Now, writing this, she wonders if she made him up; she wonders if it matters at all.
Becausethe girl—Ifinally found someone to play with.
Chapter 1
Marina
Some people have the energy of an old armchair, and unfortunately, I’m one of them. Safe, reliable—always there when you need me but not exactly the first choice. A 22-year-old piece of furniture that just doesn’t fit but stays, shuffled from room to room, threadbare and covered in laundry.
That’s how it’s always been at Aunt Andrea’s.
Still, I keep looking for a place I’ll fit in—for roommates, for jobs, but so far? Everything has been a dead end. Sure, I have a lead with the band I submitted an audition for last week, but I haven’t heard anything.
Still, my heart swells at the opportunity to go on tour. That would get me out of here. And I’d finally be playing music in front of people, just like my parents did.
Luck, however, hasn’t been on my side, historically speaking. So, without any better options, I stay, try to save, and ignore the guilt that creeps in when I look at howobjectively spectacularthis place is. It’s the kind of house people have on their vision boards, the one you know gives out the best Halloween candy. But wanting it? That’s never been the problem.
This place has never wanted me back.
I trace my fingers along the grand piano in the foyer as I walk to the kitchen. Aunt Andrea has teased me before, saying the piano is the only reason I still live at home. In reality, being under her employment barely covers my rent here,which is stillless than I’d pay anywhere else.Though, I won’t lie, the piano is a nice perk.
As I slip into the kitchen, I’m greeted by the sight of my aunt hunched over my laptop. The smell of her strong perfume, musk and honey, mixes with coffee and vanilla creamer—the one thing we have always had in common. The coffee,notthe perfume.
“Whatcha doing?” I ask, and by the way she jumps, she must not have heard me come in.
“I can’t figure this darn thing out,” she sighs, then looks from the laptop to me with a pleading expression. “You don’t mind, do you?”
I’ve long since learned to keep anything private out in the open; there’s nothing on this computer she shouldn’t see.
“What are you trying to do?” I push strands of pink hair away from my face, squinting at the screen. There’s an email she’s glaring daggers at. Maybe she’s just as annoyed by the lack of job offers in my inbox as I am…
But no, that doesn’t seem to be it.
“I had an inquiry about the shop from a vendor last week, but I don’t see it anywhere,” she complains.
I blink.
I may not be good at technology.
I don’t have social media—too many superfans of my parents’ band found me when I tried. It was too strange and personal, enough for me to swear off most of the internet as a teen. But I know enough to know an email isn’t … all email.
“Well,” I chuckle, reaching over and clicking on my icon, “it would help if you logged in. You’re on my account.”
“That explains all the spam from Guitar Center.” With a roll of her eyes, Aunt Andrea laughs. It’s a sound I rarely hear, and you know what? I’ll take it if it means she’s finally warming up to me. “Log me in then?”
“Sure!” I chirp, pouring myself a cup of generously sweetened coffee, then taking a seat next to her. Aunt Andrea and I don’t usually exchange pleasantries, and there’s something strange, almost nice and domestic, about this whole thing. I’m ready to sign her into her account when—
A new email comes in.
Subject line: “Ready for the tour?! Your audition information…”
“Oh my god,” I say, unable to hold myself back from clicking on it. “Oh my god!”
“Congratulations, Marina!
We loved your video audition and want to see more from you! We understand filling the role of a frontman is intimidating. We’re a band with a small but loyal following, and we think you have something special our fans would love to see on stage! As a band, we take turns songwriting and would like to see what you’ve got! We’ll text you to set up an exact time, but we are asking you to prepare an original song to show us, as well as sit in on a jam session to see if our creative energies blend together.
A reminder: our tour is set for next month. We understand this is all rapid fire, and we appreciate you rolling with the punches!
