Part 6 (1/2)

She frowned. ”All afternoon. I'm going out of my mind.”

”Sometimes I think all of us living together is a bad frickin' idea.”

”You're just realizing this now?”

I shrugged. Her words always had double meanings, and I was sure this did, too. She'd been hinting at wanting to be more than friends and bandmates for a year. I wasn't interested. It's not that she wasn't a wonderful girl and a good friend. It's that I didn't want to lose one of my only friends. Not to mention, risk blowing the band up just as we were starting to get some traction.

”Guys!” I shouted.

They looked up for all of about a quarter second, and then Mark started b.i.t.c.hing again.

”Guys!” I shouted again. ”Knock it off. We aren't going to resolve this argument today. We've got a show to get ready for.”

”What?” Mark said. ”When?”

Pathin shook his head in disgust. ”If you hadn't been drunk the other night, you'd know, a.s.shole,” he said.

Serena sighed. ”Friday night,” she said. ”Metro in Cambridge.”

”c.r.a.p, I hate that place,” Mark said. ”The acoustics suck.”

”They pay well,” Pathin replied.

”I know, I know ...” Mark said. He looked at Pathin and said in a mocking voice, ”We have to pay the rent. Whatever.”

”Will you two just shut up for five minutes?” Serena demanded. ”We've got work to do.”

I muttered a curse, collapsing into a ratty couch we'd picked up off the side of the road a year before.

”What's your problem?” Serena said.

I shook my head and rubbed my hand across my temples. ”Just tired, it's been a long day.”

”Well, it's time to man up. We've got a show to get ready for. Half the reason these two won't stop bickering is we were waiting for you.”

I loved these guys sometimes. Emphasis on sometimes.

I got up, broke out the guitar, and started tuning it up, ignoring the quieter than before bickering between Mark and Pathin. Finally finished, I cranked up the amp, ran a couple of scales, and said, ”I want you guys to hear something. It's a little different.”

Serena looked up, and Mark and Pathin turned toward me. ”Go for it,” Serena said.

So I started playing. Actually, it was a lot different. I'd spent most of the drive up from Was.h.i.+ngton, DC, in the back of the van, playing with some licks, then wrote lyrics after getting home from my dad's Sunday night. The sound was more compressed, somehow, than the stuff I usually wrote. Still plenty of grunge, but it had kind of a catchy beat. The lyrics ... well, the song was about the girl I'd met in Was.h.i.+ngton. Julia.

I was about a third of the way, belting out the chorus, ”Julia, where did you go?” and all three of them were staring at me, stunned expressions on their faces. I stopped right in the middle of a measure.

”What?” I asked.

”Don't stop,” Serena said, waving her hands at me impatiently.

”Yeah, keep going,” Pathin said.

I looked back at them, feeling a little alarmed by their reaction, then backed up a few measures and picked up the song again.

When I finished, the warehouse was dead silent.

Finally, Pathin said, ”That's b.l.o.o.d.y brilliant.”

Serena nodded her head quickly, a huge smile on her face, eyes s.h.i.+ning.

Mark said, ”Frickin' sell-out. It sounds like a pop song.”

Pathin shook his head. ”No ... it's brilliant. That may be the best song Crank's ever written.”

”Who the h.e.l.l is Julia?” Serena asked.

”No one,” I replied.

She snorted and gave me a grin. ”You're so full of s.h.i.+t, Crank. But who cares? That song was amazing. We're performing it Friday.”

”It's not done yet, I still haven't even worked out...”

”Then finish it. We're doing it Friday night. Mark will be happy ... we can replace one of the covers.”

Mark looked smug.

”I agree,” Pathin said. ”But I'm also very curious who this mysterious Julia is.”

”Dude, it's just a song,” I said.

Mark muttered, ”I never thought we'd be playing Top 40 c.r.a.p. But if we can get rid of one of the covers, I guess I'm okay with it. But you're still a sell-out, Crank.”

I gave him the finger.

He muttered, ”s.h.i.+t monkey,” and sent the finger right back.

Serena pointed at him and gave him the look. Yeah, that look. The one that made all of us feel like ten-year-olds caught in the cookie jar by our mothers. Mark shut up. Serena was awesome that way.

”Can you play it through one more time?” she asked me. ”I want to get the feel for it. Pathin, you caught the end? It needs some pretty powerful drums there.” Serena was in her element. Disorganized, crazy, sometimes inspired, she often acted as the band's artistic director, if we had such a thing.

”Yeah,” he said. ”I've got it.”

So I played through it again. And then a third time. On the fourth, Serena jumped in with a strong backup rhythm, and Pathin and Mark came in with the drums and ba.s.s, and suddenly it was a real song. And I loved it. It was the quickest and easiest I'd ever written a song before. And possibly the best.

Even Mark looked excited by the time we did a run through. ”I'll admit,” he said. ”It is powerful. Even if Crank is a complete a.s.shat.”

”Powerful is not the word,” Serena said, her voice droll. ”Heart-wrenching. The girls are going to be ripping their clothes off for Crank.”

I snorted and Mark said, ”So what's new about that?”

”Knock it off, Mark,” I said.