Page 6

“I’m working on ’em.”

“I’ll write them,” Justin says, like he’s forgotten that I once wrote most of our material.

My jaw goes taut. “I said I’m working on it.”

Justin opens his mouth like he’s going to argue back, and I brace for a battle. “I need to pee,” he says.

What?

My fingers falter on the strings of my guitar as Justin taps Johnny on the shoulder. “Exit. Now.”

That took an unexpected turn.

And so does the van. We swerve onto the exit ramp and glide down to the stop sign. Johnny takes a right and pulls into a McDonald’s parking lot. Justin jumps out before the van’s even in park, the door squealing as it lurches open. The rest of us get out to stretch our legs.

“So, what do you guys think?” I ask, rolling a guitar pick across my knuckles. Maybe if I can get Johnny and Ryder on board, they can help me convince Justin to give it a chance.

“I like it,” Ryder says with a grin. He spins his drumsticks around in his hands and then pounds a short beat on his thighs.

Johnny holds out a fist for me to tap. “Good stuff, man.”

“Do you think we can get it ready for the next show?” I ask.

“No.” I turn to find Justin walking toward us.

I palm the pick and study him, surprised at how decisive he sounds. “No?” I huff.

“No,” Justin repeats. He plants his feet and crosses his arms like he’s the boss and we’re just his minions. Like this is his band and we’re just backing musicians.

I look to the others for reinforcement. Surely they can see what’s happening. Ryder glances down at his feet and Johnny cops out with a shrug.

Stupid me for assuming they’d step up.

“Why not?” I ask, turning my attention back to Justin. “We used to test out new material at gigs all the time.” There’s a strange chill in the air that has nothing to do with the breeze.

Justin’s jaw tightens. “That was before our record deal.”

“So?” I ask. There was a lot of legal jargon in the contract we signed, but I don’t recall it saying anything about us not being able to write new music or test it out at shows.

“So,” he says with a sneer. “It’s too rough. It needs lyrics.”

“I’m working on the lyrics,” I say, my tone acidic.

“It’ll take me time to learn the melody.”

“The melody’s good,” I say. “I’ve got it down.”

Justin shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and acts like he hasn’t heard a word I’ve said. “Even if I can come up with a suitable arrangement and I manage to work out decent lyrics—”

I take a step back. “It’s not your song, Justin.”

He flinches. “Right. And I assume you want to take the lead on this one?” he asks, like it’s a preposterous idea. Like we didn’t once share the lead singer roles once upon a time and not so long ago.

“Yeah,” I say. My blood grows hot. “Why not?”

Justin grimaces. “It’s just…not the direction we’re going in.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” A vein in my neck starts to throb. I look to Ryder and Johnny to see if they’re at all concerned about any of this, but neither of them will meet my eye.