up at the location Tom texted me a few days ago—a barn, of all places. Scene of countless horror movies, ghost stories, and all things creepy. Oh well . Here goes nothing . I rub the goosebumps on my arms as I walk up the steps and around the corner of the huge-ass barn.
I knock on the big red door and wait, patting my thigh in nervous rhythm. Loud talking and sporadic laughter seeps through to the outside, along with the light strumming of an acoustic guitar.
I recognize it as one of their songs, a tune I’ve taken a liking to, and the pattern of my hand changes to match. I jump slightly when the door suddenly opens, having gotten temporarily lost in the music.
“Jessica!” Jarod, the band’s lead singer, grins at me and opens his arms wide. “Welcome home.” His eyes look a bit glassy, and I can’t tell if he’s drunk or high. Or both.
“Thank you,” I reply, eyeing him warily.
“Come here, come here. You’re as good as family now.” He pulls me into a tight hug and I stiffen. I have one huge rule about hugging: I don’t do it. There’s never a need to let my privates get that close to someone if I have no intention of sleeping with them. And I have no plans to sleep with Jarod.
“Ah, yeah,” I say and give him an awkward pat on the back.
“What’s taking so long?” I recognize Tom’s grating tone.
Jarod lets go of the full-body hug, but keeps his arm wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me into him as he turns. “Look who I found?” he says, squeezing my shoulder.
Tom’s face is the picture of displeased indifference. “About time. Are you always this late?”
“ I was here on time ,” I want to tell him. But I bite my tongue and smile sweetly instead. If I want to nail this final audition, I probably shouldn’t start it by arguing with the band’s manager.
“What’s your fucking prob, man? She’s right on time.” Jarod laughs, loud and obnoxious. He squeezes my shoulder harder. I wince. Tom narrows his eyes as his gaze flicks to Jarod’s hand.
“All right. All right,” Jarod says, finally letting go of me and clapping his hands together as he walks toward Tom. “Let’s get started, bro.”
He gives Tom a high-five—which Tom grudgingly returns— and then disappears back into the barn.
A muscle in Tom’s jaw clenches. “You heard him. Let’s get this over with.”
If I have any chance of making it, I need to find out why he hates me so much. “Look, Tom—”
He crosses his arms. “Let’s get one thing straight. You’re not in the clear, and if it were up to me, you’d never be. Unfortunately, the guys have the final say, so I’ll just have to live with it. Now, if you can leave your lady hormones and drama at the door, the guys are ready to get started. Got it?”
Then, without another word, he turns around and walks away.
I fight the urge to stomp my foot. Why is he being so mean? It’s like he’s deliberately going the extra mile to show me I’m not welcome. I look back at the exit. I could leave, just put all of this behind me and go back to a life of bartending. There will be other opportunities to drum. Right? I clutch my wrist, running my thumb over the words inscribed there.
Born to drum .
I lived through hell back home, and the only thing that let me feel alive was music. So if I have to endure some band manager’s personal vendetta against me for no apparent reason in order to feel that way again, so be it. Straightening my spine, I shove my insecurities out the door and step toward the future I want.
Joel and Jackson are standing around talking, their electric guitars around their necks as they wait for me to take my place. Jarod is off to the side, locked in some sort of heated conversation with Tom. They fall silent when they spot me, and I can’t help but think they were talking about me. Tom turns away abruptly, walking toward the sofa to the left as Jarod makes his way to the center of the barn, where the equipment is set up.
He
I knock on the big red door and wait, patting my thigh in nervous rhythm. Loud talking and sporadic laughter seeps through to the outside, along with the light strumming of an acoustic guitar.
I recognize it as one of their songs, a tune I’ve taken a liking to, and the pattern of my hand changes to match. I jump slightly when the door suddenly opens, having gotten temporarily lost in the music.
“Jessica!” Jarod, the band’s lead singer, grins at me and opens his arms wide. “Welcome home.” His eyes look a bit glassy, and I can’t tell if he’s drunk or high. Or both.
“Thank you,” I reply, eyeing him warily.
“Come here, come here. You’re as good as family now.” He pulls me into a tight hug and I stiffen. I have one huge rule about hugging: I don’t do it. There’s never a need to let my privates get that close to someone if I have no intention of sleeping with them. And I have no plans to sleep with Jarod.
“Ah, yeah,” I say and give him an awkward pat on the back.
“What’s taking so long?” I recognize Tom’s grating tone.
Jarod lets go of the full-body hug, but keeps his arm wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me into him as he turns. “Look who I found?” he says, squeezing my shoulder.
Tom’s face is the picture of displeased indifference. “About time. Are you always this late?”
“ I was here on time ,” I want to tell him. But I bite my tongue and smile sweetly instead. If I want to nail this final audition, I probably shouldn’t start it by arguing with the band’s manager.
“What’s your fucking prob, man? She’s right on time.” Jarod laughs, loud and obnoxious. He squeezes my shoulder harder. I wince. Tom narrows his eyes as his gaze flicks to Jarod’s hand.
“All right. All right,” Jarod says, finally letting go of me and clapping his hands together as he walks toward Tom. “Let’s get started, bro.”
He gives Tom a high-five—which Tom grudgingly returns— and then disappears back into the barn.
A muscle in Tom’s jaw clenches. “You heard him. Let’s get this over with.”
If I have any chance of making it, I need to find out why he hates me so much. “Look, Tom—”
He crosses his arms. “Let’s get one thing straight. You’re not in the clear, and if it were up to me, you’d never be. Unfortunately, the guys have the final say, so I’ll just have to live with it. Now, if you can leave your lady hormones and drama at the door, the guys are ready to get started. Got it?”
Then, without another word, he turns around and walks away.
I fight the urge to stomp my foot. Why is he being so mean? It’s like he’s deliberately going the extra mile to show me I’m not welcome. I look back at the exit. I could leave, just put all of this behind me and go back to a life of bartending. There will be other opportunities to drum. Right? I clutch my wrist, running my thumb over the words inscribed there.
Born to drum .
I lived through hell back home, and the only thing that let me feel alive was music. So if I have to endure some band manager’s personal vendetta against me for no apparent reason in order to feel that way again, so be it. Straightening my spine, I shove my insecurities out the door and step toward the future I want.
Joel and Jackson are standing around talking, their electric guitars around their necks as they wait for me to take my place. Jarod is off to the side, locked in some sort of heated conversation with Tom. They fall silent when they spot me, and I can’t help but think they were talking about me. Tom turns away abruptly, walking toward the sofa to the left as Jarod makes his way to the center of the barn, where the equipment is set up.
He
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