Chapter 10
10
Caleb
Something transforms in rehearsals over the next few weeks. Valerie and I are on the same team again, and it makes all of this feel possible. The tense practices turn into hours of laser focus and joyful collaboration. After a few painful days of playing bass nonstop, my calluses start building up again too, and it makes it easier and easier to pick my instrument.
One morning, during our last run-through before some Label executives come in to watch us, I realize I’m excited to perform for an audience…despite who it is.
As we run through “Fallout,” I glance around the rehearsal space. Jane winks across her multi-keyboard setup at me, throwing a new synth pad into the mix on a whim. It makes the vibe gritty and fresh. Keeley laughs delightedly at the new sound but doesn’t miss a beat, our strong, ever-steady presence. On the build to the bridge, Riker grins and bounces on his Converse as he takes over Valerie’s lead line.
With a toss of her hair—and another of her guitar over her shoulder—Valerie leans into her mic and sings the high notes with her whole chest. She’s effervescent. My pulse rushes in my ears as I try to focus on harmonizing, but I can’t stop staring at the goddamn rock legend in the making beside me.
She was made for this.
It’s like a switch has flipped over the past few weeks, and I’m seeing both the girl she used to be and someone new entirely. When we’re not rehearsing, she’s been reserved, almost timid, but she’s confidence incarnate every time she steps onto this practice stage. Today, her guitar riffs are crisper than ever, her vocals are crystal clear, and her energy is electric. It doesn’t matter that the floor is dusty and the walls are scuffed—her presence fills the room with light.
And I feel my own confidence returning alongside my longtime collaborator. It’s undeniable—the Glitter Bats are back. The label coming in to scrutinize our progress can’t take this joy of making music away.
Keeley whoops as the final chord rings through the studio. Even with the shitty acoustics of the rehearsal space, I have goose bumps.
Riker pumps his fist. “That’s the best we’ve ever played this song, I swear to god!”
He’s right. It’s like now that we’ve truly made amends, there was space to recapture this lightning in a bottle.
Valerie unshoulders her guitar before walking over to me. “You ready?” she asks. There’s no judgment in those words, no frustration. She just wants to know if I’m okay. She’s made a habit of this, checking in on me, and I don’t mind.
I nod. “I had a session with my therapist yesterday. I’m as prepared as I can be for anything they might throw at us.”
Valerie nods. “Good. I’m glad.” Her hand jerks to the phone outline in her pocket, and then she hesitates, thinking better of it.
I chuckle. “What are they saying?” There have been more rumors about our relationship every day—but this time, it feels like we’re in on the secret. It only sometimes makes my anxiety stronger, but I know I owe her this, especially because I’m only coming back for the concert. I want to do as much for her as I can.
Maybe this will make up for walking away on the Bittersweet tour.
She shrugs. “I don’t know! I haven’t checked today.”
I raise a brow. “Really?”
Valerie pouts. “Okay, fine, I haven’t checked since we started rehearsal. But…I think it’s working. They’re saying nice things about us.”
“Good,” I say, and I mean it.
Suddenly, Valerie freezes. “Oh my god. What about your students?”
I pause. “What about them?”
“Is it weird that they’ll be reading about us in the media?”
I shrug. “If they even pay attention, maybe. But it’s fine. I knew some of them would figure it out eventually.”
Valerie raises her hands like the shrugging emoji. “Maybe they’ll be inspired to keep making music if they see us out here.”
My jaw falls open as the idea hits. “You’re a genius.”
She laughs, twirling a finger in her pink waves almost flirtatiously. “I know, but why do you say so?”
“Bear with me,” I say, trying to ignore the way that tiny motion affects me, because this is important.
I’d love for my students to learn from the Glitter Bats—they’re some of the best musicians I know. Mind spinning, I turn to the rest of the group, who are sitting in a semicircle on the tiny stage with water bottles and snacks. “I have a wild ask.”
“We like wild,” Riker says, voice muffled by the carrot stick he’s chomping on.
I plop down next to him.
“Would you all be willing to film a couple of tutorials for my students? I could pay you, of course—not much, but I think they would really get into learning from some real musicians.”
Keeley finishes taking a sip of her water, then laughs. “You’re about as fucking real as it gets, dude.”
I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean. It’d be a way to share this with them, and they might take you all a little more seriously than their boring old teacher.”
“Uh, why haven’t we done anything like that already? Let’s do it,” Riker says. Jane and Keeley nod in assent, and we all turn to look up at Valerie, who is pursing her lips in thought.
“Only if we’re all on board,” I say carefully, trying to gauge her reaction.
“It’s not that,” Valerie says quickly. “It’s a really great idea, but would you be willing to think a little bigger?” she asks, almost like she’s nervous to ask.
“Go on,” I say, trying to encourage her with a smile. She catches my eye and bites her lip shyly as she steps over to join the circle.
“Okay, so you know how we were talking to those music students a few weeks ago? We could totally do a series of mini master classes on social media or something,” Valerie says, folding into a seat on the floor next to Riker. “We could do a lot—who knows, maybe we’ll inspire some kids to pursue music.”
“That could be super cool,” I agree. “For my students, I’d like to talk about how we take care of our voices during long weeks of rehearsal, how we use the techniques I’m teaching them in a real, practical way. We could get into finding harmonies, listening for blend, and then expand into other instruments and some industry info.”
“I’d love to talk about some of the composition work I do for film and TV too,” Jane adds. “It could be like Crash Course, but specifically focused on music. We could film everything this summer and then release them on a set schedule this fall. I know we said we’d stop the content after the concert, but this could be a way to give back.”
This is so much better than I anticipated. Not only is the band willing to do this, but they’re running with it. Valerie’s right—it reminds me of how it felt talking to those music students. But something makes me pause.
“Do you think we need the label’s permission?”
“Absolutely not. This has nothing to do with them,” Keeley says, flipping her honey-blond hair out of her face. “Fuck the label.”
Not a minute later, a knock sounds on the door. Wade slips in, followed by a couple people I vaguely recognize from the label—including Gina, unfortunately, who gives me a sharklike grin as she enters the room in towering heels and a power suit. Fortunately, these walls are pretty dang soundproof, but Keeley is still on her best behavior, rising quickly to greet everyone with a handshake and a polite smile in case they overheard.
I try to follow her lead. It’s been way too long since I’ve done any of this, and I’m really rusty, but I know how to be professional. So I keep my shoulders back and smile at the group, jaw so tight I can barely breathe. Once we’ve all exchanged pleasantries, the executives and Wade sit in the folding chairs we set out in front of the practice stage.
“Do you have any new music to share with us?” Gina asks as we step onto the stage.
“Absolutely not,” I blurt, shoulders tensing.
Riker coughs. We’re supposed to let Wade be the bad guy—that’s his job.
“This is a reunion only, and as such, the band will be focusing on old favorites. There are no plans to release new music,” Wade says quickly.
“Well, that’s going to disappoint a lot of people,” Gina says. Anxiety starts to flutter in my chest, but I’m grounded by the softest of touches. It’s Valerie, brushing my pinkie with her own—reminding me I’m not alone in this.
Just one rehearsal. I can get through one rehearsal with these people, and then one more. One thing at a time.
“Take it away, kiddos,” Wade says.
Valerie swaggers over to her mic. “Good afternoon! We’ve only been rehearsing together for a few weeks, but we hope you’re excited to get a small peek at our concert set. We’ll start with ‘Ghosts,’?” she says, reaching down to shoulder her guitar.
Keeley counts us off, and we all jump in on cue. Maybe I am anxious, because my mouth goes dry, and I have to blink hard to focus on the verse. Then I make eye contact with Valerie, who winks as she sings her line. All my nerves melt away into warm focus, because deep in my heart, I know I’m okay—as long as I’m looking at her.
And even with this audience, we’re on fire. Keeley’s beat is impeccable, Jane’s sound is spot-on, and Riker and Valerie play on top of it all while I keep the bass line strong. Valerie and I each take a verse on this song, and she jumps in harmony on my chorus, but it’s the bridge that’s really special, and you can feel the anticipation in the room as we build up to it.
We always wrote it so I would jump up the octave and she’d layer in a perfect belting harmony, but that doesn’t feel right in the moment. So instead, I jerk my chin up, inviting her to share my mic the way we did so many times in the past.
I don’t think she’s going to do it—she could just turn back to the room the way she did at karaoke a few weeks ago and no one would know the difference. But this new, confident Valerie strides over to my microphone with purpose.
Jane nods at us and adds the bass line on her keyboard, so I swing the bass over my shoulder. Valerie keeps playing her guitar part, but I point to her and then to me, and she nods.
And just like that, we’re alternating lines in the bridge over the mic, like two people having a conversation about a past life. We somehow just know that in the last lines of the bridge, she sings the harmony, and I jump in up high.
And it’s in that moment that I remember something I’d said to her late one night years ago, when we were both exhausted after a long rehearsal, tangled together in hotel sheets.
Sharing a microphone makes me want you.
And fuck.
Maybe that’s still true.