GRIT (The Silver Nitrate Series Book 2) by Tiana Laveen

you, Zenith. I think you’ve known about this shit for weeks. You’ve been acting strange for the past few months. It’s not because of Silver, and it isn’t because of your grandfather. Yeah, I think you’ve been planning this for a while! I can’t trust you!”
    “What do you mean you can’t trust me?! I’m your boy!” Zenith stretched out his arms in shock and consternation while Snow’s ‘Informer’ played quietly on the radio, tuned into the 1990s’ R&B and Rap station. “Do you understand the shit I’ve been dealin’ with, man? I can’t believe this shit. I’m workin’ long hours at my job, Javier.” He began to count off his fingers. “My grandfather is sick! You saw him, man… it ain’t good. I’m training two guys now at work, not just one, and one of them is a real pain in the ass. I have band practice. I’ve barely missed a session lately and you know it, and I’ve got a girlfriend now, too! Hell yes, I’m stressed out and acting different. You would be, too!”
    “But you still had time to have several secret conversations, meet with a major manager and plan an audition… interesting. Yeah, very interesting, Zenith. You’re full of shit, man.” Javier picked up a pile of sheet music and flung them in his direction. The white sheets with black notes floated about until they all hit the ground in complete disarray.
    “I can’t believe you’re saying this shit to me, man. After all we’ve been through… you’d think I’d do you like that, man? I was tryna get the guy to see all of us, Javier! I didn’t want this to be just about me!”
    Javier crossed his arms and turned away, as if mulling everything over. “I’m the one that got you into this band. You were playing by yourself in your grandfather’s spare bedroom!” he hollered. “No one even knew who the fuck you were until I discovered you!”
    “Until you discovered me? What?” Zenith stood slowly to his feet. “You didn’t discover me, mothafucka! The Creator discovered me, and my grandfather cultivated me, okay? As far as I’m concerned, I was taught by one of the best drummers in the world, and he just happened to raise me so let’s not do this, Javier. Let’s…not…do…this.” He seethed with rage as they stared each other down.
    “So he only came up to you ?” Miguel asked, as if he was running some shit, perhaps hosting an inquisition.
    “Yeah, that’s what I said, isn’t it?” Zenith’s eyes narrowed on the bastard.
    “Look man, don’t get mad at me. You’re the one that got approached by Pop Evil’s manager and didn’t say shit. You went home with us on Black Iris’ bus, drank, smoked a splif, fucked a chick or two and—”
    “I didn’t smoke any weed with you and I ain’t fuck no bitches so get those lies out your goddamn mouth.” He pointed in his direction, now eyeing Javier and Miguel with a death glare.
    “Whatever, man.” Miguel waved him off; arrogant, lying son of a bitch that he was. “You sat there like everything was cool. You sneaky, man, you know that? Grimy as fuck. I never did trust you. Javier been a sucka… thinkin’ you was his best friend. You just look out for yourself, take the money and run.” Ini Kamoze’s ‘Hot Stepper’ came on the air.
    “You never trusted me, huh? You funny as hell, man. You’re a hack, a talentless piece of shit, wannabe Jimi Hendrix that can’t even play ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ in the right key.”
    “Man, fuck you!” Spit sprayed out of Miguel’s twisted mouth. “You always thought you was better than everybody else in this group. You ain’t shit. You’re overrated! Talking about you and Javier this, and you and Javier that… Ain’t nobody coming to no sold out drum shows, man! They come to see this nigga right here!” He shot his finger in Javier’s direction. “You just a side dish.”
    “Still better than you, supremely hated, gutless, mindless midget.”
    “Fuck you, Zenith.”
    “And fuck you too, you