign it before my dreams can come true."

I waited until a night when both Kent and Mom were home, so I'd only have to explain things once. They were in the living room, watching some show on TV that I didn't remember the name of. It was a reality show, judging by the cut-aways to confessionals/interviews, but I'd never seen it before.

I took a single deep breath and passed through the threshold. The two of them were sitting on the couch, so engrossed in the show that my only greeting was a half-glance from Mom. I had the contract in my hands, but she must have missed it when she looked.

"Hey guys," I said, holding up the packet. "I, um... I sorta did something."

That got their attention. My mom's brow wrinkled as she reached for the remote. Another second, and the TV went quiet. "Honey, what did you do?"

"Well, I—I mean, our band as a whole—we sort of got... Here." I held the packet out for her to take. It was hard to keep from breaking into a wide grin.

Mom flipped through it quickly. Behind her, Kent tried to scan the pages too, but he didn't have a good angle. I doubted he caught anything by the time Mom closed the packet and set it on your lap. "Ashley, what did you do?" she repeated.

"We got signed! Well, kinda. There was this woman the day we tried out to perform at Cat's Cradle—we performed at Cat's Cradle, by the way, and it actually went pretty well—and when I came in to pick up the new Queen Anne's album the store owner told me that she bought all of our CDs and left her card, so I called her and she set up a meeting. And it was actually supposed to be..."

She held up a hand to stop my verbal spillage. "Hold on, I'm not sure I follow. Could you start again, from the top?"

I sighed; all I wanted to talk about was the latest development, and getting into the details didn't entice me as much. I could tell the conversation was going to be a long one, if I had to revisit every event that had led to our sorta-signing. The only decent furniture in the room was the couch Mom and Kent were already occupying, so I just leaned against the wall.

"Okay, what was the last thing you remember about our band?" I asked.

Kent answered for her, even though we could barely see each other from our respective positions. "You came up with a name."

"Um, yeah..." So this was going to be a _long_ conversation. "Well, after that, we started looking for gigs. And it took forever to find someone who would even let us audition. The old man who owns Cat's Cradle finally did, but it didn't go well." I paused, since Mom looked like she wanted to say something.

"You should have asked me," she said, "I could've convinced my boss to let you play. Right, Kent? We could have helped you out with that..."

It sounded like she'd assumed I was talking about something that had only happened a few months ago; I didn't have the heart to tell her that it was closer to a year and a half. "That's okay, I think we learned more from the audition. Anyway, he said we should try out again once we had more experience. So we tried to play downtown, and the principal saw us and offered to let us perform at one of the assemblies. But that didn't turn out well."

I wanted to say more, to tell Mom how it had felt to fail in front of every single one of my peers. But that would have meant going into too much detail for what I wanted to be a quick story. "Anyway, even though none of those were that great, when we tried out for the old man again he said he'd let us play. So we did, and we made these CDs to sell." Mom's frown made me pause again.

She raised an eyebrow at me. "When was all of this?"

"That was a few weeks ago. But the performance at school was last semester." I could practically see her doing the mental math, trying to figure out just how long I'd been withholding news about Auburn.

After a moment, she nodded for me to continue.

"And then, like I said, I went to pick up the Queen Anne's CD, and the old man told me someone had bought all of _our_ CDs. Which seemed a little crazy to me, but it turned out to be true. Diane said she bought them to get our attention; she works at Almond Records down off Detroit Street. When we went there it turned out she wasn't actually an agent, so we had to deal with this jerk Barry. He gave us a contract though, and said that if we do well at the shows these next few months he'll sign us." I breathed a sigh of relief, happy to finally be done with the story.

Mom blinked a few times. "Whoa, that's... A lot to take in. Why didn't you tell me any of this before?"

"Because you've been busy with Kent," I said. "And besides, I didn't feel like there was much to report." That wasn't quite true; in some ways I knew I'd wanted to punish Mom by withholding that side of my life from her.

Her brow drew down as she looked back to the contract. "Okay. I guess I'm just a little hurt that you didn't tell me any of this while it was going on. Why didn't you?"

"I wanted to tell you, but there was never a good time. You were either at work, tired from work, or hanging out with Kent. When was I supposed to tell you?"

Judging from the scowl that leapt to Mom's face, I could tell I should have omitted that last sentence. "Whenever you felt like it. I always listen to you, don't I? Even when I'm with Kent." She gestured to the TV to prove her point. "Even when we're doing something else. I make time for you."

"Yeah, I know you try." As hard as it was to swallow my feelings—which I was surprised to discover included a fair amount of anger—I made myself do it.

***

We didn't continue the conversation until much later, when I'd gone to my room for the night; I'd barely turned off the lights when I heard a knock on the door. My door was light, so the knocks sounded like they were going to break it down.

With a sigh, I kicked off the covers and sat up. "Come in."

Someone pushed the door open; I couldn't tell who until she flipped the switch and yellow light flooded the room. Mom looked even more tired than she had before. She stood in the doorway for a few seconds, leaning against the frame and staring at me.

"Ashley," she finally said, "Is there something we need to talk about?"

"No. At least, not that I know of." I laughed, but it wasn't funny.

Mom raised an eyebrow, as if she could sense what I was thinking. "Really?"

"Yeah, really." I waited to see if that would make her leave, to see if this was just feigned curiosity or an attempt to start a real conversation. When Mom stayed in the door, I had my answer. "I didn't tell you about a lot... Not just stuff about the band. I didn't tell you about Jessica, or Charlie, or—"

"Wait, who's Jessica?"

"Exactly. God, you don't even know who she _is."_ That was my fault, at least partly, but I didn't feel like taking blame. "Mom, Jessica's been bullying me this entire year. It got so bad that I didn't even want to go to school. You didn't even notice that! The principal came over here because she wanted to enroll me in a truancy program!"

She just kept standing there, which did nothing to help my anger.

"Oh, and I'm dating Charlie! And..." I wished I had more to talk about; I wanted to rant, to show her how much she'd missed.

When Mom finally spoke, her voice was quiet and gentle. "Honey, I guess I missed a lot. There's no way I can deny that. My only question is... Why? Did you deliberately keep me out of your life? Or...?" Her mascara was running, and I could tell from her expression that she wasn't looking for a fight.

On some level, _I_ was. "Because you were busy with Kent. And your job. Everything but me."

"No, that's not true. Everything in my life is about you." She shook her head. "Do you feel like I've been ignoring you?"

"Well, you certainly haven't been paying a lot of attention to me," I snapped. She was making me feel bad for being so angry, and I didn't think that was fair; I had my reasons for how I felt, and I knew they were justified.

Mom pushed off the doorframe and crossed to my bed. She fell down beside me. "I guess not. Sometimes my life gets too hard to keep control of, and everyone I love ends up suffering. Would it make you feel better to know that I had a similar conversation with Kent a few months ago?" She sighed before answering her own question. "No, probably not. I swear, I'm breaking apart. When I'm not bartending I'm keeping the house clean, or trying to make time for the two of you. I broke a glass yesterday because I was half-asleep at work."

She was asking for my sympathy, just like Joey had a couple days before. I was getting tired of being understanding. I wanted to scream something to the effect of, 'I thought we were talking about me!' But that would have been too selfish. "I don't get why you have to work so much. I thought the whole point of us moving was so that you and Kent could both pay for things. Right?"

"Yeah, but... Look, the truth is that we didn't figure out all the extra payments this house would take. Did you know there's an HOA fee? Why? We don't even have a pool or tennis courts or anything! Why do we have to pay an HOA fee?"

I almost asked what an HOA was, but that was getting too far away from the point. "Mom, I'd really rather move back to the apartment. I thought about it before, and I'd rather live by the side of the road if it meant we actually got to spend time together."

Her eyes found mine; I wasn't surprised to see how wet they were, as if she was about to break into tears right there. "I, um... Honey, you know it kills me every time I have to take an extra shift. God, it absolutely destroyed me to hear about everything that's been going on with you! I had no idea. What kind of a mother am I, that all of that could happen to you and I didn't even know?"

Part of me felt like the worst person on the planet. I couldn't believe that I'd made my mom feel that way, couldn't possibly bring myself to tell her that the reason she didn't know about anything in my life was because I'd deliberately withheld it from her.

I looped an arm around her and pulled her close. "Mom..."

"I'm just sorry I can't spend as much time with you as you need," she said, looking at me. "I'll figure something out, I promise. I'll be there, as often as you need me. Okay?"

It felt like a hollow promise; after all, if what she was saying was true then she couldn't exactly cut back on work or we'd lose the home. But the promise came from a good place, a place where she cared about me. I closed my eyes, telling myself that I'd remember it the next time I thought about keeping something from her. "Is it really that hard?" I asked.

"Yes. In a lot of ways. But in others... Well, I guess I've survived worse. We both have."

It was hard to tell what she was referring to, so I just nodded along. Our conversation hadn't been the angry confrontation that I'd wanted, but it had curbed my most immediate feelings.

"So, what about that girl who was bullying you? Jessica?"

For a moment, I wasn't sure what to say. It was the same problem I'd had with summarizing what had happened to Auburn: in some ways I'd been through so much, but in others it felt like little had changed. "I don't know... She was really mean to me. She made a fake Facebook profile and pretended to be me on it."

I could feel her tense. "Really? She should have gotten expelled for that! Why didn't the principal do anything?"

"She did. I'm pretty sure Jessica got suspended." Hearing the emotion in her voice nearly made me smile; even though we'd been distant, she still cared about me. _I should have told her when I found out about Loser McGee,_ I thought.

Mom let out a long breath, as if she was forcing herself to relax. "Well, that's good. And Charlie? When did you start dating him? Were you guys together back at Christmas?"

"Mhm. We split up for a bit after that, but we're back together now."

"Good. I like Charlie. I didn't want you to date until you were older, but... If you're going to, he seems like a good apple."

That was part of the reason I liked my mom. Even though she had her faults, she was really understanding. I could imagine that someone else's parents might have yelled at me or grounded me, but Mom accepted it without a fight. As long as I was happy, I was free to make my own choices.

After a few more questions, Mom asked if I wanted to her to sleep in my room, on the blow-up mattress that had served as my bed for so long. She fell asleep first, almost immediately, and I followed soon after. I hardly had time to realize how much I'd missed those light snores.

# Chapter 24

A week later, Mom told me she'd managed to snag tickets for a Misadventure Galley concert. I didn't know what she was talking about at first; she had to remind me that a long time before she'd promised to buy me tickets the next time they were in town. She assumed I'd go with Charlie or Joey.

I went with her. I didn't care about being the only teen who'd come with her mother. It was a great excuse to spend a couple of hours trying to talk to her—trying being the operative word—and just enjoying her presence. I'd outgrown Misadventure Galley in freshman year, but we didn't go for the music.

It was near the end of February when Diane called with our first gig. It wasn't anything too exciting: a half-hour at a sleazy club, for which we'd clear two hundred dollars if we managed to pack the house, which we probably wouldn't. Tickets were eight bucks, and after the club and Diane both took their cut, we were set to see half that much per person. It didn't seem like much, but it was a gig, so of course I said we'd be there.

We were supposed to invite friends and fans, but we didn't know of any fans and as for friends... Well, we didn't have enough to split between the three of us. There was only Will, who had become Charlie and Joey's friend as much as mine. Jessica was back from her suspension—Principal Wroth hadn't told me what her punishment had been, but everyone guessed after she didn't show up four days in a row—and even though she wasn't bullying me I knew we weren't about to carpool to school together. Other than that, we were part of a group that tolerated us, but only if we didn't make too many waves.

The Underground Club wasn't very crowded when we started to set up on a Thursday night. It was past ten pm (and therefore technically past curfew), but no one there seemed to mind. The dozen or so kids watching me plug in my mic had paid their cover, and that was all that mattered.

The room was probably around thirty feet by thirty feet; big if it had been a room in a house, but small for a concert-style venue. The walls were painted psychedelic purple, with neon graffiti that could have been intentional, but just as easily could have come from unwanted vandals. When we told Charlie's dad where we were going, he insisted on driving us and waiting outside in his car until we were done. It was _that_ kind of place.

Our 'stage' was separated from the rest of the room by a string of barbed wire that I hoped was only for effect, and given the atmosphere that seemed to be the case. It was obviously set up for a harder style of music than we played, so I wasn't sure how the crowd was going to respond.

Once I'd gotten everything plugged in, I looked at Joey and Charlie to make sure they were ready too. Nods from both of them. I turned to my microphone stand and smiled. "Hey everyone. We're Auburn, and we'll be playing a few songs for you tonight. This first one's called _Add One More._ "

There wasn't much response to that, but I hadn't expected there to be. They hadn't heard the song before, so of course the name meant next to nothing. On cue, Charlie started playing the first chords.

" _To one pain, we add another. When you're hurting like no other, sometimes you just can't take it in stride."_ They weren't exactly eating it up, but I could tell from the faces looking at me that they weren't totally put off by the song. It was nice to start off with one of our slower songs; _Add One More_ was somber, but it was emotional too.

" _If you can't stand, you hopeless sufferer, to one trial, here take another. Don't collapse until the day you survive. And maybe you'll find—no not happiness, but just a little less sadness. Just a little less pain to deny."_

I had to keep myself from laughing when a boy near the front, decked out in all black and with chains hanging from a pocket, started head banging to the slow rhythm. I'd never thought of the song as a head banger, but if he wanted to... Hey, more power to him. _"Not satisfaction, but perhaps just some compassion. Something you won't have to keep inside."_

The one thing that worried me was that, as we launched into the chorus, it was clear the audience wanted a faster song. I figured I couldn't speed it up without risking a million problems, so we were stuck playing the rest of a song that wasn't what they wanted. _I guess all I can do is make a mental note to practice changing the tempo mid-song,_ I thought as I kept singing. We'd gone through the song so many times that I could move through the words without paying too much attention.

But the less attention I paid, the less attention our small audience paid. The setting was so intimate that I could see each pair of eyes on me, check for their response to everything I was doing. They didn't like my dwindling enthusiasm, so I cranked it up a bit. _"Maybe you'll remember, that this isn't our December. The end doesn't have to come as planned."_

The second verse spoke to the mentality of fighting against a seemingly infinite number of trials. I remembered how that felt, and without meaning to my voice lost its controlled edge. _"So go on, give me more. 'Till I'm falling to the floor. 'Till I beg for mercy, make me scream."_ If I'd been losing them before then, I couldn't tell; eyes that had started to droop were fully open, hungering for each new word.

" _Because life can be a chore. And the worst afflicted, are those who never add one more... So add one more."_ Going into the chorus, I felt good. Better than good. It felt like I'd reached another plane of existence; I was a prophet, sharing whispered truths with her disciples.

When we finished, I took a bit of time to rest. And more importantly, to figure out a song that would be a little more fun to head bang to. I'd just started to turn to the boys when a shouted question made me stop.

"Hey, what's that song about?" It was the boy near the front, wearing a thoughtful look on his face. His brow was drawn down and his arms were hanging on the wire; I nearly warned him to be more careful.

"Um..." I wasn't sure about the protocol involving talking with fans. I'd never seen a band stop mid-performance to do that. Then again, our performance and the setting were hardly the kind I'd seen before. "It's about those times in life when you feel like every day is just a little harder than the one before, you know?"

As if engaging him had given everyone else permission to do so as well, three other kids tried to shout questions too. I held up a hand to get them to be quiet. "Guys, I'm happy to sit here and talk about the song with you all night. But would you rather do that, or would you rather hear some of our other songs?" No question about that; a chorus of 'other songs' answered me.

"Okay guys, you got it. How about _Plastic Hearts_?" That was probably the fastest song we had, with a steady, pulsing rhythm. I knew that would give them something to head bang to, even if it hadn't been on our original set list.

We started in on _Plastic Hearts;_ taking my lesson from the last time, I didn't stop for long once we'd finished. I named the next song and launched into it. There weren't any clocks in the room, so I had no idea how much time had passed. Our songs were all around three minutes, so by the time we finished the third one I could estimate that we'd finished nine of our thirty minutes.

A weird thing happened: the longer we played, the less I had to worry about whether the audience would like our next song. Once they were on our side, they were into everything. Well, not everyone... There was at least one girl in the back who wasn't buying what we were selling, but she left halfway through our fourth song. It was hard to watch, but I tried to focus on the kids who were obviously into the performance.

I'd messed up the last time I'd tried to move away from my mic stand, but halfway through our set I knew it was time for me to try again.

"Alright, let's try something different for this next one." I pulled my mic from the stand and turned to Joey. "Do you have your acoustic guitar?"

In answer, he reached behind the amp and held up the cheap toy. Our audience laughed, and instead of letting it hurt me I just rolled with it.

"In case you were wondering, we're really poor," I joked, looking over my shoulder and sticking my tongue out at them. "I promise, if you all buy our CD we'll get a real acoustic guitar. But anyways, here's my idea for this song. I want to play it with all of you." Since there were only eleven of them, I figured there wasn't much risk of getting mobbed or overwhelmed if we stepped outside the barbed wire.

_On second thought, maybe this would be better without a mic._ I worked it back into the stand and took a step forward, grimacing as I looked at the barbed wire. "God, this seems so creepy." Laughs from more than one source. It was like I had a roomful of friends.

I ducked under the wire, and just like I'd expected, no one tried to trample me. Actually, the boy who'd been closest to the wire held out a hand to help me stand up.

"Ash, should I come out there too?" Joey asked. It was weird to have him come to me for direction, but I nodded and gestured for him and Charlie to duck under the wire too.

In amongst the audience, it felt like there were more people than when I'd been standing separate. I smiled at each face I saw as I worked my way toward the middle of the floor. "Okay, the chorus is: _Yeah, he took the early flight home. Who could tell him he was wrong? He took the early flight home, and now that he's gone, that early flight is movin' on._ "

I wasn't even sure what I wanted them to do. Sing along? "This is a hard song for us to sing, because it kinda divided our band for a while," I said to no one in particular.

A short girl with a chirpy voice spoke up. "Ooh, you guys split up? Why?"

"Um... Let's just call it philosophical differences." Joey had found a spot to my right, with Charlie a couple steps back. I nodded at Joey to start playing. The moment he did, the audience moved in, forming a tight circle around us.

" _He took the early flight home. Packed his bags and said 'I've gotta go.' Kissed me on both cheeks, said goodbye to everyone. Told me our time together was just about done. 'Cause he took the early flight home."_

My voice came out thick with emotion, and seeing it reflected on the faces of everyone around me only made singing harder. _"All the love that we shared, the times that we cried. The times that we laughed, I still had to say goodbye. They fit neatly in his suitcase, next to pictures of his wife. I love him forever, but he left us last night."_

" _Yeah, he took the early flight home."_ With a jolt, I realized I had to clue the audience in on the fact that we'd reached the chorus. They'd never heard the song before. I pointed at the closest one without pausing. _"Who could tell him he was wrong?"_

One by one, the boys and girls started joining in as I pointed to them. I could tell some of them didn't quite remember the words, mumbling at key moments. When that happened, I raised my volume so they could still hear the song.

It was a fun moment, the first time I'd heard someone else—a whole group of people—sing along with me. But the moment that really melted my heart was looking over at Charlie and seeing him join the second chorus along with the rest. He was putting as much soul into it as the rest of them combined. I felt like he'd finally heard the message of the song.

When we finished, the same boy as before asked, "Okay, now what's _that_ one about?"

I didn't answer; it wasn't mine to answer. I looked at Charlie. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Yeah, I guess so." He glanced down at his feet. "That song's about... Not so long ago, I lost my grandpa. Ash and I wrote the song to help me process the way he left. He just checked out. He took the early flight home."

"Oh. So why did it split you guys up?" the short girl repeated.

Joey started to say something, but I touched his wrist to stop him. I was worried that he might misspeak; given his track record, it seemed like a valid concern. "When we say split up," I said, "We really mean Charlie and I. The band stayed together, but the two of us had some... Difficulties."

"Like what?" I could practically see the girl's ears perk up, along with everyone else's. It seemed as if our band drama was just as interesting as our songs. Or at least, almost as interesting.

I looked for Charlie, not wanting to explain anything that he wasn't comfortable with sharing. But the audience had pressed in, and my view was so obstructed that all I could see of Charlie were his blue jeans.

_Gosh, I hope he's okay with this,_ I thought. "Well, we didn't agree about that one line: 'who could tell him he was wrong?' I thought that it was okay to make that decision, but Charlie thought it was selfish. And he had a point, when you think about it."

The set devolved into a discussion on the merits and drawbacks of assisted suicide; we talked for a long time, sharing ideas and eventually coming to a general consensus that the final decision rested with each individual.

After the conversation, we made our way back to the stage to sing a few more songs. I had hardly realized how long we were in the club until Charlie's dad poked his head in and asked when we were planning on finishing up.

"Just a few minutes, Dad," Charlie said. "We're hanging out with our fans. Speaking of which, does anyone wanna buy a CD or shirt?"

It would be a wild overstatement to say everyone did, but we got a nice response. Sometime between when we rolled out the merchandise and started taking down our equipment, I finally had the sense to check a clock. We'd overstayed our welcome by over twenty minutes, but no one had showed up to kick us out. Charlie and Joey were both busy with the boy who'd been hanging out at the wire earlier and asking what our songs were about; he kept asking if we needed a drummer, and it seemed like he wasn't going to leave until we said yes.

I'd just finished packing the guitar cases and collapsing my mic stand, and the conversation hadn't made any headway for a while. I grabbed both cases and turned toward the exit. "Guys, we can let him try out at least." I looked at the boy. "Here, give Charlie your number. He can text you once we figure out what we're gonna do."

Charlie scowled at me, but I just smiled back. Hopefully he'd realize the logic behind my decision. The boy was the only member of our audience to buy both a shirt and CD, and he'd been the first one to get into our music. If he wanted a chance to try out, I figured it couldn't hurt to let him. We needed a drummer at some point, anyway.

***

The boy—Grant, we learned his name was—was far from the best drummer. He had his own set, but he took so long to set it up that I doubted he practiced on it much. Once he got started, he kept losing the beat and playing notes twice. In so many ways, he was where we'd been two years before.

After his try-out, we thanked him for his time and told him we'd talk about it. I was as nice as possible, and in return he bought another copy of our CD for his friend. After a few days of discussing we decided not to accept him, but he was really gracious about it. He even asked if we wanted to hang out some time, outside of practice.

Diane set us up for another gig, at a local bar we weren't even old enough to enter... Except for the fact that we were the night's entertainment. It was funny in a way; one of the supposed perks was free drinks all night, but the only drinks they stocked that we could order were diet cokes and tonic waters.

Besides that, I knew the audience wouldn't be the same as before. When I mentioned that to Diane, she just dismissed it, but I knew— _knew—_ that the people we'd be playing for weren't our audience.

I tried telling myself it would be good for us to have more practice in front of a less receptive audience, but darn it... I'd had enough of that. What I couldn't get enough of were shows like the Underground Club, shows where I could personally meet fans and tell that they were sold on us.

Regardless, we started setting up at six. The venue had wooden walls, round tables with padded stools gathered around them, and a sixteen foot long bar. It looked more like the place where a Taylor Swift-type would make her bones than a punk rock band, but at least there was a decent crowd: somewhere around fifty people. There was only one who looked like he was under thirty.

"Hey everyone. We're Auburn." No one paid me much mind; they were busy in their own conversations. Charlie and I shared a shrug at the lukewarm welcome. "Um, okay. Well, anyway, this is _Starstruck Lullaby."_

We got a little attention as the song started, but even after I began to sing all I could see were sidelong glances from the patrons, often as not followed by an eye roll. I got more animated, putting more emotion into the song like I'd learned at the Underground Club. But the harder I made it to ignore me, the more eye rolls I got.

" _Pass me by,"_ I sang, giving up and dropping into a soft melody for the final bars of the song, _"Whoa, pass me by. In this starstruck lullaby. Just pass me by tonight."_

Quiet seemed to be the right way to play things. Being quiet got me fewer eye rolls. It made sense when I thought about it; unlike the Underground Club, we weren't the main attraction. Heck, we weren't even in the top three. Our job at the bar was as little more than a radio, some noise in the background so the lonely drinkers didn't have to listen to their own thoughts.

Before the next song started, I didn't even say the name. I just turned to the boys and whispered, " _Jaded._ "

We hadn't played _Jaded_ in a while, probably because it was our first song and I felt like we'd grown so much since freshman year.

From the first verse, I could tell I'd picked wrong. _"Feeling lost, twisted and confused. Abused like a puppet, caught up in a winter tempest."_ The eye rolls became something more; at the closest table, I saw a man with a goatee lean over to his friend, look at me and say something, and pull back laughing.

But I'd suffered worse. The song itself reminded me of everything I'd been through. I kept singing for Ashley—not Ashley, the up-and-coming punk rock singer; Ashley, the scared freshman girl who'd just wanted to disappear in every hidden corner of the world. _If she could only see me now,_ I thought.

As the night wore on, I got better at picking songs. We got the best reaction with our softer stuff, so I started repeating _Starstruck Lullaby_ and _Early Flight._ The first time we played _Early Flight_ a few of the people who'd rolled their eyes actually nodded appreciatively.

We were supposed to play until eight, which meant we had to do a lot of covers of Queen Anne's and Falling Dutchman. The general inattention worked to our favor, since hardly anyone noticed or cared that the songs weren't ours. In fact, I started enjoying the performance. It was different than the Underground Club, but in a way it felt just like practice; we were background music, but playing background music could be just as fun as taking center stage. Especially when I reminded myself that we'd be splitting seventy dollars. The agreement was for two hundred and fifty, but Diane got her cut and two-thirds of what was left still got reinvested.

Even though I wasn't a math whiz, I knew the pay worked out to more than minimum wage. Considering our main purpose behind being there was getting experience, the money was a nice added bonus.

We left the bar to a short round of applause, but that might have just been because they were happy we were done. Outside the double doors, night had fallen, leaving only the street lights to see by. Their yellow light bathed the busy corner. I breathed in and smiled for no reason at all.

Charlie turned left and headed down the block. I wasn't sure why, since Joey had parked in the opposite direction, but I followed him to see where he was going.

I got my answer when he stopped at a patch of sidewalk, tapping his foot against it with a frown. "Did you guys know this was where we were performing?" he asked, looking up at Joey and me.

I shook my head. "No, not before now." It was the street corner where we'd played for tips, where Principal Wroth had approached us.

"It's just a bit of concrete," Joey said. "So what?"

Charlie shook his head, his tongue stuck between his teeth as he thought. "It's not _just_ a patch of concrete. Any more than the three of us are just kids playing instruments, or songs are just poems set to a melody. This means something, for all of us."

"Back where we began?" I asked, not sure what he was getting at.

"No, not that either. I mean, physically, yes. We're back where we began. But not really, when you consider where we're at in our lives. We're in a whole new place. And I think that's kind of cool."

I couldn't think of anything to say, so I just nodded.

"I think I'm gonna get a car," Joey said with a half-grin. "With all the money we're making. Can we use the band funds for that? Since we're using my car for transportation anyway?"

_Well, that's a little selfish,_ I thought. "Um... No, I don't think we can use our money to buy you a car. Maybe we could pay for gas or something, but no car."

"Yeah," Charlie agreed. "No car for you. Unless it comes in a Hot Wheels box."

Joey laughed. "Deal! I'm gonna get one of those ones that costs thirty thousand dollars off Ebay, and then I can trade it in for a real car."

As if we'd ever be able to afford a thirty thousand dollar Hot Wheel car.

# Chapter 25

Word got around school that we were playing shows, likely helped by Joey. The way he told it, we were playing in front of crowds that even the most famous pop stars would envy: thousands of screaming fans dying to hear every track, girls who were throwing themselves at him and Charlie. It got so bad that one of Will's friends even asked me if I was worried about Charlie cheating.

I wasn't. The next time we played the Underground Club, there were nearly three times as many people in the audience—including Will—but if there was anyone throwing themselves it happened well out of view. Grant was there, right in the front row; I took some time to talk to him before we started, along with anyone who wanted to join in. It was interesting how five minute conversations inevitably turned into CD or shirt purchases.

That show went well, but it wasn't the highlight of the year. That came when Principal Wroth called me into her office and asked if Auburn would like to open the talent show. With a grin, I asked her how much she was planning to pay.

Well... Fifty dollars was the answer. I hadn't expected any money—heck, I didn't even know if the school was paying or if Principal Wroth was dipping into her personal account—but I wasn't about to turn it down. Fifty dollars for one song was good money.

The talent show was set up as a sort of end-of-year celebration; the faculty charged for admission, and strongly suggested that students go to support their peers. But admission was open to anyone, so we invited the small coterie of fans we'd been cultivating.

Mom and Kent both promised to be there too. It was on a Friday, after school so that parents could go. I knew that Mom usually worked Friday afternoons, but she didn't think it would be a problem. I didn't push the issue, since I really wanted her there.

Walking into the auditorium beside Joey and Charlie, I felt like a conquering hero. We weren't like everyone else; we'd been invited to perform. The chance at redemption for the beginning of the year was a nice little cherry on top.

The auditorium was set up in three sections: seating close to the stage rose just enough for each row to see above the previous one, then there was a main walkway with one end leading outside and the other opening out into the main hall, and above that more seating layered steeply, so that if the auditorium was packed the heads of each audience member would only reach the shins of whoever was sitting behind them. The stage was about four feet above the first row of chairs, and red curtains were drawn to hide the crew setting up.

There were only a couple of people in view: a brunette teacher walking around with a clipboard and a student trailing after her. The show wasn't set to start for half an hour, so I figured we were probably the first to show up.

Charlie led the way from the walkway up to the stage. "Hey, Mrs. Abrams!" he said, breaking off from us to hug her.

"Nice to see you, Charlie. Are you here to perform? I don't remember you being on the list."

"Yeah, we are." Charlie stepped out of the hug. "Auburn. We're supposed to open the show."

She frowned down at her clipboard. "Oh. Right. Do you need anything special? We have speakers set up already, and you shouldn't need that microphone." She looked pointedly at the box in my hand.

"Um, I'd really rather use my own. The last time I used a school microphone... Yeah, it didn't end so well." I'd learned the power of moving around to help connect with an audience, and I wasn't about to give that up.

Mrs. Abrams sighed, as if I was a stuck-up starlet making some impossible demand. "Okay, we'll try to make it work. That plugs into a standard jack, right?"

"I think so." Honestly, I had no idea. I'd only ever plugged the wireless receiver into the small speaker that came in the package, but I figured I'd find out soon enough. We turned toward the curtains and ducked through them.

One thing was clear the moment we got behind the vale: we were _not_ the first to arrive. A veritable army of students, from small freshman to post-pubescent seniors, were running around, searching for items known only to them. To the far left, a few kids were standing in front of a panel of switches, arguing about something. I decided they had to be the ones running things. At least, the technical side of things.

But what interested me the most was a girl standing off to the side, out of the way of anyone else. Jessica was holding a sheet of paper, singing lyrics I knew by heart. " _Where once I..._ No, no, it's faster than that. _Where once I was a kite..."_

Charlie raised an eyebrow at me, a clear warning not to engage her. But I couldn't help it. I made a beeline for my enemy, the girl who had inspired the very song she was singing... And poorly at that.

She didn't notice me until I was close. I raised my voice to be sure she'd hear. "Honey, the best band in the world could perform that song, and it would _still_ be a boring song about how no one likes you." The words were etched into my memory. I couldn't duplicate the exact tone Jessica had used, but I wished I could.

Jessica's eyes found me; they were wide, full of emotion that I didn't much care about. "It's not that bad. With the right melody and rhythm, it sounds good." It was a crude quotation, but enough that I understood what she was saying.

"How dare you?" I whispered, glaring at her. "You have no right to sing that song."

I was about to launch into a full tirade, but I heard Charlie clear his throat behind me. "Maybe she does. Why'd you pick it, Jessica?"

"Because... Look, I think I sort of understand how it feels now. To have people hate you, to feel like you're just getting torn up inside." She paused, shook her head. "I wanted to sing it because it captures how I'm feeling. I didn't know you guys would be here, so..."

"So pick another song. This one's ours." There was no way I would let Jessica—hateful, malicious, Loser McGee-creating Jessica—sing my song. I felt like she would ruin the whole thing for me if she even tried.

Charlie gently touched my elbow. "Ash, I think everyone who feels that way has a right to sing our song. It's actually a huge compliment, if you think about it."

I didn't want to be complimented, not by Jessica. "No, I won't let you do this. Find a new song." She couldn't twist my lyrics. She couldn't pretend that she knew what they meant, what it felt like to want to disappear.

"But I don't have any other music." She seemed to find her backbone, returning my glare with the haughty look I'd grown accustomed to. "So shut the fuck up."

There was no Maya to run for Principal Wroth, and when I looked to Charlie it didn't seem like he was about to either.

_There's a way to fix this,_ an evil part of my mind thought. _Even if you can't stop her from singing your song..._ I turned back to Jessica and smiled sweetly. "Alright, I'll let you butcher our song if you want." But not before people heard it sung the right way.

Since we were first to perform, we got priority in terms of setting up. The crew by the switchboard helped us find extension cords and places to plug in for a sound check. I ran through a quick vocal warm-up The one thing I neglected to do was tell either Joey or Charlie which song we were going to sing. I had to wait until we were just about to perform, until it was too late for them to say no.

With a full stage to work with, we decided it would be cooler to start in the middle and work our way out. Joey would go left, Charlie right, and I'd stand in the center until the second verse. We'd all enjoy our share of the spotlight.

The rest of the performers cleared out, off to the sides while the lights went down low. Someone flicked a switch and a mechanical crank threw the curtains back.

It wasn't a packed house; probably every other seat was occupied. But I'd sung to fewer kids. "We're Auburn, and this is _Jaded!"_ I shouted into the mic.

There was a brief pause while Charlie looked at me, as if he couldn't believe what I was doing. Then he seemed to realize that the silence was getting awkward, and started playing.

" _Feeling lost, twisted and confused. Abused like a puppet, caught up in a winter tempest."_ My eyes found Jessica waiting in the wings. I sang for her, to remind her how she'd made me feel. " _I'm feeling like a kite, torn up by the wind. My colors once so bright, now I just can't stand... Two, three! Do you see, what you've done to me? And can you hear, my whining plea? Oh, please just let me be. Let me be."_

Something happened, something terrible. As I sang and remembered the song's inspiration, I started to feel bad... For Jessica. If she truly felt the same way I had when I wrote _Jaded,_ then I was filling her old shoes, kicking the outcast while she was down. In a way, I couldn't help seeing my decision to sing the song she'd prepared as similar to when she'd signed me up to play Juliet.

I wished I could take it back, but there wasn't anything I could do. The song was already halfway through and I couldn't stop. All I could do was feel bad. It occurred to me that I might mess up, in the hopes that it would make Jessica look good, but I had a career to think about. In the end, I just finished the song.

A smattering of applause followed us off the stage; I made sure to head for the side opposite Jessica, so I wouldn't have to look at her. But that meant I had to meet Charlie's eyes, which was almost as hard.

He didn't have any words for me. He just shook his head and let a disappointed expression say everything.

The talent show itself moved quickly; less than a minute after we left the stage the crew was setting up a black grand piano. It wheeled around pretty well for something so heavy.

We stuck around to watch as an older girl took her place behind it and cranked out a classical piece. It looked and sounded like a demanding song, but... It was classical. The other students behind the curtain looked bored, and I knew that if I peeked out from behind it, half the audience would be too.

My mind kept drifting as the song went on. And on, and on. "Hey," I whispered to Joey, since Charlie didn't seem to be in a talking mood, "How long is this supposed to go on for?"

"I have no idea. She's more boring than a hobo performing slam poetry." He groaned so loudly that the closest students gave us dirty looks.

"Joey!" I scolded, as if I hadn't been thinking along the same lines. The only difference was that I knew how rude it was to give voice to my opinion, and I could at least appreciate the difficulty of the song. Even if I disagreed with the genre.

Difficult or not, it _was_ getting repetitive: one, two, three, one, two, three. Thankfully, the notes started coming faster and louder as they built toward a final crescendo. I joined the audience in applause as the girl performed a complicated display of hand acrobatics to hit the right notes.

The clapping died down quickly, as everyone came to the sobering realization that the performance wasn't over. I checked the time on my phone; she'd been playing for over five minutes, and still wasn't showing signs of stopping.

_Now_ that's _rude,_ I thought. In my mind, it was just bad form to monopolize a talent show, as if it had been set up for the sole sake of giving her an audience and platform.

Thankfully, she finished after only a few more minutes. A few long, boring minutes. The three of us found a place to sit against a wooden box that I vaguely remembered as a prop for the school play, and we waited out the next few acts.

It was less of a talent show in the end, and more like a Pyramid-Sienna High version of American Idol. Just about everyone who came on tried to sing or play music, with varying degrees of skill. I wasn't much interested by all of that.

What did interest me was seeing Jessica walk onstage and up to the microphone. They were still using my white mic—I hadn't been smart enough to take it with me—and I had to sit still while she put her grubby hands all over it.

"Hi, I'm Jessica Smith, and I'm gonna sing _Jaded._ Ashley already kinda sang it, and I don't have a whole band but..."

Charlie poked me in the ribs. "Listen up. Remember how you felt back in that bathroom freshman year? That's how she feels right now."

"No it isn't." But I could see her glance at me before someone clicked a button and a terrible instrumental version of the song started. It wasn't off our CD, I knew that, but it sounded like it had been recorded using similar equipment.

" _Feeling lost, twisted and confused."_ Jessica's voice was weak, trembling as she meandered through the first verse. " _Abused like a puppet, caught up in a winter tempest."_ She was going slow, already falling a quarter beat behind. _"I'm feeling like a kite, torn up by the wind. My colors once so bright, now I just can't stand. One, two..._ Wait. Sorry." She seemed to finally notice how off-tempo she'd gotten, gesturing wildly for someone to pause the music. "Can we just start over? Please?"

It was my worst nightmare, playing out before my enemy's eyes. I'd be lying if I said part of me wasn't enjoying the irony. And yet... There was a far larger piece of me that couldn't help sympathizing. I knew all too well how that felt, the horrible gut-punch feeling of screwing up in front of a sizable audience.

Charlie still had his guitar, as did Joey. Charlie played a note that rang out through the speakers, then nodded at me. "You should go make up for what you did to her."

I gritted my teeth. If I was going to apologize, I wanted it to be on my own terms, and not because my boyfriend had scolded me like I was a boisterous child. "No, I can't." I could feel bad for Jessica, even realize it was mean to make her more nervous than she'd already been. But the one thing I couldn't bring myself to do was save her.

"If you don't go out there, I will. And trust me, my singing will be even worse than hers."

The idea of watching my boyfriend perform with my old enemy helped me make up my mind. I rolled to my feet. "Oh, screw you, Charlie." There really wasn't any other choice; I jogged back onto the stage.

There was the tiniest bit of applause from our section that died out as soon as Charlie and Joey started playing in full. Joey, at least, seemed to be on my side; he scowled at Charlie as they both followed me onto the stage. I approached Jessica and gestured for her to hand me the mic.

She eyed me like I was getting ready to put another knife in her back, but slowly reached out and handed it over. _"—What you've done to me?"_ I sang, picking up in the middle of the chorus. _"And can you hear, my whining plea? Oh, please just let me be. Let me be."_ I moved to stand side-by-side with Jessica, singing quietly to help her keep time without overwhelming her voice.

" _Feeling hated, rejected and affected. By all of the cold shoulders, by all of your hostile stares."_ To my ears, her voice was everywhere in terms of pitch, but she was still much better than before.

" _Where once I was a kite, now I can no longer fly. I'm stuck here on the ground, and I just keep falling down."_ I gritted my teeth and kept singing; even managed to fake a smile for the audience. Moving into the second chorus, I handed the mic back to Jessica and sang so softly that the only sound it picked up was her voice.

" _I want this feeling to end. Please mend my broken colors, and let me sing again. Hear my plea, and let me be. Oh, don't make me feel lost. And don't make me feel hated. The sadness will pass, don't leave me feeling jaded."_

The song was over. I'd aided the girl who had been the reason for so many tears, who'd made my life miserable. In a perfect world, we would have hugged and kissed, and realized how silly all our fighting had been. In a perfect world, I might have forgiven her.

But I didn't live in a perfect world. I never have. She whispered a quick thank you, but all I could think about was how good it had felt to watch her fail. I'd been the better person, but only at the cost of compromising my true feelings.

# Chapter 26

Charlie took me out to a nice lunch the Saturday after that talent show. There was only one week until Finals, and in a way I think he wanted to celebrate; celebrate our growing success, celebrate our friendship, but above all, celebrate the fact that we'd survived a second year of high school.

He had a new car, or at least a car that was new to him. The red SUV his dad had gotten a while back, which had somehow managed to pick up more dings and dents than I could keep track of. When Charlie told me he'd learned to drive with that car, I braced myself for the worst, but he actually wasn't bad. Certainly not nearly as bad as Joey.

We went to a small burger joint, the kind named after the owner, and ended up at one of the laced-metal tables outside, sitting under the hot sun. The day was so warm that I was already starting to sweat after five minutes. "So..." I said.

"So?" Charlie asked, a playful grin on his face. He was wearing a dark gray shirt that had to be collecting a disproportionate amount of the day's heat.

"I don't know, I guess I'm wondering why you wanted to bail Jessica out."

He shrugged, like he didn't quite know the answer himself. "It's what any good person would have done. No one wants to fail in front of a bunch of their friends, right?"

"Yeah, but it was Jessica. She deserved it, didn't she?" In my mind, she certainly did. And so much more, too. She deserved the kind of pain she'd given me, so deep that she didn't even want to get out of bed in the morning. If she'd arrived at the _Jaded_ phase, I could empathize with her, but she had a long way to go before I would feel like her punishment was fair.

Charlie's brow wrinkled. "For me, it was about being good people. We aren't responsible for deciding what Jessica deserves. All we're responsible for is ourselves, and I feel better about _myself_ because of what we did. We didn't stoop to her level, even though we could have."

I took a moment to consider his words. I couldn't help thinking that it was easier for him than me, since he'd never experienced the full brunt of Jessica's cruelty. He'd been a bystander—a sympathetic, kind bystander, but a bystander nonetheless. "I think I get what you're saying, but... I don't know. It wasn't about deciding what she deserves. Well, maybe on some level it was. But in my mind, we wouldn't have been doing anything wrong if we didn't save her."

"Hmm..." He pursed his lips. "So you mean to tell me that choosing to sing _Jaded_ after you found out that she was going to perform it had nothing to do with her?"

"No, I'm not saying that. But it wasn't like I went on Facebook and made a page to bully her. It wasn't like I told her she should kill herself. Look, the reason I chose to sing _Jaded_ was because it felt like she was trying to tear that away from me. It seemed like she wanted to steal the last thing I had left—like she was trying to hurt me in a way no one else would even notice."

Charlie reached out, touching my wrist with a sympathetic expression. "I get that. I don't think that's why Jessica chose our song, though. On some level, I think she honestly relates to it. I mean, you noticed that she stopped hanging out with Maya, right? Or Maya stopped hanging out with her, or however that happened. She lost at least one friend, and I've heard other rumors too."

"What rumors?" I couldn't help asking.

"Rumors about why she was suspended, and why she seemed so different when she came back. It seems like no one realizes it was because of that Loser McGee page..." He sighed, as if he actually felt sorry for her. "One of the worst ones I heard was some guy bragging that the principal had caught them going at it in an empty classroom."

I laughed. "Seems fair to me. She was the one who started calling other people skanks, after all."

"Ash, you weren't the only one she was mean to. And I'm not denying that she _was_ mean, but we both know how much it sucks to have people talking about you when you can't defend yourself." He paused, watching me for a response.

For a while, I wasn't sure what to say. He was trying to convince me to sympathize with Jessica, when I didn't want to do anything but hate her. He might have had a point, but it was hard to agree with.

As long as I held onto my anger, I couldn't move past it. That was true. As long as I held onto my anger, I would be jaded and hostile and just as bad as Jessica. But moving past it didn't mean forgiving her. Certainly not the way Charlie was advising. "I didn't know you were such a Christian," I said, trying to play it off as a joke.

"A Christian?" Charlie cocked his head. "How so?"

"Turning the other cheek. That's what you're telling me to do, isn't it?" When I'd been younger, I'd thought that was a singularly stupid idea. Turning the other cheek was just a sure way to get slapped again.

"If you want to call it that," Charlie said. "Like I said, I call it being a good person. It's important that we learn from what Jessica did, and grow from it if we can."

I exhaled slowly. Willingly or not, Jessica's actions _had_ made me stronger. The memory of standing up to her on the bus stood out in my mind, in stark contrast to the defeat I'd felt after our confrontation in the locker room, and after finding out about Loser McGee. She'd made me so miserable, made my life impossible to bear, and because of that I'd been forced to change until I became the sort of person who _could_ bear it.

The torture she'd put me through had forged me into a better person. I didn't owe her for that, though. "I'll never be friends with Jessica," I said, "And I'll never forgive her for what she did. But that doesn't mean I didn't grow from it. When it comes to anyone else, I can still be a good person. Maybe even a better person, because of everything that happened. Forgiving Jessica, though... That would just be too much of a betrayal."

"A betrayal?"

"Yeah. If I could rewind the clock a year and talk to my old self, she would hate the way we saved her. That's the person I'm betraying. Just like I had to stand up for myself back then, I have to stand up for myself now. My suffering meant something, and by forgiving her I'd be letting her off the hook. I'd be saying it didn't mean anything."

Charlie pursed his lips, as if he was bracing himself for a full-on argument. "Okay, look at it this way: what would a perfect person do? She'd forgive Jessica, right?"

"No, she wouldn't." I closed my eyes; like Charlie, I could tell we were about to get in a fight. "Honestly, I don't know what a perfect person would do. I don't think she'd trivialize what she went through, though... Maybe we should just drop this, since I don't think we're going to agree."

"Yeah, me either." He shook his head. "We'll talk about it later, once you've had more time to think." The way he said that made me roll my eyes.

It was clear that he thought I was in the wrong, that he thought I just needed a little more perspective. Like when we'd argued about his grandpa; he wouldn't let up until he had his way. I wasn't about to deny that there was a grain of wisdom in what he was saying, some small grain of truth. But there was my truth... And then there was Charlie's.

My truth was that it wasn't wrong to remember the ways someone had hurt me. Forgiveness in the case of Jessica just seemed naïve. When I didn't say anything, Charlie shook his head. "Just think about it, Ash."

_I already have,_ I thought. _But I can't make a decision either way._ In a way, I felt as if I was making a decision about whether I wanted to stay with Charlie or not. At some point, I had to figure out whether I was okay with bowing to his opinion on everything. That was the only way the argument would get resolved, just like our disagreement over his grandpa. If I didn't agree with him, he'd find ways to bring it up.

The decision of whether to stay with him was so much harder than figuring out how to treat Jessica. Charlie had been there for me; he'd been my sounding board, my confidant, my only friend at a time when friends had been more precious to me than all the gold in the world. Jessica had made me a stronger person, but I didn't know if I was strong enough to let Charlie go.

Whoa, you made it through the whole book! Congratulations!

If you enjoyed _Auburn: Outcasts and Underdogs_ , please be sure to leave a review on Amazon, Goodreads, or anywhere else (shouting from a rooftop works too). You can also tweet me @vtothetom.

The second novel of this series, _Auburn: Lost Causes and Bad Investments,_ is currently available on Amazon. If you liked _Outcasts and Underdogs,_ please pick up a copy!

# Song Lyrics

Add One More

To one pain we add another

When you're hurting like no other

Sometimes you just can't take it in stride

If you can't stand, you hopeless sufferer

To one trial, here take another

Don't collapse until the day you survive

And maybe you'll find

No not happiness

But just a little less sadness

Just a little less pain to deny

Not satisfaction

But perhaps just some compassion

Something you won't have to keep inside

Maybe one day you'll survive

To your sorrows, add one more

When you feel like death's door

Is coming close at your own hand

Maybe you'll remember

That this isn't our December

The end doesn't have to come as planned

So go on, give me more

'Till I'm falling to the floor

'Till I beg for mercy, make me scream

Because life can be a chore

And the worst afflicted

Are those who never add one more

So add one more

(Add one more)

Sing it with me now

('Cause life's a chore)

And we'll find out how

This life will continue on

(Add another)

Cling to it tight

(Don't go under)

Stay with me tonight

Until we see the break of dawn

Just add one more

Early Flight

First Verse

He took the early flight home

Packed his bags and said "I've gotta go"

Kissed me on both cheeks

Said goodbye to everyone

Told me our time together was just about done

'Cause he took the early flight home

All the love that we shared

The times that we cried

The times that we laughed

I still had to say goodbye

They fit neatly in his suitcase

Next to pictures of his wife

I love him forever

But he left us last night

Chorus

Yeah, he took the early flight home

Who could tell him he was wrong?

He took the early flight home

And now that he's gone

That early flight

Is movin' on

Second Verse

He used to put on red pajamas

Tell me he was Santa Claus

He made such a silly ruckus

Stumbling halfway down the stairs

I never told him that I knew

I never wondered if he cared

Do you think he used that old knapsack

When he boarded his plane?

Do you think that he looked back

Wished he could turn back again?

I love him forever

I'd give anything to see

Santa stumbling down the stairs

Just one more time for me

Chorus

Yeah, he took the early flight home

Who could tell him he was wrong?

He took the early flight home

And now that he's gone

That early flight

Is movin' on

Finale

All the love that we shared

The times that we cried

The times that we laughed

I still had to say goodbye

I love you old man

You silly, clumsy old man

I love you forever

But you left me last night

I hope your early flight

(laugh, whisper) Well, I hope your early flight made it in just fine

Jaded

First verse

Feeling lost

Twisted and confused

Abused like a puppet

Caught up in a winter tempest

I'm feeling like a kite

Torn up by the wind

My colors once so bright

Now I just can't stand...

Chorus

One, two, three

Do you see

What you've done to me?

And can you hear

My whining plea?

Oh, please just let me be.

Let me be.

Second verse

Feeling hated

Rejected and affected

By all of the cold shoulders

By all of your hostile stares

Where once I was a kite

Now I can no longer fly

I'm stuck here on the ground

And I just keep falling down

Chorus

One, two, three

Do you see

What you've done to me?

And can you hear

My whining plea?

Oh, please just let me be.

Let me be.

Finale

I want this feeling to end

Please mend my broken colors

And let me sing again.

Hear my plea

And let me be

Oh, don't make me feel lost

And don't make me feel hated

The sadness will pass

Don't leave me feeling

Jaded.

Head over Heels

Intro

When we walk together

It feels like the world falls away

And when we talk forever

It seems like life will never change

I'm falling fast

And falling hard

Falling head over heels for you

Chorus

(Head over heels)

How can I describe it?

(Head over heels)

I cannot deny this

Feeling inside

It's like I'm finally alive

And tumbling

Falling head over heels

For you

First Verse

If the song plays soft

When the time is right

If you love me fast

I'll fall hard tonight

You feel like a world

I've never known

And when you speak to me

It's like coming home

So just let me fall

Into your arms now

Just let me fall

Let's both tumble down

Chorus

(Head over heels)

How can I describe it?

(Head over heels)

I cannot deny this

Feeling inside

It's like I'm finally alive

And tumbling

Falling head over heels

For you

Second Verse

If you love me back

Please just let me know

'Cause I've tumbled too far

To let you go

And we'll hold hands

Play our silly songs

We'll keep falling hard

And they'll sing along

Final Chorus

(Head over heels)

How can I describe it?

(Head over heels)

I cannot deny this

Feeling inside

It's like I'm finally alive

And tumbling

Falling head over heels

For you

Plastic Hearts

Intro

There are people

Who they say

Never have to feel this way

There are people

Not like us

Who've never felt our bare disgust

With plastic hearts

And hollow love

They send on judgment from above

They don't see us

Or hear our pleas

They only send us to our knees

Their plastic hearts cause only pain

Their plastic hearts go out in vain

Chorus

Plastic hearts, warped and twisted

Plastic hearts by the side of the road

Plastic hearts grew cold and sick as

They never learned to

No, they never wanted

To let us sho-ow them how to love

Second Verse

They are broken

Cracked and bruised

They always knew

Just how to use

Our own feelings

For their own gain

Plastic is never flesh again

But my love is real

Plastic can't touch me

Give me something I can feel

Now, give me something I can see

Whoa-oh

I can show you how to live

If you just come with me

Your plastic heart can break

Let me show you how to bleed

Chorus

Plastic hearts, warped and twisted

Plastic hearts by the side of the road

Plastic hearts grew cold and sick as

They never learned to

No, they never wanted

To let us sho-ow them how to love

Finale

Your hearts, warped and twisted

I will leave by the side of the road

When your heart grows cold and sick just

Remember that I offered to show

You how to live

And how to love

You could've bled with me

But now your heart, it beats in time

And you'll never learn to bleed

No, you'll never bleed

Starstruck Lullaby

Intro

I stayed awake last night

Counting stars to the flicker in your eyes

Living dreams in my own head

Fantasies better left unsaid

They say the future's full of snow

And lord knows I've felt the bitter cold

Chorus

This is a star,

Struck lullaby

Sing it up to the life that passed me by

Never good and never great

I keep trying anyway

And nights'll be warmer

Faces kinder

In that life we can't deny

(Starstruck lullaby)

'Cause it won't pass me by

(Starstruck Lullaby)

Pass me by,

Tonight

First Verse

I built up my dreams

Poured out my hopes

And what did it ever get me?

A life of has beens

A life of sorrow

A life of looking for what could be

These shooting stars

Are passing planes

Coming overhead

Tell me, are we past these silly games

Past fantasies we left for dead?

Chorus

This is a star,

Struck lullaby

Sing it up to the life that passed me by

Never good and never great

I keep trying anyway

And nights'll be warmer

Faces kinder

In that life we can't deny

(Starstruck lullaby)

'Cause it won't pass me by

(Starstruck Lullaby)

Pass me by,

Tonight

Finale

Pass me by,

Whoa pass me by,

In this starstruck lullaby,

Just pass me by tonight

