In the Band Read online

  Romeo’s hard chin lifts in a nod. “We don’t want to waste time.”

  Who is this douchebag? First, he stares. Now he judges based on my sex. “Hopefully I’m not wasting mine.”

  Justin looks between Romeo and me before asking, “Do you need to warm up?”

  “No,” I answer while my eyes burn into Mr. Dark and Asinine.

  Romeo’s eyes and lips thin before he looks above my head. “Listen up.” I hear the conversation behind me instantly die. “We’re going to get started in a few. We’re assuming you’ve practiced. You’ll be playing two songs with us. Two, maybe three, of you will make it to the next round for a longer set. You’ll have five minutes to warm up,” he glances down at me, “if needed.”

  “What are the two songs?” I ask from a tight jaw.

  Romeo continues to look above my head. “Midnight and Trace.”

  Huh. Good choices. Lots of range. From basic to fast to soft. And both songs are one of their originals.

  Romeo gestures to me. “Riley here is going to go first. The rest of you can wait in that adjoining room.” He points to an open doorway.

  “What the hell, Romeo?” One of the drummers behind me whines. “First this cattle call bullshit, but the competition on the other side of a wall?”

  Romeo’s expression stays flat. “We lost a drummer without warning. Bullshit breeds bullshit. If you want to try out, deal with it. But we need to get started so get your kits partially set up and against the wall.”

  The pansies behind me grumble as they prep their kits, but from my time in the marching band, I’m used to playing head on with my competition. Who cares if we hear each other playing? Their listening isn’t going to change my skill.

  While the late guy brings his kit in, Marcus and I set up the kit I rented this morning. I thought about asking to borrow his, but Marcus is a bit attached—more like a whole hell of a lot—to his set. I could care less. As far as I’m concerned, drums are drums.

  After I’m ready to go, Marcus plops down in one of the chairs across from where the instruments are set up. Romeo gives him a level look, strapping on his guitar. Under that irritated gaze, Marcus is up in seconds and following the other drummers into the side cave.

  I yank my sticks from my back pocket and Marcus gives me a cuff on the shoulder as he passes. “Go get em’ Rile.”

  Ignoring him, I sit on the stool. “Which one are we doing first?”

  Justin stops adjusting his microphone and glances over his shoulder. “How about Midnight?”

  Since I could care less, I’m about to agree but Romeo says, “No, Trace has the slower transition in the middle. Drummers have a harder time with that.” Though his expression appears smooth, I can detect the hint of a smirk.

  Asshole.

  Justin and the bass player watch him with bewildered faces as if he usually isn’t a dick, which I find hard to believe.

  I choose to ignore his attitude. “Okay. After four?”

  With one raised brow, he nods.

  I hit my sticks together four times and together we break into Trace. Their flawless entry has me recalling my original impression of their talent. But soon I’m not recalling anything or anyone. Just dialing in as every beat from the kick drum vibrates through me. In my own drumming bubble, I nail the fills—damn I love playing fills—and roll into the bridge effortlessly. I’d been worried about my nervousness screwing me up, but within the song, I’m rhythm to my bone marrow.

  After the song is over and I’m out of my zone, I notice the faces around me. Surprise etches expressions. Even Romeo appears a bit shocked. With wide eyes, Justin grins at me.

  I hold in a smirk as the base player lets go of his instrument and holds out a hand to me. “Sam.”

  “Riley,” I say tightly still holding in that smirk.

  His bright blue eyes roam over me. “Yeah, I’m not going to forget anytime soon.”

  I let go of his hand while holding in an eye roll.

  Romeo clears his throat. The shock is gone from his face. “Why don’t you start us off again, Riley?” His sarcastic tone communicates he still isn’t impressed, which is in complete contrast to the look on his face seconds ago.

  I’ve never had a good aim, but he’s only about five feet away. I imagine one of my sticks whacking his forehead with a loud thud. “Midnight then?”

  “That would be the other song.”

  Hitting my sticks together, I wonder if my sorry ass aim could hit him twice. Midnight is fast and full of energy. As I crank out the beat, I forget about my anger and just enjoy playing the song.

  At the end, Justin whistles lowly. “Damn that was some straight playing.”

  Sam shakes his head as if to clear it. “Um, after you break down your kit, send the next one out.”

  Romeo gives my rented kit a sneer, setting his guitar on a stand before they all move to the far end of the room. While I break the set down, the hushed hisses of an argument hit my ears. That low hush has me partially breaking down the kit in record time, moving it against the wall, and racing into the adjoining room.

  The small attic-like room with a low slanted ceiling has chairs around the edges and rough wood, slatted walls. Amid the stunned gazes, I can feel an almost tangible jealousy in the air. It’s more than obvious the other drummers didn’t think I would be much competition and are shocked by my talent.

  Piss off boys. I’ll out play you anytime.

  Marcus nudges my shoulder as I lean against the wall next to him. Probably feeling the resentment in the air too, he doesn’t say anything. Just grins at me. I have to stop myself from grinning back.

  I yank my sticks from my back pocket. “They’re ready for whoever wants to go next.”

  The guy sitting closest to the door slowly gets up.

  Tapping on my leg with the beat going on in the other room, I stand there listening to the other drummers for the next hour. One is absolutely awful. Two okay. The only one who comes close to me is the guy who showed up late. But he’s not close enough.

  After everyone plays the two songs, we wait together in the tiny room. One guy talks on his phone, bitching non-stop about the way the audition is going. Another taps on the chair next to him with his sticks. The last two argue about digital drumming.

  Marcus leans closer to me. “I’ll be surprised if they even go on,” he says lowly.

  Unless they’re idiots.

  About twenty minutes later, Justin pops his head in the room. “We’d like everyone to come out.” When we’re all in the main room, he runs a hand through his dark blonde hair and the glare of the lone light bulb above catches the assortment of ink on his arm. His posture makes it evident he’s having a hard time spitting out his announcement. “Really, it’s great you all came but we’d only like Matt, Gabe, and Riley to stay for the next round.”

  A murmur goes through the small crowd in front of me.

  Justin didn’t meet my gaze when he spoke and he still doesn’t while the two drummers file out in a huff. My eyes flash to Romeo. His gaze meets mine and his lips twist in a sardonic smile. My eyes narrow. His lips twist more.

  I look away in my own huff.

  They are idiots.

  Even though I’m sure this is Romeo’s doing, they’re letting him. I’m split in two. Part of me wants to follow the other drummers out. The other part wants to prove myself. But I already did. Within my crossed arms, my hands clench around drumsticks until knuckles whiten.

  Marcus bends close to me and says under his breath, “Relax, Riley. You’re in the final round. Plus it’s more fair. Right?”

  I give him a low-lidded look.

  Once the other drummers are gone, Romeo picks up his guitar from its stand. “So who wants to go first?”

  We’re all quiet. Whoever goes last will have a major advantage hearing the band perform two sets with the other drummers. My chin goes up a notch. I don’t need an advantage. “I’ll go.”

  Romeo’s dark eyes rise from adjusting his gui
tar to me as the other drummers file into the room. There’s a challenge in them that strengthens my resolve.

  After resetting up my set, I slide onto the stool. “What song?”

  Justin and Sam look to Romeo. “Gone Baby,” he says as if laying down a gauntlet.

  Another of their originals. Of course, he picks the one with the knife-edged timing. I have to be exact. Too fast and they'll fall over themselves, too slow and it'll drag like a funeral march. As Romeo stares at me, I lift a brow. “This one starts with a riff, right?”

  His nod is tight before he strums out the loud riff.

  Sam and I break in like we’ve been playing together for years. Justin starts the first line of vocals and I enter my bubble. Lost in the energy of playing, I’m almost startled when the song ends.

  “Damn that was fucking perfect, Riley!” Justin says as soon as we’re done, bouncing in front of his microphone.

  I grin at him.

  Romeo’s lip curls before he turns to me. “Okay, you’ve mastered that track, but can you do anything to add your own creativity?”

  Does he want me to walk over hot coals too? “Sure,” I say, keeping my tone light even though I’m about to lose it on this guy. “Same one?”

  Appearing indifferent while he challenges me, he adjusts the guitar strap on his shoulder. “Let’s try At the End of the Universe.”

  He’s trying to trip me up, but I almost let out a snicker. The song may have several changes in dynamics, but this is my favorite of their originals. It’s like he just gave me a present.

  I count them in and we break into the slower tune. I keep it light, little things here and there to back up the vocal. I’m all about the melody, letting it stretch the beat and giving it room to breathe. Until I ease into a stronger beat, leading the band into the chorus with a half time fill that complements the change. As we head back into the verse, I double the kick drum at the beginning of every measure, which fits the feel of the song better. Even in my own little world, I notice Romeo’s look of surprise.

  Obviously, he thinks so too.

  When the final chorus kicks in, I bring my drums down low, pounding out eighth notes on my floor tom and quarter notes on the kick. It drives the band. They follow almost instantly, bringing the sound down low, insistent, yanking the volume down like the cops just showed up at the door. I slowly bring the volume up and again they follow my lead. Guess this is one way to get Romeo to join the Riley club. The contrast in volume ends the song with a powerful bang.

  Sam turns to me. His thick eyebrows almost reach his buzzed hairline. “Man Riley, you got it going on.”

  “I think that’s enough,” Romeo says tightly. “Move that piece of shit kit out of the way and send the next drummer in.”

  I should be angry with his snide remark, but I just conquered this band. I tear down my shitty kit with a smile.

  While I lean on the wall next to Marcus, I listen to the other drummers play. But they’re playing doesn’t worry me, rather Romeo. Everyone done, the band leaves us to wait in the cave. But we can hear the low hum of their argument through the thin door. And there’s only one reason they could be arguing.

  Sitting next to me, Marcus’s eyes narrow—he might finally understand the issue here. While Marcus’s anger simmers, I wonder if Romeo doesn’t win the argument, if I can work with him. I recall the excitement of being behind the drum set. Is that feeling worth dealing with him?

  “This is bullshit,” Marcus says under his breath.

  I don’t respond.

  The other drummers are quiet and appear shell shocked. Yeah, they’re aware there’s really no competition here.

  The words, “Drop it, Romeo,” come through the door before Justin pops his head in. His ever-present grin shines at me. “So Riley, you want the job?”

  Listening to Romeo’s grumbling beyond the doorway, I recall the feeling behind the drums. The feel of being in my own bubble away from the world. “Yeah,” I say, returning his grin.

  Chapter 4

  “Riley!”

  The coffee pot in my hand jumps at my mother’s screech and dark liquid spills on the counter. I yank out my earbuds. “What?” I snap, reaching for a paper towel.

  She comes around the kitchen island and points at my arms. “Are those tattoos?”

  “They’re henna.” I throw the towel in the trash and finish pouring her coffee.

  Brown eyes widen on the red ink swirls around my little biceps while fingers with gnawed on nails rub a temple. “What does that mean?”

  I push the coffee toward her, smiling at her obvious shock. “They’re not permanent.”

  She doesn’t reach for the cup. “Then what’s the point?”

  Drum beats echo throughout the kitchen until I dig out my iPod from my pocket and slide it to off. “Because I didn’t want to wear a bunch of bracelets,” I say as if that explains everything.

  Her expression remains perplexed as she reaches for her coffee. Like usual she looks tired. Though it’s after nine in the morning, she’s still in her robe. Her shoulder length brown hair is damp, so at least she took a shower. There have been several days this summer when my mother stayed in her robe and laid around in bed until it was time to get ready for work at two in the afternoon. The change from part-time day employee to nighttime manager at the department store she’s worked at for years has been challenging for her, and then there’s the divorce of course.

  My fingers drum on the counter. “I…um, joined a band.” I hadn’t wanted to discuss the whole band thing with her unless I made it. “Chloe wanted me to wear a bunch of bracelets, but I can’t drum—” My mother’s raised brows have me pausing.

  “A band?”

  “You know with guitars and a crowd.” I open the dishwasher and grab a stack of clean plates.

  “Really?” She doesn’t wait for a response. “Do you have time with your classes?”

  “Mom,” I say over my shoulder as I stack dishes in the cupboard. “I didn’t even take a full semester. I already earned credits for Calculus and Senior AP English. Just for the fall, I went light.”

  “What about Jamie?”

  I’m aware this is what’s really bothering her. Mostly, she doesn’t want Jamie with sitters, but I know money’s on her mind too. “We only practice three times a week. By next month, it will be just two, and Chloe said she would watch Jamie on the nights you’re not home.”

  “Hmmm…” She takes a sip of coffee and looks past my shoulder toward the sliding glass doors that lead to the yard and pool. The lines of her forehead are tight as she glances back at my arms. “What kind of band?”

  “They play mostly Alternative Rock.”

  “Girls?”

  I shake my head and open the silverware drawer. “Just me.”

  Worry lines her pensive expression. “Where will you be playing?”

  “I saw them at the old movie theater down town. So probably there. Maybe some bars,” I add with shrug and drop in a pile of forks.

  Her hands spray on the counter. “Riley, you sure this is a good idea?”

  Several thoughts run through my head. Foremost is the fact if I was away at college like I should be, she wouldn’t even know what I was doing. Then there’s the fact I’m almost nineteen. But I don’t want to be disrespectful to her. “Mom, this is my chance to still play and be part of something.”

  Jamie runs into the kitchen. “Mommy!” she says in a squeal and wraps my mother in a hug around her waist. Now that my mom works full time instead of part time in the mornings Jamie sees a lot less of her, which saddens me. When I was eight, my mom didn’t work at all.

  Squeezing back, my mom says, “Pancakes for breakfast?”

  Jamie nods into my mother’s narrow waist. My mom was always working on losing ten or twenty pounds but over the last seven months, she’s become too thin. Both Jamie and I take after her though: petite, dark brown hair, and brown eyes. Jamie’s are a rich, warm brown. Mine are light like toffee.

&nbs
p; “Help me make them?” she asks and Jamie shakes her head yes. “Get the mix?”

  I’m ecstatic my mother’s actually doing something other than watching TV with my sister. Jamie bops over to the pantry while I pull out a mixing bowl.

  Looking worried, my mother slides her coffee cup back and forth over the counter. “I’m not sure I get it, Riley. This change from marching band to rock band. But I know you’re old enough to make your own decisions. Just…play the music. Don’t get sucked into anything you normally wouldn’t do.”

  Sex, drugs, and rock and roll here I come. “Mom, you know me better than that.”

  She sighs. “I do. You’re far more responsible than I was at your age. But everyone can become desensitized.”

  My lips press together to stop a response as I shut the dishwasher. If anyone has become numb, it would be my mother.

  ****

  “You’re rushing again,” Romeo says for about the fifth time. “How many times do I have to tell you to slow us down on the bridge or we’re all going to crash?”

  I bite the inside of my mouth. He has been hounding me since I sat behind the drum set. First, lighten up on the fills and now slow down. I’d like to use his skull for a drum. We’re back in the same space where I tried out. Apparently, Sam’s aunt owns the antique store beneath us and this is where they’ve always practiced.

  With a hand choking his guitar strap, Romeo asks, “Do I need to get you a metronome?”

  What a dick. His insinuation I’m a beginner and need help keeping time pisses me off more than anything he’s said or done thus far. Though my sticks are clenched in one palm, I keep my tone even. “Ah, no.”

  He lets go of his strap. “Really? Because so far you can’t seem to count.”

  “Back off, Romeo,” Justin says. “She’s not going to be perfect the first practice.”

  “Thought she was super drummer?” Romeo says snidely.

  “She is.” Sam winks at me. “Cute too.”

  “I’ll get it this time,” I say in a calm tone, ignoring Sam’s flirting. I’ve refused to let Romeo see how much he’s riling me up. I’m not going to cave now. It’s hot up here even in a tank top and shorts. I wipe my brow before counting off the beat with my sticks.