Keep the Beat: A Band-Com for Romance Geeks

by Kata Čuić

  His hand is outstretched like he’s actually offering to help me up. “Drum majors never rest. We keep the beat.”

  “You should put that on a shirt.”

  “I’ll even make one for you this time. That was badass, Soph. I’m really proud of you.”

  Maybe Shannon was right about hazing being important for bonding. Because, for reasons I’ll never understand, his words sound genuine. And there’s no one left to put on a show for. I reach up an arm with the last of my strength, and James Fossoway pulls me upright.

  Chapter Twelve

  I kick the front door since my arms are struggling to manage what I’m pretty sure is a box weighing way more than fifty pounds. College textbooks are no joke. And I swore I’d never do weight lifting again.

  “It’s about time!” a voice calls from the other side. “We’ve got a fucking party to put on tonight, and you’re late!”

  The door swings open. If I wasn’t in the mood to lay on this front porch, curl into the fetal position, and cry until my tears run dry, I would really, really enjoy the look of horror plastered on Jimbo’s face.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Reston!” His voice cracks like a prepubescent teen, which barely lifts my spirits. That’s how bad this whole situation is. He snatches the box from me like it weighs nothing because that’s what weight lifters who don’t want to shake my father’s hand do. “Welcome to our home! You don’t have to stay if you have other plans. We’ll get Sophia all settled in, no problem.”

  “A party?” My mom glares at him.

  “Nothing special,” Jimbo hedges. “Just a very small, intimate gathering of a few fellow senior band members to welcome everyone back to the new school year. We’ll be making study schedules and serving a five-course dinner of ramen.”

  “Intimate, huh?” My dad squints at him.

  As much as I would normally enjoy watching Jimbo sweat, his overselling lies are only making this worse. For me.

  “Mom, Dad, this is James Fossoway. He’s one of the other drum majors this year.”

  The stupid stud holds the box with one hand and extends his other toward my father. “Nice to meet you both. I’ve heard great things.”

  More lies. He hasn’t heard shit. I would never talk about my family to enemy number one.

  “Have we met before?” My father shakes a little too exuberantly while still studying Jimbo. “You look so familiar.”

  He’s the spitting image of his brother, and Dad is a huge Miners football fan, so it’s only a matter of time until he puts two and two together.

  “Uh, no.” Jimbo has to forcibly extricate his hand from Dad’s grip. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure before.”

  Dad’s eyes brighten. “Fossoway! You must be Alex’s little brother! You look just like him!”

  I guess I know him better than I want to admit because there’s no way my parents notice the slight tension around his smile or the way his bright blue eyes dull a bit. My dad’s too busy yapping about Alex’s last season in Orlando, and my mom gives me the third degree about my sudden living situation.

  “I’m not comfortable with you staying in a house off campus with other men.” She clutches her neck like she might actually wear pearls.

  “It’s only for a week until they get the burst pipe in my apartment fixed. I’ll be with Shannon. She has her own private room upstairs.”

  A squeal from inside the house interrupts my mom’s likely next question about how many locks are on Shannon’s bedroom door.

  “You’re here! Yay! This is going to be just like freshman year all over again!” Shannon throws her arms around my neck. “I’ve been shifting stuff around in my room ever since you called, so you can have some space. Come on in! I’ll give your parents the grand tour!”

  Jimbo must be pretty desperate to escape the football talk because even though I think that’s a horrible idea, he boards Shannon’s happy train. “That’s a great idea! Can I get you something to drink? Are there more boxes to bring in from the moving truck?”

  “No, no.” Dad holds up the two duffel bags he’s holding with a week’s worth of my clothes and toiletries and gestures to the pillow Mom is squeezing in one hand like a stress ball. “We’re taking most of her stuff back home since she can’t really move into a flooded apartment.” Dad throws an arm around Jimbo’s shoulders like they’re old buddies and steers him inside. “I’ll take a beer if you have one.”

  Jimbo trudges toward the kitchen with my father in tow, still bearing my box of textbooks. He’s probably going to throw them in the kitchen sink and turn on the faucet. Honestly, after what I just witnessed, I wouldn’t blame him.

  “So, this is the living room!” Shannon extends her arms like a game-show hostess. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but the couches are really comfortable. Jimbo’s brother bought us the big screen TV as a housewarming gift, and he pays for a sweet cable package.”

  Thankfully, Mom doesn’t comment on the fact that the couches look like they were rescued from a curb on trash day. She doesn’t even mention that nothing in here matches. Instead, she raises an eyebrow. “Jimbo?”

  “James,” I supply. “It’s a bandie nickname.”

  “Ah.” Mom is familiar with those.

  My nickname in high school was Sofa. Everyone thought it was just so funny and clever.

  “And that’s the kitchen.” Shannon gestures in the direction of the animated, one-sided conversation in my father’s voice. “But we won’t interrupt the guys. Let’s go upstairs, and I’ll show you our room.”

  The house has three stories, so we follow up a narrow staircase, bypassing the second level for the third.

  “Well, at least you’re on the top floor. That’s … safe.” I just know my mom struggled to leave off the -er from that word. “Are there smoke detectors and carbon monoxide detectors? A fire escape?”

  “Yes, to the detectors; no, to the fire escape. An old house like this probably couldn’t be retrofitted with one.”

  My mom sniffs. In all fairness, the memory of last year’s house fire is still fresh in everyone’s minds. Two students died because the dilapidated building burned so fast, and they couldn’t get out.

  The stairwell empties into an equally narrow hallway. The door open directly in front of us reveals a bathroom that has a toilet, small basin sink, a plastic shower curtain pulled across the bathtub, no storage, and plenty of what looks like mold. If I’m lucky, it’s just age stains because this bathroom hasn’t been renovated since the 1980s. The tile is all faded shades of yellow and pink.

  Shannon smiles awkwardly. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but I just cleaned it, and we don’t have to share a bathroom with everyone else in the house. Each level has its own bathroom, and there’s even a half-bath for guests on the main floor. We keep all of our shower supplies in our bedrooms, so no one gets confused about whose shampoo is whose.”

  “Well, I suppose it’s no different than having shared bathrooms in the dormitories,” Mom concedes.

  “Yep!” Shannon beams. “And we’re not sharing with thirty other people. Only me, Soph, Jimbo, Tim, Nate, and Jake are up here!”

  That was the wrong thing to say.

  Mom’s expression darkens. “Exactly how many men live in this house?”

  Shannon winces. “Uh, seven.”

  “And how many women?” Mom presses.

  “Also seven.” Shannon smiles because at least it’s an even ratio.

  Fourteen people? They have fourteen people stuffed into this house?

  “Why aren’t all the women on the same floor and all the men on a separate floor?” Mom asks.

  “Oh, because seniors get dibs on the best rooms. The underclassmen live on the second floor and main floor.”

  Mom strangely nods like this is a perfectly rational explanation that she’s on board with. “Well, at least it’s only for a week.”

  There’s the reason.

  “And this is our room.” Shannon veers one door to the left
of the bathroom. She definitely picked the short straw. Her bedroom is small. As in her twin bed takes up half of an entire wall.

  It’s easy to see she really did have to rearrange things to make room for a pallet of blankets on the floor for me. There’s no way a second bed of any size would fit in here. Her dresser is squeezed onto the other half of the wall her bed sits against, and her desk is right beside the closet. I’ll be sleeping under a window with my feet probably smacking against her bookshelf all night.

  “It’s only for a week,” Mom reminds everyone. “Thank you for letting her stay with you, Shannon. I’m sure this is as much an inconvenience for you as it is for all of us.”

  “Aww.” She waves her arm like it’s nothing, expertly sidestepping the fact that my mom admitted this life disaster for me is an inconvenience for her. “That’s what BFFs are for. She’d do the same for me if the roles were reversed.”

  Shannon’s room might be cramped, but it definitely has more style than the rest of the house combined. A nice contrast of modern yet feminine teal and black.

  I point to the pile of blankets and pillows in every color of the rainbow on the floor, obviously set up for me. “Where did those come from?”

  “We didn’t know what you’d be able to bring with you, so Jimbo rounded them up. Everyone in the house who had extras chipped in.”

  Mom wrinkles her nose in disgust. I share that sentiment.

  I pull my pillow from Mom’s grasp and throw it on the pile. At least my face won’t be in contact with random stuff.

  My duffel bags and box of books are still downstairs, so back down we go.

  When we make it to the kitchen, Jimbo looks ready to tear his hair out. One hand is literally tangled in his thick black locks, and every so often, his fingers make a slight pulling motion. His head is resting in his palm with his elbow on the table. He isn’t even bothering to mask his boredom anymore. If he didn’t simultaneously look so irritated, I would think he was sleeping with his eyes open.

  “I’m telling you, that was the best offense the Miners have ever or will ever see. The Holy Trinity of State football. Those were the days.” Dad sighs this sort of wistful sound he only makes when he’s talking football. He’s leaning back in one of a group of dilapidated-looking chairs around the secondhand table, his feet propped on the surface, a beer in hand. He couldn’t look more at home even if he had a COLLEGE sweatshirt on.

  “Mrs. Reston, I’m sorry to inform you, I think your marriage is in trouble. Bill, here, might just leave you for my brother.” Jimbo’s voice is monotone.

  Seeing him so miserable usually brings me great joy. Apparently, I only enjoy it when I’m the source.

  Mom gives him a nervous laugh. Not sure if it’s because she doesn’t know if he’s joking, or she knows he’s not.

  Dad doesn’t pick up on the awkward tension. He lets loose a belly laugh. “If he gets a Super Bowl ring, I just might!”

  Jimbo actually drops his head to the table with a dull thud. Like it fell off his neck.

  “Dad, stop. You’re embarrassing me.”

  “You’re embarrassing me, and I’m not even your daughter,” Shannon adds.

  “Oh, come on now.” Dad guffaws. “We’re just two dudes having a conversation about football.”

  The fact that the word dudes just tripped out of my father’s mouth is gross. Gross and unnecessary. I’m getting the horrible feeling he plans on staying a while to relive his glory days with Jimbo. Mom doesn’t look all that pleased about this likely scenario either.

  “Why don’t you ask him why he chose political science as a major even though he would be great at music education? You could find out about his side hustle. He gives instrument lessons to elementary kids for an income while he goes to school full-time. Or you could find out why his leadership skills in the band are extraordinary. He has this wicked ability to come up with ideas on the fly that bring everyone together. I’m betting he attended a lot of leadership camps in high school.”

  I do not bring up the topics of him being president of a coed band fraternity whose main purpose is to use drinking games as a bonding technique. Nor do I mention his serial dating, hook-up sex–only mentality. Those are things Dad in this mood would probably love to hear more about.

  Unfortunately, what disinterests Dad is a total sell for Mom.

  “You really give instrument lessons to children? Oh, that is precious! Do you like kids? Do you have a special someone who also wants a big family? Bill and I got engaged our senior year of college. At this age, you have to start planning for your whole future, not just your career.”

  Jimbo lifts his head with a suddenly interested expression on his face.

  I cringe, waiting for him to get in the same subtle digs to me that I just dished out to him.

  “I love kids, Mrs. Reston! I am, in fact, making plans for my whole future. I think Sophia’s just scared to jinx our five-year plan by talking about it to anyone else. We’re gonna get married next year, and she wants at least four kids. She likes even numbers, which is weird, but hey, gotta give the woman I love whatever she wants. We’re still debating whether we’ll both go to law school, or if she’ll just stay home and start popping out my babies.” He wags his finger at me. “This is where my leadership training from high school really helps in adulthood. She doesn’t know it yet, but this week is a little test drive, so I can prove to her that she would rather stay home and be a domestic goddess while I further my education.”

  He makes a show of expressing shocked regret by dramatically placing his palm over his vile open piehole. “Oops. Guess I just ruined that plan. That’s okay. I’m a leader. I have others.” He leans toward my dad with a conspiratorial stage whisper. “Between you and me, she honestly needs someone who can take the reins and be in charge of her life. All women want that even though they’ll never admit it.”

  I can’t believe it.

  Jimbo just committed suicide and not even by throwing himself under my bus.

  I feel so … cheated.

  I glance at Shannon, wanting to see the exact moment she pounces at him to rip his throat out for violating every feminist ideal she holds dear. If I’m going to keep her from going to prison, now is the time.

  She’s in shock. That’s the only explanation for the delayed bloodshed. She’s literally standing on the other side of my mom with her jaw on the floor.

  I move around Mom to wrestle Shannon to the floor if I have to. “Shan …”

  Her cackle sort of ricochets around the room before her expression even changes. It’s like the dubbing on a foreign film that’s just a few seconds behind the action.

  Instead of leaping across the table in a single bound, she throws her head back and laughs harder.

  I think Jimbo broke her. He broke my best friend!

  She points at him as her arm bobs up and down with her hysterics. “Oh, you’re on your own. I’m not even touching that one.”

  Then, she spins on her heel and leaves us all here.

  Shocked.

  Okay, it’s me. I’m shocked.

  I shouldn’t be though. Not really. The plan has always been for me to enjoy the murder alone. She’s only going to help dispose of the body in a secret location after I’ve gotten him out of my system once and for all. And Jimbo isn’t stupid enough to openly admit to my parents that he took my virginity way back in high school, and that we’ve hated each other ever since. My insults to him were nuanced in my parents’ presence, so he didn’t have to reach very far to one-up me. His spiel was believable enough to be plausible truth to the untrained observer but laced with enough condescension for me to hear the battle cry of the continued war.

  He’s back to resting his chin in his hand with his elbow on the table, the same as he was when I walked in. Only everything about his expression has changed. He looks absolutely delighted with himself. His eyes glisten with challenge.

  Your move, they sing.

  This is a slightly bigger, more import
ant chess board than we’ve played on before. Long after band is only a memory in my life, my parents will still be my parents. I have to proceed with the utmost caution.

  I glance at my dad. He looks like he might be on board with this plan. Probably because he’s imagining free season tickets if I become a Fossoway.

  My mom only looks mildly disturbed by the idea. She shakes her head with a rueful smile.

  And I thought trying to make all the drum majors fall in love with me was going to require serious acting skills. If my next words aren’t Oscar-worthy, I will never forgive myself. “Honey, don’t be silly. You’re so caught up in toxic masculinity because of the shadow of football that rests on your shoulders.”

  His eyes widen and cry out for mercy. Bingo. I’m winning again.

  “You need to let go of this concept that you have to be the breadwinner. I can go to law school and make the big bucks while you switch majors to be a music teacher. I love you, so I want you to do what you love. What fulfills you. And if that means we never get to have children, then so be it. You’ll be surrounded by them all day at work. As a family law attorney, I’ll have thousands of children whose lives I can potentially touch. And honestly, we have to go into this with eyes wide open. I’ll have job security because fifty percent of all marriages in this country end in divorce. We need to learn how to compromise now if we’re ever going to make it as long as Mom and Dad have.”

  That last part is really lumped in just to make Mom beam with pride and throw her off the trail because there is no way she’s not itching to interrogate me about my current love life. I haven’t mentioned my last ex to her in months, and she only now seems to be considering this.

  I don’t think there’s anything I can do to dissuade Dad. He has footballs in his eyes as it is.

  In fact, he reaches over to offer Jimbo his hand again. “Well, you have my blessing.”

  Jimbo just shakes his head, chuckles, and accepts Dad’s handshake. “I promise I’ll take care of her this week. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

  Oh, I hear that promise loud and clear. He’ll take care of me all right. He’s already planning his revenge for this moment.