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The crowd is roaring. They’re chanting.
“You don’t want me to go on?” I clamp my fingerless gloves to my waist and bore a glare into Serena. “Are you kidding me?”
“Your vision for the Judys has changed.” She shrugs. “Ours hasn’t.”
“Okay, but—”
“But you go out there, Lane, and your whole—” My bandmate—and sorta friend of six years—looks me up, then down. “Vibe,”she settles on, “is going to screw with our success. I’m sorry. You wanted to be done. You’re done.”
“I never said—”
“You said you wanted to sing.”
“Well, yeah,” I say. I’m tired of backup. And I have a voice.
“Lead.” She huffs. “I’m lead. Always have been. Astrid’s fine with that. Dawn is too. We’re rock, and you want to gofolk.” She shakes her head again as if I’ve suggested genocide.
“It’s something new. We’ve done the same thing for—”
“We’re doing what we like. What works.”
I sigh, my head to the ground, my bass growing heavy strapped to my back. “For you. It works for you.”
She nods—agreeing with me. “Which is why you’re done. And I’m not.”
Another “Judys! Judys!” roars from the crowd.
“Gotta go, Lane. You know the drill. But good luck. I never hated you.”
Wow. After six years as lead bass and killing myself to grow this band into the most popular punk rock of the decade, I end with that glowing review? “But who’s going to play bass?”
Serena doesn’t even hesitate. “Judy Cane.” She nods to a corner backstage, and I see the guitarist wearingmyJudy shirt.
“You’ve already replaced me?”
“Laney—we both knew this was coming.”
I can’t look at her anymore. I can’t. I turn, darting quickly past dumb Judy Cane and her ironically perfect name for our band.
I beeline for my dressing room. I’m thankful to find Ash inside. I think I’m hyperventilating, and I’d rather not die a lone Judy in the back of this dressing room, while Judy Cane goes on stage withmyband.
“Ash,” I huff through heavy breaths. “What am I going to do?”
She crosses her arms over her chest, a scowl on her face. “I told you not to say anything.”
But how could I not? I felt it in my gut.Folk—that’s what I’m meant for. That’s what I should be doing. I’d hoped the Judys would come with me.
“But—”
“But the problem is you’re replaceable, Lane.”
My breath hitches with her words.
“Eddy left.”
“That was mutual,” I say.
“You clearly aren’t out there with your band tonight—the people aren’t going to miss that. Eddy doesn’t want you, the Judys don’t want you. Why should your fans?”
