She smiled, and it rocked me hard. She was pretty, but her smile made her pretty spectacular.
What my guitarists were doing was spectacular too. But I could do better, and I wanted her to witness it.
Unclipping my mic, I turned to her. As King crashed on his drums, I sang the lyrics, ones about being yourself and that being enough. Did she get it? What I was trying to say by choosing this song and singing those words to her?
Everyone came together on the chorus. Our harmony was so seamless, chill bumps broke out on my arms. Bryan wailed on a guitar solo, and Lace added in a few twinkling complementary notes on her keyboard. Inspired, I elevated my voice, doing a little operatic improv on the remaining lyrics. When we reached the end of the song, it was just my two guitarists playing off each other again.
As the final notes faded, I stared at Lace. She looked thunderstruck, and I was as well. A glance around revealed everyone else was too.
Now it was time to fix things with her.
I clipped my mic into the pole and crossed to her. “I’m sorry.” I wondered if the words sounded as alien to her hearing them as they felt to me speaking them. “I made a mistake. Can you give me another chance?”
She stared at me, and I held my breath. The garage went completely silent as everyone else watched us.
When she glanced at Bryan, that pissed me off, but I didn’t let it show. I counted one slowing beat of my heart, then two, and her gaze met mine again. Her eyes still flickered with flames, but the fire didn’t feel as hot.
“Yeah. I can do that.” She nodded, and I pulled in an easier breath.
“Great. I’d like to go for a walk with you after we’re through with practice. Talk some. Let you in on some things about me most people don’t know. Would you be up for that?”
“Sure, but I can’t stay out long. I have more studying to do.”
“I’ll get you back in a couple of hours.” I played it casual, turning away from her to refocus on the band. But I was far from feeling casual. I’d been raw all day, wondering if she would give me a second chance.
“We’re going to be the next big thing,” I said, making eye contact with each individual band member, including Lace. No one said a word to counter me. They felt it. They knew I was right. “We need a name.”
“Tempest,” Lace said, and I froze. “A violent storm. A tumult. An uproar. To raise a tempest in or around.”
“Babe.” I shook my head, my expression revealing my disbelief. “That’s perfect. I love it, but you sound like a dictionary.”
“We’re studying Shakespeare in Mr. Schubert’s class.” Smiling, she shrugged. “The definition was in the notes he sent me.”
“Done,” I said, not bothering to put it to a vote. We were a group, but it was my group. “Now, let’s move on to Mötley Crüe’s ‘Shout at the Devil.’ Give me the beat, King.”
Lace
After practice, I was talking to King and Sager when War came to claim me for a walk.
“Let’s go.” Without an apology for interrupting, he offered me his hand.
“I’m not a little puppy you can order around.” Translation: I’m not like those other girls who drop to their knees if you just look at me a certain way. But I took his hand.
“I know you’re not, Lacey.” His brows dipping, he closed his fingers around mine. “If you’ll put a pause on the attitude, I’ll show you what I think, what I want for you, for us.”
In the jaw-dropping silence that followed that statement, the latches on Bryan’s guitar case sounded overly loud as he snapped them closed.
“All right, War.” I didn’t protest his nickname for me again. At this point, I didn’t think it would do any good. With his personality, I needed to pick which battles to fight, and choose ones that were critical to win.
“We’re taking off,” King said, inclining his head toward the driveway. “Adios.”
“See you tomorrow, same time.” War fist-bumped King, who had his sticks in one hand, and then Sager next, who held his bass.
The plan was for King to store his drums in the garage. Like my keyboards, his kit was a pain in the ass to move around, something we would have to consider when and if we got a gig. War had mentioned us having one soon, as