In the Band

by Jean Haus

  “So the party was awesome, huh?” Kendra says, dipping a fry in the huge ketchup pool on her plate. The red of the condiment and the bright blue of her nails clash in the bright cafeteria light.

  I force a nod. I was relieved during Philosophy when Kendra didn’t bring up the weekend. Guess my relief was short lived. I reach for my milk. Ever since I began cooking because of my mother’s nightly absence, I’ve been more in tune with nutrition for Jamie’s sake, but it’s rubbed off on my own choices. Ice tea instead of pop. Milk at least once a day.

  Kendra continues rolling her fry through ketchup. “The show was pretty good too.”

  Of course, Kendra would like the party better than the concert. “I was nervous, but yeah we rocked.”

  “Can you tell me something?” Kendra asks obviously not interested in discussing the concert.

  “Sure,” I say while dreading her question. I’m sure it’s about a particular band mate.

  She tugs a long strand of blonde hair behind an ear and leans forward. “Does Romeo have a girlfriend?”

  My eyes widen and two percent catches in my throat. I cough and cough while Kendra stares at me with a tapered look. “Sorry,” I say and let out one last cough. “I think it went down the wrong pipe.”

  Kendra’s gaze stays in narrowed mode.

  “Um, I’m not sure, but I think so. I met her at the football game. Though he didn’t say she was his girlfriend, they acted like they were together. Her name is April.” How the hell had I forgotten about his girlfriend? Milk curdles in my stomach at the thought he cheated on her with me.

  Kendra’s eyes de-narrow. “Well, that explains it.”

  I give her a questioning look as expected, try to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, and hold in my building freak out.

  “He flirted with me all night. More than any of the other girls. It didn’t make sense when he left and didn’t even ask for my number.” She finally pops the drowned fry in her mouth.

  Ego much?

  Kendra reaches for another fry. “Is she pretty?”

  I take a huge bite of my chicken sandwich and nod vigorously. Kendra’s testing the irritating scale. She might be worse than Romeo today.

  “Well that sucks.” She dabs her fry. I want to smash that fry on the table or maybe grab it and another one to stuff in my ears. Kendra lets out a long sigh. “I’m really, really attracted to him.”

  I make a point of looking at the time on my phone, strap on my bag, and grab my tray. “If they break up, I’ll let you know.” I give her a weak smile. “See you next week.”

  Though I’m early, I race across the campus and into the science and math building. Luckily, the bathroom is empty. Inside a stall, I lean against the door with my forehead against the metal and let my freak out commence.

  I’m such an idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. But I only met April once. The girl hardly talked to me. I forgot Romeo had a girlfriend. She should have made a bigger impression. Not just gave me jealous looks. Buzzed or not, I would have never hit on him if I had remembered. Plus, why wasn’t she there Saturday?

  My entire face smashes against the stall door.

  Get a grip. Get a grip. Get a grip. It’s mostly Romeo’s fault. He should have stopped it from happening. He’s her freakin’ boyfriend. Right? Maybe they’re just dating. Aren’t in a full all out relationship. But I’m betting she is why he stopped. But to let it get that far then let me spend the night. His assholeness goes up a notch.

  I push away from the door.

  Okay. Okay. Okay. I made a mistake, an awful, huge mistake. I need to face reality. If they are dating exclusively, I’m an accidental semi-cheater. And Chloe thinking I’m falling for Romeo? Um no, I do not fall for cheaters. Cheaters suck. Ugh. So I kind of suck. Inadvertent suckage though.

  I take a deep breath.

  Freak out finished. I need to move on and learn from my mistake. Pay attention to who you’re kissing, Riley, regardless of how hot they are.

  As usual, I’m early for Calculus. Though I went over the assigned sections last night and did the work, I skim over the material while waiting at my table. I don’t want to think of Romeo, April, or Saturday night—excepting for playing—ever again. Unfortunately, he plops down next to me within minutes and tosses an envelope onto the open pages of my book.

  At the sight of him, those soul filled eyes and full lips, memories of Saturday night rush into my brain. His lips, his hands, and the gentle slide of his fingers in my hair pass through my mind’s eye like a lush silent film. I lock the images out with the clench of my jaw. “What’s this?” I ask, reaching for the envelope.

  “One hundred and seventy dollars.”

  “Huh?”

  “Your share of the payment for U-Palooza.” When I continue to stare at him, he says, “You don’t think it’s enough? We usually do get more but for that one we get just a percent.”

  My fingers reach for the envelope. “More?”

  He leans back and the angle of hair across his forehead shifts. “You do realize we get paid for gigs?”

  No, I hadn’t. Compensation never occurred to me. I just wanted to play.

  At my bewildered look, he says, “You think we play just for fun?”

  My brow lowers. It’s more than fun. It’s music. It’s drumming.

  The indecisive look he wore Saturday night changes his gaze. The one that accompanied the words about not figuring me out.

  Professor Hill walks into the room and sets his brief case on his desk with a thud. I tuck the envelope into the back pages of my book and we both give him our attention. Soon I’m scribbling notes about vectors and dot products. I try maintaining my concentration on the professor. Attentiveness is easier said than done, but at least I force my gaze from going to the left.

  The sight of April and Romeo talking at the end of the hall has me hanging out at the other end of the hall during break. I’m sitting on one of the standard couches near the entrances and scrolling through my phone when someone plops down next to me. I give him a slight glance as I read Chloe’s text asking if Romeo hit on me during class. I’m about to explain the girlfriend thing in a text back, but the guy next to me asks, “Aren’t you the drummer from the last band on Saturday?”

  I lower my phone and meet an amazing pair of light blue eyes. “Yeah, Luminescent Juliet.”

  He grins at me. “They were good but you rocked.”

  “Thanks,” I say, trying not to blush. With wildly spiked hair, a lopsided smile, and ear guages, he’s stylish and cute.

  “Really, you were one of the best drummers I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been to a ton of concerts.”

  Impressed I made such an impression I murmur another thanks.

  He puts out a hand covered with silver rings. “Mike.”

  I shake his hand. “Riley.”

  “So when’s your next show?”

  “Three weeks at the Razor,” I say and stand.

  “I’ll have to catch it,” he says, standing and grinning again.

  “Yeah, you should. Sorry but I have to get back to class.” I take a step toward Calculus and he follows.

  “I’m on my way to Chemistry, but ah…” He rubs his chin. “I’d really like your number.” He nods to the phone still in my hand.

  “Oh, um…” Shit. I have no idea how to deal with this. At age fourteen, I was a bit popular with some of the skateboarders since I could out trick most of them, but refusing a make out—okay I didn’t refuse all those offers— at the top of the curvy slide is worlds away from this. Recently, I’ve witnessed Kendra dealing with guys hitting on her at lunch. She tells them to eff off. Not such a great idea since he seems to be a fan of the band. Yet the idea of some guy calling that I hardly know freaks me out.

  I decide to lie. Beyond lame. But I can’t think of another tactful way to get out of his request.

  “Actually, I would give it to you, but I’m kind of seeing someone right now.”

  “Yeah, I figured as much.�
� Walking next to me, he shakes his head. “If your kind of doesn’t work out, I pass through here every day.”

  I reach for the door handle to class and notice Romeo, not only walking toward us, but intently watching us. The evil bitch inside of me, that only he seems to bring out, smiles flirtatiously at Mike. “I’ll have to remember that.”

  Romeo’s eyes narrow on us.

  “Great.” He gives me another grin as I walk into class.

  I grit my teeth when Romeo sits down but don’t acknowledge him. Several examples later, I’ve almost forgotten he exists. Almost is the key word.

  After class, I whip my books and calculator into my bag in an effort to escape without any more communication with my tablemate. Before I can stand, he asks, “So have you thought about it?”

  My brows lower. “What?”

  “Quitting.”

  “I’m not quitting,” I say through clenched teeth.

  “It’s going to be harder now you know.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “After what happened on Saturday.”

  “We are pretending that didn’t happen,” I snap beyond angry he would bring Saturday up, especially after his mini-date with April during break.

  “Well it did.”

  I can’t keep my expression from turning horrified. “So you’re going to tell Justin and Sam about…it?”

  “No. But between us I’m not going to pretend.” His eyes roam over me.

  I ignore the sultry look. “Why?”

  “I told you I want you to—”

  “Quit. Yeah, that’s becoming crystal clear. How’s April by the way?”

  Except for the ghost of a frown, he doesn’t miss a beat. “She’s fine. If you think I was hard to deal with before, I’m going to become your worst nightmare.”

  Snatching my bag from the table, I hiss, “Bring it on, asshole.” Then I stomp out of the room.

  If he wants a war, I’ll give him World War Three. Though I’d never admit it to him, playing in the band is the one thing in life I look forward to lately. I’m not giving it up just because he wants me to quit, three boys can’t keep their egos in check, or because a particular one keeps my hormones in overdrive.

  Chapter 13

  The last two weeks of practice have been awful. Though we tend to ignore each other during Calculus—except the time he looked smugly from my eighty-five and eighty-three quizzes to his ninety-five and ninety-nine quizzes—Romeo and I are at each other’s throats during practice. I used to ignore him. Now I point out his flaws and argue whenever he’s overly critical. And he’s overly critical all the time. It’s gotten to the point that Justin and Sam tell us both to shut up several times each practice.

  Tonight when Justin asked me to go out after practice for the thousandth time and Romeo scowled at us, I agreed. After texting Chloe for permission first, of course. The wonderful girl does sit for free.

  My agreement, even more than his scowl, had to do with Romeo’s announcement at the beginning of practice. He announced he was tired of looking at my lame ass drums. Sam and Justin had looked uncomfortable when he further explained that my kit sent the message of suck. Musicians are judged by their instruments. And looking at mine said I couldn’t play worth shit.

  Though somewhat true—I’ve noticed him and Sam cleaning and shinning up their instruments regularly with folded bandanas—obviously this was a new tactic to get me to quit.

  Smiling sweetly, I told him I’d have a new set by next practice. I’m going to look like a total ass if Marcus doesn’t agree to let me use his set. I’m planning on going into the heaviest mode of begging possible. However, Marcus’s deep love for his drum set has me worried.

  So after practice, I’m sipping on a beer that Justin bought me. His dimpled smile at the waitress affected her need to see my ID. Apparently, his dimples equate to Jedi mind tricks. We sit in the back of the bar by the pool tables and dart boards. A few feet away, Sam, Romeo, and several girls throw darts. Since Sam introduced the girls to everyone, he must be the one who invited them.

  I tear my eyes from a girl, and her plunging neckline, flirting with Romeo and catch him grinning at me. I turn toward Justin. He asked me to come. He’s the one sitting here with me. I force myself to concentrate on him and not what’s going on in front of the dartboards. “So I take it you guys come here a lot after practice.”

  Justin leans back and puts his arm on the back of my chair. “Yeah, at least once a week.” He takes a long swing of beer then watches me over the rim. “So how long have you been playing drums?”

  Ignoring his sultry gaze, I honestly say, “Eight years. I took piano lessons from six to ten.” Jamie took lessons too but when money got tight, those were one of the first things to go. I pick at the label of my beer. “When I wanted to quit, my mother told me to pick another instrument. She was determined for me to be a well-rounded child. Music was part of the equation.” My mother used to read parent magazines constantly. She used to be the perfect homemaker. I hold in a sigh. “Marcus played drums so that was my instrument of choice. We were very competitive as kids. So she reluctantly found someone to give me lessons.”

  He leans closer. “How’d Marcus take it when you were better than him?”

  I grin at the memory. “When I beat him out for first chair in band the first week of sixth grade, he didn’t talk to me for two days, which was forever to an eleven year old. But he kicked my ass at skate boarding so things evened out.” I take a sip of beer. “What about you?”

  He gives me a questioning look.

  “How long have you been singing?”

  “With the radio? Forever.” He laughs. “On stage? Only since the middle of freshman year here.”

  “Really?” Justin is a pretty damn good singer.

  He nods. “I was shocked too when Romeo asked me to join.”

  “Why would he ask? Why would you agree?”

  Justin shrugs. “We were roommates. He must have heard me singing. Like I said, I was always singing with the radio or my iPod. I’d always been into music. And what eighteen year old wouldn’t like fronting a band? Everyone knew me after our first gig.” He grins. “Especially the girls.”

  I ignore the girl comment. “Huh. So you just got in front of microphone and that was that?”

  “Ah, no. Romeo had his work cut out for him. After we found Sam and Gary,” I’m assuming Gary is the former drummer, “we didn’t perform for a couple of months. I was the major issue. Romeo was a lot more patient then.”

  Patience and Romeo? “I find that hard to believe.”

  Justin laughs again and his dimple grooves. “He was. Taught me how to read music, how to breathe right during vocals, about pitch, and even how to frickin’ stand correctly.”

  Romeo the super musician.

  At my eye roll, he adds, “Hey, I didn’t come to him as fully formed talent. However, I looked as white as you did before my first time on stage. Romeo had to bully me to go out too.”

  So Romeo had challenged me on purpose that night. I glance over my shoulder. Showing her how to throw a dart, Romeo’s wrapped around cleavage girl from behind. No wonder April looks jealous most of the time. Her boyfriend is a major player. Ugh. How did the conversation turn to the cheating asshole?

  I take a sip of beer and return my attention to Justin. “So the whole tattoo, piercing thing you have going,” I say, gesturing to his eyebrows and arms. “Did that happen before or after you joined the band?”

  The waitress comes before he can answer. Justin orders two more beers. I’m not even half done with the first.

  Once he’s done flirting with the waitress, Justin points to the tribal design on his left bicep. “This was my first one. Got it in Cancun during spring break senior year of high school. My dad who’s a doctor about flipped. Not over the tattoo, but the thought of some dirty parlor in Mexico,” he says with a smirk.

  He continues describing each of his tattoos. When and where he got them before moving on t
o the ‘stories’ behind his eyebrow and nipple piercings. He even lifts his shirt to show me the ring in his nipple. None of the stories are too deep. I was drunk and decided it was time for some ink. A girl I dated was into nipple piercings. As he talks, I’m getting a complete picture of Justin through his body art. He’s not a bad guy. Maybe a bit of a man whore. But he’s just out to have fun. Carefree and cool seem to be his main life goals. And with his obviously rich father, his aimless lifestyle isn’t too hard to maintain. While Sam and Romeo wear plain t-shirts and regular jeans—except for on stage where Romeo dresses more like his roommate—Justin wears designer t-shirts and expensive ripped denim daily.

  If Chloe were here, she’d be whispering hot but major douchebag in my ear.

  But really, I can’t be overly judgmental. It’s not like I’m Miss-Wanna-Do-Something Awesome-With-My-Life. My goals of wanting to play drums and simply go to college aren’t exactly lofty. I haven’t even decided on a major or minor yet.

  Justin’s describing how he didn’t flinch as the needle hit his nipple when Sam and the girls sit at our table. Romeo’s at the jukebox. The girls’ gazes are cool at me until Sam makes a comment about me drumming. Their eyes grow a bit less icy. Wow. I’m getting sick of this and wonder if they give each other bitch looks. Or because I’m inside the secret, prized circle of band hotties, the looks are reserved for me.

  The conversation turns to our upcoming gig while I peel away the rest of my label.

  Romeo comes over, flips a chair backwards, and leans his elbows on the back just as the music starts. The girl, Anna I think, on his end leans over showing him her cleavage at a better angle and says something that brings a slight smile to his face. Of course, Romeo’s nice to everyone but me.

  When Romeo sings along with the song’s refrain, his gaze pins me to my chair. The song is Dirty Little Secret by the All American Rejects and from the twinkle of his eyes it’s obvious he picked the song to piss me off. And yes, I’m pissed. Fuming actually.

  Draining half of my second beer, I angle my chair and scoot closer to Justin. The girl on the other side of him pauses whatever she was saying and gives me a dirty look. I give one back. Justin grins. She starts up again, something about her poetry class, while I pretend to be part of the conversation.