I could go to the mall, maybe see a movie.
As I debated, a girl nearly barreled into me, either late for something or running for her life. I glanced past her to make sure it was nothing I needed to worry about and didn’t see anybody chasing her. In stepping back, I bumped into the bulletin board behind me. The craptastic nature of the day came full circle when I snagged my shirt on a tack; I wriggled until my shirt tore free, then I spun, thinking about kicking the posts. A purple flyer caught my eye, hand-drawn with an abstract band logo for Racing Sorrow; I’d never heard of them, but that wasn’t surprising. There were, like, a hundred garage bands rattling around campus.
The poster read SEEKING NEW KEYBOARDIST, AUDITIONS FRIDAY, along with a number to call. Several of the tags had already been ripped away. I took piano lessons for eight years, but this definitely was not what my mother had in mind when she’d said music would round me out. Back then, she was still trying to lure me away from the “indie influence.” These days, she was satisfied if I was clearheaded and not drowning myself in chemical bliss.
Are you thinking about it? Eli asked.
Maybe.
It’s not a terrible idea. You’ve been going through the motions for a while, C.
Dammit. Eli was right again. I needed something that was just for me. School definitely wasn’t, and it depressed me to think about hanging out at the apartment taking out my dissatisfaction on Max. He wouldn’t relent on finding me the perfect date if I didn’t find something to do with my time. Auditioning for a band sounded more up my alley than a part-time job.
Shrugging, I got out my phone and dialed. This didn’t have a date on it; maybe I’d missed the window of opportunity. But the phone was already ringing, so no harm in checking.
“Yeah?” A deep, impatient voice answered.
“I was wondering if the keyboard auditions are still going on.”
“We’re wrapping up. If you can be here in under an hour, we’ll give you a listen.”
“Where’s ‘here’ exactly?”
He named a bar three blocks from campus, one that occasionally had live music. I knew there was a piano, but on Friday night, there would probably be a crowd. A prickle of anxiety wormed to the surface, spiced liberally with excitement. It had been so long since I’d tried for anything of my own.
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Later.” The guy disconnected and I took off speed-walking.
I’d been here before, so I made it in ten minutes. For a few seconds, I stared at the front of the building, finished to seem more rustic than it was. Then I rushed inside, wondering how I’d know who I was looking for. I should’ve thought this through more. It was early enough that there weren’t many people here, thank God. I’d only fiddled on the piano when I was home this summer, and I’d stopped the lessons when Eli died.
A brown-haired girl in an apron tapped my shoulder. “I bet you’re looking for the idiots in back.” The smile belied her words.
“Thanks.”
My nerves clattered like a broken strand of beads. I took a deep breath and headed toward the piano in back. Three people were sitting at a square table nearby with enough glasses to suggest they’d been here awhile and didn’t tip well enough to merit frequent bussing. Various bags, papers and sheet music loaded down the vacant chair. They hadn’t noticed me yet, so I scoped them out: girl with pink hair cut in a bob, guy with skull cut and a nose ring, a thin Korean-American dude with shaggy blond hair caught up in topknot.
“Hey,” I said, before they could notice me staring. “I think you’re waiting for me?”
“Oh, hey.” The girl hopped up to clear the chair for me. “I’m Dana. I bet Ji Hoo that it was another prank call.”
“I should’ve taken your money,” the blond guy said.
He must be Ji Hoo.
“I’m Evan.” The guy radiated a thuggish vibe between the hair and his tattoos on his forearms. He had on an ouroboros ring that wrapped halfway to the knuckle of his middle finger. By the look of his hands, he was also the guitarist.
“Courtney.”
Dana waved at the seat. “Go ahead, I’ll tell you a little about the group before you play. If you don’t like what you hear, it’ll save you the trouble.”
“You want a beer?” Ji Hoo asked.
When I nodded, Evan stood to get one from the bar. He was shorter than I’d have guessed from the width of his shoulders. He rapped on the counter, his voice a deep baritone rumble as he ordered my drink. I swung my gaze back to Dana, who was talking about Racing Sorrow.
“Ji Hoo and I are both majoring in music,” she was saying.
“Whereas I’m between academic engagements,” Evan added. “I was, but I lost faith in the system.”
“You were just too lazy to go to class,” Dana said.
Ji Hoo tapped out an impatient rhythm against the table. Betting he’s the drummer. “Do you plan to tell her about our sound at any point?”
That means Dana probably plays bass.
“I’m on it. Basically we play a 50/50 mix of original music and covers. Mumford and Sons, The Lumineers, Of Monsters and Men, Imagine Dragons—”
“I think she gets the idea,” Evan cut in. “Can you sing?”
“Not well enough to front a group, but I can harmonize.”
“Alto or soprano?” Dana asked.
Ji Hoo nudged her. “Five bucks says alto.”
“You win.” I told him.
Dana seemed pleased, at least. “Nice. I’m mezzo soprano. Ji Hoo is tenor and Evan brings the bass-baritone.”
“We’ll talk about that later,” Evan said. “Back to basics for a minute. We’re folk rock-indie, harder than Mumford. If that sounds like your thing, go play a song.”
It took me a few seconds to realize they were all staring expectantly, waiting for me to respond. I bent down to check the sheet music and picked out “Ho Hey” by The Lumineers. Maybe this was a stupid idea since I’d never performed, not even a piano recital when I was eight. But at worst, I’d embarrass myself in front of the ten people currently in the bar.
Sitting down, I pretended I was home, playing in our dining room. The tinge of nerves faded when I imagined Eli sitting beside me. I delivered a simple, wistful version of the song devoid of showy flourishes. Lifting my head, I took a breath and faced my three judges.
“Can you sight-read?” Dana asked.