Chapter Six
Paige
“I give up,” Eli grumbles under his breath. “It’s too hard today.”
“What is?” I ask, the question muffled around the half-eaten Nerd Rope dangling between my teeth. Dragging my stylus over my tablet, I finish making a final tweak to a post I’ll schedule for later in the week.
“Strands,” he huffs, turning his phone around to show me his screen, the background still completely white with exactly zero progress, not a single word found.
“Do you play the New York Times games every day?”
He nods, tapping his temple. “Gotta keep this thing sharp.”
“Shame you only manage some of them, though,” Beau teases from across the room, his grey eyes appearing above his laptop.
“Fuck you,” Eli laughs. “At least some isn’t none.”
“Hey, I get it.” I try to hide my smile as I crunch the last part of the sour candy. “My dad buys Sudoku books.”
“See?” Eli says, setting his foot on the side of the table and swinging back in his seat. “I’m not the only one who likes to challenge their brain.”
“Every day I’m with you is a challenge,” Beau deadpans, sending him a wink. “So I think I’m all good.”
Eli flips him off without looking up, the gesture almost affectionate.
“You two are pretty close, huh?” I ask, setting my tablet down in front of me, the screen going dark.
Eli nods as he scrolls on his phone.
“Known each other since I was fourteen,” he says. “My grandma moved a couple doors down from Maddox’s grandparents when I was in high school, and I used to spend my summers there when my mom and dad were at work.”
“Mad and I were two years above Eli and had been friends since middle school,” Beau adds, eyes back on his screen before adding fondly, “Eli was this gangly kid with too-long blond hair and a big, dopey smile who used to pace up and down outside the garage while we practiced guitar, peering in and watching like we were some rock gods.”
Eli shrugs, smirking. “You were wearing matching hoodies and playing Snow Patrol. It was adorable.”
Beau snorts. “First off, it was Mayday Parade. Why do you think all our songs are kind of pop-punk? So get it right if you’re going to tell a story.”
Eli rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, you just played all the sad songs thinking you were edgy. How could I forget.”
“And secondly.” Beau continues, ignoring him as he closes his laptop. “You were just trying to figure out how to join our little band without embarrassing yourself.”
Eli scoffs. “Please. You two were begging me to join when you found out I could play bass.”
“So, you just stalked them from the sidewalk until they invited you in?” I tease, grinning.
“Exactly,” Eli says proudly, leaning farther back in his chair, the front two legs completely off the ground. “Worked like a charm.”
“We let him sit in one day just to stop him from staring longingly like a lost puppy. Next thing we knew, he was in the band, and now it’s twelve years later, and I’m sharing an apartment with him.”
“Really?” I chuckle.
“I’m the best damn roommate ever,” Eli says, wiggling in his seat before he crashes forward.
At first, I think he’s slipped, that the chair gave out and he lost his balance, but he’s staring intently at his phone, thumb hovering above the screen, muttering, “No way.”
He leans closer to it, turning up the volume, the familiar beat echoing softly from his phone.
My breath catches as “All Along the Watchtower” by Jimi Hendrix filters from the speaker.
It could be a coincidence, but the way my stomach plummets, I already know he’s watching the video I uploaded late last night.
Everything stiffens as my gaze drops to my bag sitting beside me, at the electric blue sticks poking out of the pocket, the ones I snagged before leaving today, the exact same ones I used in the video.
Shit.
Picking my nails, I freeze, balling my hands into fists and stuffing them between my thighs, the chipped black polish something else I know is in that video.
“Dude, she’s posted again! Come here, you need to check this out,” Eli says, glancing over his shoulder back at Beau.
It’s like slow motion, a surreal sort of horror slowing down time, as Beau gets to his feet and crosses the room, his gaze fixated on Eli’s screen before he looks up at me.
“Has he shown you his obsession yet?” Beau asks with a smirk.
Shaking my head, panic surges through me as I grab my bag, trying to discreetly shove it under the table. But it’s too late, Beau’s eyes latch onto me, onto the sticks, his head tilting as he frowns.
“Wait…” he whispers, coming around and lifting my hand, his fingers brushing lightly over my nails before reaching down to tug the sticks free from my bag as I try to snatch them from his grip.
“Beau, wait—”
“Holy shit, it’s you.”
“What?” Eli asks, his gaze bouncing between Beau and me.
“I think I just figured out who’s behind your favorite account.” He chuckles. “Guess you can fangirl over her in person.”
Flourishing the bright blue sticks, it takes a second before I see the understanding slide onto Eli’s face, his jaw dropping comically.
He spins toward Beau, snatching them from him.
“Dude! It’s you. The girl from BehindTheSnare.
You’re the drummer!” he says, voice stunned and way too loud.
“The account I’m obsessed with, the one I said could save our asses.
It’s you.” He lets out a half-huff, half-laugh, looking at me with wide-eyed awe.
“I can’t believe it. I’ve been following you for months. ”
I glance down, focusing on my legs. My heart knocks around like it’s trying to escape through my ribs, and I can feel his eyes still on me as heat continues to climb up my neck to my cheeks. It’s not a cute blush; it’s the kind that screams you’re panicking.
Not because I lied, not exactly, but because I didn’t intend for them to find out like this.
“It’s not…” I clear my throat, eyes flicking to the video still looping on the screen. “It’s not a big deal.”
Eli gawks at me. “Not a— Paige, you’re BehindTheSnare. That account’s huge. You’ve got, what? Nearly half a million followers.”
“Not quite,” I mumble. “Most of them are probably just bots anyway.”
“Bullshit,” he fires back instantly. “Honestly, I can’t believe it. That one where you played ‘La Villa Strangiato’ by Rush… I watched it like twenty times. It was amazing.”
“Okay, Eli,” Beau says, setting a hand on his shoulder. “Tone it down before she combusts.”
“Right, sorry.” He flashes me an apologetic smile, but it’s still lit up like he’s just discovered buried treasure. “I’m just saying, it’s badass.”
I nod slowly, running my palms down the front of my leggings. “I just…didn’t want you to know it was me. Not quite yet.”
Beau tilts his head, curious. “Why not?”
“I just didn’t want it to be…a thing,” I say, aware of how lame the half-truth sounds. But if Eli’s this excited over a social media account I made years ago, what will happen when they find out the rest?
“What do you mean?” Eli asks, eyebrows knitting together.
“People care more about who’s behind the drums than what the drums sound like.”
That quiets them for a beat, until Eli shakes his head. “Nah, if I was behind that account? I’d want people to know.”
A dry, humorless laugh escapes me. “But there’s something about posting anonymously that makes it feel…safer.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s just mine. No pressure, no expectations, just a bit of fun, doing something I’m sort of good at to the songs I like.”
They both look at me, no judgment in their eyes as they listen.
“Look, when people know who you are, sometimes they decide what you’re worth before you even show up. And if you fall short, even once, you’re either a disappointment or you were never that good to begin with. It stops being about the music, but about you instead.”
Beau crosses his arms. “So you figured it was easier to just hide?” His tone isn’t accusatory, just questioning. “You realize we’re about to tour with Reign Cooper, right? Everyone’s going to know who you are.”
“I know.” I nod, exhaling slowly. “And it wasn’t hiding. But Eli just said that account”—I nod at the phone—“was exactly who you were looking for. If you knew it was me right from the start, would you have given me the same chance as the people before me?”
Even as I ask them that, I feel the familiar tug of dread in my gut. Because that’s not the only secret I’m keeping. There’s another one—one that’s so much bigger than this—and I’m holding on to it for the exact same reason.
“Yes,” Eli says quickly, and I give him a look. “Okay, maybe not, but what does it matter? We’ve got you anyway, Drummer Girl.”
Rolling my eyes, I push away from the table, watching him from the corner of my eye as he shows Beau videos I think he’s seen before by the way he keeps nodding placatingly at our bass guitarist.
“Look at this one,” he says, holding the phone close. “Like, come on, she’s a beast.”
I want to melt into the floor, hide away as he gushes over the account. My hands go to work, tightening bolts, checking the pedal tension, busying myself with things I already did this morning. Anything to avoid the weird energy pulsing through the room.
The door opens, and my eyes dart to it as Maddox walks in, tugging up the hem of his hoodie. My throat goes dry as the T-shirt under it snags enough to ride up, lifting to show the patch of dark hair running down his stomach to the waistband of his jeans.
Trying to swallow, I track him as he moves over to his amp, tossing it on top, the sleeves of the faded black shirt hugging his biceps. He lifts a hand, dragging it through his hair, the muscle bulging, a thick vein snaking down the length of it.
“Maddox, dude,” Eli yells, nearly falling out of his chair as he jumps up and rushes toward him like an overexcited puppy. “You’ll never guess who’s BehindTheSnare.”
My heart lurches, my brain snapping out of my distraction, as I watch him shove his phone into Maddox’s face. If I thought I was nervous before with Beau and Eli finding out, nothing compares to the torturous seconds that go by while he stares at the screen.
Maddox’s eyes flick to me, and my breath catches. This is it. The moment he’ll flip out, call me a liar, question everything. Or worse, somehow manage to throw it in my face.
The back of my neck prickles as sweat coats my palms. Even now, as my pulse beats to a rhythm I can’t control, a part of me wants to hear what he thinks.
For him to say anything. Something to ease the tension gripping my lungs the longer his brown gaze holds mine.
A sarcastic jab, hell, I’ll even take a single eyebrow raise, just proof that he’s not completely indifferent about something that Eli so clearly loves.
That maybe he’s impressed by the account just as much as he is, even if he’ll never admit it.
But all I get is a grunt as he barely glances at the phone. And stupidly, my heart sinks.
He walks past Eli, grabbing his guitar, not saying a single word.
“That’s it?” Eli asks, his face falling as he blinks at Maddox, confused. “Do you get what this means? Even if I did message her, it wouldn’t have mattered ’cause she’s here.”
Maddox doesn’t look at him, the chords of his neck pulled taut. “Cool.”
Just one word said flat and dejected, like it doesn’t matter.
“It’s fine, Eli.” I give him a small smile before lowering my head, trying to pretend I’m not affected either. But the tightness in my chest betrays me.
I shouldn’t care. It’s not like I need his support, or even his approval.
But still…I wanted it.