My fingers hesitate over ‘buy now’. This is what I need—armor. But what will the others think? Will they laugh at me and dismiss the idea?
My pulse tics in my throat, and I press the orange button before I can overthink it. A strange, breathless laugh escapes me as butterflies fill my stomach, and a small grin forms on my face.
My solution will be at my doorstep tomorrow morning.
“Tether will play two nights a week for the next three months, with the possibility of extension afterwards,” Harper says, reading our contract from her phone.
It’s a Thursday night, which is outside of our usual practice days. She’d called us all earlier today because she wanted to read the email together. Ryland had his first drumming student in months tonight, but cancelled to be here. Luca swapped shifts. We were all taking this incredibly seriously.
“Blah, blah, blah…” Harper continues, her thumb flicking through what I presume is corporate jargon. “The set will last sixty minutes, and Tether will be compensated four…thousanddollars a night?”
There’s a communal exhale as all of our collective mouths form the same silent ‘O’. Looking around the room, we all wear similar expressions of shock. Four thousand dollars. A night. I do the math automatically. Two nights a week. Eight thousand. Three months? Almost a hundred thousand dollars.
“They added a zero by mistake. They must have… right?” I gasp, my brain frantically trying to imagine that amount of money.
Harper shakes her head. Her eyes flick over her phone screen, making sure she read the words correctly. “No, it’s in here a couple of times. It’s four thousand dollars,” she almost whispers, like she’s afraid to say the words too loudly or the number will disappear.
“Well, it’s in the contract now,” Ryland says, leaning back against the couch, shrugging his shoulders like he’s completely unaffected by this. I can see the ideas forming in his head already.
“I’ll finally be able to take Jared on a weekend in LA. He’s always wanted to go,” Luca muses, excitement filling his eyes.
My thoughts drift, allowing myself a brief moment of fantasy. An apartment that doesn’t smell like damp and mold. Rooms where paint doesn’t peel. Neighbors who actually mind their own business. Maybe in an area closer to The Ground, so that I don’t have to wear seven layers to walk to work in the winter. Or maybe I can finally afford to own a car.
“We should use the money for the band,” Ryland says, already calculating how to spend the money.
Harper and Luca let out frustrated sighs.
“Yeah, but we need to use some ourselves, Ryland,” Harper replies, her phone coming to rest on the wobbly tablebeside her as she readies herself for a bickering match with Ryland.
My attention narrows to my backpack and the solution resting inside it. I toy with the necklace at my throat, feeling the familiar sense of dread creeping its way up my spine. Before it has time to take hold, I stand up.
“Guys, I have an idea,” I blurt out as the bickering stops and their attention turns to me. I push down the sharp panic clawing its way up my body as they eye me with curiosity.
These are your friends, Kat. Not a pack of hungry wolves. Calm down.
“So, I was thinking,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the tremble I feel coming on. “We need a way for us to stand out, to stick in people’s memories. A way for people to think of us. Branding, if you will.”
I’ve rehearsed this spiel no less than twenty times since the package was delivered earlier this morning. I tried all the different ways of speaking the words so they didn’t sound like I wrote them down, and repeated them in front of a mirror for an hour. All the effort falls flat on the floor as the words come out soulless anyway.
My hands shake as I pull the solution out of my bag. The fabric is softer than I remember from when I first opened the package this morning. I hesitate for half a second before pulling the black cowl over my head. The room around me dulls instantly, and sound muffles at the edges. My peripheral vision narrows just enough, and I feel instant comfort. My shoulders drop slightly as my posture eases.
“What the fuck is that?” Ryland asks, leaning forward with a puzzled expression. His voice sounds farther away with the dark fabric resting against my skin.
“It’s a cowl,” I say, and for once, my voice doesn’t tremble. “It’s a way to draw the focus away from us so that people focus on our music. Not our faces.”
Not our fear.
I don’t say that part out loud.
“Plus, it adds some mysticism,” I continue. “Gives people something to remember.”
Even though I canfeelall their eyes on me, something solid settles in my chest. I don’t want to run. My hands still at my sides, and I tilt my head up, letting them all see me from under the cowl.
“I can’t wear it,” Harper says with a tinge of sadness in her voice, like she really didn’t want to say it and also doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. “It’ll mess with my vocals.”
“I know,” I reply. I ran through this exact scenario in front of the mirror earlier. “I don’t expect you to. Just the three of us,” I add, gesturing to Ryland and Luca.
My eyes travel around the room, and I see confused faces staring back at me. I pull the cowl off my head, noticing the solid feeling in my chest dissolve.
