by K. M. Szpara
“What?” Aiden playfully smacks his arm. “You can show me! I want to—”
“—and I’m bisexual.”
“I’m straight,” Zeke says, raising his hand. “I’ve asked Jeff about going back on my meds multiple times and no one ever asked me if I wanted to write songs!” His look of offense sends us into full on, face-hurting laughter.
I poke my finger into my chest and shout, “I’m gay! And I have a big fucking crush on Jasper!” No one can hear me, but they all laugh, anyway—with me, not at me. Our arms are around one another again, all of us.
Aiden raises his hand. “I-I’m…” A deep crease settles into his forehead. “I don’t even think I’m a ‘boy’ all the time. I’m afraid to tell Jeff. We’re a boyband. That’s the basic requirement. I don’t want to be kicked out.”
“It’s okay, man—or not-man.” Zeke rubs Aiden’s shoulder. “Neither do I.”
I shake my head and say, “Me neither.”
“Fuck ’em,” Jasper says. “If they kick us all out, we can be our own band.”
“Not if they take our voices, like they did Ty’s,” Zeke says.
They all stare at me, the reminder of how fragile our band is. The moment when we were our full selves, gone. Our voices at stake.
* * *
“Hey, Ty.” Jeff’s head and torso appear where he leans into the bus. This isn’t his space, but he inserts himself, anyway.
I don’t respond, obviously. I can’t speak and don’t give Jeff the satisfaction of watching me try. I don’t even remove my headphones, though I do hit pause.
“Shayna from wardrobe asked me to bring that over.” He nods at a garment bag hanging from a cabinet knob. “You do want to perform, right?”
The question catches me so off guard—the yearning to sing, again—that I say, “Yes,” then dig my nails into my palm when I remember I vowed not to “speak.” I nod, trying not to look too eager. But I can’t help it. I fucking miss it. I miss the lights, the energy, the crowd, the guys. I miss the feeling of sound ripping through me like a bullet.
Jeff pats my back. “Good boy.”
I literally bite my tongue.
“I’ll leave you to it.” He nods at the garment bag. “Call’s in fifteen minutes. I’ll meet you and the guys at your marks beneath the stage. Got it?”
I nod.
Jeff nods, then leaves.
I should sit it out. Protest. Show the label they don’t own me, but they do. And I want to perform so badly—need to. I close my eyes and take several deep breaths. Forget this is Jeff’s doing. Remember why I’m here: for the music, for the guys, for the fans. For me.
* * *
We soar as the platforms we stand on rise. Born from the ground into the spotlight. I hold my mic to my lips and unleash the melody: “Don’t stand still / gotta keep running.” I feel the sound in my throat. Hear my voice harmonizing with the others’. But something is wrong.
“How y’all doing tonight?” Jasper asks the crowd, holding his mic out to pick up the swell of their response. A wave of screams. “I don’t know, guys, I don’t think they’re awake yet.” He winks at me.
I bring my mic up and say, “They sound a bit sleepy to me, Jas,” but no sound comes out. My heart ticks like a bomb waiting to explode in my chest. Confusion seizes my face.
Jasper’s smile falters. He tilts his head. Says, “I asked how y’all are doing, tonight.” Except he doesn’t watch the audience for their response, he watches me.
I put the mic to my lips again and say, “I think they’re awake, now.” And no one hears me. I snap my fingers into the mic.
Jeff didn’t turn my voice on. He didn’t even turn my mic on. And yet, when the chorus comes around, I hold up my mic and move my lips and my voice rings out over the speakers like it’s coming from my throat. It’s not. I’m a warm body. A marionette. Jeff might as well stick his arm up my ass and puppet my jaw with his hand.
The lights dim to soft blues and purples. The four of us walk to the front of the stage, Aiden with his guitar. Jasper raises his mic to his lips and says, “We’re going to do something special for you guys. Go off-book. Sing a little song a cappella, for you, that we only ever sing for each other. You won’t find it on the set list.” The crowd cheers but Jasper holds his finger to his lips, quieting them. “You know the one I mean—Zeke?”
“Yup,” he answers. “And you guys are in for a treat.”
“Aiden?” Jasper says, next.
When Aiden says, “I’m ready,” I realize what Jasper’s doing.
He’s forcing Jeff’s hand.
My heart picks up speed as I search for the sound booth through the glare of lights. Is Jeff up there? Is his finger hovering over the app, wondering whether to turn my voice back on or shut Jasper’s off? When he says my name next, will Jeff let me answer?
“What about you, Ty?” Jas looks right at me. “You ready?”
When I bring my mic to my lips and say, “As ever,” the words sound full and loud over the waiting silence. I switch my mic to my left hand and put my arm around Jasper and sing, “We’re all together again, we’re here, we’re here.”
Jasper puts his around Aiden. “We’re all together again, we’re here, we’re here.”
Aiden, around Zeke. “Who knows when we’ll be all together again?”
Zeke around Aiden. “Singing all together again? We’re here, we’re here.”
We look at one another. Smile. And, this time, sing in unison, that we’re all together, again. Four voices, again. Brothers. Friends. Weirdos. We’re here. And who knows how long Jeff will let us go on like this. The label can stop the tour. Bar us from the studio. Maybe even keep us from singing all together, again. But we will continue to use our voices to support one another. As long as someone is listening. As long as we have each other. We’re here, we’re here.
About the Author
Hugo and Nebula finalist K.M. Szpara is a queer and trans author who lives in Baltimore, MD. His debut novel is Docile, and his short fiction and essays appear in Uncanny, Lightspeed, Strange Horizons, and more. Kellan has a Master of Theological Studies from Harvard Divinity School, which he totally uses at his day job as a paralegal. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Begin Reading
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 2020 by K. M. Szpara
Art copyright © 2020 by Goni Montes
