The garage was covered in old worn rugs with flattened bean bags flung in one corner and a broken office chair in the other. Space heaters made it bearable in the February chill, but I was thankful for Evelyn’s body heat as we sat together.
They played through some covers. Wes had been obsessed withHot Fuss, The Killers’ debut album since it released in June, so I wasn’t surprised to hear “Somebody Told Me” in the mix. The band’s original stuff was pleasant, but not as strong as what Wes and I wrote together. Wes was better with me than he was with them. The thought caused a smirk to tug at my mouth.
As much as it killed me, I had to admit they were kind of good. Well, for four guys in a garage, they didn’t make me want to tear off my ears.
“Okay, thoughts?” Wes asked, letting go of the microphone he’d been gripping for the last half hour.
“They’re not usually this good,” Evelyn told me, cupping a hand around her mouth in a stage whisper that carried through the room.
“Had to impress,” Wes said with a wink then directed his focus on me. Without him having to ask, I knew he was waiting for my thoughts.
I nodded, working the words up out of my throat. “Individually, you’re all really good. I think the song selection is strong too.”
“So?” Wes urged.
I hesitated, not wanting to piss off his new friends. Usually, I didn’t care what people thought of me. But I didn’t want to lose Wes, but he brought me here because he trusted me.
“You’re all playing like soloists. Like, that second song Luca needs to pull back on the drums and let Jared’s guitar solo breathe more if you’re going to have it, or else it’s just messy and I don’t know where to direct my attention,” I said.
Wes pulled his notebook and a pen from inside his boot and started writing down everything I said. He was often playful but when things mattered, he took them seriously. Or it could be I liked that he took me and my views on music seriously. Either way, his shift in demeanor helped me to lower my filter. I talked until my mouth was dry.
“Oh, is that all?” Garrett asked in an unimpressed huff. “No thoughts on the brand of strings we use or how many times we breathe per minute?”
“I could dig a little deeper if you think you could handle it,” I shot back without thinking. “But since it’s our first time doing this, I thought I’d go easy on you.”
Garrett was actually the best out of all of them, confident with a natural musicality that I envied. I just didn’t like him.
“I’m going to grab water and tea. I don’t know about you all, but I can’t feel my hands.” Jared set down his guitar and crossed between Garrett and me, cutting through the rising tension.
I followed Jared to the kitchen where he quickly got to work gathering mugs and filling a kettle.
“Thanks,” I said as we waited for the water to boil.
“For what? You’re the one helping me. Do I look like I can carry six cups by myself?” The knowing smile on his lips told me he knew exactly what he was doing, keeping the peace.
Together we prepped the rest of the tea, each carrying three steaming mugs back to the garage. When we got to the cracked door, we were met with a hushed argument.
“What does she know anyway?” Garrett demanded.
“As much as you. And she’s the one who helped write the songs I showed you. If you want the songs, then at least try to pretend you know how to play nice with others.”
“We don’t need her.”
“Ineed her. If you can’t get past this, you’re out of the band.” There was an icy pause, the boys staring each other down. I held my breath, my body humming as I waited for the verdict.
He chose me. It was like lifting my face to the sun on a perfect summer day, not too hot, just warmth wrapping all around me.
Garrett turned away, muttering. “Fine.”
“Good.” Wes clapped once as a smile returned to his face. “That’s settled. Now, I think we can start workshopping her suggestions.”
Jared glanced at me. “Garrett doesn’t try to be an ass.”
“It comes naturally to him then?”
“You get it. He just doesn’t like that he didn’t think of your suggestions first.” With a laugh, he pushed through the door and started to hand out the tea.
The rest of the practice was productive, Garrett and I navigated the remaining hour with grudging respect. By the time George and Dad picked me up, I was actually looking forward to coming back.
