“He looks familiar.” Grandpa leaned back so I could set his pie in front of him, but he didn’t take his eyes off Jason.

“He’s from Detroit. His brother plays with Sasha on the Pilots. Landon Taylor.” I glanced at Jason as I spoke. Voices travel, and he could probably hear us.

“Enough, Viktor. Let the boy enjoy his lunch.” Grandma poked Grandpa’s wrist with her fork.

“Ow.” He laughed, shaking and flexing his hand.

I saw him shoot Jason one more look before he dug into his pie.

“He’s handsome,” Grandma said, spearing a strawberry from her plate and bringing it to her mouth. “Reminds me of you when you were young.”

Did Grandpa just blush? Time to find something to do. Thankfully I was at work, where I had many excuses to take leave.

Oh, look, table six needs to be wiped down.

“Are you coming to dinner with us tonight?” Gram asked.

“Nope. I have band practice.”

“Band practice?” she repeated, taking a sip of her water. Grandpa stopped chewing.

“Yeah. This guy heard me sing at karaoke and asked me to be in his band. Pretty cool, eh?” I answered, stretching to wipe the far end of the booth behind my grandparents.

“Your mother was in a band,” Gram said.

“Excuse me?” I whipped around, knocking my funny bone as I stood up. It took every fiber of my being not to curse in front of my grandparents. Instead, I grabbed my elbow and rubbed it briskly.

“In high school. She had a beautiful voice.” Gram shook her head as if coming out of a daze and speared a melon from her plate.

It was a Twilight Zone moment for me. My grandparents never offered information about my mother. And I never heard that my mom had been in a band during high school, not even from my aunts and uncles. I wasn’t surprised about all the things I didn’t know about her, I was surprised that Gram actually shared the information.

“Well, now I know where I got my voice. I mean, I’ve heard Dedushka sing in church and I knew I didn’t get my pipes from him.”

That got a smile out of both of them, so I spun around and retreated to the kitchen.

Joking was my favorite defense against awkwardness. You’d think by age twenty I’d jump on the chance to talk about my mom by asking more questions, especially since Gram was the one who brought her up. But no. She’d caught me off guard, and I tucked my tail between my legs and avoided the situation. If I tried to revisit the conversation at a later time, I’m sure their mouths would be closed tighter than a brand-new pickle jar.

The ever-revolving door of grief.

Chapter 18

“Here.” I thrust a small stack of papers at Greg. Using Gram’s rare revealing moment as inspiration to open up, I’d just handed one of my bandmates, someone I’d met less than two months ago, a collection of deeply personal and emotionally raw poems. As soon as they left my hands, I wanted to snatch them back. And burn them.

An eyebrow caterpillar crept across Greg’s forehead as he scanned the first page and flipped through the others.

“I write poems,” I explained, casting my eyes to my feet. My scuffed black boots had never been so interesting. “Not good poems, but, um. I didn’t know if you could use them for lyrics or whatever.”

Poetry had been a passion since I was a kid, but because they were an insight into my warped mind, I’d never been brave enough to share them with anyone. Slicing open my emotional wrists and allowing others to see the blood flow had never been a desire. Then I met Aleksandr, and removing the piano-sized weight of pent-up repression from my shoulders sounded like a good idea for the first time in my life.

Greg shook the papers at me. “This is awesome, Aud.”

I raised my head to meet his eyes. “That tune will change when you actually read them.”

He laughed. “I just meant it’s great that you write. And, yes, I can use them.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

Greg dropped to the floor in the living room of the house he shared with the guys. He patted the carpet. “Pull up a patch of”—he paused as he inspected the area—“gross, green, shag carpet from the seventies. We’re jamming tonight.”

Aaron was already on the ground, his long jean-clad legs sprawled out in front of him as he leaned against the most hideous sofa I’d ever seen.

“Oh my.” I held a hand to my mouth, eyeing the couch as I plopped down in between him and Greg. “That’s an unfortunate piece of furniture.”

Aaron let his head fall back against the light green couch littered with gaudy pink flowers. “My great-aunt died last year and this old girl is what my mom saved for me.”

“It’s ugly as shit, but none of us had any other furniture, so—” Greg shrugged.

“You have other furniture,” I said. “I see a lovely modern piece over there.” I pointed to a black, faux-leather beanbag across the room.

“That’s mine. I’m the one with style,” Josh joked as he walked into the living room carrying three white pillar candles. He squatted slowly, dropped to his knees, then set each candle down in the middle of the circle of seating we’d formed. It looked like a preteen sleepover about to have a séance.

“Are we gonna call on the spirits of rock legends gone too soon?” I asked as Josh settled into an Indian-style position.

“No,” Josh snorted. Then he lifted his eyes to Greg. “You think it’d work?”

“Shut up. Shut up. Shut the fuuuck up,” Aaron sang, using guitar chords to emphasize his point.

I stuck my tongue out. He winked and strummed the opening riffs of “Making Believe.”

“Oh my gosh! You learned it?” I shrieked, and pounded the carpet in excitement.

“Thank Greg,” Aaron said, casting his eyes Greg’s way. “He told us to learn it for the next gig. It is an awesome song, though.”

Greg flashed me a smile. “After you rocked it in your audition, we had to learn it.” Then he frowned and yelled at Josh. “Dude, come on.”

“What?” Josh asked as he lit his cigarette off one of the candles on the floor.

“I love you guys already,” I said, laughing at their banter.

“Hear that boys? She’s saying we have a chance.” Aaron winked again.

“Fuck you, man,” Greg mumbled. Josh released a gust of smoke toward Aaron’s face.

I didn’t get the inside joke, but I assumed Aaron was teasing me because he still needed time to get to know me before he felt warm and fuzzy. I knew from the start he’d be the one I’d have to win over.

—

When I’d returned to school after winter break, I’d braced myself for the harsh reality of a schedule with no soccer activities. The humiliation of being cut still thrummed through my veins, but it was refreshing to be rid of countless practices, meetings, and games thrown on top of classes, studying, working, and starting the after-school program in Detroit. By taking a step back, I finally saw how grueling my first two years at Central State had been.

But if I thought joining a band would be easier on my schedule, I was wrong. I’d assumed the guys would give me a break because I didn’t know my ass from my elbow when it came to making music. Instead, they pushed me harder and made me practice more. When I wasn’t in class, at the library, or at the diner, I was practicing with the guys. They even got me a vocal coach. “Vocal coach” being the fancy title Josh had given to a girl in his music program whom he’d bribed into helping me prepare. My vocals were coming along well, but my stage presence was a different story.

“Tap your foot. Shake your hair around.” Aaron’s face turned a deeper shade of red every time he yelled at me. It would have been comical if I hadn’t been the one he was angry with. When he stomped up the stairs, I thought I’d finally broken him, but he returned a minute later with a full-length mirror.

“Start again,” he ordered, leaning the mirror against the wall in front of me.

Greg and Josh started the song from the beginning, and Aaron joined the song. I stared at the microphone as I swayed from foot to foot. Anything to avoid looking in the mirror.