by Arden Powell
“Why does everyone keep assuming I don’t know what I want?” Kris demanded. “I didn’t wake up one morning and think, ‘Oh, I wonder what it’s like batting for the other team.’ Like, I’m into guys. I always have been. Just because I haven’t had a ton of—any—experience, that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I like.”
“You’ve never talked about it before,” Cassie pointed out.
“Neither have you,” he countered.
“Point. So you’re—what? Bi?”
“Bi,” he said. “I’m bisexual.” It was the first time he’d said it aloud, and it felt scary and thrilling and relieving all at once, like going out in makeup for the first time, or lacing up a corset.
“Okay, well, does Rayne know that?” Cassie asked. “Or does he still think you’re straight? And why would you even let him think that if it’s not true? These guys shit rainbows, dude. You’re not going to get a better opportunity than this to come out.”
“He thinks I want to use him to experiment.” Kris’s insides went leaden at the reminder, and he curled in on himself, wishing he could disappear.
“Oh my god, are you in love with him?”
“I—” He couldn’t be, not now that Rayne had so thoroughly rejected him, no matter what Kris had thought he’d seen in Rayne’s face in that dressing room the night before—
“You are,” Cassie breathed. “Oh, shit. That sucks, man.”
“Well, he doesn’t want that,” Kris said, with heavy resignation. “He was talking about maybe trying to get somewhere with Cal. So it doesn’t matter.”
“You should really talk to him.” She poked him in the arm. “You guys could still work it out.”
“Maybe?”
“Talk to him, Kris. You’re both adults—physically, if not mentally some days—and this might just be a huge misunderstanding.”
Kris wanted to hole up somewhere dark and lick his wounds, but not talking was what had led to this mess in the first place. And regardless of whether he and Rayne could work things out, Cassie would be after him like a dog with a bone until he made an attempt. He sighed. “Fine. We’ll talk.”
She settled back. “You better. See me missing my chance to have Rayne Bakshi for a brother-in-law—I don’t think so.”
Their parents’ car pulled up and they got to their feet.
“As soon as we get back,” Kris promised. “I’ll find him and we’ll talk it out.”
Their parents took them outside the festival to a little diner on the side of the highway, a quaint, family-owned place that proudly advertised its famous pies. Cassie hijacked the conversation, steering it clear of Kris with an ease born of years of jostling for attention. Kris didn’t object; he only pitched in occasionally to corroborate some of her less believable Passionfruit anecdotes, all while Brad sat quietly, humming here and there to contribute, but mostly leaving well enough alone. Kris was glad for the respite—he didn’t want to pick a fight in the middle of the restaurant, not with his parents trying to treat him, but he didn’t think he could resist if Brad started in on him.
“The festival’s nearly over,” his dad said. “Are you looking forward to a change of scenery?”
“It’ll be good to be back on the road,” Kris agreed. Purple Sage had left a sour taste in his mouth now, and he didn’t want to set foot in that dressing room ever again. The fact that he and Rayne would still be sharing a bus—he didn’t know what to do about that, but quitting the band was out of the question.
I’m going to talk to Rayne as soon as I get back, he told himself firmly. Cassie was right: he had probably blown this whole thing out of proportion. He should have taken Rayne’s history with Fink into account and been more sensitive; he would apologize for that, and they could salvage things. Even if Rayne didn’t want anything more than friendship, surely they could still have that.
“I think I’m still a bit hungover,” he apologized.
Cassie slid his plate into her spot without a word and tucked in to the remains of his meal. “Lightweight,” she said cheerfully, around a mouthful of pancake. “I think it’ll be great to hit the road! I’ve never been on a road trip before, unless you count driving out here.”
“With your Passionfruit band?” their mom asked.
“And The Chokecherries,” Cassie said, moving onto the hash browns. “At least until Knocks can play again, but I’m having a great time, and the guys all like me, so.” She shrugged. “We’ll see how it plays out. I’m happy to stay as long as I can.”
“You’ll be careful though,” their dad said. “They seem like a rowdy lot.”
“I’ll be careful, Dad. Jay’s and Billie’s girlfriends are joining us like two stops over anyway.”
Their parents looked mollified at the thought of chaperones.
“And what about Rayne?” their mom asked Kris. “I’ve heard rumors flying about some young man he’s been spotted with a few times now.”
Brad clenched his fingers around his fork.
“I don’t know that it’s anything serious,” Kris said, keeping his voice even. “I think it’s hard to date on tour. I wouldn’t want to try it.”
“Well, there’ll be plenty of time for that after,” she said, “what with you being so successful now. I’ve seen how the girls scream in the audience, you know, throwing all sorts of things at the stage. Young women will always love a man in a rock band.”
“Seen some of the boys screaming too,” their dad added.
Kris coughed and quickly took a drink of water. “I’m just happy they like the music,” he choked out.
Cassie thumped him on the back without looking up from her plate. “I’m dating Stef, by the way,” she said. “The bassist? You guys met the first day we got here.”
Kris sank deeper into his seat, grateful the attention was off him again. What he needed was to collect himself before his parents asked for any more details about Rayne, or Cal, or anything else.
Their parents glanced at each other.
“We’ll have to talk to—er,” their dad began.
“Them,” Cassie supplied.
“It would be nice to get to know them better,” their mom finished. “We’ll take you both out to dinner before we leave.”
Cassie brightened before glancing at Brad, who thinned his lips but only said, “Congratulations.”
“That would be nice, Mom. I’m sure Stef will like that.”
“They definitely won’t turn down a free dinner,” Kris said. “I didn’t know you were actually dating.”
“This is a family restaurant, Kris,” Cassie said. “We’re calling it dating.”
Their dad cleared his throat as the waitress returned with fresh coffee. “Anyone want pie? I’m getting pie.”
He and their mom both ordered; Cassie, having already eaten her waffles and most of Kris’s pancakes, begged off.
Kris jumped at the chance for a minute alone. “I’m going to go for a walk, see if that’ll help my head. I’ll meet you back here when you’re ready to go, okay? Enjoy the pie.”
He headed out to do a few laps around the parking lot, hoping the sun would bake the angst from his brain.
Brad joined him a minute later.
“Hey,” he said. “We got off on the wrong foot the other day. Can we talk?”
Kris squinted at him, then shrugged. It couldn’t go worse than their last talk; it definitely couldn’t go worse than his talk with Rayne.
“Jump in the car,” Brad offered. “Let’s go for a drive.”
Brad slid into the driver’s seat and waited for Kris to buckle up next to him before pulling out onto the highway. It stretched endlessly in either direction, cutting through the rust-colored desert rocks. Brad steered away from the festival, drumming his thumbs against the wheel. Neither of them spoke for the first few minutes. Something with a banjo twanged on the radio.
“Are you really happy?” Brad finally asked.
Kris didn’t know where to begin, but he wasn’t going to prove
Brad right by saying so. “Sure I am. You still hung up on how I look onstage?”
“You’re wearing makeup right now.”
Kris stole a glance in the side mirror. Whatever he’d been wearing last night had smudged around his eyes, making him look more goth than glam.
“It’s hardly drag. So?”
The highway lines passed under them in streaks.
“You and Rayne. Tell me he’s never tried anything with you offstage.”
Kris laughed. It sounded unpleasant, even to his ears. “You trying to protect my virtue, Brad? That’s a losing fucking battle, man. I’ve done more in the past week than I’ve done in my entire life, and if me and Rayne did do something, what’s it to you? We’re both adults.”
Brad’s mouth twisted. “You’re still my little brother. I don’t like seeing you like this.”
“Successful?” Kris offered. “Getting paid to make music and hang out with some really cool people I respect and admire?”
“It’s degrading.”
“Sorry, what?”
“I’m not saying anyone’s forcing you to do anything,” Brad said, “but someone’s clearly influencing you. Makeup, girls’ clothes, letting some gay rub up on you like that—you would never have agreed to any of that before you moved away.”
“No shit. You giving Cassie this talk too, or am I just special?”
“She’s twenty. Every college girl goes through a phase like this; it’ll pass. You—you’re old enough to know better.”
“Wow. Say that to her face—she’ll have your balls, man. I wish I’d had half her guts at twenty to be myself.”
“Mom and Dad think you can take care of yourself,” Brad continued, as if Kris hadn’t spoken. “Cassie will always side with you to spite me. But I didn’t come all the way out here just to fight with you, Kris.”
“No? Why did you come, Brad? Because I don’t believe for a second that you missed me. We’ve barely talked since you went all right wing, and honestly, I was good with that. That was working for me. So what changed? Why are you suddenly pulling this concerned-older-brother crap that we both know is bullshit?”
Brad’s mouth was set in a thin, hard line. “Did you ever think how your little stage antics would reflect on the rest of us? Dressing up like this, the makeup, the kissing, like you’re some kind of sex toy for him to play with up there, while he’s fucking some other guy the rest of the time—did you stop and think how that would make the rest of us look?”
“Mom and Dad don’t care—” Kris began, and then he stopped. “I’m embarrassing you.”
Brad’s knuckles whited out around the steering wheel.
“All your straitlaced conservative friends found out about me, and you freaked.” Kris barked out a laugh. “This is pathetic, man! You came all the way out to Nevada to bully me into quitting the band so you could save face with those assholes? Like that was ever going to work. Just get better friends.”
“You don’t understand anything,” Brad said coldly, in a tone that meant Kris was exactly right. “But I want you to know, I’m doing this for your own good.”
A thread of fear slipped through Kris. They were fifteen minutes out from the diner, and another fifteen after that from the festival. They hadn’t passed a single car on the entire drive. “What are you talking about?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice level.
Brad pulled onto the shoulder and let the car roll to a halt. “Consider this an intervention. Give me your phone.”
“Like hell!”
“Now!” Brad snapped.
“Fuck you. I’m calling Mom.”
Kris made it to the second ring before Brad grabbed his wrist and smacked the phone away, sending it clattering to the car floor.
“Get out of the car,” Brad said, his hand still wrapped bruisingly hard around Kris’s wrist.
Kris tried to yank his arm free to no avail. “You’re kidding. You’re fucking nuts, Brad. Do you really think this is going to get you anywhere?”
“Everything’s going to be fine,” Brad said through gritted teeth. “Now get out of the goddamn car before I drag you out.”
“Fuck you.”
“You think you can play guitar with a broken wrist?” Brad twisted his hand, and Kris’s bones ground up against one another until he swore and hit the car door with his free hand.
“Fine! Fucking—fine. Let go of me.”
Brad let him go incrementally. His fingers left white marks like bands, which throbbed hotly around Kris’s otherwise red wrist. Kris rubbed it as he braced himself against the door and squared his shoulders. “Asshole.”
Brad growled and before Kris could defend himself, lunged over like a juggernaut to force the passenger side door open, undo the seat belt, and shove Kris out to land on his ass on the road.
“What the fuck!” Kris scrambled to his feet, but Brad had already pulled the door closed again and locked it.
“I’m telling Rayne you want out,” Brad said through the window, retrieving Kris’s phone from under the seat.
“He’ll never believe you.”
“I’m texting it from your phone. I’m not an idiot; I know you two fought earlier. He’ll believe it if you’re the one who says so. And then you can move on with your life, and forget this whole dumb stunt ever happened. Go back to acting like a man again.” He rolled the window down far enough to toss a water bottle into the dust at Kris’s feet. “Somebody will pick you up before you starve to death. You’ll thank me for this, one day.”
“Fuck you,” Kris said. “Fuck you with a giant fucking chainsaw, Brad, I swear to god, if you drive away—”
Brad drove off before Kris could finish the threat, a spurt of dust exploding from the back tires and, to add insult to injury, sending Kris into a coughing fit that only made his lingering headache worse.
The car disappeared from sight, heading toward the diner where the rest of his family waited. He wondered what Brad would tell them.
“Lying bastard asshole.”
No one replied.
Once Leif put his plan to recover the Avatar in motion, it was easy. According to the grapevine, it was The Chokecherries who had stolen it, so all he had to do was go to them to get it back. He knew the band; he had been to enough festivals to have encountered them prior to Purple Sage, and Rayne Bakshi stood out even among the throngs of music artists and crowds of partiers. Finding the band wouldn’t be an issue. Convincing them to return the Avatar without getting security involved would be a greater challenge, but Leif had a plan for that as well.
“Travis, would you like to do a favor for the All-Seeing God?”
Travis nodded fervently. He wasn’t ideal as far as new order members went—he was too skittish, too twitchy, and too strung out for Leif’s liking, but Leif had worked with worse before. Travis seemed curious about the order, and most importantly, eager to please.
“I want you to go to the north edge of the grounds and create a diversion. As loud and as riotous as you can manage.”
Travis’s eyes lit up and he nodded again, even more frantically this time. “I can do that. What kind of diversion do you need?”
“Something big enough to distract the festival security. All of them. Can you do that?”
“Hell yeah. I know a guy with fireworks—give me ten minutes and it’s done.” He hesitated, seemingly on the brink of running off to find the guy in question. “And after, you’ll introduce me to your god, right? You’ll let me talk to Him?”
“If you do this well, you’ll be one of us,” Leif promised.
Travis’s face split in a grin, and he bounded away to wreak havoc on the north side, leaving Leif and the rest of the order to find Calloway.
It wasn’t difficult. All Leif had to do was walk and let the All-Seeing God guide his steps. Fifteen minutes later he found Calloway at his stage, his hair shining like a golden beacon in the sun where he sat under the great sweeping banner that called people to worship him and his band. Leif had been a li
ttle disappointed when he’d learned of Dead Generation; Cal had always been a good disciple, and to find he’d thrown the order aside for a taste of fame still sat uncomfortably.
Red, Boar, and Rikki followed Leif like great loping shadows, awaiting instruction. Rikki had been reluctant to rejoin them, and he’d soon leave the order one way or another. Leif was willing enough to let him go peacefully, especially now that Travis was primed to take his place, but Red’s temper was shortening by the day, and Boar had never liked the boy. It was doubtful he’d be allowed to go without some bloodshed.
He put it from his mind and stepped into Calloway’s line of sight. The man froze like a rabbit, and they stared at each other for a long moment. A cluster of security personnel at the far edge of the stage kept an eye on them but didn’t move to intervene.
“Leif,” Cal finally croaked. “What are you—”
“Don’t bother calling for help,” Leif warned. “Security will be busy elsewhere in a minute. This will be easier if you cooperate.”
On cue, the nearest security officer’s radio screeched to life, and he frowned, raising it to his ear as the person on the other end said something about “a disruption” between sharp bursts of static. The officer nodded to his fellows and they took off at a run, heading north.
Calloway glanced around furtively before edging closer and dropping his voice. “Why are you here?”
“The Avatar is missing and you know where it is.”
Cal looked panicked. “No, I don’t.”
“The Chokecherries have been bringing a peacock to their shows. You know Rayne Bakshi. You’re going to take me to him to help negotiate its return.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cal insisted, but his eyes gave him away.
Leif stepped forward and Cal scrambled back, but not quickly enough—catching him by the forearm, Leif dragged him in close.
“You’re coming with me,” he growled, “and you’re going to ensure this negotiation goes smoothly for everyone involved. Do you understand?”
“Why can’t you talk to him yourself?”
“Because I don’t want to escalate things if I don’t have to.” They both briefly eyed Red and Boar. “He trusts you. He’s more likely to return the Avatar if you ask than if I do, and then no one has to get hurt.”
