but frosted with professional distance. Stu realized in a rush of humiliation that Rachel had zero interest in seeing his band.
“You know, I notice your husband there a lot,” he said. “With other women.” He left before he could take in her reaction.
* * *
Truscott’s bizarre posters seemed to have worked. Birdy’s was packed with his classmates. As usual, Owen was there, lingering at the back of the room with a beer in his hand. When Stu joined Truscott on stage to set up, he spotted Jericho standing in the crowd. He raised a hand in greeting but Jericho didn’t acknowledge it. His friend was focused on Sarah, who was laughing at something with some girls Stu didn’t know.
Stu plugged in his guitar, already feeling electric with anticipation. This time, he was only nervous that they might blow a speaker. They had practised until they had all the formations—Truscott refused to call them songs—flawlessly memorized.
Truscott counted them in, cuing his electronic drum track, and Stu scanned people’s faces as they played their opening bars, as loud and discordant as a mistake. But as he and Truscott hit their stride, it became obvious that they were tight—tight and relentless and unpredictable. People were nodding their heads and rocking out to the music. Only a few people had their fingers in their ears. But everyone was watching them. Whether or not Green Screen were any good, they were at least too loud to ignore.
As they moved into the second half of the set, he saw Sarah standing with Owen at the very back of the room. Everyone had their eyes on the band, so Stu was the only one who could see that the writer’s hand was on her waist.
During their second-last song, their chord progressions became more and more elaborate, multiplying and turning back on themselves like a fugue on acid. As Truscott flailed rhythmically, his red locks thrown forward in an orange blur, Stu noticed Rachel enter the bar, locate Owen, and use her tiny frame to slip through the crowd. When Rachel arrived at her husband’s elbow, Owen extracted his arm in a swift movement and angled his body away from Sarah, who spotted Rachel at the same moment. Shame and disappointment flashed across his friend’s face.
As they began to decrescendo the song in its extended, teasing, stutter-stop rhythm towards silence, Stu saw people turning around to stare as Rachel and Owen faced off, voices raised. Eventually, the writer pulled her away from the crowd and out of Stu’s sightline. Sarah had already disappeared.
When the set was over, people clapped and whistled. Stu packed up his guitar, wiped the sweat from his forehead with the towel he’d brought, and pushed his way towards the bar for some water.
Sarah ran up to him, her face pale. She clutched at his T-shirt as though he might slip away. “Have you seen Jericho?”
“Yes, earlier. Why?”
Sarah was looking around the room as though still hoping to catch sight of Stu’s roommate. “He came up to me just after your set ended and said something about the river.” She was distraught. “I think he might try to hurt himself.”
* * *
—
They ran down the dark path that Sarah said was the fastest route to the river, through a treed area where students liked to make out when the weather was nice. Further along, there were streetlamps where the path came closest to the river bend.
“If anything happens,” said Sarah, sounding close to tears, “will it be my fault?” She raked her fingers through her hair in a nervous motion. “I know I was drunk, but I swear I thought I was doing a good thing. Like, maybe a little make-out session would build up his confidence, you know?”
“Tell me you didn’t say that to him.” As far as Stu knew, it had been Jericho’s first and only kiss. “What, did you think it was going to change him into a prince or something?”
“I didn’t want to lie to him.” She seemed shaken by Stu’s anger. “He’s my friend.”
“No, he’s my friend.” It came out cold. In a sick shift, Stu felt the gravity of the situation come into focus. He swallowed back the taste of bile rising in his throat. It had been hours since he’d eaten anything. “I shouldn’t have stayed over at your place. That’s the real problem.”
He wasn’t sure if Sarah had heard him. “There!” she said, pointing. In the glow of the streetlamp, they could see where the reeds