I whirl to Ripper. “You think I view you as athreat?”
He finally looks at me—only to stab his finger in the air between me and Theo. “Of course, out of the entire interview, the only parts you care about are the parts about Hannah. I bare my soul, talk about my family and how I’ve leveled up—which you fuckers have barely evenacknowledged—but who cares if it’s not about her, right?”
“But did you say you were leaving the band?” Kenny asks. “You didn’t, right?”
Ripper’s silence is damning.
Ginny walks in a circle around him. “I think Rip is just reacting to grief differently than the rest of you. Maybe you should cut him a break.”
I ignore her because Ripper chooses that moment to shout, “I’m so sick of Manifest and the paps and the entire internet acting like Hannah’s the only reason we’re successful. I’m not a side character in this band, and neither is Kenny.”
“Hey, man.” Kenny folds his arms over his chest. “Don’t drag me into this. I have no desire to get hounded by photographers or be Roger’s pet.”
His words lance me. “Wait, you think I’m Roger’s pet?”
“Aren’t you?” Ripper seizes on it. “When was the last time Roger said a word to Kenny or me? Does he even know our names? We might as well be invisible. Life’s too short to accept that.”
“Back off,” Theo warns. “Hannah has no control over what Roger does.” “Oh, life’s too short?” I snort. “Thanks for reminding, Rip. I’d forgotten.” “Poor Hannah,” Ripper says, in faux-sympathy. “The only person here who lost someone.”
“That’s enough.” Theo’s voice turns menacing in a way I didn’t know he had in him. He takes a step closer to Ripper. “You’re going too far.”
Ripper kicks the fallen microphone stand so it hurtles into Kenny’s bass drum, denting the metal.
“What the fuck?” Kenny yells. “What did I do?”
“I thought you were supposed to be a manager for all of us,” Ripper says to Theo. “But she’s so obviously your favorite. Like we don’t know why.”
“Rip, what did Ido?” Kenny’s staring at Ripper like a lost dog.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Theo says, but I can see his pulse jump in his throat.
Ripper snorts. “Oh, sure—”
“You think you’re the only one who can mess with equipment?” Kenny picks up Ripper’s guitar and throws it across the room. It cracks against the wall, strings popping. Ginny gasps. He turns back to Ripper. “There you go, tough guy. You wanted some attention.”
Ripper’s mouth drops open, and a red flush climbs his neck. It’s so unlike Kenny it floors us all for a moment.
Ripper recovers first. “None of you respect me as a musician.” He looks at me. “You destroyed my Jazzmaster onstage in Vegas without asking.”
“You and that fucking Jazzmaster, give me a break.”
“Excuse me for wanting to do something bigger with my life while I still have the chance. Ginny would’ve supported me. She would’ve cared.”
“Let’s keep the conversation to the people in this room,” Theo says.
“Ginnyisin this room,” Ripper cries, and for a second, I’m so stunned that he can see her, too, that I simply gape. “You don’t get it, man. Look at her.” Ripper points at me and Theo instinctively looks. I wrap my arms over my chest. “Do you see what she’s wearing? Fresno Science Camp. That’s Ginny’s T-shirt. Those bracelets? Ginny’s. Every interview we do andevery song we sing is about Ginny. She’s more a star in this band than I am.”
I can’t help it—it’s so cruel I laugh. “You’re so selfish.”
“Not all the songs are about Ginny,” Kenny says. “‘Shrines’ and ‘Fever’ are about Theo.”
An uncomfortable silence falls. I turn to Kenny. “Will you please stop saying that?”
“But it’s true—”
I don’t know why I do it—the adrenaline, maybe, or the fact that I’m desperate to make the point. I kick his bass drum with every word. “No—it’s—not.”
“Hannah, stop.” Theo moves toward me to what—seize me? I keep kicking, wanting to do anything I can to keep him at arms’ distance.
