Avery
W ith Wes at St. George’s, my days fell into two categories. Days when I was playing alone so I had something to show Wes, and days when we were together on the roof outside his bedroom window, dissecting songs.
He always laid the same way, legs crossed at the ankles and arms under his head. I’d slide in close, the fibers of my clothes catching on the rough roofing tiles. We never started with our own music, always with a new CD, the headphone cord stretched between us.
As track after track played, we remained silent. I’d pull the glossy book out of the back of the CD case, reading lyrics along with the songs, and Wes would scribble in this palm-sized notebook.
The day’s selection was LCD Soundsystem’s self-titled debut.
We pressed together, wrapped in thick wool blankets, unwilling to accept defeat against the cold January night.
That was the day I was finally going to suggest committing ourselves to writing our own album.
If we wanted to be up on stage like he said, we had to start soon.
It had been over a year since he asked me to teach him guitar, and I’d been waiting for him to bring it up.
I didn’t want to latch onto the idea, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. The two of us up on stage.
“So?” Wes asked, a little cloud escaping his lips as he breathed.
“Good synth. Nice beats. Cross-genre so it’s hard to get bored.”
As I spoke, he scratched down notes. He had this way of making me believe I was important, like every thought was worth writing down, immortalized in his jagged slanting script.
It made me want to beg him to transfer back to go to Caper High School. Made me think if I asked him, he would.
“It would be cool to see in concert,” he said, lurching forward to catch his pen as it started to roll off the roof.
His fingers brushed it, but it tumbled out of reach and off the edge.
The act tore the headphone from his ear, severing the link between us.
“Sorry,” he said, a sheepish smile tilting his lips.
“I was wondering—”
“Would you like to come meet my band?” He fiddled with the pen, flipping it between his fingers.
“Meet your band,” I said slowly, trying to wrap my mind around the words.
“Yeah, it’s me and three guys from my grade.
The drummer and guitarist are really chill.
As for the bassist, well, I know he wants to be there, but he acts like it’s beneath him.
He’s too good to get rid of him, though.
I wasn’t sure it was going to stick at first, but we practice nearly every day.
I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure it would last.” He lit up as he spoke.
My ribs were shrinking, squeezing my insides. I felt foolish for thinking it would be the two of us instead.
“How long?” I asked.
“Since last semester. There’s this one song we’ve been working on that isn’t clicking, but I have this idea. Do you remember that hook we came up with over Christmas?”
“Sure.” Because what other choice did I have? Say no and push him away?
“I think it would be perfect, but I don’t want to use it without your permission. Before you get on board, I want you to meet them, hear what we got.”
I nodded as nerves clawed at my stomach.
A month later, I made it to Nashville. George and Dad dropped me off at a house in the suburbs with beige siding and dark shingles on their way to one of her appointments.
They chatted with Luca’s mom, a nice lady named Beatrice who promised she would never let the boys get away with practicing too long and forget their schoolwork.
A young girl ducked out from the top of the stairs and called out so the entire house could hear. “A girl is here!”
One by one, guys appeared from around the corner. From Wes’s description, I knew the redhead with a crooked grin was Jared, the tall tan guy with dark features was Luca, and the broody blond with glasses was Garrett.
“Since when were you cool enough to hang out with girls?” the girl on the stairs asked. From her green eyes and unruly brown hair I could only assume she was related to Luca.
“Plenty of girls adore me.” Jared winked, and she scrunched her nose.
“If you say so,” she said, walking past the guys to me. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Evelyn. You can hang out with me. They’re too loud, and their music isn’t as good as they think it is.”
“As if you’re any better,” Luca protested.
“I am. You’re just jealous,” she retorted, then told me, “I play piano. I have a recital next month if you want to come.”
“Sure, if I’m around. For now, I’m here to listen and maybe help make their music more tolerable.”
“Oh, that’s why she’s here?” Garrett asked, shooting his question at Wes.
I bristled but tried to ignore his agitated tone. By the end of the day, I was going to make them like me. I was worried if they didn’t, Wes would start losing interest in me, so I didn’t bite back as much as I wanted to.
“If you’re as good as you think you are, you won’t have a problem.” I smiled at him. “Evelyn, why don’t you come with me and you can tell me what you think?”
“Okay!”
The garage was covered in old worn rugs with flattened bean bags flung in one corner and a broken office chair in the other. Space heaters made it bearable in the February chill, but I was thankful for Evelyn’s body heat as we sat together.
They played through some covers. Wes had been obsessed with Hot Fuss , The Killers’ debut album since it released in June, so I wasn’t surprised to hear “Somebody Told Me” in the mix.
The band’s original stuff was pleasant, but not as strong as what Wes and I wrote together.
Wes was better with me than he was with them.
The thought caused a smirk to tug at my mouth.
As much as it killed me, I had to admit they were kind of good. Well, for four guys in a garage, they didn’t make me want to tear off my ears.
“Okay, thoughts?” Wes asked, letting go of the microphone he’d been gripping for the last half hour.
“They’re not usually this good,” Evelyn told me, cupping a hand around her mouth in a stage whisper that carried through the room.
“Had to impress,” Wes said with a wink then directed his focus on me. Without him having to ask, I knew he was waiting for my thoughts.
I nodded, working the words up out of my throat. “Individually, you’re all really good. I think the song selection is strong too.”
“So?” Wes urged.
I hesitated, not wanting to piss off his new friends. Usually, I didn’t care what people thought of me. But I didn’t want to lose Wes, but he brought me here because he trusted me.
“You’re all playing like soloists. Like, that second song Luca needs to pull back on the drums and let Jared’s guitar solo breathe more if you’re going to have it, or else it’s just messy and I don’t know where to direct my attention,” I said.
Wes pulled his notebook and a pen from inside his boot and started writing down everything I said.
He was often playful but when things mattered, he took them seriously.
Or it could be I liked that he took me and my views on music seriously.
Either way, his shift in demeanor helped me to lower my filter. I talked until my mouth was dry.
“Oh, is that all?” Garrett asked in an unimpressed huff. “No thoughts on the brand of strings we use or how many times we breathe per minute?”
“I could dig a little deeper if you think you could handle it,” I shot back without thinking. “But since it’s our first time doing this, I thought I’d go easy on you.”
Garrett was actually the best out of all of them, confident with a natural musicality that I envied. I just didn’t like him.
“I’m going to grab water and tea. I don’t know about you all, but I can’t feel my hands.” Jared set down his guitar and crossed between Garrett and me, cutting through the rising tension.
I followed Jared to the kitchen where he quickly got to work gathering mugs and filling a kettle.
“Thanks,” I said as we waited for the water to boil.
“For what? You’re the one helping me. Do I look like I can carry six cups by myself?” The knowing smile on his lips told me he knew exactly what he was doing, keeping the peace.
Together we prepped the rest of the tea, each carrying three steaming mugs back to the garage. When we got to the cracked door, we were met with a hushed argument.
“What does she know anyway?” Garrett demanded.
“As much as you. And she’s the one who helped write the songs I showed you. If you want the songs, then at least try to pretend you know how to play nice with others.”
“We don’t need her.”
“ I need her. If you can’t get past this, you’re out of the band.” There was an icy pause, the boys staring each other down. I held my breath, my body humming as I waited for the verdict.
He chose me. It was like lifting my face to the sun on a perfect summer day, not too hot, just warmth wrapping all around me.
Garrett turned away, muttering. “Fine.”
“Good.” Wes clapped once as a smile returned to his face. “That’s settled. Now, I think we can start workshopping her suggestions.”
Jared glanced at me. “Garrett doesn’t try to be an ass.”
“It comes naturally to him then?”
“You get it. He just doesn’t like that he didn’t think of your suggestions first.” With a laugh, he pushed through the door and started to hand out the tea.
The rest of the practice was productive, Garrett and I navigated the remaining hour with grudging respect. By the time George and Dad picked me up, I was actually looking forward to coming back.